They got out of the big, white newsvan and walked slowly along the old train tracks outside of town. The little girl didn't know how long it would be until they got there. She knew they were looking for a train car, but not why — that was not unusual. They were always looking for something for her father's job.
Before they left, her mother had put her in nice clothes, pants and a tunic with ruffles, a bow. The father picked her up to save her clothes from the dirt. He was carrying his heavy camera gear, but that didn't seem to faze him. It was effortless, so easy for him to scoop her up, too. She felt weightless She always felt weightless around Dad.
She heard noises she didn't understand and knew they were getting close. Then, people talking. She could see the knot of them that surrounded the train car before she knew what was inside.
He handed her an apple.
It was for the elephant, he explained. It was an elephant inside the train car.
This is my earliest memory.
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