Tell Me a Story

Tell me a storyTell me a story. I must have said those words to Aunt Gladys a million times. She always seemed to have time to take a Little Golden Library Book from the bookcase in my bedroom and read me a story. I loved those Little Golden Library Books. I loved the way they were all the same size, the way the spines of the books (all golden) lined up on the shelves, the way they felt has a ran my finger along them, the randomness of which book Aunt Gladys would pull out to read for me. She had bought every one of those books for me. Every time we went out together I came home with a fresh Little Golden Library Book. Tell me where they all are now. Gone. Gone with the Madame Alexander Dolls and the Tiny Tears Dolls and the twin bed with the rose petal bed spread. Tell me why I remember all of those childhood objects so clearly. Tell me why the story of Timmy eating the pretzels he was going to give his mother for her birthday is so clear. I remember how he came upon a field of yellow flowers and picked them for her. Tell me – where have all the flowers gone. My mother loved that song. She also loved Puff the Magic Dragon and These Boots are Made for Walking. And she loved the Beatles. She stood in line with Addie and me to see Hard Days Night at the Beach Theatre. We were in line for hours then we watched the movie over and over. The theatre management didn’t clear the theatre after each showing like they do today. I know we watched it four times that day. When Addie tells the story she says twelve but that can’t be right. Mama couldn’t have gone without a drink and a cigarette that long. Tell me why my sister and I have never been close.


Filed under Breadcrumbs

4 responses to “Tell Me a Story

  1. Squirrelbasket

    Brilliant. And, for me, a vital writing lesson. You have shown me my current lengthy note-making about my childhood is not, as I feared, a way of avoiding writing that novel/short story I always mean to write, but a way of mining for precious materials.
    You remind me of so many lost things.
    But you also remind me that private memories and objects are not enough by themselves – you have to have a punchline at the end…

    • brendamantz

      Thank you for taking the time to comment. If you are like me almost everything you write – everything you think – could be a springboard to story. Brenda

  2. Carol Welch

    Beautiful….and rich. I read between the lines the challenges of life and childhood, the wonderment and innocence, and a part of us that still wonders. It leaves a sense of nostalgia and a bittersweet.

    Thank you for sharing. I followed your link from Twitter.

    ~carol welch / 1person

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