This Is Not My Room

Faith opened her eyes and sat up in her bed. The room was dark with a peek of light shinning through the splits of the window blinds drawn downward. She always drew them downward because she felt that less light would be able to shine through.

“This is not my room”, she thought to herself. It was small, and shaped like a pentagon. There was a tall thin dresser up against one of the walls with all of her ex boyfriends t-shirts folded and stacked neatly on top. She could tell by the different retro prints that vaguely revealed themselves by the way they were folded.

There were four windows, and her room in real life only had one. There were plants and flowers, and a desk with books and papers that looked like they were organized to the owners pleasure.

“But these are my sheets, this is not my blanket.”

Faith stepped out of bed, wearing a large ninja turtle t-shirt, and a pair of purple polka dot pajama pants, she left the room.

The light was so bright in the hallway. She passed two doors on both sides of her that were so close together she thought they had to be closets.

When she emerged from the hallway she was in what looked like a living room. Couches, end tables, sliding glass doors that led outside, curtains open all the way. There was so much stuff, so much clutter, and there was no tv.

There was music playing, and lots of voices that sounded like they were coming at her from all angles.

She was barefoot. She opened the sliding doors and ventured her way outside. She could really feel the grass between her toes. There were people everywhere, and long wooden picnic tables that seemed to go on forever. She was greeted with such excitement and hospitality by almost every single person she got knew to. Hugs and greetings of, “Hey!! So good to see you!!” Everyone was a black person and almost completely naked. They were all so kind.

She saw her deceased father standing with two men by a grill, and he was holding a drink, as he was usually seen with, and the other hand in his jean pocket. He was wearing his black Cincinnati Bengals jacket, and he was smiling at her. He asked her to please go get him a “loaded hot dog” from inside the kitchen. As she entered the dining room it was a little more difficult to navigate through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, but just like outside everyone was stopping there conversations and smiling and hugging her. She approached a short blonde lady who was preparing hot dogs on a tray. The kitchen wasn’t very big and it was also packed with random clutter. Books and plants, bowls and pans of food all over the counters. Blonde lady was less friendly than the others. Faith picked up a hot dog and turned around and her father was standing there staring at her, smiling. He was a short, fat man with snow white hair and a beard. He spoke...

Faith woke up. The air mattress she referred to as “my bed” was deflating. She rolled off and stood at her feet. It was dark, it was cold, it was empty with just one dresser. The walls were bare. This was her room.