The Room Upstairs

The Room Upstairs



Eleven years… Eleven years since I stepped into my room and all that’s changed was the placing of the furniture and the dust collecting on the desk and under the bed. Not that I have time to clean house. College, heck, life puts us in a world of extreme flux. I find it nice to return to a stable place whenever I want. So much more than dust lingers within this 14 by 16.7 by 9.3 hub.

         The walls were baby blue; I felt as if I lived in the sky. Appropriate, as I was on the second. I had a poster with the planets, all nine planets; and I had a poster with my favorite dinosaur, a velociraptor. Both hung on the wall opposite the door and the closet with mirror doors. I hung my other poster underneath my window. It had dinosaurs from all periods; they were placed in a timeline.

Finally my own room! This new house brought marvels beyond what I’ve dreamed. A second floor. The largest room on the second floor, all mine. No more having to share with that annoying little monster, our differences being matters of the mind and two years, our only connection being that of blood. No longer do I have to hear his shrill voice spouting repeating phrases in my ear and no longer do I have to tell him to “Shut up” and have my parents punish me. No longer. Now I have a place to live.

My dad painted the walls gray seven years ago. I didn’t mind the color, I didn’t mind much when I was young. The room looks no different to me.

The carpet was a gray and very coarse, not something to lie down on, but at least I can build LEGOS. My bed was right under the window. I think it was placed there so that the sun could wake me up. I have a little bookshelf was next to the closet with mirror doors and my dresser was across the room. All my toys were lined up on it: monsters and LEGOS and action figures, oh my! During the evening, after I walk home from school, I would take them down and play with them or find new LEGO pieces to build upon some new creation.

But at night… At night they faced my way, so that after I read a chapter or two of Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone by flashlight under the covers, I felt like I was being watched. Not that I wasn’t being watched already. Of course the government and the girls at school had the means to do so. At night was the perfect time to do it. Whether in my room or the bathroom, I knew the air conditioning vents had cameras. Of course I’ve never opened the vents, but that was because I didn’t want them to know that I knew I was being watched.

It’s funny, I know they still watch me, not as much as before, but every now and then when I come home. I don’t know why every girl that knows me is in on this or what they’re doing. I’m sure given time they’ll leave me alone. The government’s more persistent; they even follow me to college. I know they’ll want my head to pick apart the information I’ve discovered. The vents have been the same since I’ve moved to this space. But we tore off the rug, and the floor’s wooden now. I helped a little. It feels better on my feet.

I didn’t want to leave my room because the outside was only wracked with turbulence, a zone where time and space were in consistency. But in here, the laws of the universe mean nothing! It’s not like they can read my mind, they’re just watching an outer shell construct and play, or pace and pray. I keep my door closed. Whether it’s open or not, mom or dad or Eric would yell up the stairs anyway, it’s the only way we can communicate through the noisy outside world. If one Max or Bach wanted in, they would just scratch the door; cats are the only pets that understand peace and quiet. They would get hairs on my bed but since we kept them indoors, they didn’t smell bad. My bed did not feel too firm nor too soft, it was just right. I could never fall asleep quickly though. I would look up at my popcorn ceiling and think to myself. Too much thinking gave me a headache though.

My bed still feels the same way it ever has. I wish I could take it with me whenever I go back to school. We moved it across from the window, to make room for my desk. I have a pair of samurai swords next to it just in case. I have a dreamcatcher hanging on the wall above it as well. It’s red and black with black and white feathers. Hanging from the big web are three smaller webs. It’s about two feet tall. We got it from Denver.

I can’t sleep much. I get headaches a lot. They have shapes. One is a lightening bolt. Another feels like a sword can fit in it. I walk around my room now. Sometimes I look out the window at night. I saw a man in my mom’s car. I thought he wasn’t real but every time I went to look he was still sitting there. He looked like he was waiting for my mom to drive him somewhere. When my parents looked and found nobody.

I cried sometimes too. I saw God and he/she told me the meaning of life. I couldn’t understand so I thought of everything. I cried because of how bad we are. I also cried because I knew how good we could be. But I couldn’t tell anyone what I knew so I forgot it on purpose. I also cried because I saw the Devil. It was in my head. I can’t sleep and my arms and legs lock in weird places. Someone is in places that I can’t see. I don’t tell anyone.

I saw the Devil. He isn’t all that bad. I was. One of my favorite episodes of the original Twilight Zone was the one were aliens knocked out the power and everyone was turning on each other, just to find someone to blame. God’s in the same position, well, maybe on another extreme. He wasn’t good all the time but I was. We’re friends now though. I don’t think I’m putting in as much effort as I can.

There’s someone behind me all the time. He’s all black. He’s in my room at night. He can’t follow me at school because I wear my sweater the whole year. I’m not hot in the spring. When I close my eyes he stands over my bed and talks to me. When I open them he is under the bed. I’m afraid to open and close. My arms and legs writhe and my abs tighten and shake. I sweat a lot in bed. I can feel the walls move sometimes.

I think of dying more and more. I think of hanging myself on the fan but I think it will break. I think of sticking knives where my headaches are to make them feel better. I think of killing other people. I won’t do it; I can’t help anybody when I’m dead. But I hate everybody. I don’t hate the person behind me. I think he won’t hurt me. Maybe he’ll leave me alone. I tell people I’m fine.

I fall asleep during second, fifth, and sixth period at high school now. My parents take me to a neurologist and he tells me I have depression and ADD. He gives me a stimulant name Concerta.

The fan is wooden now, to match the floor. I have a fluorescent lamp, as if the light from the fan isn’t enough. It can follow me during the day now. Sometimes, mostly at night, I can see it from the corner of my eyes, feel its presence, or see it in plain sight. It has eyes; they’re like high beams.

I know the shape of my brain. I can feel the chemicals moving. My brain feels heavy; the chemicals create a pressure when they’re in flux. Whenever the person behind me touches my shoulder, I feel like my skin is rotting. Pressure massages my brain and intensifies until my brain feels like it’s choking. Ninth grade biology is wrong. The brain can feel pain. I’m sure everyone goes through this in their rooms.