My Place

At the top of the stairs was a large window facing west. As I passed from childhood into my teen years that window became my favorite spot. From there I looked through the dancing leaves of a big mulberry tree to the road leading to the rest of the world. Outside that window I could see the rock pile beside the gravel road that led to highway 61 and routes beyond. I could see the little brick-siding house where my brother, Horace and his wife Marie lived. It was small and neat and cosy. Marie had a real living room.There were no beds in her front room. The pump was in the kitchen. How unique! Something not even considered at the house on the hill. I dreamed of someday having such a cosy, convenient home.

My place by the window was perfect during the hot summer days. I could count on an occasional gentle breeze through the window. It cooled my moist face and twisted and turned the big mulberry leaves, showing their white fuzzy side. The gentle whisper of the leaves brought peace to my heart and life. How perfect were those hours spent sitting in the window.

My seat by the window was a box of old clothes and rags, crushed and torn to fit the shape of a young slim teenage girl. Many dreams and plans were fashioned there. Someday, I'd be a wife and mother. I'd read and play with my children. I'd tell them stories and we'd sing and plan and wait together for Christmas. I'd sew little girls' dresses and little boy's shirts. I'd take them to church and teach them about Jesus. I'd cook and then gather my family together at the end of day.

I spent many rainy hours sitting in the window. I could hear the rain on the roof and it's gentle patter on the leaves of the mulberry tree. The dim light from the window fell on forgotten stories from the pages of old magazines and newspapers. I reread the comics and scanned articles with intreging head lines. If the day was cool, I would pull an old skirt tail from my seat of rags to wrap my arms. With a damp breeze in my face I'd visit faraway places and live a life of vicarious wonder from the discarded papers and books on the landing at the top of the stairs.

The subdued light faded into the shadows behind me, lost in the boxes of junk and clothing and dusty pieces of broken things, even the small unopened box at the top of the stairs.