I may be four, five or six. There is a hood over my face. It feels burlap. It is either a burlap bag or a hood made out of burlap. It scratches my cheeks and nose. It is hot. There is no air flow because it is tied around my neck. It smells of dirt like an old potato sack.
I can faintly sense that my hands are tied. I am in a sitting position. I think my hands may be tied behind my back because my shoulders and neck are sore as if they have been too long in this awkward position. I cannot see below my head and neck. The image becomes mist. I am sensory aware of the pain in my shoulders and arms.
My heart is thumping. Rapid beats that quicken instantly. The panic is rising. It is the panic that explodes right before my body would begin to fight and struggle.
Another memory of wet sheets/cloths over my face that are so wet I am gasping for air.
That is all I get of these memories. Just fleeting visuals and rapid heart beats. Sweaty palms and bricks on my chest. When I visually see hoods in photos or any other place, a feeling of anxiety and panic begin to rise from my stomach. When I think of my face being covered… Panic.
My mind screams for the rest of it. “Come on! Give it to me!” I want to know why? Where? What happened? Why was I tied and hooded?
It is so frustrating to want to know, needing the closure of the memory. Yet my body is replying “Not yet. You’re not ready.”
What could be worse then what I already know?
And so I wait for the rest to emerge.