In the room, in the room..

...In the room, in the room,

Long-forgotten room

Moss and mushrooms make the floor

Daisies bloom...

I raise a fittingly bitter wine to my lips toasting the past. The bag is waiting by the door and one glance at it makes my fingers tremble. A tiny drop of red wine bends the curve of the glass and forever imprints on my pristinely white shirt - I watch it happen over and over again.

…Silence lies in the sheets

Of the long-forgotten bed

Flower blooms, flower bleeds

Poppy-red…

"The doors are closing, next station Davis Street"

I jolt awake from the conductor's voice reverberating inside my skull, and I instantly regret it. Every noise is painful, people are watching. Collecting my melted body into a cohesive pile, I wipe the drool with the back of my hand. The bag! I pat myself frantically.

"Over here, dear" The old woman shoves my bag back into my hands, lisping:

" Took it for safekeeping. That shifty one was looking it all over.." She chins at the disinterested young Arab man behind me. I look him down from over my left shoulder - he seems nice: A clean suit, a briefcase.. while I am a sloppy uncoordinated mess coming apart on the train. I am trying to focus on the lisping woman’s eyes. Mastering a wobbly rise I yank my bag from her liver-spotted wrinkly hand, leaving a lingering wine breath that sounds like "What the Fuck.."

...Thoughts resound with a beat-

Long-forgotten chimes.

History won’t repeat,

Though it often rhymes…

I left as soon as I could, but like a fearful and jealous lover I still secretly spied on the house: Sometimes during the train commute, seeking out the familiar roof between the bare fingers of leafless boxwoods that, like hands, beckoned me to return. Sometimes I checked on the house through google maps- In 2014 his car was still parked on the street.

Sometimes the house seeked me - jumping out, putting its grimy paws on my shoulders like a poorly trained dog, weighing me down:

“.. A fire swept through the N neighborhood leaving only several houses standing..”

As the reporter broadcasted the news, the house slowly entered the frame, glowing at me from behind her shoulder, glaring

I roomied up with some guy and his girlfriend who fought when sober and fucked when high. They only had two modes. I am not sure whether they knew that I existed or that we shared the space at some times. Once I walked into their kitchen only to find them high out of their minds, grunting wildly and doing it on the dirty counter, right next to the scattered knives: She had bruises all over her thighs, he was skin and bones. I counted his ribs and he was missing one. Still, that was better than what I had left behind.

Occasionally I wondered how the girlfriend could stay with a piece of trash like him, until one day someone sobered me up by bending me over the dirty counter, littered with the empty bottles from wine and pills.

* * *

The house stands at the end of the street, windows glowing in the blazing sunset. I feel guilty creeping down the street to spy on something that used to be a part of my life, and I was a part of. I prowl like a skittish coyote, casting shifty glances at the neighborhood that once used to be mine. An eye-or-two follow my lurking shadow from behind the tulle curtains.

My jealousy is painful- someone else lights the yellow lamp in my room. I knew and loved those walls, I warmed up against the cast iron radiator in the winter, I painted a white dragon on the green door. My room kept me safe from the rest of the house.

I mosey down the street, clutching that stupid purse like my life depends on it. How miserable - to only have happy memories about your childhood associated with the room. But that’s me! Voila!

It finally gets dark. The door of my ex-house opens and I get a glimpse of the new owners: He is young, she is pretty, and their daughter is in my bedroom.

Creeping into their yard will not be an easy task.

“I just want to say goodbye..” I repeat like a mantra, motivating myself to push through the thorny bushes

The room beckons me with a cozy warm glow, the back window allowing a full view inside from the yard. A flask floats out of my bag, moistening my dry lips.

The girl in the room is so little. Two tiny braids twisting upward at the ends. She is talking to her toys..

“Ma’am…” a beam of light grazes my shoulder. The police radio comes alive and the voice that called on me responds to the electronic chatter.

“There is a girl!!!!” I yell. “She is inside!” The officer breaks through the bushes and instantly changes his focus to the house.

“Ma’am did you see a child inside the abandoned house?..”

“She’s right there!” The beam of his flashlight follows the direction in which I am pointing. “Stay here!” He commands. I follow.

The door isn’t locked and the house is dark. The officer calls out, walking on the crunchy floor. My room is at the end of the hallway. He opens it without a struggle, and I follow him inside.

THREE MONTH LATER

...In the room, in the room

Long-forgotten room

Moss and mushrooms make the floor

Daisies bloom.

On the frame of the door

Robins weave the nest

What has happened before

Is now laid to rest.

The support group cheers and for the first time I feel seen.

“So what did you see?” Asks a twitchy brunette, a newcomer.

“We do not force the story..” The therapist stretches out her hand in a protective gesture, then looks at me: “Unless… you are ready to tell?..”

"After all… Just a room

Rediscovered.

Where the dreams were in bloom

And hopes flowered."