We crawled up onto the table, on either side of the dark-haired man with a mustache. He and I giggled as we watched him scribbling down words on a piece of paper. An address? Of course, the return address in the top corner.
My 3 year old mind didn't process the words. I memorized it, as if I knew that someday it would be a key to something…
I knew I had gotten too comfortable, and it floated away. I remembered the scribbled letters. I tried to spell out the word. I almost had it. We hit a bump, and the name echoed in my head. I'd heard it a gazillion times when I was little. I leaned forward and tapped the napping Norma on the shoulder.
"I know where to go," I whispered.
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