My childhood bedroom was my sanctuary, a place where I could be alone with my thoughts. It was the only space in the house that I shared with no one else, except for my Siamese cat, George. In my room, I was surrounded by objects and things that brought me comfort. I had a picture above my dresser of a little girl in a yellow dress with a bouquet of flowers. It was an antique print that used to hang above the bed in my Great Grandmother’s house. I used to stand in front of it and bathe myself in sweet memories of her. When I looked at the picture I could feel her arms hugging me again, hear her laugher, and smell the scent fresh baked apple pie and coffee in her kitchen. Whenever I was feeling lonely or angry, the picture was a magic carpet that would take me back to a place where I felt loved and safe.
In the summer I loved to open my window. My bedroom was on the first floor of the house. There was a lilac bush, a rose bush, and delightful scents that would float across my bed during the summer. Each season brought a new bouquet of freshness to the air. I used to love to lay on my big oversized down comforter, pile up the pillows and read all afternoon and sometimes all night. I used to wait until I saw the light to my Mom and Dad’s bedroom go out, then I would sneak out the flashlight that I hid under the pillow, pull the covers over my head, and read. Sometimes I would just be falling asleep to the sound of the birds beginning their morning song. Sometimes, I think my Mother knew, but she never let on.
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Reading in my room was like getting aboard a magic ship that would help me sail away to distant lands. George liked to get under the covers with me, purring and demanding to be petted the whole time. I always needed to find inventive ways to prop up my book, the flashlight, and keep George from laying right in the middle of the book. Sometimes I would read to George and he would pretend to listen. George and I went on some great adventures in our magic ship. We traveled to India, to Africa, and to classic places, like the Secret Garden and Narnia. We went on swashbuckling pirate adventures, explored old must smelling castles, and solved many great mysteries. Always, our faithful magic ship would land us safely home underneath that safe, warm comforter.
Always on top of the comforter was my favorite stuffed toy from childhood, Molly. Molly had seen better days. She was a yellow rabbit that was given to me on my very first Easter. She had eyes that made her look like a chocolate bunny. Her fur was faded and matted from many years of love. I had chewed off her ears at one point and her nose hung half off, but I could never give her away. She always had a spot right in the middle of the pillows. There were other stuffed animals that came and went, but Molly with the stuffing coming out of gaping holes in her head was always front and center. Even to this day, I know that Molly survives, tucked safely away in the box of keepsakes in the top of my closet at my Mother and Father’s house. It is a reminder that no matter how much things change, our childhood memories will last forever.
My bedroom was where I spent my life, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. My bedroom was never used as a punishment. It was my escape. I felt like I had everything I ever needed or wanted in there. Sometimes, even now, when things get scary, I go back to my bedroom and close the door in my mind. I close the door to the outside world and feel the warmth and comfort of my childhood bedroom. I look at Great Grandmother’s picture and feel George rubbing against my leg, even though both of them are long gone from his world. They are still there in my mind, and still in my heart. The bedroom may be gone someday when my parents pass from this earth, but my bedroom will forever be only a thought away.
