When the memory of light hits me, I can feel the vibe in my soul change. Almost like I time travel with the light in the room, with the smell under my nose. I go back to a place that is safe. A place that is home. Sitting in that place, I feel that pure glow.  When I open my eyes, all the light shatters into broken dust. The place I once called home is now a dark, lonely trap. A ploy on myself, brought to myself, and destroyed by myself. Everything I realize I once loved, is gone. 

 

When the light comes it’s the most beautiful feeling in the world. Sometimes it’s a curse to have a prominent memory. Sometimes it's hell. I can feel myself there in that light, in that time with my home. I can feel myself warm, and I can smell the bread in the air. I love this place.  My brother and I just got off the bus and we race into the kitchen; it smells like a warm hug that wraps around me.  

 

With long golden hair, blue eyes, jeans, and a blouse, Mom is at work creating the aroma that embraces me. She made us a special loaf of bread.  Our favorite treat from her. My brother and I fight to get to the honey first. We eat the bread and then we wait for my dad to get home. When he does, he greets me with a hug that lifts me off the ground, like I’m flying.

 

My mother smiles as she pulls out his favorite meal: meatloaf. Potatoes for me, and vegetables for my brother—his least favorite.

 

We sit at the table together. My dad finishes first and my brother second; I am always the last one to finish. Always, but they wait patiently. I scurry to finish my food. Across the table, my brother looks at me and puts his hands together as if there is a game controller in it. He waves his thumbs around and gives me a look that asks me to play games with him, without Mom and Dad knowing.

 

I laugh, and suddenly the light breaks again. I sit alone at the table. With bread from Walmart in front of me, I cough up tears and remember a home I miss more than my words can tell.