errant

My children’s room is my dream room. There are myriad lighting options. I will list them now, as an exercise.

globe pendant lamp on ceiling (on a dimmer)
primary yellow clip on lamp
glossy white clip on lamp
glossy white booklight
small strand of multi-colored, battery-powered string lights
small blue led light from sushi restaurant, formerly attached to a flyer thing
gumdrop frosted lamp with two-way light bulb
galaxy projector light that turns slowly, on a timer

There are quilts, blankets, six or seven pillows. There are balloons taped to the wall, stacks of books unshelved, Barbie shoes unpaired. The closet is a volcano, pairs of errant ruby slippers spilling out the bottom, pieces of pink sheets torn into strips snake their way under the door.

I would like to go anywhere today. I want to be in the Paris airport in Home Alone, a stone cottage in the Jolly Postman, but mostly I want to go into the homes of my friends to sit on their floors, to lay down on their couches as if the place was my own. My friends are the kind of friends in the kind of places where you sit on each other’s beds. Our apartments force intimacy. We embrace it without question because we have chosen to live here in this city. Sometimes you open the door and in an instant, you are in a totally different play. I love these living sets, dioramas of domesticity. I will list them now, as an exercise.

rope swing in living room
fireplace with baskets of wooden toys in front
closet cutout kitchen with tiny stove
comfortable couch, leather chair in corner under woven tapestry
elevator opens right into apartment!
wigs wigs wigs
heavy rug
backyard garden with adirondack chairs
steps down into sunken living room
one carpeted step down into sunken living room, steps up into tiled kitchen
built-in bookshelves
spider plants
tiger statue

Once when our gas got turned off for weeks, our neighbors who rent two apartments in our building gave us their keys and each morning I padded next door, bleary and braless, knocking first then entering slow, the distinct creak of their door hinges much louder up close. I came with my own kettle, placed it on their stove, somehow much nicer than ours, and clicked the blue flame to high. When the whistle blew I carried my water back again. We still have their keys.