I'm the head of the household at the Dimwits. I forgot that I to start the new blog chain today!! Ugh.
I hope you enjoyed the holidays. I sure did!
My topic (which is one of my favorite writing exercises):
Imagine the home(s) where you grew up, and start drawing a floor plan. As you draw, memories will surface. Grab onto one of those memories and tell us a story.
At five, my bedroom was in the basement of a 3,500 square foot ranch home. I miss that house. I shared my room with my older brother, Joey. Built in the mid-1970's, the finished basement featured flooring of brown carpet, red faux-brick wallpaper, and a wall covering that resembled corkboard.
One night, Joey stayed over at a friend's house and I was left to sleep alone in our room. I have never done so before. I was scared shitless.
I knew monsters of all kinds lived throughout the basement, but my brother always kept them at bay with his nasty smelling farts. This particular night was hot and I was burning to death in my red TMNT footy pajamas. I was most afraid the man living behind the corkboard would come and get me.
Deep in the night, I awoke to a noise. A cold sweat oozed across my body and my feet cold not breathe. Suddenly, I realized my eyes were crusted over and I could not open them. I started scraping at them, but it hurt, so I stopped. Then it hit me: the man from behind the corkboard had fused my eyes shut using the broken bits of cork that covered the floor (I knew I should have vacuumed those up!)
I did not scream and I could not cry because of the crust covering my eyes. I pulled the sheet over my head and held my breath as I listened for the man from behind the corkboard. At some point, I fell asleep and woke up to daylight some hours later. My eyes opened like normal, but I felt remnants of the crust around my eyes and on my cheeks.
The very first thing I did was grab the Oreck and vacuum the heck out of the floor where the cork pieces lived. Every time I get a cold or have allergies, I relive my fear of the man from behind the corkboard.
Tomorrow, check out Michelle McLean's blog to see which memory she shares!