We hid around the corner in the living room. Our breathing was quiet, our positions stock-still. Our attention was focussed on our mother, at the kitchen sink, washing up the pots and pans from dinner. A quick peek around the edge of the wall showed that she was almost done.
I was 11, my brother a couple years younger, and it was mid-August before school started. We made up our own games, as we always had, to keep ourselves occupied and amused — particularly when it was more comfortable to be indoors than outside in the oppressive heat of late Summer.