“No, let’s just leave it in there for now.” Mama said over her shoulder as she washed a plate and arranged it with others in the rack.
I was just a kid, so didn’t ask why I couldn’t have it. I dropped the rustykey back into the drawerand watched it disappearbetweena crushed matchbook and a small ball of frayed string.
When I was little, the drawerby the refrigerator wasa forbidden mystery. The clanking sounds made as Mama or Daddy dug around in there were so intriguing. Finally tallenough to open it myself, I spent a few minutes running my hand through theodd assortment of things it contained. IfMama wouldn’t let me have the rusty key,I didn’t dare ask about the tornbusiness card, thebent thumb tack, or the random assortment of colored bread ties.They must really be valuable.
Years passed before I opened the drawer again. Although it was directly beside…
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