After
taking off my shoes, I step into the house, feeling the wooden floor beneath
me. I head towards the bedroom, door always open. The room is narrow, with
light olive painted walls.
The first thing I see is her jacket
draped over the back of a wooden chair, her bookbag leaned against it. They
invited my jacket to join them. My eyes wandered to the left, on top of a
drawer is a plastic children’s boombox that comes with two tiny microphones. In
her childhood, she used it to interview her family about mundane topics. She
pretended to be a reporter, sang karaoke, and made her own mixtape before the
record button broke. The boombox was accompanied by her three piles of clothes.
They were organized by shirts, pants and pajamas. I recognized most of them.
Above are two windows with white curtains, plants on the windowsills. On the
left is a glass computer desk, it played a stream as her keyboard changed
colors. Her headset laid on top, which she uses to call me everyday. Next to
her computer chair, is a bunk bed against the wall. I always stare at the
bottom bunk first, our bed. The same things always greet me: two pillows
fluffed, non-matching bedding folded, (four feet) teddy bear named Sunny,
Tigger (my favorite), Stanley the lion, and Fishie the fish. I rarely notice
the top bunk. She only sleeps in it when I’m not there.
