It is weird that my sister Megan and I have this memory. It looks like a dream, but we can remember it.
I was 5 or 6 years old when it happened. It was a warm Sunday morning. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, chatting. My brother, Manuel, was one year younger than me. 3-years old Megan was with us too. I couldn't remember how the three of us got into Mom's white car. It wasn't actually our car. One of my uncles (or was it my grandfather) had owned this small, manual mobile for many years. It wasn't surprising that it still ran smooth.
The only moment I can recall is when action crashed in. Megan pressed the accelerator with two chubby hands. Manuel was sitting beside me, and I ended up stirring the wheel. You wouldn't believe this, but it's true. Megan and I bring this memory back quite a few times, and we remember the car rolling off the white iron gates, down the steep slope, turned left, and down the hill. I also can picture Mom's shrill scream from the back. I swiveled my head, and a woman with a face as white as an A4 paper waving her arms like spaghetti as she chased after the car. As I think about it, it looks scary. But in my child perspective, I would thought of this as an exciting adventure.
Mom must have left her keys in the ignition that caused us to start the engine and go crazy. Imagine three naughty children (well, two actually, Manuel had no idea that he was involved) drove our only car down the uneven road of the neighbourhood.
Megan and I tell Mom that this memory is real. But she keeps shaking her head, saying that she can't remember anything about it. It might have been a false memory, something a human brain can do to trick a human. But as far as I can picture, I have a feeling that this incident...feels real.
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