February 6, 2012. Bedroom. CWE 127

My bedroom suit was the color of old, rotting lemons found at the bottom the fridge. A pale yellow fading into a sickly gray. It was the color of sticky tack rolled between a child’s dirty palms. The dirty off white was speckled with light khaki freckles, and a pale, watermarked green ran in the grooves of the furniture. The wood was soft. I could have easily left teethmarks had I bitten a drawer. I should have bitten the drawers. I should have left half moons of teethmarks along the hem of each drawer. It would have been a testament. A long, low bureau held up a big mirror. The mirror rocked when I wiped it with windex and a torn undershirt. It could have fallen and broken easily. I should have broken the mirror. Let’s pretend I broke the mirror. I broke the mirror while I was cleaning it on a Saturday morning. A good ten thousand silver splinters of glass skated along the wooden floor and spun into all four corners of the room. The crash was spectacular. Everyone in the house startled. We were the most excellent startlers. No one came running. Good startlers we were, not good runners. We were retreaters. We retreated. The mirror crashed. Magnificently. Everyone retreated. I pierced each shard into my limbs and along my vertebra. I walked through the house like a grand porcupine, catching the light and reflecting it, shards shining and rippling in waves when I drew my limbs through air oiled with the grease of kielbasa and the stink of sauerkraut. In the weeks that followed, my mom got around to pulling the glass needles from my pink skin with tweezers. Each follicle quickly sprouted an infection. My poor mother was horrified and cried into a red and white handkerchief. How had this happened? Where did this infection come from? Why wasn’t my body fighting it? I swelled up hot and fat, like a pork sausage blistering in a frying pan and splitting the casing until it rolled back. My skin was tight and red. I threw off heat. I wobbled down hallways and bumped into walls, rolling down the steps on my side, swollen and burning with infection.

I had a rocking chair. And I rocked in it for hours and hours, at least three hours a day. Sometimes longer. The curved rockers banged against the hardwood floors, and I packed flannel nightgowns under them to muffle the sound. I tranced myself every single day until I left for college.

A collection of dolls from different countries was arranged on top of a tall bureau. Each week, I laid the dolls on my bed and pulled the lace runner from the bureau. Dust settled into the holes of the lace and left a pattern that spread across the bureau top when the sun came in the windows at the right angle. A plastic Amish woman stood in a purple dress and a black apron and bonnet. Her eyes were blue, and long, stiff lashes curled above them. When I took off her bonnet, she had only bangs sewn into her plastic scalp. The follicles and the bristly hair looked like stitches. Her head looked painful, and I felt cheated that she had only bangs. It was a cheap trick. A tin merry go round tripped around in rickety circles. The horses were cut from pressed tin, and they had sharp edges. The merry go round was bronze and looked like it had been turned in an oil slick. Colors caught the light. Sharp, stiff flags stood on the canopy. It was a cheap toy. It wobbled in pieces when I turned it, and it creaked out an arthritic song. I mistook it for a fragile, expensive piece. A small tea set in brown and tan, with a wheat pattern on each piece. A statue of Mary. She was cheap, too. A million were made from her mold. Her blue robes adorned a million of her. Each May, I picked rose petals and laid them at her feet alongside of the snakes that curled around her ankles. A Native American woman with an orange face. Black hair. A green skirt and an embroidered vest not much bigger than a thimble.

TBC

Beside my bed was a low trunk…

Under my bed were slats…

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One thought on “February 6, 2012. Bedroom. CWE 127

  1. favorite parts:
    “I should have broken the mirror. Let’s pretend I broke it.”
    “The crash was spectacular. Everyone in the house startled. We were the most excellent startlers. No one came running. Good startlers we were, not good runners. We were retreaters. We retreated. The mirror crashed. Magnificently. Everyone retreated.”
    ” I walked through the house like a grand porcupine, catching the light and reflecting it, shards shining and rippling in waves when I drew my limbs through air that leaked with the grease of kielbasa and the stink of sauerkraut.”
    ” I felt cheated that she had only bangs. It was a cheap trick.”
    “I tranced myself every single day until I left for college.”

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