The Blue Room

The voices, the sound of my uncle playing guitar, the sounds of the ping pong table, float in and tickle my ear, and soothe me as I lie here
This has been my spot since I can remember
The narrow strip at the foot of the twin bed in the blue room
Lying here floods my mind with memories


The year when my cousin Katessa was small enough to sleep in the closet
The year I forgot my blankie and had to use one of my grandfather's handkerchiefs so I could fall asleep
The year when we sat in a circle in the middle of the room, playing bop-it
The year we played truth or dare, and giggled not just as cousins, but as friends, as we placed that embarrassing book in the hallway


Katie, the oldest gets the bed
There are years when life has called her elsewhere, and yet, the bed remains vacant, waiting
And there was last year, when I stayed awake for hours talking to Emily about all of the anxieties of the year ahead
And here I am once again
Katessa will soon be going to bed, this year not in the closet
Katie is here this year, soon to be picked up from the airport, on a plane from California


In the morning, the sun streams through the blinds on the window above my head, 
The one that is framed in unfinished trim
I awake to the sound of my cousin's child screaming gleefully as she runs down the hall 
I  hear those voices which I can never really distinguish; is that my mother, or is that her sister?
Curiosity and hunger will soon drag me out of my sleeping bag, and I will go to the kitchen, hunting for bagels and juice and coffee