The thing about having a trauma-filled past is all your brain farts are intense.

I mean, every little side-trip down memory lane is full of horrors. Your mind wanders and you end up in something boiling hot. And it’s all raw. Totally unprocessed emotional intensity.

I’ve realized your brain just does that. It just throws stuff out there. “Is it like this?” Well, kind of. “Okay, then is it more like this?” And before you know it, you’ve had to address a half dozen murders and a couple of abandonments.

Aisha left me.

I went to her room one day and she was gone and I could not find her and there was no satisfactory explanation for where she went.

Of all the nurturers in my childhood, Aisha is the most “mom.” She wasn’t a child. She was an actual grown-up and what I remember about her is all cuddly warm safety. And food. Nice food. And singing.

I don’t know when she left. I might have been seven or eight. I know it was after Annousha died, but I don’t entirely know when that was. I had an idea I knew, but I am not sure it was a correct idea.

But I really, really miss her.

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