Guest

Last night, I slept at home, in my old bedroom, for the first time since I went away to college. It was much unchanged. Porcelain dolls and music boxes of childhood still decorated the shelves. The piles of my books and CD's were just as I left them. From the coat hook hung dried corsages from formals long ago and leis from graduation and even a few childish medals from elementary school days. The same pictures I'd selected were still upon the walls. And yet, the room was oddly sparse and devoid of so much of what made it mine, even though I couldn't pinpoint just what that was. In my own bed that night, the dark outlines of the room were well known to me. The hum of the fan was the same. Even the gentle creaks and groans of the house were not unfamilar. And yet... It was as though I was a guest. Who was the child whose stuffed animals lay haphazardly in the closet and whose dolls sat upon the shelf? Who was this girl who loved soft blues and pinks and chose the billowy blue curtains? Who was it who loved all those books and listened to all that music? Who was the young woman who wore the corsages that hung on the coat hook and prom dresses in the closet? Who was she? Was she still me? I hadn't realized just how long I'd been away.