In one of my earliest memories, I'm two or three years old. I'm standing on the porch of our townhouse, trying to walk down the stairs. I want to visit my best friend, who lives across the street.
I've been told I cried for her after we moved away, when I thought our new home was just temporary.
At the time it was just her and her younger brother, but she went on to become the eldest of many siblings. I think of them every now and then. I wonder how they’re doing. I wonder what it must’ve been like to grow up in such a large family, if there were alliances and rivalries and favourites.
Their house always smelled of coffee, that’s one other thing I remember from later visits. I come from a family of tea drinkers, something that doesn’t leave a fragrance throughout a house. I remember thinking that the lingering smell of coffee was the most comforting, homey smell in the world.