What's your earliest memory?
(this post is based on the Marketing for Romance Writers 52 Week Challenge)
The beach is long (or I am very small) (or both). There was a storm, or maybe it's always like this, but the waves make a noise I've never heard before.
In my toddler brain, surely these are the drums of death.
Surely something that makes this noise cannot be safe, or good.
It does not want us here.
I stumble back, chubby legs that have only known how to walk for a few months crumble. Warm hands, soft voices that are supposed to protect me tell me that everything is fine.
They are wrong.
I start to cry. The voices tell me it's okay, but I know my mother lies. How can this monster be okay?
The memory fades.
There are pictures, that say that it was okay. There is me, white blonde, with fistfuls of dark sand. My baby belly hangs carelessly over the top of a diaper.
There are stories. My aunt drawing hearts in the sand with her toes, a diversion that takes my mind off the boom of the surf as it rolls and retreats on the sand.
What I remember is the sound.