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The Third Floor Bedroom
I guess it all started when someone left the window open. My bedroom window. It was summer, the worst part of my life. I was seven that summer and my life changed. Most girls my age spent summer at camps, riding roller coasters with their friends, or wearing frilly dresses and having tea parties with their dolls. Well, my mom didn’t approve of camps, or roller coasters or frilly dresses. Dolls were friends that didn’t talk. At that time, I could’ve used some of those. Or maybe some that talked. I had no friends because when girls invited me to their houses, I couldn’t go. Mom always said a home is for you to be you. Not for other people to come over and watch you be you. When girls sat by me at lunch and asked me about the new “Hannah Montana” episode, I blushed and confessed that we didn’t have a TV. Sooner or later, the girls just stopped trying to be my friend. I didn’t have any popular culture and I wasn’t in dance class. I spent my free time playing the piano or reading. But when I wasn’t doing that, I prayed. I talked to God. I asked for a mom who would let me have fun. Or make me an after-school snack or ask how my day was. Well I didn’t have one of those. I discovered God when one of our house keepers gave me a bible. It was amazing. I read it all the time. Was it true? Was everything about God real? I thought it was. I was much more grown up than other kids my age. I understood all of it better than other kids. I also talked different and dressed different and I was just all over different.
Anyway, back to the window. I lived in a room on the third floor. The walls had doves wallpapered on them. I liked that because God used doves before in miracles. I never guessed that He would use them for me. One day, I noticed that one of my doves was gone, and one was peeling off. The next day, more were gone. One Saturday, I woke up and saw a dove flying out of my room. Yes, flying! I ran down-stairs in my pajamas and chased it. It flew and flew and I ran until that dove stopped. It flew down a chimney and was in a house for a couple minutes and then it left. I followed it to our house and went on with my day. I always wondered about the birds. They would leave and then come back every day. One late July night, all the birds flew over to me and woke me up. They started to make letters.
They said, “Margret, I have noticed you are sad. I found a lady. I want you to visit her. Trust me. -God”
I was surprised but I whispered, “I trust you.” They gathered around me and picked me up. I couldn’t believe it. They flew me to a house about twenty minutes from my house. But they were flying fast. Outside the house, there were some woods. In the mini forrest, a woman was kneeling by three gravestones. The birds held me about an inch above ground and snuck me up behind the gravestones. One said, “Kevin Smith 1970-2009” one said, “Kelly Smith 1997-2009” and the last, “Jenny Smith 2003-2009” all claiming that they were victims of a drunk-driving car accident. The woman was crying. Then she turned to me. The birds had disappeared. She wiped her eyes and stared at me.
“Margret?” She asked. “Margret St. Martin?”
“Yes, that’s my name. How do you know my name?” I answered.
“You are Ally’s daughter. Ally is my sister. You are my niece. I haven’t seen you since you were baptized. You look exactly the same. Your mom said you were moving out of state. Did you move back?”
I was shocked. My aunt? Mom said that people should only have one child. Did she really have a sister?
“We never moved. We’ve lived in the same house ever since I’ve been born.” I said.
“Really?” The woman looked shocked. “Well, I’m Julie. Well Aunt Julie. Come in, come in. My house is just out of the woods.”
We talked until six in the morning. She told me about how a drunk driver killed her husband and two daughters a couple months ago. She was lonely. And I was lonely. I told her about Mom and her evil ways; about how dad left us. I told her that we were moving and that mom was marrying some random guy next week in Vegas, and how I didn’t want to live with her.
“I don’t understand why she acts like she does,” I complained.
“Don’t blame yourself, dear. Your mom isn’t sure how to be a good mother. She just doesn’t know how. Our mom wasn’t number one mom either.” She soothed me.
“But there are two ways to handle that. The way she does by copying it, or the way you obviously have done by doing the opposite.”
Then Aunt Julie blushed and decided it was time for me to go home. She remembered the way to my house and she drove me there, it ended up being about a forty-five minute drive. We were sitting in silence for a while, and then I remembered something.
“Aunt Julie, did you say I was baptized?” I almost yelled.
“Yes, dear,” she said calmly. “Why do you ask?”
“Mom never told me.” I mumbled.
“Oh.” Aunt Julie didn’t say anything more until we got home. She told me that she wanted to talk to Mom alone. I went straight to my room and all the birds were there. I was baptized. I had asked mom if I could be baptized, and she said no. I tried going to church, and she said no. I fell asleep in my thoughts. When I woke, Mom and Aunt Julie were in my room. Mom asked me if I was happy and I honestly answered no. They told me I could live with Aunt Julie once Mom got married. I couldn’t believe it. I moved in with her three days later and got her daughters’ old room. I went to a new school and made friends. I joined dance, softball, and soccer. I was good at soccer, really good. I wrote mom all the time and she visited twice a year, my birthday and Christmas. Maybe mom wasn’t so evil after all. She understood what I wanted, she just couldn’t give it to me. When I finally got the chance, she let me go. She knew that I wasn’t happy and she knew that with Aunt Julie, I could be. I went to church every week. And I got a college scholarship for soccer and Aunt Julie tells me everyday she is proud of me and that she would be so lonely if I hadn’t moved in with her and helped her through her sadness. And we lived happily ever after. And it’s all because of the third-floor bedroom and the miracles that live inside.