Turbulence

I used to love this word. It reminded me of storms. Only, I'm terrified of storms. The thunder reminds me of an earthquake I vaguely remember in Taiwan.

I remember all the crashing of things falling down, and us hiding under the bed. But it seems like a bad dream.

I don't remember crying. I was scared but fascinated. And now I'm just scared of thunder.

I remember in Primary school I'd lie down on blue mats for naptime. But I could never sleep. I used to pull my mat up alongside someone else's mat. I don't remember who they were but I remember sandy hair and brown eyes.

Maybe a boy or a girl.

The mats were close to the edge of the table. I'd tuck myself slightly under the table so I could watch the sunlight stream and dust-motes dance in it, without being blinded.

I remember filing to the cafeteria, with its' long tables and benches. I sat a few seats from the end, always. Maybe we lined up in alphabetical order.

I remember making applesauce. We all brought apples from home and tied bit of string around it with our name on the end, on each slice which we lowered into a pot that boiled up front. The teacher added sugar. We got our applebits and sugary watery sauce back in little white plastic cups.

I liked the taste. Maybe its why I'm fond of apple pie now. But only a little bit.

The whole surface of the earth seems changed.