The Room at the Top of the Stairs

Dear Morgan,

I’m writing this letter to thank you.  Thank you for listening to the girl with the puppy dog eyes, the one who convinced you that she would sleep better in the other room.  Me, situated on the back of the house, I can’t be just anybody’s bedroom.  Really, I’m not offended.  I know how much it bothered her that I opened at the top of the stairs. I know that my windows, just within arms’ reach of the backyard, made her nervous.  I think I’ve always known that I was meant for something bigger.

But thank you for not making me your bedroom.  I know that was the plan. I think you made the right choice.   First of all, your bed and dresser would have never fit.  I don’t think I need to remind you that that is why you gave me to her in the first place.  Your bed–now tucked under the picture window in the living room–is a daily reminder of your hopes for our home, giving you constant motivation to finish the remodeling project that will turn the living room into your master bedroom and finally finish the project that has been years in the making.

Which leaves me.  I feel like I finally recognize myself again, that I exist in a way that I didn’t a week ago.  The air is cleaner, full of the smells of the books on my shelves, the old ones and the new.  No longer scattered around the house, I am proud to hold them, just within reach, ready for you to pluck them off the shelf, dust them off, and fill my walls with the sound of their stories.

I’m basking in the glow of the lamp in the corner, the one that illuminated the living room in your first apartment.  And you may be surprised, but I’m not jealous. I know this lamp, and its dim light, are mine now.  And so is the polished desktop with its dark wood surface, which hugs the wall just under the window that looks out on my view.  The view that for too many days and nights went unopened and unappreciated.  Don’t get me wrong, I did like the warmth of the pink princess curtains, but now that they are gone, I won’t miss them. They weren’t really my style.  Because now you can see the birdhouses, the snowy peaks, and even the trampoline through my window, and sitting down to my desk won’t feel like such a chore.

So, from me to you, I see you sitting in the comfortable chair next to the bed in the other room.  And I’m writing to thank you.  To thank you and to invite you to join me. Now that I’m here, you know you can’t resist my space.  I am your space.  And I’m ready.


The Room at the Top of the Stairs


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