My Other Bedroom

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.