_orgasminpants (_orgasminpants) wrote in tellmeastory,

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Growing Up


Every time I walk down this hallway, I don't realize I've seen it every day for 19 years. My entire life. The walls are close together. It's a cramped hallway, cluttered. One wall, the left, is a pale yellow-white, and the right wall is a wood paneling. The carpet is old and looks it. The pattern has faded into a comfy look that suggests how many generations have walked on it. I remember lying on the carpet with my grandmother's cat curled up on my stomach. I remember smoothing my left hand along the brown, fuzzy carpet and scratching behind the cat's ears with my right hand, feeling the softness surrounding me. My cheek lying against a distorted diamond. I remember thinking, wondering about what other's have thought about as they walked down this hallway. I wondered if any of them had the audacity to lie on the carpet in the middle of everyone's way, just as I was doing at that moment.

I closed my eyes, imaging the way everything looked... The prickly white ceiling made me always wonder if it felt like a cactus. The texture of it almost made me want to forgive it for being such a bland color. At the end of the hallway is a blue book case that is so great; it takes up the entire width of the hallway at the very end. Almost as though it were saying that the hallway did not end, that it just seems as though it has. It's filled with hundreds of childrend's books, amusing tales of far off, unrealistic odysseys.

Four doors. I could walk down this hallway blindfolded and instinctively know where each door is and which door leads to what room. On one door there is a partial hole at the bottom where someone kicked it in. There are two names placed on this door, as well as four paintings that shout the complexities of a child's mind that no one sees. There are pictures at the entrance of the hallway of family, pictures of my mom and her siblings. This is how I know what they looked like as they grew up. By the bathroom door there are tons of little, painted wooden blocks hanging on the wall, each one carrying an important or funny quote. Every Novemeber we hang up Christmas decorations all along these walls in anticipation of the holidays. This little room that no one considers a room always stays constant in appearance as thought it were tradition.

All four doors lead to somwehere special, to someone special. Into a magical fantasy of pirates and ships and fighting, of dragons and horses and spells, one door leads. Into a story-telling chamber of wild dreams and worlds another door leads. Onto a good-night-kiss planet with less gravity that allows me to jump when I walk. It's made of promisses that swear to me new days will come, that is where another door leads. The last door leads to a marshland with a never-ending, glittering sea and a large ship with two shiny masts. To magically exciting places all these doors lead. it gives comfort to know I am somewhere where all I have to do is twist a welded knob of gold and fall into another world and another time.

However, at some point in time, the left wall was partially painted over, and the bookcase was stripped bare of its memories. The carpet has rotted too much, and the doors to the other worlds and adventures have been replaced and hidden by large, wooden, faceless blocks that refuse to budge. The traditions of this room have ceased. There are no more decorations, and there are no more festivities to be seen. All the colorfull blocks that held quotes have been chipped or knocked off the walls. pictures have been removed and holes made by nails are stated clearly in the wood paneling. The hall is cold now and my feet are bare. I cannot find the other doors anymore; I've been blinded to all the feelings of the room.

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