It Happened That Summer
I tiptoed into the house and up the stairs. The
house no longer seemed homey, but a hotel room you'd been
staying at for awhile and were about to check out of.
My throat clogged, my eyes burned, and my image began to blur.
After the agonizing moment when you know you're about to cry,
the tears streamed down my rosy cheeks. I dragged the dusty L.L.
Bean duffel bag out from the corner of the closet and began
tossing heaps of clothes into it.
I grabbed every pair of shoes I could find, all my perfumes and
body washes, jewelry, a few of my favorite books, and my piggy
bank which I hadn't opened for a year and half. Hopefully the
contents within it would be worth taking along.
I snatched a pillow and a blanket, but they didn't fit in the
duffel so I held them by hand. But I never felt satisfied with my
packing. There was always that vacant feeling in my stomach that
knew I was forgetting something critical.
But I couldn't put my finger on what that something might be.
So I hurried out, feeling suddenly breathless and almost a little
Halfway out the door, I realized I needed to leave a note. It
would reassure them, despite the completely horrible
circumstances they would be found in tomorrow morning.
I grabbed the notepad and began to write.