I don't remember much from my childhood.

It's kind of a surprise, considering that my parents have very early memories.

But my earliest memory is of my third birthday.

I remember walking into our main living room, bare foot, the cold tiles comforting against the heat. I remember what I was wearing.

It was a simple black dress. Or maybe it was brown.
It had small white patterns all over it, tiny swirls and squiggles printed all over the fabric.

I remember my mother yelling at me to hurry up and come to the room. She still had to brush my hair before the party started.

I remember crying.

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I remember my fourth birthday, too. In a way, it was kind of a milestone in my life.

It was the first time I ever touched a piece of cake. 

And actually enjoyed it.

I remember earlier that evening, being in the back of the car with my parents and my mother's side grandparents. We were on our way to pick up my cake, I think. 

I was excited. Who wouldn't be, in my shoes?

I was four.

Or, about to turn four.

The cake was pretty. It was an elephant, and had pink and blue icing over the top, tracing along the edges in neat swirls. But it didn't have the stomach-curling amount of icing some cakes did.

I liked that.

I remember going back home, and getting ready for the party. My mother asked me to get a knife to cut the cake.

I remember running through the corridor to the kitchen, and asking my grandfather for a knife.

I remember that, clear as day. I ran back to my mother and handed it to her. She tied a ribbon around the handle. It was red.

She was always good at tying ribbons.

I remember cutting it.

I remember tasting it too.

And I was surprised to find that I liked it.

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I remember when I broke my left elbow.

I was in kindergarten. Preschool, I think some people call it.

I was playing on the playground, and I was in line for the slide.

I loved the slide. Who doesn't?

I remember getting pushed forward. I know that it was an accident. We were too young to do anything like that on purpose. 

I remember crashing down the slide head-first.

I know it hurt.

I remember the pain.

But if you ask me to describe it, I couldn't.

I remember crying. The teachers called my grandparents, and they took me home. No one knew my arm was broken yet. My mother had to call my father. He was at work.

But he came home immediately.

I remember a few visits to hospitals.

Later, my parents told me it was because the first doctor said nothing was wrong with my arm, when they clearly was. So they had to go to another one.

I remember sitting on one of those movable beds as the nurses pushed me in and out of rooms. I was screaming for my father.

He came, eventually.

I think he was doing something about my surgery.

I didn't know that though.

I remember being taken to a doctor, and them telling me about the surgery.

I refused.

Then a nurse told me I could have a balloon if I let them fix my elbow.

I agreed.

The balloon was red, I remember.

And it was drugged.

I remember blowing before I fell asleep.

My mother stayed with me before she had to leave.

I only found out the balloon was drugged later, because they couldn't inject me. I'm glad they did it that way.

I later found out that the bone had cracked in half and slid away from each other. I didn't really know what it meant.

I remember being in a cast for three months.

The day I removed it, my arm was sore.

I could barely move it.

I realize now that I've never been down on a slide head-first - not deliberately.

I wonder if it's because I'm scared of what happened.

I guess I'll never know.