Jun. 8th, 2003


Jun. 8th, 2003 12:23 am
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Tonight as I was laying in my bed, trying to go to sleep, I started thinking about how my room was when I lived here, when it was really my room and not just Naomi's room where I was staying for the summer.

I rotated out of my bed so that I was lying approximately where I slept during high school (only half on a mattress and half on the floor, rather than in my old bed) and I suddenly became very homesick. Looking up into the shadows that I looked at for years, it seemed as though it could be the same as it was. In the dark there's no way to tell that the room is now purple instead of green. That all the furniture, even the bookshelves, are in different places. That the bed frames (my dad made them when we lived at the Frey Winery... I was 5 or 6 years old) are gone.

When I left I was so glad. When we painted the room it was a sign that I was moving on, that the room would never again be the place it was when I lived here. And I was so glad that I was going somewhere else, that things physically would never be the same, so I could never come crawling back, would have to make it on my own.

The few times I got homesick at Mt. Holyoke, it was not for the room I'm staying in now. It was for the bedroom as it was when it was truly mine. It was not for this house, with its finished floors and finished kitchen cabinets. It was for the half-formed house that I spent half my life in. And I knew that, no matter what, I would never be able to go back to that. When Naomi and I fought fall semester, and I felt like I was deserting her and abandoning her and was a horrible person, I knew that the only way we could go back to the way we were was if we went back in time.

When Mom, and Naomi and I all went to the high school together each day things were so different. And most of the time I am so happy to be where I am. I am not the same person I was then. I've gone though so much in the last year, and I am so grateful for it.

But at the same time, I want what I had. I want a time when my parents took care of everything for me. When I didn't know so well who I am, and didn't have to worry as much about hiding that person from people who will never understand. The closet is such a safe and comfortable place to be. (That has nothing to do with this. I'm just whining at this point)

I want my green room with the patches that didn't get painted all the way, fading up to the white ceiling, and pockmarked with the yellow goo of the sticky-tack that wouldn't come off, and to this day is still there, covered with paint. I want the brown painted floor with the print from the page of the magazine permanently remaining next to Naomi's bed that used to be mine before we switched (a bed which is no longer there at all). And I want those bed frames, those bed frames that we always hated that weren't long enough once we got real mattresses instead of foam pads, the frame that was originally a bunk bed in the Freys but was two twins ever after, at Black Bart Trail and in the House Across the Street and here, the frame that Naomi covered with stickers, Little Mermaid stickers and unicorn stickers from the unicorn fruit snacks and highlight stickers and others I can't remember, the frame that I chipped away with my fingernails at nights when I couldn't sleep. I want my room, our room.

I want Roy and Peg to still be alive across the street, hating us because Holly, the dog we had before Annie (who is even now dying) chased their cat. I want the Cranmers in the House Across the Street. I want the pot-smoking, too many children having family with a member named Razor in the House Across the Street. I want the Confederate flag-flying, late night kegger having family with the Little Blond Girl in the House Across the Street. I want the family with the wading pool and the two little girls (my age, actually) in the House Across the Street. I want the man who was later a woman in the House Across the Street. I want to remember how it was when I looked up at Brice's house and wondered if he was thinking about me. (I don't want Kayla in Roy and Peg's old house... I'm still glad she moved away). I want middle school summers spent more at the Daitokus' house than at my own (it is so different as the Durans' house) and at The Rock, and writing Dust, and just being young.

Maybe I will go to the Rock tomorrow. It's been awhile since I've been there. Some sitting would probably do me some good. I've calmed myself down, writing this, which is a good thing as I've been at it for nearly half an hour and I do need to go to sleep.


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July 2003

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