My Own Oasis
The room at the end of the hall contained a bed and a few odds and ends, but was mainly used for guests and some storage. Every time I would creep past the cracked door, there seemed to be an air of something new and undiscovered. When I would walk in, it just felt empty and plain, the grandma wall paper like a faded cream doily glued to the wall with dated, tiny flower designs painted all across. The light seemed trapped outside, unable to break into this hidden home. The smells of staleness and dust would always fill my nose.

Still to this day I can so vividly remember when I received my own room. My brother and I had been sharing a room with a bunk bed ever since we had moved into our house, and finally in 4th grade it was my turn. Sharing with my little brother was always less than ideal and I asked for my birthday to take advantage of the room down the hall. Over much parental contemplation, I was surprised with the room of my dreams. As soon as I was able to move in, the room took on a whole new character. The walls were covered with horse decorations and Raggedy Ann memorabilia, a new dresser and lights. Pictures and antique horse riding magazines external image 1750937496_98da9a87d5_o.jpgmiscellaneously enveloped the wall with my considerable window. Pastel green panels draped along the sides, allowing the sunlight to penetrate this otherwise dark room. A shelf along with an old, tin lunch box resided above the head of my bed. The candles were lit sending the beautiful smells of lilacs and various flowers to each corner of the room. Everything seemed to fall into place as if it was meant for me all along.

I will never forget that first night, knots tangling my stomach and my eyes wide like an owl; I had external image 3084331174_ee66c6c6c1.jpgto sleep all alone in a queen sized bed with my stuffed animals as my only protection. I didn’t have my brother below me anymore; it was a room for one. Every sound I heard in the silence of the night became magnified, sending chills down my spine. When cars would pass along my window carrying the sounds of the engine and the faint vibrations of the radio, I would rustle in my sheets to be sure no one was there. Turning off the light to make it to my bed, I would sprint and then leap onto the comforting covers, an oasis away from the monsters hiding underneath.

All of these precautions seem silly now that 6 years have passed. After a few nights adjusting to the new environment, I became used to being alone. The freedom was a fresh, new change. I could actually throw my socks on the floor in the closet and not get in trouble. I didn’t have to climb down a rigid, rickety ladder that felt stiff and uncomfortable under my feet to reach the ground. I had my own space for the first time. Sitting in my bed, looking at all the memories placed on these walls, I feel a smile well up inside me. Pale green sheets create a bed fit for royalty. The dark, hefty, antique dresser consumes the wall in front of me, taking on its own personality. Sometimes in the night when I notice the faint splitting sounds, it seems as if the dresser has a life of its own, resettling itself with a crack in the knees. Then all goes quiet again; back to peace.

The walls look similar to that day 6 years ago, just with added character. Same wall paper, but the décor works together in a sort of melody I never would have expected. Although the green carpet slightly reminds me of the Grouch from Sesame Street

I Love Trash / Oscar the Grouch - Sesame Street, it creates a comforting cradle for my feet, fitting to the caresses of every step. My dog has found a home for a moment in thecp1_0707081028.jpg blankets of my bed, rustling around making the perfect cave for her slumber. Pictures have changed with the years, clutter in new areas, and new knick knacks have accumulated on the dresser. A teddy bear with an Arapahoe High School sweatshirt sleeps on the left corner, while pictures from my latest birthday party and a green lamp adorn the right. Necklaces from football games and previous Valentine’s Days along with my brown baseball hat decorate the rim of the mirror. My closet has gained much better organization now, walking in to a plethora of clothes lining the wall with a smaller dresser holding my pajamas and jewelry. On the very top shelf surrounding my closet, there sits the remnants to my old life. A basketball picture from 5th grade, old birthday crowns, CD’s I used to love, and a box of crayons that has moved from my dresser to the shelf. Running my hand along the shelf, I notice the dust that has collected, feeling the dirt of the past. Leaving my closet, I notice the subtle cry released from the hinges of my door. The slow creak has always been a consoling sound I have come to expect with every slide.

All of the imperfections add character to this once stale room on the end of the hall. Every picture has a place; every article, a reason. I would not change a single aspect.