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When I was a kid, my little sister and I found an old safe in our grandparents garage.
This was in Palm Springs, California.
So picture palm trees, swimming pools, desert heat so hot you can see it swirling in the air.
The safe was freestanding, taller than my sister.
We spent the afternoon pressing a plastic stethoscope from a toy medical kit against its door, listening to the clicks, trying to crack the code.
My grandmother couldn't remember what was inside, but we felt confident it was valuable.
Probably a pouch of diamonds that she'd forgotten about.
Or a treasure map that would lead us to the pouch of diamonds.
It grew dark.
We kept at it.
Our mom brought us out grilled cheese sandwiches, flashlights and sweaters.
Click, click, click.
We were sure we were making progress, but the door wouldn't budge.
Finally, our grandmother came out, waving a scrap of paper.
She'd found the combination with pounding hearts.
My sister and I took turns rotating the dial.
First I did a number, then her, and then back to me.
Our whole lives are about to change.
Our mom would come searching for us and we'd have to say, mom, mom, we're right here.
You just don't recognize us now that we have all the answers.