I stand in the middle of the shell of my bedroom. A quiet and empty monument to days gone by. Quiet and empty because I’m away at college, and now seldom come back–not even for the summer. The room is even emptier and less my room because the bed is gone–taken during my parents’ separation–leaving behind an empty and discolored patch of carpet. That’s probably the color the rest of the faded, off-white carpet is supposed to be. Memories and treasures are all that remain–the stuff too important to throw out, but not important enough to bring with me.
Posters of interests gone by grace the walls, hiding the baseball wallpaper–yet another interest of the past. The shelves are cluttered with junk, one year’s treasure and another year’s waste of space. Yo-yo’s and cars, books and action figures, magazines and antiques, teddy bears and a wooden train. A box of paper and assorted mess from my ’97 graduation sits on the floor. The bulletin board boasts a collage of pictures from my life, painstakingly collected and displayed at my graduation party. Monuments and souvenirs from every trip and place I’ve been to, sentimental items from past girlfriends, and everything I once thought was cool crowd every open surface.
Now the bedroom is hardly worthy of the name. With no bed, it’s become useless. Degraded to a store room of life. A place where I can sit on the middle of the floor and gaze at my childhood. But for now the time has come to shut the door and move on.