Memories and Where to Keep Them By Nat Lyle Room’s Creative Non-Fiction Contest 2020. Before my mother left, when my mind was still small and pink like two fists held together, we saw a miracle in the sky. I was still allowed outside then. Whenever I wanted. The day was clear and the sky stretched for miles like blue canvas. Outside on our white porch hammock I splayed my stubby limbs for balance. I had to be careful on its webbing; the netting hung slack and my Bambi legs and arms poked too easily through. One moment I’d be perfectly suspended, the next on the ground. I was very deliberate about this whole exercise; white knuckled and gripping each braided end, I balanced like a finch on a powerline.