funk in deep freeze

The Safe Box

29 Dec 2004 Leave a Comment

by meganfinley in Uncategorized

I remember opening the door to the tiny closet in which my mother hung her dresses. I would part the heavy skirts and crawl through till I hit the back wall, letting the dresses fall closed behind me with a heavy swish. In the dark I would feel around for the small safe box she kept hidden in the back of her closet. Sometimes when she got ready to go out I would watch her pull it out, twist the big clicking knob and open it up, revealing piles of treasure. Pearls, diamonds, gold and platinum all sparkling as if they were soaking up all the light they could get, knowing that soon they would be plunged back into darkness. It’s like they knew this was their moment. Now, with my mother gone out of the house, her safe would be my perch. I would sit on it, curling my knees up underneath my chin, angling my body so that none of the light creeping in under the dress skirts would touched me. And I would be totally hidden by her clothes, smelling her comforting smell, touching the expensive fabrics and feeling protected when she was away. As if the crushed velvet and lace were force fields. That safe grounded me. The feeling of the cold hard metal under my butt reminded me that mom would be back. She’d find me eventually because she would always return her jewels to their home no matter what.