When I returned home, I went back to my childhood bedroom, while the contents were mine, I felt detached. All the remnants of my former life before the Army were all here. My letterman letters and spelling bee medal hung from the mirror over my dresser, along with a picture of my senior prom date and I, dressed to the nines. My parents had always given me space, and aside from my mother setting my clean laundry on the foot of my bed, she rarely came into my domain.
Maybe that was it. I just needed to ease into it and get used to having a civilian in the room with me. I turned off the TV and walked up to my room. Placing my clothes in a folded pile on my chair in the corner of the room, I pulled on my lounge sleeping pants draped on the back of the chair from the night before, scratching at the creases my slightly tighter jeans had imprinted on my waistline. I flipped the knob’s lock perpendicular and prodded back to my bed. Why am I locking the door? I’m home. I turned back and flipped the knob’s switch back to the horizontal position.
I shrugged it off and crawled beneath the covers. It was muggy and warm as the temperature skipped spring and ran straight to the humidity of summer. Nevertheless, I found comfort in the cocoon of blankets and soft high thread count of quality sheets. My foot poked out the foot of my bed, and I retracted it quickly into the inner sanctum of my blanket pile. I laid in bed, restless. My leg shook, and I tossed and turned from side to side trying to find my comfy spot. Finally, I disentangled myself from my disheveled bed of blankets and stripped it bare to the fitted sheet.
I smoothed out of the all the lumps and creases of the mattress cover then lined up the top sheet with the head of the bed. As I smoothed and tucked the end trim of the sheet under the footer of the bed and folded each hospital corner, my nerves settled. I laid the cornflower-blue blanket on top and folded the top sheet down over it. Next, I layered the two afghans my mother had crocheted for me years ago in high school as she tried to keep warm and stay productive during many nights watching my high school football games in the cold.
I looked down at my fresh, tightly-made bed and a long sigh escaped my lips. Still edgy, I flipped the lock to perpendicular locked position. I grasped the knob and tested the lock. Feeling silly and defeated, I rested my head against the door. Baby steps.
Pulling one corner of the blanket heap back, I slipped in-between the cool sheets. My toes were held down by the tight hospital corners, my pulse slowed, and my breathing steadied as I drifted off to sleep.
Trying to get information out of my sister was harder than trying to crack a radical terrorist for intel. I asked about Christina, and she crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and replied, “Why do you want to know?”
“I wanted to thank her for the bear claws she made for me.”
“There you go again thinking the world revolves around you. Those were for the Rotary Club meeting.”
“They were in my house, on the dining room table, and so they were free game. I claimed them.”
“I know, you pig, couldn’t leave a couple for anyone else?”
“I’m saving you money. You will thank me later.”
“How is that saving me money? Now I have to go buy a bear claw. And the ones at the bakery don't have nearly enough cinnamon and they don't have any chocolate ones.”
“I am saving you time and money because now you don’t have to spend money on a gym membership and run fifty miles to burn off all the pastry dough and sugar I consumed.”
“Well, no one told you to eat the whole tray. Did you eat Mom’s serving platter too?”
“ No , but I might have licked it once or twice before I put it in the dishwasher.”
“Ew, I’m never eating off that thing again. Thanks for ruining Thanksgiving too.”
“Good, more stuffing for me.”
Beth tried to sucker punch me, but I flexed, and when her hand connected
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