For some reason, I have this vivid childhood something- I feel like it was a dream, obviously it was a dream. But then why does it feel like a memory?
It goes like this. Suddenly, my eyes open, and I start to pitter-patter around my house. I know I must have been very young, because I was in the first house I had ever lived, and my parents were together.
I had started in my old room- maybe there was a wooden crib and maybe there wasn't, but the real anchor to this almost 30-year-old picture in my head was this small, stuffed dog. A German Shepherd named Nero, because I called him that after my grandparents' dog.
The stuffed version of Nero had a blue, 1st place ribbon on his chest. He must have been a showdog. I have no idea where he came from.
As I pitter-pattered, I carried Nero in my hand. Room-to-room, exploring and examining the surroundings, the sound of my parents' and my big brother's voice coming in and out of focus. The part of this memory or dream or completely imagined event that makes me question its validity is the credits.
A first-person perspective, establishing shot, and credits rolling purposefully in yellow letters across the bottom. No memory of what they said, perhaps something like "and introducing Tee".
That would be me, and this has since been the perceivable start to my life. The beginning of a film from a third person perspective, with a running time of however long.
Here I am.