Memory.

The minute it flashes onto the television screen, my mind slams into reverse, stopping at a cell storing a memory from decades ago. Sitting in a bright orange, molded-plastic booth with my parents, my younger sister and I reach for a steaming hot, wrapped sandwich from a tray. Peeling back the paper, I feast my eyes on that golden fried square and a corner of orange cheese peeking out between the slices of a soft bun. I can’t recall the last time I ate a Filet-O-Fish sandwich, but the sights and smells and taste are etched in my fondest memories of family.