Stained Glass Windows Kelsey D. Garmendia
Show and Tell My memories of my early years come and go in flashes. The small collection I have seems to rotate on a carousel in distinct patterns. SLIDE We are outside of a Shoprite on the outskirts of my hometown. My mother goes in to the store to pick up something, but being two or three, I do not understand. I scream my head off once she disappears from sight. Either because my father feels bad or he wants me to shut the hell up, he allows me to play with the headlights. PROCEED TO NEXT SLIDE> The square-tile flooring and plain white walls of the hospital surround the room where my mother is. Inside the claustrophobic cubical, a bluish hue from the lights turns my mother’s complexion a dark green. My father picks me up, instructing me to kiss my mother. My lips meet her skin; her lips are cold. PROCEED TO NEXT SLIDE> I stare down at the outdated brown shag carpet of the funeral home. Across the room, someone calls my name. A woman sitting in an ancient armchair Embodied Effigies | 5