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I grew up in the same house all of my life, and before it was ours, my folks and I -- it was theirs. They lived there just as long before as I did after, and it was filled up with the things a life collects. It was all sort of soft around the edges, worn through from time, and even though I was all kinds of awkward corners and angles growing up, my home never was. It was soft and supportive, but never harsh enough to leave any kind of lasting mark...a thought that was there for later.
After a while the awkward part of me got just a little too knowing about the roof over my head. I could have sworn I had counted each and every popcorn in the ceiling overhead, and I think my fingertips must have run their ridges right into the sheets I folded over and over with Mama. None of the glasses in the cabinet matched, but that didn't mean they were lacking in a way, a place and an order of how they got put up. Color and collections and memories were everywhere, but when you look on something for close to two decades, there gets to be a lot of calm in the chaos.
I think that was when I started climbing on the furniture.
Yes, that was surely a habbit I should have been scolded out of years before, but I didn't stumble on it till high school. Chairs and beds and dresers -- they were just the bottom part of the space. Maybe everything else was just so lived in, it was my body crying to find its own place, no matter where it was. There were many purposes on the front...I might have been hanging a poster, or getting down the second best dishes, or even catching a spider before it met with the harder part of a broom. But maybe, if I really thought on it...I was breathing?
So there were all of these thoughts growing up, but then the two that came creeping up the most -- and mostly at night. That no matter how long I was there, my folks would always have lived there longer. And no matter how much I loved home, they would love it more...because, well they had too. And I don't think I could have that part be any other way.
But also that, no matter how high I climbed and no matter how much I breathed, I could still see it coming. On the much sooner end of later, I was going to hit the ceiling, popcorn and all. So I sat out under the sky, trying to ignore the sweetly familiar lull of the fireflies while I filled out application after application. I did let myself get lulled I suppose, but only a little, and only for the point of locking away the sound for safe keeping. After all, it only meant the writing took and extra day...or two.
The purpose was school, but the point was something else.
I'll write about that later, when I find it.
After a while the awkward part of me got just a little too knowing about the roof over my head. I could have sworn I had counted each and every popcorn in the ceiling overhead, and I think my fingertips must have run their ridges right into the sheets I folded over and over with Mama. None of the glasses in the cabinet matched, but that didn't mean they were lacking in a way, a place and an order of how they got put up. Color and collections and memories were everywhere, but when you look on something for close to two decades, there gets to be a lot of calm in the chaos.
I think that was when I started climbing on the furniture.
Yes, that was surely a habbit I should have been scolded out of years before, but I didn't stumble on it till high school. Chairs and beds and dresers -- they were just the bottom part of the space. Maybe everything else was just so lived in, it was my body crying to find its own place, no matter where it was. There were many purposes on the front...I might have been hanging a poster, or getting down the second best dishes, or even catching a spider before it met with the harder part of a broom. But maybe, if I really thought on it...I was breathing?
So there were all of these thoughts growing up, but then the two that came creeping up the most -- and mostly at night. That no matter how long I was there, my folks would always have lived there longer. And no matter how much I loved home, they would love it more...because, well they had too. And I don't think I could have that part be any other way.
But also that, no matter how high I climbed and no matter how much I breathed, I could still see it coming. On the much sooner end of later, I was going to hit the ceiling, popcorn and all. So I sat out under the sky, trying to ignore the sweetly familiar lull of the fireflies while I filled out application after application. I did let myself get lulled I suppose, but only a little, and only for the point of locking away the sound for safe keeping. After all, it only meant the writing took and extra day...or two.
The purpose was school, but the point was something else.
I'll write about that later, when I find it.
