That image - of a little child being suffocated, or almost suffocated, by others who thought the whole thing was a game - melded with the furtive nocturnal slugs, and my solitary pacing and singing, and the separate, claustrophobic stairway, and the charmless abstract painting, and the gold-framed mirror, and the slithery green satin bedspread, and became inseperable from them. It wasn't a cheerful composite. As a memory, it is more like a fog bank than a sunlit meadow. Yet I think of that period as having been a happy time in my life.Happy is the wrong word. Important.
The passage reflects a complex memory of childhood, where an image of a child nearly suffocated by other children is intertwined with various objects and atmospheres, creating a vivid yet unsettling recollection. The atmosphere is described as claustrophobic, filled with mundane items that evoke a sense of discomfort rather than joy, indicating that these memories are heavy and layered, resembling fog more than sunshine.
Despite the dark undertones of this memory, the author acknowledges a sense of importance about that time in her life. While it may not be labeled as happy, it contributes to personal growth and the nuances of her experience, suggesting that even difficult memories can hold significant value in shaping one's identity and understanding of happiness.
