Did you ever have memories from 
your distant past, that only 
recently you realised were nasty and
unpleasant, masquerading into 
trappings of innocent childhood.
A light and empty room greeted me 
upon my arrival to our new home. 
Driven by my parents commotions 
we just have moved 
half across the country, to replace a miniature room in a crowded
city with this spacious and luminous appartment.
There was very little furniture so that sounds and voices 
reverberated freely from the walls and the ceiling,
making our new place even more mysterious.
I was six years young, and my fresh,
uncluttered synapses were easily amused. Everything around me
was just spectacular like in a little personal theater: 
bags, suitcases scattered around the floor, a
big wide window without blinds and wind behind it howling 
some sad and beautiful melody. Adjoining room
was a bit darker and had a balcony overlooking the courtyard below,
which I could see through an opening in the railing.

I hastily ran towards promising something down the endless stairs, 
through the doorway, into the entrance hall, out of the building, 
around the red brick corner. A playground appeared with a sandbox 
filled with yellow sand. Later I found out that it was yellow from
cats piss. It was vacant then, but just in a short distance away,
on a hill across the road, there were two playing children,
a boy and a girl, beautiful and angelic in my magical vision.
The boy was busy picking a handful of wild flowers,
and a girl already had some
of the flower adorning her hair. 

I approach them with thoughts of what I should say 
to join their play. The girl picked up a not so small piece of rock
from the ground and threw it right into my face.
As it struck my forehead me, she started to laugh 
and I started crying. Magical vision have been broken to pieces.
And that is the first moment when I started growing up. 
Do we grow up with pain?

---- memory-sergeon slices and dices 
          to fast forward through some 20 years ----
A phone call...
I could not believe how familiar was his voice. 
Sounds from distant past, red bricks, yellow sand, 
two playing children. One of them was on the other end of a line

(Me) - Yes, I am from the same town. What? 
Same yard? We grew up together, did we?
Sorry, can't remember. Could you call me sometime later? 
I am kind of busy right now. Maybe, after work, 
or better tomorrow, OK? Good luck, bye!

I felt like a bastard, because the guy was from the same town,
looking for a support in this big city, so foreign and alien for him.
At the same time I honestly did not want to remember my first pain, 
probably most excruciating one in my entire life. 
And however curious I am about whatever happened 
to that girl from the playground, I am glad we've never met.
So... forget childhood.