Six years ago, I sat down and wrote the prologue to this book. At the time, I thought I’d keep going right away — but life had other plans. Work, family, responsibilities… all of it pulled me away. The story never left me, though. It’s been playing in my head ever since, like a movie or a series that I just haven’t hit “record” on yet.
I want to change that now.
Part of why I’m here is because I know myself: if I keep the story private, it’ll stay locked in my head. But if I share it with you, and if I know someone out there is waiting for the next part, then I have to keep going. I hope your encouragement (and a little accountability!) will help me pull these scenes out of my imagination and put them into words that do them justice.
So here it is — the prologue. The first piece of a story that’s been waiting too long to be told...
Memories are a peculiar thing. Depending on your vantage point, you may remember something completely different than someone else that experienced the same event. Memories also tend to get less clear as we age.
When asking an eleven year old about his earliest memories; he talked about a time when he was four and his dad found a nest of baby bunnies in their backyard. At thirteen, a girl clearly remembers riding on a jetski with her father when she was four. A seven year old remembered that at the age of two she had star stickers all over her bedroom ceiling. As kids, these memories are clear and quick to recount.
As adults it becomes more difficult. Adults have so many memories to sift through. Most adults can come up with lots of childhood memories. But if you ask them specifically for the earliest memory it may take them some time to figure it out. Her mother yelling at her at her fifth birthday party...but now as an adult, she cannot remember why.
My earliest childhood memory happened in 1973, I was three years old. My parents had signed me up for swim lessons. I vividly remember being at the community pool. It was the beginning of summer. The pool water smelled so clean, like the kitchen floor just after being mopped. Having had a very mild spring the water in the pool was crisp and cool.
The instructor, John Mills, was a very young man not quite twenty. He was lean with thick, wavy chocolate colored hair. His eyes matched perfectly with the color of the pool. He explained to the group of children that this was a survival swim class. John asked us to line up along the edge of the pool. As he walked behind the line of children, one by one he picked us up and tossed us in the pool. Given my young age, I was near the end of the line. Every splash of the water made my fear deepen. My little heartbeat grew stronger as his footsteps got closer. And just like that Billy, the little boy from next door, that was standing next to me was in the water. After John saw Billy successfully turn around and float on his back he took one more step. He was now directly behind me. I could almost hear him bend down and reach for me. And just as his hands reached under my little arms...my vision was gone. For the tiniest fraction of a second all was black. It was as if I had blinked and forgot to open my eyes. And just as my eyes opened…
Fall 1897 Detroit, Michigan
My older brother, Jack, had asked our father all summer long if we could walk to the store by ourselves. Jack was holding my hand tight as we approached Main Street. He knew that this was the street that our father was terrified about us crossing but he was able to convince our father that at eleven years old he was responsible enough to cross the street safely. “Remember, Pearl, we have to be very careful. Father wants us to look and listen as we cross.”
The year before our neighbor’s three children were crossing at this very spot on their way home just as the fire alarm sounded. The firehouse is just around the corner. No one knows if they did not hear the clopping of horses' hooves as they turned quickly onto Main Street because of the clanking they were making themselves by walking on the tin can stilts that they had just made the day before. Or if they were simply having so much fun that they weren’t paying attention.
The fireman tried to steer the horses to miss the Wilson children but in the chaos they all ended up in different directions. George, the middle child, who was behind his sisters quickly turned and fell backwards away from the fire truck. The fall brought him directly into the path of the wheels of a passing carriage. The youngest, Suzy, only 3 years old, was pushed to safety by her ten year old sister, Belle. While Belle’s push certainly saved little Suzy’s life; the force that Suzy hit the curb broke her left leg so bad that she may never walk again. At the moment Belle pushed Suzy she tripped on one of the stilts and fell to the ground. The doctor told her parents that she died instantly when her head smashed onto the bricks of Main Street. I had heard my father telling my mother that he thought that the doctor was giving them a small comfort so they would think she would not have felt the horses trampling her young body. Young George was in a coma for a month before he passed away.
Just as my feet touched the street Jack’s warm hand yanked me back onto the sidewalk. He looked down at me with his clear blue eyes and kindly scolded me, “Did you look both ways?” At that moment a carriage on the other side of the street passed by. “Don’t worry Pearl, I’ll always keep you safe.”
1973
Mr. Mills's hands release me into the air towards the water that resembled his eyes. I hear him say behind me, “Don’t worry Jade, you’re safe.” In that instant, all fear left my body and I knew that I would be fine. I hit the cold water, went under for a second, maybe two, and then rolled my body onto my back and floated toward the surface.
At the end of the lesson, my mother and I were walking towards the changing room. “I’m so proud of you, Jade! I told you Mr. Mills was a kind man and would teach you well.”
“Mommy, where’s Jack?” I wondered.
“Who’s Jack?”
“My brother. Jack. Where is he?”
“Honey, you’re an only child. You don’t have a brother.” My mother was confused by my certainty but dismissed my inquiry and went on with the rest of our day. At such a young age, I was not able to explain with the right amount of conviction about my memory of my brother holding my hand and keeping me safe.