many rooms, 8
where I was woken up by an earthquake
“My Father’s house has many rooms…”
The image of this room is quite foggy in my mind, perhaps because I was mostly sad there.
We’d moved from what was supposed to be our dream home, to this much smaller, very cramped flat. Life had suddenly shrunk to a tiny room, which I had to share with my sister.
That sharing is what I remember most: the two single beds (mine against the wall), the tension that came from being tight, the bullying that ensued, and how much I started to value time on my own.
That, and the night when I was shockingly woken up by supernatural force – my dad lifting us both of from our beds, and leaping with us in his arms under the threshold; while the earth shook, and all buildings around us roared in agony.
I remember the darkness (it must have been two or three in the morning, I suppose); my mom’s eyes shining panicked in that darkness; my dad’s impotent grin.
I remember the moment the earthquake stopped, and all was silent for an instant. My dad let go, the light came on, and we smiled nervously and looked at each other in disbelief.
About the room, though, I don’t remember much more.