Dragging Me Backwards
by Adena M’lynn They say time only moves forward— but that’s a lie my body knows better than my brain. Because some days, I swear I feel the hands of yesterday wrapped around my ankles, dragging me backwards through years I worked hard to outrun. I’m grown now… with bills and keys and a mailbox full of things that pretend I’m whole. But inside, there’s still that small girl with knees pressed into carpet, breathing like she’s praying, counting the seconds between footsteps in the hallway like her life depends on getting to ten before the doorknob turns. And it always turned before she got to ten. Memory is a cruel magician— pulling me onto the stage, spotlight hot against my cheeks, whispering “Watch closely.” Then it saws me in half again. Suddenly I’m back there, in the house where shadows knew my name. But not all of it was shadow. Because sometimes— right in the middle of the terror— a softer memory slips in, like mercy with a scent. Strawberry soap. My Nana’s hands was...
