Closets

Closets, my earliest memory is hiding in my closet. I was terrified, I didn't want to be found. I would grab my crayons, so that I could draw a safe place on the walls. Later to be scolded by mother & father. It was as if my intuition, at 3 years old, knew of the wardrobe from the chronicles of Narnia was real. It was the only escape I knew. Flash forward, to my daughters closet in her room, she was not even a year old. There I was again, hiding. This time I knew it was for my life. I was shaking, praying you wouldn't find me. Then my youngest son spotted me, he had just turned 3 & decided talking wasn't his thing. I looked at him nervously taking my index finger to place over my lips, motioning "shhhh", he looked at me with his beautiful face and cracked a smile, then walked away to pick up a toy. I sighed a bit of comfort for his silence. Next, I heard your heavy footsteps frantically stomping throughout the house, slamming doors, and shouting in your angry voice: "you think this is funny?!?" I climbed to the top shelf of the closet, piled clothes & baby blankets on top of me as I held my breath. You stepped into the closet, I was frozen, you turned and walked away headed out of the room, relief washed over me as I remained hidden in the closet.