A SUITCASE AND A SONG CHILDHOOD

De: KITTY MAE REED

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

When it came time to write my memoir, I faced a dilemma. After some research, I discovered that most writers don’t start their memoirs at birth and cover everything up to the present day. Instead, they focus on pivotal moments or key themes. The problem for me was that my memoir is a series, and I wasn’t sure how to structure it.
So, I made an unconventional choice:

• (Book 1) A Suitcase and a Song starts at age 15.
• (Book 2) A Suitcase and a Song Deux follows, covering ages 18 to 23.
• (Book 3) A Suitcase and a Song: Childhood takes us back to my early years, from birth to age 10.
• (Book 4) A Suitcase and a Song: Childhood Deux continues my childhood story, leading into the events of Book 1 when I turn 15.

It’s a backward approach, I know! But in the end, it felt right.
Here’s the thing: If you’re the type of reader who prefers to start from the very beginning, you can start with (Book 3) A Suitcase and a Song: Childhood, then move on to (Book 4) A Suitcase and a Song: Childhood Deux, followed by (Book 1) A Suitcase and a Song, and finally, (Book 2) A Suitcase and a Song Deux.
Personally, I prefer to start at the beginning and build toward the climax, but that’s just my reading style. The choice is yours!
These are all the books in the A Suitcase and a Song Coming-of-Age Memoir Series:

• (Book 1) A Suitcase and a Song (Ages 15-17): A lot happens here, detailing struggles with young love and tragedy.
• (Book 2) A Suitcase and a Song Deux (Ages 18-23): This continues the story with a happy ending.
• (Book 3) A Suitcase and a Song: Childhood (Birth to Age 10): The story begins with a tragic and exhilarating childhood.
• (Book 4) A Suitcase and a Song: Childhood Deux (Birth to Age 15): This book continues the childhood story and leads into Book 1 when I turn 15.

(Book 4 of 4)
A SUITCASE AND A SONG CHILDHOOD DEUX
Every day after school, Connie would walk me halfway home, her long stride matching my quicker pace. But on my thirteenth birthday, April 6th, 1983, she insisted on walking me all the way home.
“Thank you, Connie,” I said, grateful. “This means a lot.”
We were just a block from 51st and Unisped when the conversation turned to birthdays. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “The one thing I wanted—a cat—didn’t happen. Mom said I wasn’t ready, so it’s been postponed.”
Connie nodded, listening intently. But just then, a car sped toward us, breaking the peaceful afternoon. We froze, barely avoiding it as it screeched to a halt. The driver pulled over, and to my surprise, it was my mom with Grandma Mena.
“Hi, Grandma, hi, Mom. What’s this surprise?” I asked, smiling.
“Hello, Connie! How’ve you been?” Mom greeted.
Connie, caught off guard, replied, “I’m doing well, Mrs. Johnson. Hello, Mrs. Jones.”
Grandma Mena smiled, and Mom explained, “We were out looking at garage sales and spotted you two. Need a lift?”
I declined. “No, Connie’s walking me home.”
Mom insisted, “Take this coat with you.”
“I’m not cold,” I protested.
“Take it now!” Mom commanded.
I reluctantly accepted the coat, annoyed, but didn’t argue. As I took it, I felt something strange inside. Just as I was about to question it, a soft meow echoed, freezing me in my tracks.