Strange Valentine

I went to Sunrise Valley for one week in 1990. Some might remember me- a girl who abruptly showed up on a Monday and disappeared on a Friday. I was probably dressed in TJMax clothes to replace my hand-me-downs which were either left behind or worn too thin. Clothes that I had worn exploring the woods, watching my grandma cook, hugging my father, and playing with my cousins.

The teachers might have sent a note home to parents that night asking them to include me on their children’s valentine’s list. On Wednesday, like all of the other kids, I had a paper bag on my desk filled with valentine’s. I did not know these people- their kindness felt unexpected and strange. I was still unsteady and traumatized from the recent events. I was embarrassed because I did not have anything for them.

In a short period of time, anxiety had become a companion who guarded me closely- snatching words out of my mouth and placing insane thoughts into my head… Were they making fun of me?

I had become a quiet child. This would be my 4th school of my 4th grade year (would attend 1 more school that year). The only person I knew in my life now was my sister. Everyone and everything around us was strange and felt wrong. I kept telling myself that it was temporary and we would go back home. I was observant and cautious. I was ready to make an escape.

We walked in a single file line down colorful hallways towards the gym. We played. We walked back to the classroom. That’s all that I remember of that school. A colorful hallway, a gym, and a bag full of valentine’s.

I would see that school again four years and five schools later. My mother would divorce & remarry my step-father and we would eventually end up back in this same place. But, I would not make the connection until years later. When I was 9, I only knew that I lived in Virginia and my mother never told me that we were moving back to the same place we had started. I would finally open up to a few friends about my experiences and we would have this profound, mind-blowing experience of this shared memory.

I had become friends with kids in that class who remembered a girl who showed up during Valentine’s day. It was like walking into a thrift store and finding something that had been stolen from me years before. This belonged to me.