Written by Rebecca Stanton
Illustrated by Laura Liu
I am sure the room looks different now.
My legs burning up against the scratchy old carpet. Brown, orange, yellow. Some awful floral print that spirals round and round on itself. A glimpse of another gaudy time that had once made me laugh, yet now, later, I find myself yearning to learn more of its rough tread.
The wallpaper is peeling a little behind the fireplace, a slightly yellowing, off white that shimmers in the lights during darker hours. It’s these hours I find her in her chair, reading, knitting, chatting. The things she used to do before it changed and she sat blankly in rooms that weren’t her own, muttering words borrowed from another day.
The sofa is so sunken now that sitting on the floor gives a sturdier seat. Reaching awkwardly forward, I grab at the tea from her lace draped coffee table with its lifetime’s assortment of coasters. The mugs make me smile, printed with quaint scenes of a city even longer ago, before shopping trolleys made it into the canals or busy cars deafened the roads.
Too much milk. I asked for no sugar but its sandy layer still swims at the bottom of the mug. Its sweetness speaks of a love I am too young to understand. Too young until the tea comes confused into our rooms in the middle of the night, chattering away blindly, unable to distinguish night from day, sleep from wake.
Lounging above the sofa, lined up top, she’s put a row of large, soft teddy bears. Their slightly off kilter smiles jump from face to face, glassy eyes staring forwards, occupying the room with an eternal presence. I think of those teddy bears as we drive away, seeing her standing alone at the window, waving, smiling, then gone.
I am part of the room too. Displayed in an old wooden cabinet, tall and looming over the middle of the room. A me from many years before, big eyes, wonky pigtails, toothy grin. Decked in some shiny pink dress or the sky blue hues of my old uniform. I wonder how many times she looks at these pictures. It’s a long time since I looked like that yet every-time we meet surprise (feigned or real) draws across her face. Wow you’ve grown so much! Taller than me now!
The room never seems to change. A new knitting project here and there, a new coaster or card propped up on a surface. A fresh channel flickering on the wheels of that old television. A season passing by through the window onto her small, boxy garden.
As she sits in the chair my heart aches with the words I can’t seem to form. Worlds apart, yet here, in the same room. I want to ask her everything. About holidays, people, family, love, passions, lessons. But I am too young to know.
She will be waving from the window soon, she will be in a home she doesn’t know, she will be confused, she will lose herself.
But this was many years ago.
Hidden among its row of suburban semi-detached houses; I’m sure the room looks different now.
