I had heard that a person's closet says a lot about the person.

If that statement was to be believed, mine certainly had volumes. Volumes of clothes, that is. What I did know, was that if could speak it would simply repeat the term, 'Hit by a catastrophe' over and over again like a broken record. Not that I blamed it.

I was no stranger to the catastrophic nature of the heaps of clothes in my closet but it was the first time I saw any disadvantage in the convenient arrangement. I had been looking for my jeans for the past five minutes and all I came up with were three different floral dresses that I had never worn, save for the time in the changing room.

I briefly considered the possibility of a connecting passage to Narnia, but then quickly dismissed the fantasy by reasoning that the closet appeared to be relatively new and hence had no chance of being connected to such an ancient land. In addition to this, I reasoned, had the closet been connected to Narnia, the clothes spilling out of the cupboard would simply spill inwards into the land and I would have been confronted by mythical creatures holding my garments in distaste a long time ago.

Well, maybe not in distaste, since I prided myself on my impeccable fashion sense, but certainly in confusion. I doubt centaur fashion explained the uses of rainbow colored socks or pink mittens. 

After spending another ten minutes on the jeans with no avail, I decided to go with another pair instead and then hurried down to put on my sandals. Soon; after spending five minutes assuring mom that the neighborhood we had been living in for the past five years had not, in fact, turned into a dark alley with men from the Mafia roaming around with guns and was as safe as it had been all these years; I found myself closing the door behind myself with a soft click . 

I smiled to myself as I felt a warm sense of familiarity wrap around me — felt it create a cocoon around me that seemed to block the rest of the world out and swung my legs over the bicycle. I felt another bout of deja-vu hit me as I pedaled my way down the street. 

The wind blew through the strands of my hair and my hand went up to tame them down into presentable curls, almost reflexively. Stores I now recognized from the multiple shopping trips all courtesy of mom, went past in a blur of yellow, red and blue. The slight sway of trees and the gentle breeze made me take a deep breath in contentment.

A few minutes later I came across a large red-bricked building and immediately hit the brakes. I had finally reached my destination.

The post office.