Chaotic Sanctuary

Behind the closed door resides my sanctuary. It isn’t very large, but that’s just fine with me. Across the small brown-carpeted floor, clothes are strewn about, resting in the last place they were carelessly flung. A knitted blue throw lays around them, sealing that one mess in between the end of the bed and the dresser. That mess, in turn, covers the papers, games, movies and folders littered underneath the dresser. It seems to be an unorganized mess, but, as the one who created it in the first place, I know exactly where everything is…most of the time. The six-drawer dresser that shelters these packrat items rest under holds its own mess on top. A radio, almost too large for the drawer rests in the corner while a ceramic horse sits guard in front. Cds and cd cases are scattered about, collecting dust with everything else. A picture of my father sits in the center just below another picture of the two of us. Two of my most precious gifts sit in front. Beside the picture rests the TV. The dust gathered on it shows just how much use it has received in the past few weeks. Change and a cellphone are scattered around it, also getting buried under a thin layer of dust.

Various cords run down to the outlet beside. A birdcage rests above it as the enclosed animal preens himself, getting rid of unnecessary feathers and causing a further mess on the floor underneath. Above him, awards and pictures hang crooked on the wall, the recipient too lazy to stop a moment and fix them on her way out. The door besides rests half-open…letting others know that they may come in if they must. A mirror rests behind the door, once attached to the dresser but no longer being needed. It rests there gathering dust. The brown closet door, identical to the room door, stays closed, hiding the disorder that rests inside: clothes messily hung up, shoes thrown uncaringly in a corner, and unpacked boxes shoved to the side, out of sight. On the shelf above rests a wide array of items; from old cassette tapes to a cowboy hat to other memoirs of my father’s life.

Just on the other side of the closet door rests two small, square drawers on top of one large “cupboard” type storage area, filled to the brim with papers, notebooks, and miscellaneous items stores over the years. Most of it is probably junk, but for some reason or another they have been saved. A large printer rests on top, used not only to print out things or to scan things into my computer, but also as a shelf itself. Posters of plays, a friend’s scripts, random papers of my own, a dried-up bouquet, and a graduation cap sit comfortably on top, the last waiting patiently for its own use. Just above, almost touching the paper feeder to the printer are numerous figure skating competition and 4-H medals. Each one holds a special memory, a story of triumph; each one is a monument of numerous hours sweating and training in order to receive them.

Among the medals hangs a small keychain laced with beads and shells. It was given to me as a gift by my younger sister. Whether she knows it or not, I am fond of it to the point where I don’t put it on my key ring in fear that it will come to harm. It hangs beside a picture of the both of us and our father, standing atop his work truck that he brought home for some reason or another…more than likely so that he could clean it. Those tree-trimming trucks were always dirty either on the inside or outside (or, as it seemed more often both at the same time). A memory of each of my close family does reside in this little spot, unnoticed even by myself until just recently. My mother’s mark…the pictures. As the photographer of both the previous picture and a skating picture of me, she has left her mark there as well.

Just off to the side of this, a desk sits in the corner, facing the wall. It is obviously well used, papers litter the small raises square as do various miscellaneous items. Car keys, cap stick, a cup of pencils and pens, random sticky notes, a hairbrush, another cup containing other small items…all these bury whatever else is hidden around my laptop. Right in front of my black chair (if we glance up a little), hanging on the ugly brown wall is a little 3-frame picture. The first, and largest, frame holds a small piece of paper that says:

IMA FLASHY SHOWBOY
shown by
QUINSEPARABLE
3 Year Old Registered
Miniature Horse Gelding

Below that shows two pictures…one with said “shower” and said “Miniature Horse Gelding” together in front of a barn at our country fair grounds while the other just shows the girl. A window rests beside that, opening out to show the road that runs in front of our house. The sun’s light lights up my small, brown room for the first time in days. The brown shades are open themselves, welcoming in the light.

If one lets their eyes lower just a bit, they will notice that a stand sits below. Much like the desk it is covered with random items…a couple TY beanie babies, an lamp, batteries, a DVD that somehow is out of it’s case, and an alarm clock. Upon closer inspection, one can see that snooze button is well used; the alarm never welcomed by the person who sleeps in the bed right beside it. Clean clothes litter that bed, waiting to be put away but not getting much farther than that. Blankets are strewn about, not being set back in an orderly fashion.

Above the head of the bed hang two picture frames; skating pictures. One shows myself proudly displaying a second place medal while the other shows me displaying a third place medal. Both medals reside on the adjoining wall. On the other wall beside the bed two other frames hang. One from a play and the other from our County Fair 4-H Horse Show.

Meanwhile, on a painted white ceiling, a white fan looks down on the disaster area below. A light bulb under a protected half-circle waits until dark to shine light down so that the owner of the room doesn’t kill herself as she stumbles around the room. Maybe this room means nothing as it is being described but I spend countless hours here, doing homework, writing, dancing, listening to music, or messing around on the computer. Here is where I come to loose myself for hours in imagination, work, or in dreams. My lovely, messy sanctuary.