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Writing 101, Assignment 11                                                     9/30/14

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Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

 

It seems safe enough to my young eyes. I survey my new room like a robber casing the joint – checking off a list in my mind.  Lockable door, lockable windows. Warm air hits my face as the ceiling vents kick on. This would be my 8th bedroom, I was happy that I wouldn’t be sharing it.

To my left I spy a small walk-in closet, still smelling of fresh paint and Lysol, suitable for storage and for hiding in. Several shelves and hanging bars dominate the side walls. The back wall is free.  The closet ceiling sports a door to the crawl-space above; I make a note to attach a lock to it.

I amble over to the high, double-paned windows and scope the sizable backyard. A high fence hides me from the neighbors on either side and a sturdy padlock secures the gate to the creek.  Leaves and fallen apples carpet lawn.

Mentally I place my furniture; mother said I could do as I please. My brass day-bed would be tucked against the north wall near the door and across from the window. The dresser would fit in the back of the closet, my reading chair in the corner, diagonal from the bed.  The tiny phone table grandfather got me at a garage sale would fit neatly in the bed-side corner, my red-rotary phone sitting on top.   I smile briefly, excited about having my own phone line. It’s technically an unspoken apology for moving yet again.

I decide that my multi-colored, much-loved, woven rug would be better suited for the large empty wall, especially since I could feel the toe-grabbing luxury of the soft carpet beneath my bare feet. My other large ‘hippy-tarp’, with its swirls of blue and green, would go well on the opposing wall and my posters could be scattered in between.

I like this room, this house; it’s façade of suburban security. I like that a cop lives across the street and school friends are scattered along the block. I end my musings and start unpacking, hoping that this time we’ll get to stay awhile.

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