Hands down, the best hiding place in the world was Grandma and Grandpa Beckwith’s hall closet: Long…narrow… seemingly endless.
One of the Great Cousin Myths was that no one ever reached the end of the closet; we all agreed to believe that it went on forever.
You would crawl in earthworm-style, navigating the maze of shoes and handbags and wool coats by feel more than sight.
Between the excited anxiety of hiding and the lack of air movement, you'd get sweaty – but your hair would be full of static from the friction of the carpet. Sweat and static cling at the same time - a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.
When you finally found your knee-hugging spot between the sneezy burlap-covered walls and the scratchy wool coats waiting for someone to find you, time would slow down so the space between every heartbeat felt like an eternity.