I remember my excitement July 5th.

I remember hugging my stuffed animal Maggie like a security blanket.

I remember them shouting, "What's your name?"

I remember crying back, "I don't know."

I remember the sight of the ambulance ceiling fading in and out like the pitch of the siren growing higher and lower.

I remember the inside of the MRI machine, its sound thundering around me.

I remember my mom squeezing my hand as the tears ran down my face, and I tried to get out.

I remember waking up to an IV in my arm.

I remember asking what day it was the next morning in uterly blank confusion.

I remember walking into school as the new girl with the scar on her cheek, and my only friend in the class seated what felt like miles away.

I remember being told to stand up in front of the class and recount each horrifying detail in show and tell.

I remember Dad sitting on the court chair and swearing on the Bible.

I remember being confused and afraid, because to a little girl, the stand is where the bad guys sit."

I remember the dreams under morphine, plagueing my every thought, even when awake.

I remember smiling last night, like it never happened.