[ WP ] You find an old object of yours in the back of the closet . Tell us about a single memory that slams into your brain when you see the object .

The temperature in the room dropped from July sun to January snow as I pulled the box out of the closet and saw the object behind it. Chills ran down my spine and across every inch of skin. I dropped the box to the floor and I wrapped my arms around my body, shivering in spite of the 106 degree weather. A thousand feelings crashed against me at the same time, and I gasped for air, struggling to breathe. 
 
 Sam rushed into the room and started touching my arms, my face, my head. 
 
 “ I heard a crash. What ’ s wrong? Are you OK? ” He tried to turn me to face him, but I couldn ’ t take my eyes from the corner at the back of my closet. “ Look at me, talk to me. ” 
 
 He turned toward the closet, then stepped over the crushed box and bent down. 
 
 “ It ’ s just a doll, babe. What ’ s wrong? ” 
 
 My eyes filled with tears. The words stung, stabbing at wounds I thought I ’ d healed long ago. It wasn ’ t just a doll. That soft body wore a dress faded by the number of tears hidden in it. The stuffing had gone flat from too many nights clutched in my arms for hours while I shivered and shook, hidden under the coats and toys and boxes I used to make a barrier between my childhood and my stepfather. I would hear him coming, and I would hide. 
 
 My vision rippled through the tears, and I could see the night he found me. I tried to push him away, screaming and scratching, but I was too young, too small. He grabbed my arm and yanked me from my hiding place, the doll falling back into the corner. He screamed and yelled words I didn ’ t really hear, deafened by my fear and the churning mess my stomach had turned into. The bruises stayed for weeks that time, when he pulled me and held me down. 
 
 It was the first time, the only time my mother came home early. It was the last night my stepfather took a breath, and the last night my mother had free for five years. The next time I visited my former home, she had carefully cleaned up the mess left that night. Most of my clothes and toys had been delivered to my aunt ’ s before my mother was released, and no one knew of the doll in the closet. 
 
 I was too ashamed to ask for her, and her memory was locked deep in the back of my mind, in a box, in a chest, in a locked room, behind the padlock, and the metal frame, and the giant stone rolled in front of it. With one look, she broke past all the defenses. 
 
 I didn ’ t even try to stop the tears as I stepped forward. I touched the familiar cloth with one finger before scooping up the doll and crushing her against my chest. Sam stepped forward and put his arms around us both. He didn ’ t push or pry. When the tears were spent, I turned red-rimmed eyes up to him. After all these years, maybe it was time. 
 
 “ Baby, there ’ s something we need to talk about. ” 
 
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 -193 ( Camp NaNoWriMo is making it look like I'm making up numbers! )
