Outline in Keepsakes

My bedroom is a portal to my past. When I enter my room, memories surround me. To my right, an eighteenth century French chair sits next to a 1960’s dresser. Many of my fragile possessions are arrayed on the black lacquer dresser top. In the center is an oval silver dish where my Tiffany baby brush rests. Behind the oval dish is an Italian heart-shaped mirror that my brother and I have managed to break three times. To the left of the mirror is an amusing painted cardboard face I made in fifth grade. Above the dresser is a Mark Chagall print my parents brought back from a trip when I was eleven. Its’ black frame holds the laughter, color, and movement of a circus. I always find something new to ponder in the twirling dancers of the painting. Tucked in the corner, beside my dresser, is a four and a half foot wooden trophy I received when I was awarded a black belt in Tae-Kwon-Do. The trophy consistently gets knocked when I open the closet doors that cover the south wall. My nineteenth century French desk with curved legs and iron handles sits under east windows and makes for a grand place to do homework and gaze outside. The hand-blown glass lamp on the left corner of my desk lights my calendar, my lifeline. In fourth grade I created a pale orange clay vase, made to look like an ancient ruin. It is displayed next to the lamp and holds special pens and pencils. Rocks that I have collected as birthday presents cluster on the right corner of my pine desk. As night nears, I recline on my bed on the north wall. I slip off my moccasins onto the Amish lamb rug I inherited from my brothers. I toss my seventeen stuffed animals into the empty center of my floor and turn on the bronze floor lamp. Sometimes, my brother comes in to talk and tucks me into floral sheets. Curious George, two fluffy pillows, and pleasure reading keep me company. I drift off to sleep in my sanctuary of keepsakes.