I�ve been thinking about rooms lately. Since I was a child (or at least what part of my childhood remains in my conscious memory) I have occupied so many rooms, sixty-eight by my count. I have lived in fourteen different homes, one of which (the RV, counted as one room) was located in 5 different states at one time or another. This might lead one to the conclusion that I am by nature a rolling stone but that would not be accurate. I lived within thirty minutes of my childhood home until I was 34 years old. Then I packed up my world or at least what would fit in my then 22 ft Tioga (Oops, that makes sixty-nine rooms) and headed off for sights unknown.

I have been remembering the layouts of the many apartments I lived in during and after I graduated college. I had roommates right up until I bought my first house. I even moved home for 6 months just before I bought the place (I don�t suppose I should recount those rooms since they are already accounted for I was just revisiting.)

All those spaces I have filled with things that were at one point important to me. Many of those things are lost forever, discarded when my flight of fancy turned elsewhere. Little remains of the person who wore fine gowns and vintage hats. The jeans, worn in high school (the only ones that fit me right) shredded carefully for a modern dance performance my second go round in college, left in CA? or maybe FL? I don�t remember. That is what bothers me. I don�t remember a lot.

I remember the rooms though. The long thin apartment upstairs from the landlord whose son would hang his amplifier off the fire escape beneath my window waking me up so pleasantly after my late night shift at Wendy�s. The girl (woman) I lived with is dying of MS right now.

Next was an apartment above the bridal shop, where I found out my best friend was gay. He had an affair with my �boyfriend� (really I was only dating or I might have been hurt far more) and it ended our friendship. I saw him recently at a wedding and my heart was broken by the sadness I see in him.

Then there was the shady place below the drug dealer in the bad section of town which I moved into with the assumption that my friend would share the expense and in the second month she moved out, cleaned the place out and turned off the utilities without telling me. I invited another friend to move in and we lived there until her father insisted we couldn�t live there anymore and hooked us up with his business associates apartment.

This was a nice place with two levels and a giant living room that encompassed the entire front of the house allowing us to have a living room area and a pool table with lots of space to spare. My friend took the large upper room and I had the smaller lower room and we lived there for a few months until my friend decided to move home to save money to get married. I had intended on staying but at the last minute informed I would need to move (three days) and because my name wasn�t on the lease I acquiesced. She recently contacted me and I didn�t say �no, I don�t want to talk to you� but I also didn�t fall back into the pattern of �I�ll call and you can deign to talk to me maybe�. When I couldn�t take her call one night she said she would call the next day. She didn�t and neither did I.

Having no place to go I packed a large suitcase, trucked everything else over to my folks garage and moved in with someone I was in a play with at the time. She allowed me to sleep on her couch for $50 a month and groceries (not a bad deal).

Her apartment was actually part of a mansion that had been sectioned off and adapted into a series of apartments. Hers had been the attic of the home. What an incredible space. It had one small bedroom and bath off a tiny little kitchen and a long thin hallway that lead to a huge room with original wood built-ins and bookcases. Technically that was my room. She had moved into the apartment when her abusive boyfriend had been arrested for selling cocaine. After he turned states evidence he wanted back into her life and when she told me he was moving back in but I could stay I said thanks but no thanks. Later on I attended her bridal shower (not the abuser but another lug). I talked to her just after my son was born and found out that her marriage had ended badly but she too had found happiness the second time around. She had a child late in life as well. We talked of getting together but to date we haven�t actually spoken since.

I moved back in with my folks and enrolled in college to try and give myself a career. While I was in college I got a really good paying job thanks to my Dad and soon after moved into my own home. I lived there for ten years.

More rooms to follow�

I wish you Peace

~alison~

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