Outside my room was the 
foyer. There was a small 
white bench made of wood
with yellow cushions. My 
parents got the bench from 
a flea market, and I 
remember how they haggled 
the price down to fifty 
dollars. The cushions 
were gorgeous. The fabric 
was Ralph Lauren and covered 
in beautiful flowers. In the 
springtime the ceiling would 
become covered with dozens of 
Sometimes they'd venture low 
enough so I could invite them 
to travel across my fingers. 
The red ones were my favorite,
but I liked the orange ones 
too. I remember the smell they 
left behind- bitter and 
old, like someone else's 
grandparents' house. I wondered 
they filled my home and 
their purpose was. 


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