I remember at 4 years old, walking through an unfamiliar house. It was loud and dark. Where’s my mom? I remember thinking. I don’t recall speaking aloud. I walked from room to room, the lights were off. I panicked and picked up my pace, searching. At the end of a dark hallway, a room was illuminated. I want my mom, my mind yelled. I entered the kitchen and found her. My brothers and I disliked visits to that house. I called it the black house. Recently, I found an old photo and discovered that the house it was painted white.
E.M. Panos is addicted to reading and traveling. She lives in Salem with her wife.