Dear Reader,
In the upcoming weeks I'll be featuring some Honorable Mention entries from this year's Write a DearReader Contest. People put their heart and soul into their writing, and I like to share as many great entries as I can. If you missed reading any of the first, second or third place finishers, you can find them here.
Congratulations to every single person who took the challenge and entered this year's writing contest. Thank you for opening your hearts and sharing your stories. It was a privilege to read them.
-- Suzanne Beecher
KEYS TO REMEMBERING
One fateful, cool October day, I decided to zip to the street-side mailbox solo and barefoot, leaving my twenty-month-old daughter watching me from the front window. After retrieving the post, I refocused on my front window, my free hand raised in a wave to my daughter. The pane stood vacant.
I sprinted to the front porch. Before I turned the doorknob, I heard the breath-stealing rattle of the lock turning. No, no, no! My daughter appeared in the window next to the door as I twisted and shook the knob. My stomach roller-coastered to my feet.
Did I mention I was also six months pregnant and home alone with my daughter? I yelled through the closed window, asking my daughter to undo the lock. Anyone passing by probably would have had a good laugh at the woman miming exaggerated turning to a window. But since it was lunchtime and most neighbors were at work or otherwise occupied, not a soul witnessed my animated performance.
My daughter must have grown bored with Mom's game because she retreated to the kitchen out of sight. With my husband not due home for another six hours, I needed to find a phone--and fast--because of course my shortsightedness (or more likely "mom-brain" state of mind), also left my phone sitting inside the now locked house next to my keys. I raced next door, but no one answered. The garage door to the adjacent house stood open and I could see my neighbor inside her kitchen through the clear storm door. I knocked and rang the front bell. My neighbor's dog barked and jumped at the front window, but my neighbor refused to answer. Maybe I looked as crazed as I felt--a panicked, barefoot, and pregnant lady on her doorstep.
After an eternity of ringing and knocking on every consecutive door, one of my neighbors finally answered. She gave me her phone to call my husband. Calls to his plant go directly to security. In 911-style desperation, I explained my situation to the officer. Security put me on hold to page my husband. After waiting another forever, the officer said my husband wasn't answering, but they'd send a search party to relay my message.
Nightmarish thoughts invaded my brain. What if I left the basement door ajar? What if my daughter fell down the stairs? What if she's lying broken at the bottom and I'm helpless to get to her? Desperate to enter, I contemplated smashing a window, but that required objects heavier than our landscaping mulch. So, I circled the house banging and peering into every window, no longer caring my feet felt like blocks of ice.
With time moving at a cold molasses pace, I'd lost track of how long since my frantic call. And when my husband's car screeched around the corner and jerked to a halt on our driveway, time and I were already sworn enemies. My husband unlocked the front door, telling me he'd halved the normally twenty-minute drive to get home. We burst inside, yelling for our daughter. My heart squeezed when I saw my fear confirmed--the basement door stood open. Inhaling sharply, I peered downstairs.
My daughter sat at the base, playing with her cars.
I scooped her up into a too-tight hug and asked how she had made it down the stairs.
"Like this," she said, wiggling free. She crawled up the first few stairs and then demonstrated scooting down on her bottom as I'd taught her.
This earned her another tight squeeze and me a fleeting, proud momma moment, because I realized how differently this could have ended. And it still terrifies me, but also makes me grateful my decision didn't come at a high cost.
So, guess who never leaves the house now without her keys?
P. S. I also highly recommend footwear, even for "quick" sprints to the mailbox.
-- Danielle S. Hammelef
Honorable Mention, 2021 Write a DearReader Contest
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
* This month's Penguin Classics book is THE PENGUIN BOOK OF DRAGONS, edited by Scott G. Bruce. I have a copy of the book to share with a lucky reader, so start reading and enter for your chance to win.
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