The Room that Built Me
June 10, 2010
In the beginning, this room was ugly by anyone’s standards. The walls were covered in atrocious, large flowered wall paper, from which hung gaudy lamps and sicky carpet girded the squeaky floor. Worst of all, the right hand wall was no wall at all, rather a half a wall, with a large window into the rest of the basement which had to be covered with a sheet for some cheap privacy. But I didn’t care (much, that window wall was quite annoying) it was all mine. My very own room. Years later, dad would finally get around to redoing my room, the wall would be properly covered in dry wall and an escape window would be cut (my very own window!) I faithfully painted my walls the color of the sky and ringed them with flowers (of a much more reasonable size) of every color, and later on, green carpeting would complete the room to create a place of everlasting spring.
I loved decorating my room; I filled the walls with my art, pretty pictures from the random magazine, the oddest assortment of memories and “junk”. My friends used to gaze on my walls and comment on the mass amount of stuff on them, my room was often referred to a museum of sorts, and in a way, it was, a museum of my life. I was proud of my walls, if I found something that made me smile, I’d post it on my walls. Discover a Bible verse that I needed to work on, on the wall it’d go. The more my walls held, the happier I was.
It was sad to take it down. When I was packing my walls, the words of the Italian painter on that episode of The Dick VanDyke show were playing on repeat in my head “give’ah me your walls’ah!” My glow in the dark stars are now the only treasures to remain on my walls, I can’t take those off until my last night, or I wont be able to sleep in the black emptiness their absence will create.
My escape window is a novelty, it provides me with a touch of sunshine, yet not enough to wake me too early on those precious sleep-in days. I love to have it open up above my head so I can listen to the night as I snuggle in my bed below. There is a special time, around three o’clock in the afternoon, when the sun is in the perfect position to shine between the houses and directly into my window. I discovered this time one day when I looked at my ceiling and discovered an array of tiny rainbows dancing above my head. I excitedly searched for the source of these colorful fairies and found that the sun was shining through my window and directly through the stack of crystals I had sitting on my windowsill. From that day on, those crystals were left unmoved, and whenever that short time would come, I’d turn off the lights in my room and just watch the rainbows dance. The time lasted only a few moments before the sun moved too far and was once again blocked by the rooftops, but it was beautiful. Then, late one night as insomnia was my only company, I discovered at around three AM the same phenomenon occurred, only this time with moonbeams. These spots of light lacked the vibrant color of the sunlit rainbows, but the peacefulness of the white lights was enough to lull me to sleep. 
This window of mine has been the cause of many an adventure. The window rests in a deep well, about three feet deep, the bottom of the well is covered in small pebbles, below which is a drainage system. This drainage system has not always been perfect, however.
The first time I was awakened by the flooding I wasn’t even in the room yet, rather I was sleeping in the room next to mine while we redid mine. There was a storm outside and I woke to the sound of water running. When my brain had cleared of sleepiness enough to realize that water should not be coming from anywhere, I bolted out of bed and into my room where I was greeted with the sight of water filling half of my window and steadily water falling down my walls and onto my floor. I dashed upstairs and woke dad with “my window is flooding!!” we were able to bail the window out and a better drainage system was installed.
The next time, I was in my bed, under the window, when I was again awaken by the sound of pouring water. Again, it took a few minutes for me to realize that water pouring is never a good sound in my room. I turned on the lights and again, water was half way up my window and streaming in. I thought quickly, pulled my bed away from the wall, unplugged the electronics from the socket on that wall, and ran to alert Mom and Dad. Mom and I worked on clearing that half of my room and drying off my things, while Dad bailed the window. Luckily, nothing was ruined or lost from that flooding, but I had to spend days letting the carpet air out and hoping the musty smell would dissipate.
The last time of a flood, was the worst. I was home alone; the rest of the family was up north where there was poor cell phone reception. This time, I was up watching TV when the storm hit. At some point, I went downstairs to get a blanket. I glanced in my window and saw the water, level with the bottom of my window, not yet spilling in, but dangerously close. I sprang into action. Pull away bed, unplug electronics, grab bucket, flashlight, cell phone, run, run, run. Outside, I began bailing before anything else, when I got the water low enough where I was sure it wouldn’t enter my room, I started calling Dad. it was about 11:30 at night. My call wouldn’t go through! I’d call, bail, call, bail, call again. Finally, I remember Dad mentioning to text if the calls wouldn’t work, since texting got slightly better service then the calls. So, I texted, the first text I ever sent in my life, painfully slow I punched out the message “window flooded call”.
After about a half hour dad called, but by then the storm had stopped and the window was clear of water. There was nothing else to do, so I went to bed. That was not the end though.
The next morning was church, afterwards, a friend of mine asked me to come over for lunch and a movie. It started raining again but I didn’t think much of it. I had cleared the drain the night before so there shouldn’t be any problems. But, when I was diving home, the streets were flooded and I began to worry. I hadn’t realized how much it had rained that afternoon. I got home and before even going inside I ran around the house in my heels to check my window. Yup, the window was half full already and probably flowing into my room.
I ran down stairs, pulling off my skirt on the way so I could jump right into my grunge clothes from the night before. On my way to my room I slipped on the water that was already collecting on the basement floor outside. “Crap! Crap! Crap!” I mumbled over and over as I pulled as much as I could to safety in five seconds before bolting outside to bail.
My family got home just as I was reaching the bottom of the window well, and after assessing the damage, we again discovered that nothing too important was lost (except of course the carpet which was ruined, but we had some green carpeting laying around, so in the end, it wasn’t to tragic of a loss). And once again, the drainage system was tweaked, and to this day I have yet to see even an inch of water collect in there.
Water is not the only thing my window has collected over the years however. I have had many a little visitor trapped in that well. Of course, it makes a prime hiding place for the occasional cub scout when playing hide and seek, but those wild creatures had to be banned when they kept breaking my screen when jumping in and out. However, there have been other, more interesting creatures jumping around in there.
One Saturday morning, I was lying in bed, listening to Adventures in Odyssey on the radio, when I heard a scratching sound outside. Curiously, I popped my blinds up and looked out, and looking back at me was a little baby bunny. He must have hopped in but was too small to hop back out. I went to wake Dad and with his help we rescued the bunny to hop away to his mother.
The other baby found in my window well did not have such a happy ending. I was again alerted to the presence of something trapped by the sounds of scratching. This time I discovered a baby robin, too small to fly out. I didn’t know what to do, not wanting to touch him since I knew if I did his mother might smell me on him and not help him. So I did the only thing I could, I left him there. He died the next day and I buried him in the yard next to the baby mice I had tried to save a few months before.
After that, other then a few frogs and toads, my window well remained free of poor fallen baby animals.
This room, deep in the basement, was more then a room to me; it was a sanctuary when I needed peace from the world. It was a friend when I just needed to cry. It was the place where I kept my deepest secrets. It saw me through those awful teen years. It withstood the shaking when I slammed the door in pure anger and frustration, when I threw things the walls stood firm. It understood when I needed to just let loose and sing, and it was my dancing partner when I danced alone in the middle of the night. It didn’t mind when I let the clutter get out of hand, and it provided me with a place to cram the things I just had to have but had no purpose for. This room welcomed my friends as a place they could see me as the “bear in her own den.” It protected me from the fears I didn’t want to face. It gave me memories and something to love.
From here on out, I may never have a room to myself again, but I will always remember this room, the room that saw me through the most important years of my life…the room that built me.
The House The Built Me (Miranda Lambert)
I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine
Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard
I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream
I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am
I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me
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