There are a bunch of pictures of me in daycare. I don’t know if the staff there took them and gave them to my parents or if Mom and Dad came in. I barely remember this place. I just have some hazy memories. I do know that I liked it there, that I was happy. There are a few pictures of me with two little boys. In one, I am standing between them, holding hands, and in another, we are all lying on the floor with our chins in our hands, listening to the teacher read a story. I smile at these because this was a time in which everything was easy, blissful.
I had no idea a fire would take half my family and leave James and me destroyed.
I also had no idea that I would survive that tragedy, that I would rebuild.
There’s video of my family, presumably taken by my father. My mother is holding a young James on her lap, and I’m having some kind of toddler tantrum.
“Where Bingo?”
“I don’t know,” my mother says. “Look on the toy shelf, Blythe.”
“Here it is. There,” my father says from behind the camera. He stretches an arm and retrieves a game from under the coffee table. “Here’s Bingo! She likes the farm animals on the tokens,” he tells my mother.
But I bat away the game. “No! Where Bingo? Where Bingo?”
“Not this one? Don’t cry, honey. Do we have another?” my mother asks as she touches a hand to my face and wipes away my tears. “I don’t know why she’s so obsessed with Bingo these days. We’ll have to find another version that she likes better.”
My toddler face crumples, and the adult me almost has to laugh at the pathetically sad face I’m making.
“My kiss?”
My mom leans over and smooches my cheek, but I push her away while wrinkling my face and rubbing my eyes.
“My kiss, my kiss,” I whimper.
My dad kisses me now, too, but I’m clearly not satisfied.
Mom sighs. “I think someone needs a nap.”
“I totally do. It’s exhausting being a parent,” my father jokes.
I clap my hand over my mouth and nearly crack under the emotion when I hear my mother laughing at him. The sound of their voices…is too much and not nearly enough.
I watch my mother put down James, and he toddles for a moment and then sits on the floor to play with blocks. Mom picks me up and holds me against her, stroking my hair.
“My kiss, Mama? My kiss.”
She rocks me and pats my back, kissing my head and trying to soothe me.
“Where Bingo?” My tired voice gets softer as I talk myself to sleep in her arms. “Kiss, my kiss…”
“Kisses and Bingo,” my mother whispers. She looks at the camera and smiles. “Is she out yet?”
“Yeah. Sleepy girl today,” my father says softly.
I didn’t know we had any of these early videos. Annie must have found them on my parents’ computer or in some of the boxes she helped clear out from the house. My entire life seems to pan before me. The movie Annie’s made shows me in grade school, middle school, and high school. There are no graduation photos though because that was after the fire. By then, I’d pushed Annie out of my life, and Aunt Lisa was too selfish and thoughtless to think to capture the moment. Of course, I was a walking zombie during that time, so I’m not sure I’d want to see myself as I was back then anyway.
I pause the video when a family photo of the four of us flashes. This was taken just days before the fire. My father put the camera on a self-timer and then ran to stand with us. He had to try this almost a dozen times before he made it back in time to the top of the huge boulder we were sitting on, so by the time he got the picture, we were all laughing. This is the best picture I’ve ever seen.
I watch the movie two more times. When I am done, I am left with an ache that I cannot resolve. Annie would never intentionally upset me, and I’m sure she thought enough time had passed that seeing these images wouldn’t hurt me so much. In some ways, they don’t.
Right now, I feel everything—joy, pain, loss, elation, love, anger…
My phone rings, and I look down. It’s Sabin. I let it ring a few times while I sniff and clear my throat.
“Hi,” I say.
“Did I tell you that Mia is a rescue horse?” he says.
