My imagination ran fervently. My grandparents' old RV parked behind their house was the perfect place to play as a child. The small kitchenette was my domain, I’d play house and reset the table again and again. The sun would beat down hard on the tiny tin box, so I’d prop the door open most days to let a breeze in. One particular afternoon, the high was 40°C. Nan said I should stay outside that day, but I had imaginary children to feed. Sneaking into the RV, I let the door close behind me to remain inconspicuous. But Nanny was right, it was too hot. My skin began to burn and my head felt light. I tried to escape but the rusted latch was broken and stuck. I screamed and thrashed until Nan came to the rescue. Tugging with all her might, the door flew back and banged across her forehead, cutting the skin open. I held the tissue against my grandmother's forehead while she drove us to her doctor's office that afternoon, and watched as he stitched my hero back up.