I’m writing this at my parents’ house next to my boyfriend in the room I slept in when I was in 8th grade, under the covers of a decade-old sheet and pillow set, on a super comfortable mattress we purchased in 2008 that has my body indented in it.
I love my bed.
In front of me, old stuffed animals sit on the bed and in my orbit chair and on the shelves. My bookshelf is still arranged in the way summer 2014 me arranged it. The stereo set is on the floor, and scattered among my books are random trinkets from different places. The egg flute, or dan, for instance is on a bottom shelf with an abacus I was supposed to give someone for a previous Christmas but didn’t see again. With the pair is an old pencil case I used throughout high school and college. Behind them is the 4-piece Game of Thrones set I stole from my brother with my mother’s blessing under the guise that he was too young for them at 13; even though I’m pretty sure he paid for them. A Super Mario blue mushroom lamp that sucks as a light source, even for simply aesthetic purposes, sits on another shelf on the bottom near some wooden items I purchased from Michael’s to paint, including a little jewelry case that I’m pretty sure just stores soda-can tops now. Why is daddy in a dress? – The Book sits prominently above it, its fluffy feline model looking out dispassionately.
On top of the bookshelf sits a trophy I don’t remember winning, dozens and dozens of medals from Academic Decathlon, and a school picture from my high school sophomore year which was the best school photo I’d ever taken and summed up my high school look well enough that we decided to not replace it in later years. The mirror I used throughout college also sits up there. On the other hand, posters I purchased my freshman year are still rolled up on the floor, undoubtedly warped now, and as absolutely ridiculous (a Ninja Turtles poster that I decided to buy for a reason I don’t remember now and an optical illusion poster) as they ever were. I think there’s one more too, inside the Ninja Turtles poster, but I’d have to get up out of my incredibly comfortable bed to confirm.
So it’s nice being back in a way, especially since I really haven’t been back home since at least October. My bed is much more comfortable than Mr. Chokkattu’s and I don’t have to worry about food or having to make my own food. I have a robe here when I take a shower tomorrow morning. My parents will make us breakfast before we drive with my little brother to go see Rogue One as a Saturday matinee at my local mall’s AMC.
On the other hand, I won’t be able to wake up whenever I want, and I’m no where near any of my friends or the places I need to be to earn money to spend with said friends. None of my favorite places to eat, drink, or dance are nearby, and I didn’t bring any of my usual wardrobe; not that I’d wear a lot of it around my parents.
It’s a muffled affair trying to have sex here, and at no point could we blast music, or drink tea, or eat chocolate right before bed. We have to quietly go downstairs if we want water, and my parents would flip out on me if I sneaked a snack into my room. We can’t suddenly leave in the night without someone questioning us.
It’s harder to pet dogs here, because I’m pretty sure the dog-owning faction of my neighborhood dislikes us because we’re a minority in this wealthy little white town.
So screw it, tonight I’ll sleep wonderfully tonight, and next year I’ll buy myself a mattress.