The Good Word

Places I've Lain My Head:

Elwell Street: In the back corner of a second story room. The corner closest to the tree-fort that I would now and again steal from Nathan Ward, the neighbor boy. The room with the Victorian-patterned light which, as I found out when my sister was old enough to move from the crib in my parents' room to share a room with me, looked far too like E.T. when the light was left on dim. The sweetest smelling and most melodic home I have ever experienced. Always the soft sunshine of fall.

Riverside Drive: In a drawer-bed adjacent to the kitchen where Vivian's banging of pots and pans would wake me up at 5am every Saturday. That vent let in the smells of home and sounds of discord.

Carson City: The back corner of the room. Sleeping beneath my comforter with its African animal pattern, fashioned and fitted over the no-longer-appropriate clown and circus pattern. From there I was able to survey my entire room, and to wake up with chills when I dreamt of a shadowy figure standing the doorway. Again, in the opposite corner near the window, where I would hear children playing outside when I had already been sent to bed.

Stevenson Lake: In a room never quite my own. In a bed too high with too many pillows. Where the sun would pour in far too early. Then on the basement couch where I would fall, exhausted, after everyone had gone to bed and would rise before even Vivian dared to stir. The only time I can remember wetting my bed: while in a virtual coma after a 38-hour work day.

Galloway: The foot-to-foot double-bunked arrangement of our room on the second floor, sleeping on the sheets that came in a cloth bag from Wal-Mart. Coming home midday to find Scott or Abe asleep there. Then in our one-semester room where Mike and I got Axe-bombed. Where I first felt the strain of sophomore year. Where we held our Bible studies. The room I left to drive home in a snowstorm to be with my father when he died. Then the room, twice as big, to which we were relegated due to the Dean's dislike of my tact as an RA. The triple-tiered arrangement which fit perfectly into the corner of the room. Where Abe blew up pictures of Mike and Maggie and Cherrie and I and put them over our beds.

Downtown: The room of my own over the tobacco shop. Third floor with my head near the window. The rush of semis passing at 4am. Hearing Mike make his late night calls to Maggie. Hearing the town clock tower, situated at just my altitude and just across the street, chime every hour through the open window. Sleeping on Mike's floor when I could, out of pure love and loneliness.

West Street: Blinding myself between a dresser and a blank wall. Sleeping “I Love Lucy-style” with Abe. Keeping the alarm clock in my bed like I used to in Galloway. Coming in after a midnight-4am shift on security and falling into bed for the few hours that remained before 8am Anatomy.

Colorado Springs: Floor at first, then double bed again - found next to a dumpster but nearly new. Too much room. Having to sleep diagonally and continually losing my blankets. Having my own room again, and then my own house. Sleeping in a house alone for the first time.