HPAC Young Writers Review Volume II | Page 24

LESLIE RECINOS 11th GRADE SITTING IN MY ROOM 4 purple walls, all perpendicular to each other. Each corner is a different story, stories I look back on and wonder how could things be different? I. I sit on my bed and observe the outline of a heart under the purple paint by the window. I’m in the 3rd grade and my room is now blue like the ocean, waves washing away every inch of the purple paint. I’m upset and instead of homework my sister and I write a list of things we hate: “homework, parents arguing Siblings, getting in trouble for no reason” Everything is written on the heart-shaped chalk board painted by the window. My mom comes in, ready to yell at us. She takes a deep breath in and looks at the list, eyes locked on “Parents arguing” and she goes to her room. II. Still sitting on my bed, I look at the next corner. It takes me back to the summer of 2010, the summer my grandma finally came to visit. The sun was beaming and I just finished packing for camp. My grandma had been a tourist in New York City for 3 days and I’d be leaving her on the fourth. She comes in the room, hands set behind her back. I turn around to greet her HPAC Young Writers Review and she hands me a hook. Under it reads “Stephy” and a picture of a ballerina sits beside it. She searches for a thumb tack to hang it with and gives me a hug, a hug that lasts a lifetime. God knows when I’ll see her again. Tears stream down our faces. III. Behind the door, no one notices a spot of blue paint on the door frame, part blue part purple like the sunrise. Images flood through my mind. It’s last June, the roughest time for my family. My dad just came home from knee surgery and the house was already filled with yelling and stress. My eyes search the room for my mother, her facial expression is tired and fed up. “Mom go take a nap, I’ll take care of it.” She makes her way to the staircase grabbing her phone on the way and dials a number. I don’t pay mind to the conversation until I hear “I can’t do this anymore.” I don’t even ask, I know where she’s coming from but why now? I walk up to my room and chip the purple paint off the door frame behind the door. IV. I sit on my bed staring at the last corner. Everyday images rush through my mind, when I sit there just thinking and thinking and listening to music and watching Netflix and talking to friends all day, old and new, to escape from reality.