Ice Cream and Boot Heels

“Everybody in the car, let’s go!”

Sounds of the front door closing, being locked drifted up through the open window. Giggling from the driveway, then the station wagon starting up and down the quiet neighborhood street.

I sat, wedged in the back of the closet with a boot heel poking me in the left kidney. I was alone in the dark, hugging what felt like a huge, limp puppy (but was probably my best friend’s favorite raccoon coat). I was doing this during my own birthday party. While I’d originally hidden in the closet to get away for a few minutes, nobody noticed I’d left, and then they’d gone to 31 Flavors, and now I was alone, a little frightened of the dark, and wishing I had some ice cream. I suspected I was developing a fantastic bruise on my backside. One of the sweaters dangling in the shadows above my head seemed closer every time I peeked, like it was preparing to reach for me. I was officially pathetic.

How would I get myself out of this? If they didn’t notice me missing before, they’d notice for sure when they got back. Or worse, what if they never found me? I’d have to sleep here all night. I’m already not getting ice cream.

Well, I may be invisible, but I have standards. How dare they not miss me? I may not be the life of the party, but it’s my party. My birthday. I’m staying here until someone finds me. And then, boy, will they feel bad. My righteous outrage will burn from my eyes, bringing them to their knees with realization of their ignorance, their insensitivity to those cursed with quiet personalities, their inability to recognize the value in the unique. I flapped the arms of the raccoon coat in the dark, punctuating my internal speech with forceful jabbing motions.

This is the beginning of a new movement in America. Monuments will be built to this event; skits will be clumsily acted out in third-grade classes everywhere, reenacting this very moment. My voice will ring from the—Sshh. Wait. Was that the door? Okay, get ready. They’ll come up here, looking for me, and I have to be ready. No going back, now. Be strong, hold firm. Outrage! Outrage! Outra—

“Donna? Where are you? Honey?”

Footsteps came into the room; the light flicked on, and shone a few inches into the closet. A few more inches and I’d be exposed. I pulled my feet in closer. My mother’s footsteps receded down the hall.

I should’ve said something. Now I’m in trouble. She’ll be mad. Oh, blessed darkness, hold me a little while longer. It’s so peaceful here. I love this closet. In the closet, I’m a revolutionary. A soldier for justice. Strong, brave, eloquent. If I leave, the spell is broken. There may be ice cream out there, but in here I have the jab of the boot heel to remind me I’m a hero. I started to cry a little.