One day, I came back home from school and stopped in front of the door to my house. I put my hands into the pocket of my pants to get the key, but only sand smoothly came out of the pocket. Since I had started to go to elementary school, I had had the key because both of my parents worked during the daytime. They came home late, always around 9:00 p.m. They always worried about me because I was alone in our house for a long time. However, I always said to them with confidence that I was fine. They knew that at my age of eight, I was a responsible child, and they could rely on me.

I never expected I could lose the key! I was astounded and tried to remember where I put it last time. I looked in my other pockets and my backpack, but it was not there. Besides the thick books, heavy as bricks, only crumpled tissues and a dirty handkerchief came out. For a while, I couldn’t do anything but keep standing in front of the door with sweat running from the top of my head, like a waterfall. Yet my brain was working, even under these terrible circumstances, and an idea flashed in my mind like lightning. I decided to ask a neighbor for help. Luckily, I knew the owner of the pub that was behind my house. I had always exchanged greetings with him on my way to school in the morning. His face seemed stern and scary at the first glance, but when he smiled at me he looked very kind and easy to talk to.

I walked with a pale face into the pub, named Mr. Stubborn, and asked the owner if I could borrow his cell phone. I explained what happened, and he lent his phone to me. Fortunately, I remembered my parents’ phone numbers. I pressed the buttons with trembling hands, put the phone to my ear, and hoped to hear my mother’s voice. Then, I heard the familiar voice from the phone. I explained the situation to her. She asked my father if he could come back home sooner, but he couldn’t, so she said I had to wait for him. I thanked the pub owner and walked back to my house. I didn’t know how long I would have to wait. I decided to stay in the garage of my house. I sat down at the edge of the garage and observed the people passing by in front of my house. A high school student rode by on his bicycle on his way home. Then, a woman walked past with five supermarket bags in one hand. And after, an elderly lady went by, taking very small steps. Because the garage was just like a cave, I saw them, but they didn’t notice me. So, during the first hour, I had some fun. But it was a hot summer, so my clothes were soaking as if they were a swimsuit after I got out of the pool.

As I continued to sit there, I started to imagine how my parents would kill me for my extreme irresponsibility, so I had to prepare to die. After five hours of waiting and imagining the worst, I saw my father and I thought, Whatever! because I was extremely tired of thinking.

My father did not say anything. He opened the door, and we got in. Soon, I heard my mother coming home, so I hid under the desk, the place where I hid whenever I felt guilty about something. I got terrified by the sound of her approaching footsteps that were gradually becoming louder. However, she only said to me, “Dinner is ready.” I was shocked and asked if she was angry. She said she was not mad at me at all, and, what’s more, she praised me, because I remembered the phone number and found a solution in a difficult situation. I suddenly felt like a balloon from which the air came out, and I got out of the closet. My mom hugged me, and I burst into tears from such an unexpected happy end.

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Rina Tazawa studies at the Developmental English Program at CUNY’s College of Staten Island. Polina Belimova is her teacher, and Mary Boland is the program director. Rina Tazawa writes, “I am 19 years old. I come from Japan, and Japanese is my first language. I like watching musicals. I’ve been in the United States for just six months, but I’ve already been to seven musicals. I don’t really know the future, but my dream is to be a theater director.”