#scintilla: childhood bedroom(s)
Talk about your childhood bedroom. Did you share? Slam the door? Let someone in you shouldn't have? Where did you hide things?
One of the benefits of moving frequently is that there is always a chance to create a sanctuary in a new room. I had many childhood bedrooms: the one on Darby Street with cream-colored walls and Holly Hobby curtains with matching bedspread where I placed my baby brother for stories and make believe games, though he was often too small to understand, or the one in the U-shaped ranch house that gave us an entire wing to ourselves where I hid in the closet tapping secret signs to my brother through the walls, whispered secrets in the dark and took comfort in knowing he was just on the other side if I needed him to sleep through the night. I painted that bedroom pale blue; someone made me curtains with what looked like division signs on them and I thought how strange it was to divide a number into smaller pieces, how I never wanted to be divided that way or separated from my brother, my best friend. There's the bedroom where I grew out of girlhood though the walls were pink and the comforter frilly, I was no longer interested in lace or make-up but oversized t-shirts and cut-off jeans, days in the sun with my friends, devising ways to get boys to not notice my existence. It's this bedroom door where after stomping heavily up the stairs, I slammed the door and turned on my stereo, trying to lose myself because I couldn't believe that no one, no one that knew me, understood me.
There are bedrooms I climbed in and out of, that I let in friends after dark who whispered their fears in the dark. There are places I should have never been and places I will never be again, bedrooms of first kisses and first times where I realized childhood was far behind me, a distant and fading memory of that Holly Hobby bedspread, pale walls, a baby brother and my stories, always the stories.