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My first memories are warmth and darkness, being pampered, fighting for space with my brothers and sisters. I have the sound of the rain through the sliding door, scratching the windows of the house, heard but not yet seen. I have the tactile memory of a battalion of ants, leaving their flooded home for the kitchen and crossing over my hands in their fugue.
Suddenly, it was spring. We were already jumping on chairs and running under tables, sleeping on the sofas while the adults were busy with their papers and screens. They took us out one sunny afternoon to get acquainted with the sun. It was also my first experience of grass. New people stopped by to see us, and we became instant celebrities. Children of every color and shape, speaking in different languages, rushed in to play with us and watch us live. They brought their siblings, friends and parents. My recluse home was transformed into an open house with a constant flow of admirers. Because Elena was with us for most of the day, she was in charge of letting people in and out. She also cooked cookies and muffins and the tiny people ate them and stayed to play with the toy cars Jack was collecting.
In the evening, desperate parents looking for their kids came to the house and grabbed them against their will. I really believed we were some kind of royalty although in occasions I felt fatigued and scared and left crying for my mother.
Once we grew up enough to take walks through the neighborhood, they followed us to the playgrounds and gardens around the school, engrossing their lines as we advanced, calling for Eloisa. They also talked about taking my siblings and I knew before my mother told me that we could not live together any longer.