Sometimes curiosity DOES kill the cat! Locked means locked....even if it was slightly ajar for just a second...20 years later and it still makes me wonder....

Dear Ethers, 

Wipe. Wipe. Spray. Wipe. Wipe.  Okay?  How does this page look today?  Spotless?  Fresh?  Good!  I really want to have a clean slate and get out from under the duvet.  I woke up this morning, opened my eyes, saw the sunshine (even though it was late October) and said, “Today I’m writing about a fond memory.”  That’s a great way to re-start a week, I reckon.  So Ethers, let me take you away from a very dusty One of 365 to a smaller set of numbers.  A girl yet to be tainted by the mysteries of love, or worries about the future.  Just a nutty memory that still makes me curious almost 20 years later. 

I had a childhood friend who had 2 older sisters.  They were in college when we were just in elementary school so I never met them. I had heard stories about these fabled girls.  They were supposed to be very beautiful and talented.  One was an Olympic medalist in horse riding and the other was a very accomplished medical student.  I’d heard that when one of them was little she’d fallen ill, but I never knew from what and frankly, I never asked.  

I used to hang out with his childhood friend daily.  Her house was really grand.  She lived in Bel Air and had an amazing backyard with a fantasy-like pool and screening room with every movie you could think of (even a popcorn making machine).  I had died and gone to heaven!  When I would sleep over, I always stayed in the guest room.  I really wanted to stay in one of her older sister’s rooms but was always told sternly by my friend that they were off limits.  I always found it really strange that their doors were the only locked ones in the house.  

One weekend that I was sleeping over, the sisters were coming home to stay for a short trip.  I was extremely excited.  It was the age when older girls were heroes—especially beautiful ones you heard stories about and had doors that were locked.  I recall my friend being anything but pleased. 

They tumbled in and were as glorious as I had imagined.  They both had long golden hair, sparkling blue eyes and pale skin.  Slim and well built, they were elegant and well dressed.  The only thing I noticed was one of them had a slight limp, but I figured that was from an injury from horseback riding. I glommed on to them immediately.  I could tell they were flattered but my friend didn’t seem very thrilled.  Especially about me getting terribly close to the Olympic champion sister.  

We had a great weekend and we’re just preparing to eat breakfast.  I’d just showered and noticed the door was slightly open to the normally locked room of the sister who rode.  I thought we were friendly enough so I could take a peek in and see what she was up to.  I was also dying to see her sanctuary.  I pushed open the door and there it stood.  Right in the middle of the room.  A prosthetic leg!  It was in a black sock with one Doc Marten laced to its ankle.  Being young and stupid, I burst out and told me friend what I had discovered.  “You’ll never guess what was in your sister’s room.” I said in a fit of laughter.  “A joke leg!”  My friend’s face fell and she turned crimson.  I began to color too.  “What’s wrong?” I asked.  “This is why I didn’t want to hang out with them.  And that’s why their doors are locked.  My sister had cancer in her leg and it was amputated.  She has several false legs that she owns and leaves here when she visits.  Some are in her room and some are in my other sister’s room.  She’s really sensitive about it.”  I was horrified that I had laughed.  But I still didn’t get it.  “But she is an Olympian….”  “In the Special Olympics…” my friend said.  I didn’t know what to do or say.  I knew that my friend was upset because she felt I knew some dirty secret (even though it wasn’t at all).  

After the leg incident, my friend stopped inviting me over, slowly stopped hanging out with me and didn’t take my calls.  I was confused, but I guess I understood that I had seen something she didn’t want me to, and now she had to get rid of me because I knew this secret.  When I turned 12 I went off to a different school than her and we never spoke again. 

Just recently I saw her name in the LA Times.  She had gotten married!  There wasn’t a photo—but I wonder, maybe if I hadn’t discovered that leg, if I would have been a bridesmaid in that wedding.  It’s strange how little things in life change fate.  If only that door had remained locked and I hadn’t been so damned curious.  What an odd memory, eh? 

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365