Coming Out of the Closet

Sep 3, 2010 by classicgrrl

Saturday, September 4 at 2:00 PM Ink Tank will be at the Contemporary Art Center where members of the Writing Salon, Poetry Salon, and Drop Inn Center will be reading.

*I opened my eyes and immediately felt a trickle down my side. I peeled the nightgown from my chest and realized how hard it had gotten to breathe. The half-rolled sleeping bag was so slick with sweat I had to roll off it to get to my knees.

I stopped. I listened. The only sound heard through the drywall was the ticking clock hanging on the wall above the console in the living room. Slowly the closet door rollers bumbled back and I crawled out to the welcoming invite of the air conditioning.

Peeling away more of my nightgown, I made my fingers like a comb and used them to remove my wet matted hair from my face. I pulled up the gown’s edge and peeled away the elastic of my panties to let my skin breathe.

This had been a bad one. My room was nearly pitch-black but I could still make out the door handle. I bit my lip hard and slowly turned the knob gently cracking the door open. Mom was snoring in her bedroom finally having cried herself to sleep. I hated that she always slept with her door open. I stood up, slid out the cracked door, and padded my way across the hall to the bathroom. I would flush when I was done cleaning up the kitchen because I knew it would wake mom up; but she would just assume I had gotten up to go to the bathroom.

The kitchen bathed in the moonlight, thankfully making it easy to locate the trashcan beneath the kitchen sink and avoid the broken dishes strewn about the floor. I again tugged very carefully to unhitch the latch without making noise and lifted the can from its post. Surveying the minefield, I decided the best plan of attack was to begin at the sink and make my way toward the hutch on the other side; I would check under the table last.

When you pick up broken shards, you must be careful to use your index finger and your thumb to avoid the edges and get in the middle of the piece. You cannot just throw them into the trashcan; our cans were always empty and a broken dish piece makes a “plunk” sound the same as a stone when hitting deep water. The pieces have to be placed in the can.

I moved around the small kitchen slowly, the barely padded carpet leaving red marks on my knees while trying to move my nightgown. Gather gown in hand, crawl two steps, drop nightgown, move can. Use other hand for prop. Pick up piece, hold breath place in can.

I made it all the way to the hutch when the florescent blinded me overhead. “What are you doing?” I froze. How did she wake up? I had been quieter tonight than ever. I looked up into her war torn face and frantically searched my 8-year-old brain for the right words to string together. “Go back to bed.” “Uh….” My eyes darted to the black plastic bin. I had no idea what to do with the trash can. She sternly grabbed it. I leapt from my kneeled position and dashed from the room halting in front of my bedroom door. I still needed to flush. I glanced around my shoulder; she had moved to the kitchen sink and if I could not see her then she could not see me. I flushed and quickly tiptoed my way back to the safety of my bedroom: as the door latched, I could hear her running the vacuum. She could not scold me for ‘forgetting’ to flush.

I was still a little drenched from falling asleep in the closet and opened up my underwear drawer. “Be nice to change,” I thought but peering at the rows of neatly folded cotton underwear made me realize that she would know I had worn an extra pair, which would out my secret place in the closet on my sleeping bag. I loved that bag. I used it for Girl Scouts. I pushed the drawer shut.

My closet door was still open; she would notice that in the morning. I carefully pulled the door shut and laid down on my bed. I silently ruminated to my teddy bear. What had I done to wake her up? What mistake had I made? How could I be so stupid?

I had done everything correct – waited until the shouting started before getting in the closet. They cannot hear me move around when they are shouting. I waited to hear the dishes before covering my ears. I waited to hear the rising voices until Dad slammed the side door in leaving. I waited to hear mom crying in her room. Only then did I fall asleep. I knew I would wake up to go to the bathroom; I never worried about the closet. I rolled up the bag the way it was supposed to be before she went in when I needed it for Scouts.

Somewhere in the game, I had made a mistake. I felt my eyelids droop as I went over the steps again and again.

*Fictional account based on true events