6.23.2004
Locked Out
I recall my junior high best friend's disgruntled single mother freaking out one day when a door in the house was locked. "You know how I feel about locked doors," she sneered at her daughter. Wasn't sure if she was just pissed off, or had some sort of traumatic association with being blocked from entrance.
I wondered today if I have a thing with locked doors. I am constantly locked out of my house, due to a combination of 1) my family being deaf 2) my family being disorganized and 3) me being ditzy and loosing keys/wallets regularly.
So I dug back into childhood, remembering how I used to lock myself in the closet and go nuts. But I think it's moreso an invisibility issue: the fear of being forgotten.
One day, when I was just a toddler, I disappeared. My faint memory is as such: no one is paying attention to me. I crawl all the way to the attic, then keep crawling until I reach a tiny corner where I wait and wait. Do I yell "Help!" ? Do I cry for my parents? All I recall is waiting to see if anyone noticed by absence.
My father recalls tearing apart the house looking for the daughter that was just under his feet. He calls and calls my name, to no avail. Finally, he finds me in the attic, on top of a huge ladder. He had no idea how I had gotten up there with my quaint size.
Further hiding included hiding under the bed and running away. That's what I use now if needed: I sneak down to a tiny wooded passage inbetween two streets on my block. Amidst the overgrown poison ivy and crushed beer cans, I prop myself on this pyramid of three jumbo concrete blocks and write.
Although with my father, it's easy to be invisible. Often when I call to check the locale of my sister, he's not even sure if she's in the house or not, despite being home all day. My mother, on the other hand, cannot be in the same forty feet of someone without yapping. The toll for entering the kitchen in the morning to get a cup of tea, if she's around, is listening to stories of my dog ("Riley heard something in the basement and went down there last night." silence.) or interviews.
I wondered today if I have a thing with locked doors. I am constantly locked out of my house, due to a combination of 1) my family being deaf 2) my family being disorganized and 3) me being ditzy and loosing keys/wallets regularly.
So I dug back into childhood, remembering how I used to lock myself in the closet and go nuts. But I think it's moreso an invisibility issue: the fear of being forgotten.
One day, when I was just a toddler, I disappeared. My faint memory is as such: no one is paying attention to me. I crawl all the way to the attic, then keep crawling until I reach a tiny corner where I wait and wait. Do I yell "Help!" ? Do I cry for my parents? All I recall is waiting to see if anyone noticed by absence.
My father recalls tearing apart the house looking for the daughter that was just under his feet. He calls and calls my name, to no avail. Finally, he finds me in the attic, on top of a huge ladder. He had no idea how I had gotten up there with my quaint size.
Further hiding included hiding under the bed and running away. That's what I use now if needed: I sneak down to a tiny wooded passage inbetween two streets on my block. Amidst the overgrown poison ivy and crushed beer cans, I prop myself on this pyramid of three jumbo concrete blocks and write.
Although with my father, it's easy to be invisible. Often when I call to check the locale of my sister, he's not even sure if she's in the house or not, despite being home all day. My mother, on the other hand, cannot be in the same forty feet of someone without yapping. The toll for entering the kitchen in the morning to get a cup of tea, if she's around, is listening to stories of my dog ("Riley heard something in the basement and went down there last night." silence.) or interviews.
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