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and a house in which we don’t live

March 20, 2012

Scintilla post# 5

Prompt A: Talk about your childhood bedroom. Did you share? Slam the door? Let someone in you shouldn’t have? Where did you hide things?

A floor that was loved, once, covered in nursery rhyme themed linoleum – vinyl – one of those materials you put down, don’t think about, can’t touch – scratch – ruin because it’s not real, was never living.

And by the time I came along that floor was faded, peeling, tearing up and wood was poking through. It was a mess that would blacken your feet, scratch your skin, leave you with splinters for days.

Three girls in one bedroom. Three girls in one bed. Until there were two. Until there was one. The room in which you learned to kiss girls, lip synch, paint your nails, draw black lines on your face. The room with not enough room for your books (there is never enough room for your books ,even now). The room with the cracked ceiling, where you used to imagine faces in the lines. The room in which you learned to be afraid of the dark, of the sounds of your father screaming at night in pain and withdrawal. The room you spent weekends locked up in because “daddy’s sleeping” and he couldn’t be disturbed. The room you tried never to sleep in. The room you left every night until you were 15, leaving the dark behind to crawl into bed with your mother where it was safe.

The room that was yours, more than theirs. The room in which you somehow managed, twice, to sleep walk off your top bunk and lay yourself down on the floor.

The room in which things broke. The room in which you saw a ghost, once. The room in which Sunday night rituals made sense, marked childhood. The room you left a mess, always, because you were too young to know the comfort and consolation of fussing, cleaning, organizing, arranging.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. jasonsbrain permalink
    March 20, 2012 12:47 am

    I can’t be sure but I would swear I have been in that room before.

  2. March 20, 2012 5:39 am

    Have I told you today how glad I am that you’re doing this? Have I? Because if not, here it is: I am beside myself with glee that you are doing this. Once it is over, promise me you won’t stop.

  3. March 20, 2012 11:42 am

    i’m right there with stereo. i can see this room SO well.

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