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I remember exactly where I was, in that hazy way that all childhood memories drift back to me. All vivid colors and blurred edges, like a work by Monet.
I was sitting in my parents’ bed. That I know for a fact. There was one of those cinder-block TVs in a cabinet on the opposite wall. The kind that made an electric crackling sound as it turned on and off. The images appearing and disappearing with a lag from the center of the screen.
It was fall, so I was probably wearing my footie pajamas. That I’m pretty sure of. They were made of a fleece that was much too heavy for those stuffy California evenings and had little rubber dots on the feet so I couldn’t slide on the floors…But I loved them. I slept with a fan on and the covers off.
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