Story A Day May: Day Eleven

Using a notably vivid setting was today’s prompt. I ended up writing about my childhood bedroom (this is pretty accurate, all around). It’s something I was thinking of when I took a workshop on writing from personal experience a few weeks ago, so it was on my mind.

The story ended up quite short. I didn’t really have much going on, plot-wise. Although now that I’ve thought (and wrote) about it a couple of times, maybe I can work something out.


Afternoon was quiet time and quiet time meant that she had to stay in her bedroom.

It was not a particularly small room, especially when her sister was little and still slept in her crib in the smaller room beside it.

She had her table and chairs, where she had tea with Baby Tender Love, who sat sturdily in her yellow and white dress and white-blond hair and perhaps Crissy, much slimmer and wearing an orange lace mini-dress which red hair that grew when you turned the dial on her back.

And she had a blue plastic record player that sat on the floor, beside a stack of Disney read-along-records, Tinkerbell telling her when to turn the pages. Robin Hood. Bambi. Peter Pan.

But during quiet time, she was not supposed to be playing records or having tea parties with the dolls. She was supposed to be lying down, reading a book.

Being very quiet.

Then, at that time, she never much thought of what her mother did during that time. It was only much later that she thought and realized that lying down and reading a book was precisely what her mother wanted to do.

It might have been nice if they had done it together.

At this time, when her sister was still that small and she was not yet at school, the books were Nate the Great and Amelia Bedelia. Sometimes some Dr Suess.

She loved Dr Suess and she had a lot of them, because her uncle worked in a warehouse of books.

A warehouse of books! The thought was magnificent in her mind.

Regardless, when books fell and bent their corners or were bound incorrectly, the workers could buy them cheaply.

The stack in her bookcase had grown.

She lay down with Blue Bear and her yellow bunny and her book, her eyes straying to the Holly Hobbie wallpaper now and again.

This was her place. There was no one to tell her what she was doing wrong. And there were no other children who might or might not want to play with her.

It was just her and Blue Bear and Baby Tender Love.

And her books.

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