Prototype

Late summer 1968. I was four years old.

When my mom had her third son, she hired as a part time babysitter a girl from up the street.

I would know her for the rest of my life. At the time, she was about thirteen.

Her younger sister would one day hide in closets with me, and show me hers if I showed her mine. But that was years in the future.

One afternoon, my mom had the baby in her room.

My toddler brother was asleep in his crib.

It was time for my nap.

My babysitter got into my bed and held me.

As I drifted off, she started to wiggle. She took my right hand and put it on her.

I felt roughness, like an SOS pad.

I felt wetness.

She wiggled some more. I kept my hand very still, as she held it to the wetness.

She made noises. I looked at my brother in his crib.

I remember watching out my window as she walked back to her house.