One Day in Reverse

I turn my alarm off, hoping I haven’t woken up my roommates. I snore. I laugh at my silliness. I lay my head on my pillow, and try to let my entire consciousness flow from my body, leaving a pile of serenity. I get up from off the floor, and dust my knees off. I pray beside my bed the same prayer I’ve been saying since before I knew I could talk. I turn off my desk lamp. I say goodnight to my roommates. Good, there are no bugs. I sip water from my orange cup that sits on my desk, after I check to see if anything is in it, of course. I turn off the ceiling light. I enter my room and lock the door.

I get dressed in comfortable clothes. I look like a maniac. I try to dry my hair as quickly as possible by shaking my head back and forth with my towel. I dry my whole body with my large green towel. I grab my towel from the towel rack, shivering from the cold air of the restroom. Reluctantly, I turn the hot water off. I think it’s an old wives’ tale. As my shower ends, I turn the water down to cold because it’s supposed to make my hair shinier. I use my favorite shampoo and body wash that smell delicious; it’s like a mixture between strawberries and vanilla crème. I step into the shower and turn it on so it’s nice and warm. I undress. I leave my room and go to take a shower.

I close my textbook and put down my pen. I finish my last few notes while typing to Cindy. I get distracted. I laugh at Joan’s commentary on her roommate’s activities. I try to read fifty words from my textbook for every hundred I read of Facebook. I turn my laptop on while getting out my notebook, textbook, and a pen. I begin to study.

I come downstairs from Cindy’s room, and am delighted that no one’s in my dorm room. I run back to grab my laptop from Cindy’s room. I realize I’ve forgotten my laptop at Cindy’s. I trip on the rug as I leave Cindy’s room, saying goodbye to her and her roommate, Rebecca. I decide it’s definitely time to start studying. I raid Cindy’s refrigerator and being eating her baby carrots. After watching videos online, I realize I’m hungry. 

A Look at the Studious Procrastinator from a Side View

My first memory of the bookcase was when I moved into my house in New York. My brothers shared one room, and I had my own. However, they were special because they got a bunk bed, while I slept on a simple twin mattress. As compensation, the bookcase was put in my room so I could have more furniture.

I remember staring up at it and being amazed at how tall it was. It looked as though it could have touched the ceiling and still stretched farther. I can still see my childish books lining its shelves: The Mitten, Blueberries for Sal, and The Hungry Caterpillar. I cannot count how many times I tore apart those shelves, searching for the one book I wanted, carelessly tossing around the others that seemed unimportant and burdensome. 

 

I was lucky when we moved from that house; I was too small to do any of the packing or lifting. I do remember seeing the bookcase being carefully brought down the stairs as the movers tried to avoid hitting the walls. Looking down at where the bookcase stood, I saw the deep track marks in the carpet from such immense weight and pressure of the heavy hardwood. My task was to vacuum the tracks until they evened out, and it seemed like forever until they did. Even after it was removed from the house and shipped to its next location, an impression of the bookcase was still in my room in New York.

In our next house in Pennsylvania, my parents put the bookcase in my room. The light oak looked out of place against the hideous green carpet, so I took it onto myself to make it appear cozier. Using watercolors, I tried to paint the wood so it looked artistic. Splotches of blues and yellows flew onto the shelves, the books, and the carpet, making quite a mess for a delighted seven year old. Disregarding the brush, I used my fingers to squish the paint between the shelves’ cracks, only to be thorough of course. 

For the few years we lived in that house, my mother cringed when she would take a book off the shelf. Choosing between The Hobbit and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for our bedtime story was not as difficult as not having nice things. When we finally moved out of that house, the bookcase was one of the only things we decided to take with us. We had little room for our other big furniture, and after a messy divorce, there was no need for sentimental value. As the movers lifted the bookcase off the ground, my paint stains glared up from that ever-putrid floor. Those stains served as an ugly reminder of our life in Pennsylvania, and certainly reinforced an embarrassment for us not to return.

After a few more moves and even more stains, the bookcase found itself a home in North Andover, where it had stayed in one place the longest. While a copy of Pippi Longstocking could be seen on the bookcase, it was most likely nestled between Richard III and The Scarlet Letter. Years of transportation and child abuse had certainly left its mark on the bookcase, but it still stood sturdy there in our back hall. Looking at how small and angular the staircase was, I was puzzled at exactly how the bookcase got to where it was.  

With the summer dwindling and my family packing up the house to make yet another move, I looked at our bookcase. I saw where I had used permanent marker to clumsily write my name, circles of what appeared to be rotten egg, and at least eleven candy wrappers. As I started packing my copies of The Holy Bible and War and Peace, I realized the bookcase was too big for me to move out of the house. Years before I had no idea how the behemoth got upstairs, and years later I still did not. The bookcase would not be coming to my next house with me, as it had done before for all of my life.

I left the bookcase in North Andover; there just was not a way to bring it with me. I thought it would break my heart as we drove away from that house on our way to Salem, but I guess I knew North Andover was where the bookcase was destined to remain. Although I will never put another book on its shelves, or write another letter on its sides, I know it will still stand just as sturdy and strong as it always has.