Ah, memories. Thanks to Friday Fictioneers, I have a new place to write about them! Today’s submission, “Nana’s Closet”:
I was four. I remember because it was just after my fourth birthday that I could no longer squeeze through the triangle made by the bottom of the bannister and the wood of the stairs. She hated it when I did that anyway, convinced that I would break my neck on the heat register below. I had found a treasure box at the back of the closet under those stairs: an old phone, a few mismatched crayons, what I found out was a menorah, and an old damaged photo. “What is this, Nana?” I had asked.
“Old memories,” Nana answered.