It has been awhile, once again. I shouldn't leave you hanging in between months, but hey, I know that I will be forgiven.
I've taken some time to decide what my next piece will be. But I decided to let someone else shine.
My niece Sapphire Woods, has the writing skills of an experienced author. Now of course I'm going to give her the ultimate props. However I think I will let you decide!
LetTashbspeak introduces:
Sapphire Woods-My Old Bed
It began with my bed. The bed that I had had since I was about 7, or even 10. Either way, I had that bed. That stupid twin bed that creaked for such a long time. I knew which bed was mine because of that creak. The tell-tale creak. My little sister had an identical bed, but mine creaked and squeaked far less, due to the fact that I simply took care of my things much better than she did. A direct reflection of our personalities and characteristics, laid out in a rigid rectangular format. By just sitting on the edge of her bed, one would cause a ruckus. Just like her. The smallest things would excite her--you could always tell when my sister was in the room. But my bed? Yes, it still made a bit of noise, but only when you rolled around purposefully in the center of it. Who knew, my old bed would be such a reflection of me. Such a reflection of my sister.
The year that we moved from our shit bungalow on Tooley Road, (post year of separation, post re-trial of my parents), we got new mattresses for our beds...Irony? Even better, the mattresses still squeaked. (Mine still squeaked far less than hers). How ironic, how these liminal states are marked. But after, after they split up for good, after he moved out forever, I started college in the fall. But before, before I left, Latasha got pregnant.
She told me, while I was high out of my mind on some laced Korean weed, (post high school graduation, pre Commencement day), and in the shower trying to figure out how to stand, that she was three months pregnant and would be moving back in with Mom. And she would be taking my room. “That’s great news!”
So she moved in all her shit and began to grow to massive proportions that summer. She grew and grew and grew. I packed and packed and packed. They threw my bed in the basement and Latasha acquired a Queen size frame and mattress, to accommodate her size. It was mandatory for her comfort.
She grew and I left for school. It was cruel and I didn’t know who the fuck I was.
Christmas came and I returned. My little sister got a Queen-sized bed, to accommodate her maturity, mandatory for her comfort. I slept wherever was free.
Summer came and my little brother rearranged his room, my little sister painted her walls pink, and Latasha got a really nice crib for my nephew Roger that would turn into a twin bed when he was older. I partied almost every night, got high every single day, and slept on the couch or in the basement, where they kept my old mattress. “I don’t know who you are anymore,” Mom lamented as she sent me to my third counselor in two years.
Fall came and I went back to school. It was cruel, and I changed. Like a wet, awkward butterfly squeezing out of a cocoon forged out of glass, the edges encircling my exit sharp as diamonds. I hurt and bled, but bloomed and loved the knowledge that made me fly. I went home for Christmas and made myself useful--helping with the festivities, providing rides to the mall, distributing babysitting duties, and prompting intellectual conversations with family members that had heard rumors that I was a nutcase drug addict.
When the formalities were sufficiently fulfilled with gusto and spirit, I went out with friends, got high every day, slept over at friends’ houses, or slept on the ground in Mom’s closet, since the guests had taken over the basement and couches and floors in the living room.
I returned to school after the break and Skyped my older sister Leneasha shortly after. She told me she noticed that I was hiding in a shell, always reading, avoiding “time with the family”. That I had changed, built up walls. The she “didn’t understand what was going on with me”.
I’m pretty sure that Mom has plans on cleaning out the basement the next time she’s not vacationing with her new boyfriend. I’m almost positive she’ll commission my younger siblings to help clear out all the shit that’s accumulated. She had expressed countless times that those old mattresses and boxes full of things I had left behind had to go.
Summer’s approaching. I don’t think I’ll be going home.
Hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Sapphire Woods currently resides in Edmonton, Alberta. Entering into her third year of university as an English major at Canadian University College, she is developing her writing skills and her passion for literature, prose, and poetry. Sapphire's favourite inspiring authors and poets are Anais Nin, Michael Ondaatje, and Sylvia Plath. Her hobbies, other than writing short stories, poetry, and paper cranes, are reading North American classics, frequenting the library, discovering tea and coffee lounges, and collecting tea for her tea collection. And if you were wondering, her weaknesses are anything containing sugar and a good sale.
