The first room to the right of the stairs used to be my room. Before we got older and would fight constantly, it was mine and my sister’s room. It was yellow with green squares on one section of wall, we never finished it. When it was my own, we painted it a coastal blue. Those were the colors of the walls when I went away to vacation in Missouri. When I got back, I couldn’t sleep in it anymore. There were too many memories; from when I was happier and he still existed in my world. So I moved into the other room, and haven’t had the chance to repaint yet, I keep putting things off.
She finally got around to buying another bed for that room, for if we ever have guests over, or maybe to set up music. I don’t go in that room. It used to be so big to me when it was time to clean, now the four walls threaten to close in on me and suffocate me. Taking me back to a time when there was hope and there was him. She’s painted the walls yellowish, a neutral tone, and I look at it for as long as I dare. And I wonder if we will ever be able to scrub the room free of the memories of him,