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my mom had this box in top of her closet where she kept old stuff, photos, letters, things like that.

now i knew you could crop things out of a photograph, but it suddenly occureed to me that my mom could be leaving things out of the story altoghter.

Anyways, that day in class, i decided to look in the box for myself, to see what she had left out, saving for later,or maybe was never going to tell me.

when i opened the box, i felt like i was on the brink of discovery, but she kept such random stuff.

if you were an archeologist,what would you make of shells and beach glass? i guessed you'd figure she liked the ocean. there were a lot of photos of her amanda.

Amanda looked like she could've been one of my friends and it was weird to think that now she should be nearly as old as my mom, but, instead, she looked like me. Amanda would never get any older. she'd always be a teenager.i'd never thought about death, how it freezes you in time,but there it was. in three years, I'd be older than amanda ever was.

And then there were other things:Postcards,ticket stubs,photos of my mom standing with some guy,his arm around her.None of me. which kind of took my breath away

Not one. Didn't I count? or if i went further down through the layers, none of my grandma.None of my moms childhood. there were some of her with the other half of the picture cut away. Or in a dress with some guy, but she'd burn a hole where his face was supposed to be. My dad i guessed.

Open up, mom, i wanted to say, let me in. And i actually saw myself like a heart surgeon, my hands wrenching open her rib cage. i saw her bloody heart, and still, i didn't know her. So this is what i did, i left her a note.It said: i belong in here. if this is your history, where am i? i don't see one baby picture. not one lock of hair. no baby shoes. Nothing.

my mom had this box in top of her closet where she kept old stuff, photos, letters, things like that.

now i knew you could crop things out of a photograph, but it suddenly occureed to me that my mom could be leaving things out of the story altoghter.

Anyways, that day in class, i decided to look in the box for myself, to see what she had left out, saving for later,or maybe was never going to tell me.

when i opened the box, i felt like i was on the brink of discovery, but she kept such random stuff.

if you were an archeologist,what would you make of shells and beach glass? i guessed you'd figure she liked the ocean. there were a lot of photos of her amanda.

Amanda looked like she could've been one of my friends and it was weird to think that now she should be nearly as old as my mom, but, instead, she looked like me. Amanda would never get any older. she'd always be a teenager.i'd never thought about death, how it freezes you in time,but there it was. in three years, I'd be older than amanda ever was.

And then there were other things:Postcards,ticket stubs,photos of my mom standing with some guy,his arm around her.None of me. which kind of took my breath away

Not one. Didn't I count? or if i went further down through the layers, none of my grandma.None of my moms childhood. there were some of her with the other half of the picture cut away. Or in a dress with some guy, but she'd burn a hole where his face was supposed to be. My dad i guessed.

Open up, mom, i wanted to say, let me in. And i actually saw myself like a heart surgeon, my hands wrenching open her rib cage. i saw her bloody heart, and still, i didn't know her. So this is what i did, i left her a note.It said: i belong in here. if this is your history, where am i? i don't see one baby picture. not one lock of hair. no baby shoes. Nothing.