I just had the strangest moment where my unlatched window blew open, and right before it did I felt the breeze blow in and the curtain move and the shadow shifting on the wall. Then I turned to watch a paper on the sill getting closer and closer to the edge, so I leaned over to keep it there and to push the window shut. Reaching for the window, left arm out and still in my chair: I felt exactly like I was sitting in my old room at the old house, blue walls and Pooh stencils on the wall, cranking the window open during the summer and letting the breeze blow in through the back window from the backyard. Looking at the two houses behind me and the lawn, the smell of parsley/cilantro, the patio and the hidden little hill. Abandoned flowerbeds on the other side of the house, always dry after that summer of the little watermelons, and carrots and strawberries. The fence that never opened, that strange wire latch.
(Lilac tree behind that fence and the garbage cans underneath it, little steps down from the garage and the little island from the back door, pine tree in the middle to roll and sled around - where Abby the rabbit once was - semi-circle flower bed with strange chalky green little cabbage flowers, and tiger lilies tall, the fence in front of the barking dogs and the faraway pool and tall hedge walls. The rack above the drying vegetable bed, all made of the same unfinished wood, dusty chalky splinters waiting to happen and wire. The strange clothes hanger like an unfinished umbrella in the middle of the yard, dark green and plastic wires. Red and orange berries that smelled to funny in the dead of summer, the wire fence that hurt and I never jumped over, going into the neighbour's to get the ball, open lawn where sprinklers and that one time with the kiddy pool became recurring wished fors, the barbecue and lawn sets - first plastic then glass and black. Bricks on the other side, close to the ivy-covered house and the heater and meters and all those other unconcerning things. Coming out to the front, a little dip? Beside that abandoned little patch, the bush with the pink flowers. Our tree in the middle of the lawn with perennials at the root and all the flower beds surrounded by rough pink scalloped stone borders, walking down the curve of each one. Stubborn flower beds and that funny round bush that got cut flat. The one year we planted loads of tulips, the red and yellow ones that started. Ferns from a hike, and forget-me-nots everywhere. Cracked old curb and the flat grey rectangular stones going up the sides of the driveway. Before the white doors and windows, brown - that brown door with the screen, the suburban dream. The warm garage to rollerblade around and around, precarious wooden beams and white paint splotches, the same wood on the rack with the toboggans and balls and rollerblades. The door to the backyard, only after climbing over the lawnmower. Stones to the door - I don't know for sure, pink and grey zig-zags? Where the bench used to be, after the door and on the edge of the concrete. Where our sidewalk ended. Door to the kitchen with the gold handle and finish matching the coffee table, with the glass and the gold metal inside that slammed too hard. Marbled blue countertop before it became blue marble, and then got made into the spice rack. The hanging green spider plants, the curling iron and wood rack that's still in the kitchen corner with that black telephone. Our kitchen table and the Ikea foldout one, with the little TV. Cutlery in the top draw closest, rice under the sink and the green rice cooker with the lid that got too hot and only one button to push down. The white plastic drying rack. The bay window where the orchids were and dusty translucent curtains, the marble-border on the floor to each room. That wood floor. The nubbly ceiling. Going down the few steps from the kitchen, white metal grate - two squares of vent, on the right side. The fading gold fastenings of the rail. The little washroom where we put books under the stool, in the cupboard below the sink and I scooped in snow from the frosted window. Albert's room, my room (where Gong Gong used to be, wild green and with those funny wavy cracked mirrors, us stepping on his back). The closets to the back with tennis and badminton racquets, every imaginable toy and plastic lizards and frogs, always clean and white and eternally summer. The sloping hallway to the basement, white paint reaching up to touch. That ugly funny carpet of all shapes and colours, weird tan orange, and all the computers, the strange strange ceiling with the panels. The plastic playground that was there, the bamboo mat with the red borders. The far wall with the picture albums shelves that used to be in the living room, and the hi-fi and the little ceramic things. The treadmill, the lego and the cooking sets. The little windows behind the TV. The strange white shutter folding doors to the laundry, the red and white laminate tiling, that time they got flooded before we left for vacation. The racks, the crawl space with the nails sticking out of the wood and old beaded slippers, tools and unfinished projects to the right and old suitcases, shoes and clothes and so many things to the left. A wall of shelves and behind that on both sides, more. The lightbulb that blinded, with the string to pull. The half crescent above the door to the backyard. Going up stairs, the little landing and our pink childhood room with the funny wallpaper and that little shelf with the beige phone and a phonebook and taped corners, doodled courtesy of the children. The sliding doors the the closet and the window to the backyard, those amazing doodle curtains. Mama and Baba's mint green room with the walk in closet and my CNY poster that hung above their bed for a very long time, with the sheepskin rug where my scraped knee got sprayed with bug spray. The bathroom, wonderful and baths and showers and the first time I put on clear nail polish and thought it was an expected thing. The dining room where we ran around for hours singing old Chinese pop songs and opened Christmas presents. My darling Rieger-Kloss with the rusty pedals and serif-lettering with the little gold lamp that sat right before the little indent in the wall, first Pokemon cards propped up on the pull-down stand where I learned the E-flat Chopin for the first time. When the photo albums and shelves were there, a little alcove behind the couch and loveseat. The mirrored closet in the entryway and our bench with the abominable floral, like the heavy floral curtains we had before. My darling wonderful blue flower curtains and that red desk with the pullout keyboard shelf and the strange bench thing, my beautiful little night stand that I tried to grease with Vaseline once, my chair the white chair with the heaps of clothes and my mirror on the wall. Albert's room, the pillow and blanket forts and Snakey and Rabbity, the way flies died in the lamps and that funny kitchen UFO light
And of course the crackly sidewalk learning to bike, the way the road sloped downhill so it was harder coming back home, black polar fleece and gloves in the biting fall, the brambly gravelly shortcut to the field and the park, the field behind the school making dandelion chains, the slope down to the school and the winding path from the road)
My messy little room and the white window, wound open to that wonderful green.
