memory smell #7

Searching through piles of shirts on the top shelf of my closet, I freeze. It smells just like the closets and drawers in Kuwait, the ones my grandmother empties every time we come to visit. When we arrive, she pulls open each and every one to show us where we can put our things even though we used to live there and have come back to visit several times since. It smells like the times my brother and I used to tumble ourselves into the back behind suits and shoes during games of hide-and-seek. Or when we would go through all the random VHSs and boxes of useless stuff my uncles have collected over the years and left in the dark. It smells like summer and family and vacation and familiarity.