I Was Notorious at Hide and Seek

The first place I lived,
where this picture was taken,
was Circle Hill Road,
and I was notorious at hide and seek.

Beneath the stairs was a closet cloaked in coats,
and between them I would stand
and breathe very quietly - something I had learned
from being aggressive in appearance.
Make my body and voice small
so no one would find me.

In my bedroom closet, I could hide -
I must have had a bajillion books -
or at least twenty.
At four years old, endings made me sad,
so I read one book, over and over.
The characters were just stuck, an infinite loop,
because I didn't want to see them leave me.

And once I hid under my bed,
because I didn't want to go to the doctor.

At the kindergarten when we played hide and seek,
I was so good.
The other kids stopped looking for me.

If I closed my eyes,
and breathed quiet like I had learned,
I could pretend for a few moments I didn't exist.
In a cone where life and noise just slid past me.
But eventually I'd reveal myself -
like it had been a game -
and it was better if we acted like nothing happened.

Only when my parents started talking about calling the neighbors
to see if I had run away
did I reveal myself.
My eyes were stinging me.
I knew this time it wasn't a game. Not really.
When we were in the car,
"Mommy, Daddy, I was hiding under my bed,"
and they said we know,
and the long ride to the Baltimore Laser Center was quiet.

In this picture - my first birthday -
I was too young to know about hiding.
I was too young to know about things like
pulse-dye lasers or Sturge-Weber Syndrome
or self-image or beauty.
All I could know was that my face hurt,
and that chocolate cake tasted good.