I am writing a longer piece of fiction (sort of non-fiction, too, a little of both) about a time in my childhood that was greatly in flux. It was the 1970s, Los Angeles, those middle school years when the first glimpses of adulthood start to cut through the sheltered innocence of childhood. Everything seems possible and magical, and yet there is a sadness to those years, too, coupled with a feeling of inadequateness. A few entries ago I shared how I revisited the many apartments of my youth. Today, I am writing about my bedroom — gasp! — where I created my own little world no matter where the address. I’m sharing a sample from my upcoming blockbuster novel…sure to hit shelves as early as 2023. Stay tuned!
1973 — Los Angeles
I am lucky to have my own bedroom because my brothers had to share a room before Billy left for college. They fought a lot – wrestled each other – and I could hear them banging around and falling to the floor. Whenever I tried to sneak into their room they got mad at me and threw their dirty socks at my face. Then I would cry. It happened like that every time.
In my bedroom I have a light green bedroom set with little brown speckles in the paint that give it an old fashioned look. There is a matching queen size headboard, dresser, night table and my favorite thing of all is my vanity. It is the size of a small desk but in the center the top opens up to reveal a mirror and a small compartment for my makeup. I think it is beautiful and magical. I don’t own a lot of makeup, maybe some Bonnie Bell lip smackers, a hairbrush, and some of my mom’s old rouges and lipsticks, mostly in dark and bright shades of red. On top of the vanity, I display my Sophisti-cat Max Factor perfume — I have the one with the blue feather for a tail.
In the corner there is a large pink and white sheep dog pinata that I bought on Olvera Street. I bought it because I thought it was cute and to keep it for decoration, not to fill it with candy and beat it with a bat. I have a record player, too, to play my music such as the score to my favorite movie, Oliver, Swan Lake (to dance to), The Carpenters and Sonny and Cher (to sing along with), amongst other albums.
When I open a white musical jewelry box a tiny ballerina twirls to tinkly music. Inside the box I keep my secret stash: a clear acrylic pen holder with a small rose inside, autographs from Sonny Bono and Debbie Reynolds, a miniature Peanuts flipbook and a small crystal heart pendant that I stole from Vickie’s house when I was in 6th grade. Okay, so the heart sparkled like a diamond. Vickie’s mom was an actress on a television show and they had a big house filled with beautiful things. Vickie had toys and jewelry and clothes everywhere in her bedroom – it was so messy that I didn’t think she would miss one little heart with all of the stuff she had. She did because later on she asked me if I had seen it because it was missing, and I said no.
On one wall, next to a window, there is a portrait of me in pastels that an artist drew at Ports O’ Call Village. We visit there a lot for lunch and to walk around. My dad loves watching the boats come in and out of the harbor. He wants to go on a deep fishing trip someday, he always says when we’re there. The portrait is my profile. My dad says it doesn’t look like me at all. My mom says it looks like me and that I am a princess. I don’t really think it looks like me, either, to tell the truth, because my nose looks too perfect. My hair is long and wavy, the artist got that right at least.
My favorite thing in my bedroom, though, is the large picture of a black cat with red polka dots and green eyes made of felt. We bought that at one of my mother’s charity auctions. She bid on it and we won! The cat is mysterious and a little spooky. Its green cat eyes follow me around the room sometimes. At least I imagine they do for fun…for some reason I like to think I am being watched by supernatural forces. I don’t tell anyone that, though, because they’d think I was crazy. But isn’t it fun to think of ghosts all around you? Ghosts that know all of your fears and secrets, that spy on you, that might hurt you if you don’t behave, but that might also protect you if you are in trouble.
Cheryl Thatt-Burbank 