~archangelic

Memory

I have a memory about a little microcassette recorder. My Mama had one when I was very tiny. We had moved back to Mississippi. I was so young; young enough that the memories have a halo around them, shrouding things.

I remember the tapes were so tiny, not like the big ones we put in the radio and jammed out to in the small apartment my mom got from the government.

I remember sitting on the floor of an office. Mama hands the tapes over to a man in a suit. A stodgy office with green walls and carpets.

Since I was a kid, this was always a memory about microcassettes.

This was a memory about divorce.