Everybody has that story to tell.

The memory hangs out in the backseat of your mind, waiting for the right moment to chip

in the group and share your childhood fear.

The first time you were scared, the first time you felt real fear.

By the time you tell a story you once forgot, it had ever happened.

Maybe it was just a fever dream you had as a child.

Maybe the circumstances were fabricated by your adolescent imagination.

Even though you doubt it ever happened, the memory still lingers.

Held dearer than what should have been your cherished moments when you were younger.

When you think back you don't remember the first time you tied your shoes or

the first basketball hoop you made.

You think of that story.

It's there waiting almost as if it has unfinished business with you like.

You're not allowed to move on from it yet.

You tell the story with a big smile on your face.

The ones around you laughing so hard they ugly cry because your experience was so

real and relatable. It could have happened to them just as easily as it happened to you.

Once you've shared it, you feel better.

And the memory retreats back to its dim,

hibernating until the stars align and it can torment you once more.

I was at work when the opportunity presented itself.

The night shift was over and we were all in the locker room exchanging thick uniforms and

...