Invisible Room

(Day 4 of Writing 101 writing prompt series)
I have been cleaning for eight days straight. Straight. Organizing our books, throwing out useless junk, polishing the tops of each spice bottle, I have been cleaning for eight straight days. Last night at around two, Joe came down into the basement where I was sorting through the kids’ baby clothes for Good Will and he asked me to take it easy. He said we should talk. He said maybe we should talk to someone together. He said he wanted me to be happy. He said I haven’t been happy for a long time.
No shit, Sherlock. So I’m taking it easy. Because I know what he’s really saying is that I have to cut the crap. So today is easy. I watched Rosalind Russell movies all day after the kids went to school. What could be easier than “His Girl Friday?” I put my wicker knitting basket on my lap and picked out a half a sock. A Soleful Sock what could be easier. The unfinished baby blanket sitting upstairs mocking me that’s a bitch but this sock pattern was easy peasy. I start knitting in the round as Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell trade jabs. I look down I’m knitting backwards. I frog and start my row over. Drop stitch, redo, drop stitch, redo, work for ten rows, notice ladder, throw project across room. I looked down at my hands.
When I was a kid, a little kid, I used to hide in a secret room in my bedroom. No one knew about not even my sister. No one could know about it or it would disappear. It was between the door jamb and the corner and I would slip into my invisible room with my pillow, my blanket, and Mr. Moneybanks and disappear too.
I looked down at those hands that looked almost exactly like mine and then I went upstairs.

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