I knew I wasn’t supposed to go under there. But 7 years olds don’t always do what they’re told. I thought it would be a great place to hide during hide and seek or Saturday morning before we kids got our chore assignments. The chair had a funky smell: a mix of sweat, old upholstery and a cologne my dad stoped wearing at least a year prior. It was brown and plaid, plush and scratchy. It sat next to the couch (same pattern), but the couch wasn’t nearly as fun to crawl under. Too many dust bunnies, and you couldn’t see the TV well from under there.

No, the chair had it all. At least when it was reclined. This particular evening, my plan was to take a nap under it. Closed off by myself, hopefully hidden from my mother, in case she happened to be in the mood to find fault in everything and everyone. I made a tiny pallet, had my favorite book (Ramona Quimby, Age 8), stealthily crawled under my dads feet and settled in. Sleep was just about to claim me when I heard a soft click. My dad had gotten up and clicked the footrest into place, which meant I was stuck. There was no way in or out, safely at least, when the chair was a chair. Panic started to rise. Do I say something, exposing myself to harm in order to be saved? Or do I wait until he sits down again? Will he sit down again? I leave my thoughts for a moment because I swore I heard…..laughing? I tried to look through the tiny slit in the side where the footrest connects and I see a bit of my sister’s nightgown. I called her name.

“Help me!” I whispered as loudly as I could.

“Only if you promise to pack my lunch every day for a week and do my chores this weekend”, she responded.

“Ok fine just get me out!”

She pulled the lever and I got out of there as fast as I could. Too fast. I left Ramona behind.