It was the spring and I was two, maybe three years of age. I was with a sitter. The dark of night had descended upon the corner of my world. I wanted to watch a show. The sitter turned out the lights—the television died as well. She gathered me under a heavy blue blanket.

It was dark. Black. A gap.

The door opened. Mother had returned early. I ran from the dark—a terrible taste lingered upon my tongue. Tears streamed across my cheeks as I protested the taste to my guardian. The sitter slipped through the door into the night without passing GO! and still the gap haunts me.