I remember feeling— for a moment— like I belonged to something joyful.
Amanda found me in the hallway while my mother was distracted and my father was pretending not to hear anything over the music. She stood there with that particular smile she used when she had a plan.
“Come here,” she said. “I want to show you something.”
I followed her because that’s what younger sisters do. Because a part of you always believes there’s a chance this time will be different. That this time she will include you, like you’ve always wanted.
She led me toward the back of the house, to the storage room near the laundry area. It was a narrow space filled with boxes and old coats and holiday decorations shoved into corners. The air smelled like dust and detergent. She pointed to a shelf high up.
“Can you grab that for me?” she asked, pointing to a plastic tub.
I stood on my toes and reached. My fingers brushed the edge of the lid. I leaned forward.
The door closed.
The lock clicked.
I remember the sound more than anything else. Sharp. Final. Like the snap of a trap.
At first I thought it was a joke. I laughed and knocked on the door. “Amanda!” I called, giggling because I still believed in the rules of play. I waited for her to laugh back, for the door to open, for her to say Got you and for us to run back to the party together.
She didn’t laugh.
The music from the party thumped through the walls. Voices rose and fell. Someone shrieked with delighted kid laughter somewhere down the hall, and it felt like the sound of a world I was suddenly locked out of.
I knocked harder. “Amanda!” I called again, this time with a thin edge of panic. I tried the handle. It didn’t move.
Time does something strange when you’re a kid and you realize no one is coming. It stretches. It gets heavy. You start bargaining with it. If I’m quiet, maybe she’ll open the door. If I cry, maybe someone will hear me. If I knock just right, maybe the lock will magically break.
I don’t know how long I was in there. Ten minutes can feel like an hour when you’re seven and the dark is pressing in and the air feels thick.