Writing 101: A Room with a view

Writing 101: A Room with a View (or Just a View) Day 2

We’re all drawn to certain places. If you had the power to get somewhere — anywhere — where would you go right now? For your twist, focus on building a setting description.

My mother’s bedroom

I grew up in Puerto Rico. My dad was the only person working and my mother was always sick. She spends lots of time in the hospital.  We’re six children and I’m the oldest.

My mother’s bedroom was the place that I feel safe and it was magical. I remember being in my mother’s room, playing, listening to the radio, or listening to her stories. I love every single minute. We all did. My mother’s bedroom didn’t look like the ones in the magazines, however every memorabilia from her room were precious. There were two full sized beds; one bed for my two youngest sisters and then hers.

My dad will have his own room after my youngest sister was born. He will wake up early morning to go to work and he didn’t want to bother her. My house was a four bedroom. The other remains bedrooms my two brothers will share one and I have my own room.

My mother’s bedroom was painted in her favorite color green. Between the two beds she has a medium size table where she keeps her bible, a notebook with envelopes, the figure of The Virgin Mary with a vase with fresh flowers, and candles. She will pray and recite the rosary every night. The smell of fresh flowers will invade her room. She has roses, orchids, and different varieties of poppy plant close to her window.

In the other side of the bedroom, her big drawer full with their clothing and on the top she has our pictures, photo albums, a radio, a small fan, and small figures of saints. She has a white musical jewelry box with a few necklaces and earrings that I will play with. My mom’s closet was very small and I will hide between the clothes and boxes that she keeps just to play with her purses. She always said she kept her treasures in one of those purses.

She was a story teller and before going to bed, she will tell us one of her stories.  They’re so much love and magic in that room. No need for any books.

When I was afraid and I will run to her bed and sleep next to her. The smell of her soft perfume will make me feel safe.

Also in that bedroom, I watch my mother being very sick and get deteriorated over the years. If those walls can speak will tell how many tears, prayers, I made for my mother. I missed those days when we all seated on the bedroom floor and listen to her amazing stories.

When she passed away on September 20, 1986 at 48 the first place I run was in her room. I cry in her bed until there were no more tears. I try to feel her presence and hear her voice. The room didn’t feel the same. I will not hear her voice again. I will not hear her stories. I will not smell the fresh flowers. I will not have the safe place where I can hide. The magic from her room was gone.

 

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