Fluffy clouds on PEI

This is our bedroom.

I wake up, without an alarm. Without moving my body, I glance at the clock on the slightly knicked bedroom dresser. The clock, a maroon, analogue knick-knack reads 8:15am. The second hand is nearing the half-hour. The noise is audible as the hand beats out its message second after second. The bedroom window is open a crack, even though it’s a crisp, Autumn morning. Through the gap in the window I can hear a blue jay crow shrilly and the breeze rustling the leaves of the overgrown poplar trees that line the driveway. I glance over at the back of Cameron’s head. Even though he’s facing away from me, his steady, calm breathing lets me know he’s still asleep. I try to keep still so as not to wake him.

From my place on the inner-side of the bed, squished between the wall and Cameron’s sleeping body, I peruse the bedroom. There are a few dirty socks scattering the room and three books tossed on the floor beside the bed: pleasure reading for Cameron (The Book of Negroes) and practical self-help books (Midlife Crisis at 30 and What Should I Do With My Life) for me. A dresser drawer is one-quarter open. In pairs, clean white socks make their presence known from above the gaping drawer.

There’s a small, ornate oak chair in the corner. The chair was an affordable find from an indoor-garage sale. The oak was refinished and lightly stained, and the seat and back were stuffed with thick foam and recovered in a rich mustard and silver-colored fabric. In the corner, the fancy chair is barely visible underneath an anthill of my clothes.

The closet door is still open. Every shade of the earth is represented in materials in that closet. It’s the original closet from this house’s original construction over 100 years ago. The closet is three-feet wide and we’re jamming six-feet worth of shirts and coats and skirts and dresses into its small space. The wooden clothing-rod bows in the middle, weighed down with outfits fit for every occasion. The closet’s floor is littered with an unlikely combination of shoes and gadgets and boxes stuffed with forgotten but seemingly important cards and papers and mementos.

“This is our bedroom,” I think.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the noises outside. I hear the now familiar sound of a chainsaw in the distance, the blue jays’ short jabs, the garbled calls and strong flapping wings of the ravens overhead, the whoosh of cars, trucks and tractors traveling along the road. A dog barking in the distance. The rustling of those trembling poplars and aspens. Lost in the sounds of life going on around me, I join Cameron in the steady, calm place that is sleep.