Where had it come from?
Why hadn’t I seen it?
What was it doing in the back of the closet?
The contents were mummified in tissue paper and reverently laid in repose.
Until my hand disrupted that repose and pulled it forward into the light.
Into the light.
Exposed.
Remembered.
There are things that we push to the back because we do not want to be reminded that they exist.
The memory is real, not a nightmare.