Confirming the Memory

Memories of events that really happened and memories of dreams that we had long ago can blur together. For those who've spent much time writing fiction, the pitfall of lunacy is far too easy to imagine: what was life and what was plot? Well, one memory that I've always questioned, based on the facts therein, has been confirmed.

In my early double-digits, I went to piano camp in Vermont, and one memory from that time is of everybody walking around with their blankets wrapped around themselves. Sitting on the stairs, sitting on the screened-in porch, like cloth cocoons with heads sticking out. Since it would have been summer, however, the memory carried a touch of implausibility when it resurfaced in my twenties.

Well, it's almost summer in Rhode Island, now, and it's pretty darn cold. Guess I should trust my rememberer.