A childhood memory

         I'm not going to explain to you my background, nor my present situation. Going through someone's memory you don't know is like going through a photo album you accidentally found. The story is impossible to guess and the characters are unknown, yet there is a certain feeling gripping you tight when you see into someone else's life. So here is a photograph of a soul, a taste of things past and things yet to be.

          It happened in preschool, in the early 90-ies. They say children and drunkards are the most honest people in the world. A theory not lacking in truth and abundant in proof. I can't remember how old I was. It was a cold winter's morning in a gray and depraved city. My grandmother walked me to my class where most of the children were already playing and having fun. I greeted my friends and, loner that I am, started looking for interesting toys. Considering the miserable budget our educational system receives it wasn't surprising at all that I wasn't able to find anything. After a few minutes of digging through antiques i found a box of old wooden toys shaped like geometrical figures. There were cubes, pyramids, prisms and cylinders. Most of them were of woden, natural, lightish brown color but some of them were blue, red or green. These however were few in number. I barely took out the box which was massive compared to my small body. Having dragged the box out of the pile I proceeded to find a lonely corner. I found one, away from everyone else. At first I wanted to build a castle, but I changed my mind and started building a house. The walls were easy enough to make but the roof was next to impossible. I started going to great lenghts in finding a way to build support for the bricks on top. My mind started working at a 150% capacity and after hard thinking I found the answer: glue and a few thin boards of tough plastic. Scraping them together was easy, but I worked relentlessly.

The house had to be built.

The basis was completed too soon, I had to add up so I began the first of many expansions. I think the aunt (as we call the ladies that take care of us in my country) called me twice but I ignored her. I figured she would come over to me if she really needed me. A friend of mine approached me and asked me if I wanted to play with toy cars, but I declined swiftly and ruthlessly. I spent only half of the box. I couldn't stop yet.

The house had to be built.

I don't remember right, but I probably lost track of time. It was lunch time and the aunts called on us. Everyone ran to the huge table and grabed a plate. Everyone except me. I stayed in my own little corner with my house. Most kids try to think up a story when building something. I didn't think about anything else but where to put the next brick. Poor creativity mixed with machine-like work. It could take a few minutes, or even twenty, to properly adjust a brick so it was in perfect position. The aunt called me again and told me to come and grab lunch, but I would have none of that. I ignored her and kept working. Suddenly, she aproached me with visible fury. She managed to calm herself and told me I could continue building the house after lunch. There was no way I would leave it for even a moment. She lost her temper and started shouting, nonetheless I continued.

The house had to be built, damn it!

All the other kids ate their lunch and stared at the lone boy tirelessly working on his house. It's difficult to remember if they did anything more than stare. Lunch soon finished and I was still at it when I noticed I was running out of bricks. No, it couldn't end with that, much more was needed so I called a friend of mine. I told her to go get more from a nearby class and, to my surprise, she did so without hesitation. I was just about to place my final brick and cry in despair as she entered with a huge box, similar to the one next to me. I grabed a few bricks and examined them without even looking at my friend. Two hours must have passed in a blink of an eye because before I knew it, the aunt declared it was sleep time. She knew she would have problems with me and I got nervous. How will I stand up to her? Explain to her that I have to keep working? That damn house has to be improved. I felt that, if I were to stop I would die. No matter what I had to continue. The aunt came up to me and started shouting in a berserk-like rage. I ignored her, but then she pulled my arm. I started crying and screaming in nothing short of a hysteria. "No! I can't stop! I just can't! Leave me alone!" I tried to explain why but I couldn't. Could anyone? My face was red, wet with tears and sweat. A kid crying is nothing new, but I can clearly remember the scared facial expression that appeared upon the aunt's face. She gave up. Everyone went to bed, but I worked on.

I had to keep building that house, I had to.

I think I had spent two thirds of the second box when everyone woke up. They started playing immediately, running around carelessly. It was no wonder one clumsy kid fell on my house, and destroyed the cursed thing. If my previous shrieking was disturbing, it was nothing compared to this. I started shouting, crying, beating, scratching and screaming, but to no avail. It was over, the magnificent house was gone. It took two aunts to calm me down. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on a small, grassy slope, staring at the clouds. My friend joined me and asked me if I wanted to play at her house sometime. I replied  with a maybe and said nothing else the rest of that day. My weary soul was soothed when my grandmother arrived to pick me up and take me home, she brought candy.

         So what does it mean, this "incident" of mine? Am I crazy? Were the first signs of a dementia clearly visible even back then? I won't tell you what happened to me later on in my life. Maybe I'm writing this from an asylum or maybe from home. Maybe even both. Decide, judge, contemplate, but the most important thing of all: be warned, every one of us has this inside of us.