The closet in my childhood bedroom had hardwood floors, double sliding wooden doors, and jumbles of items on the floor. Shoes, certainly, and games and toys and things that had slipped from hangers, but I could squeeze myself into a corner and shut the doors and be cocooned in darkness. A small crack of light shone in the space between the bottom of the door and the floor, but it was easy enough to shove something up against it so the darkness was complete. Coats and clothes brushed the top of my head and I could ease myself back behind them to place another layer between me and the rest of the house. With my back against the wall I was protected by the clothes, the darkness, the closet door, the bedroom, and the bedroom door. I’d open and shut my eyes, noticing the lack of difference. I was in blackness either way, making myself smaller and smaller, wondering if anyone knew where I was, wondering if they’d wonder, wondering which I hoped for more: anonymity, or discovery?
Amy Hood runs, reads, writes, and creates in Southern Rhode Island. She is passionate about inspiring artists of all ages and has recently launched Art Together, an e-zine for children and adults. You can learn all about it at Amy Hood Arts.