Room Mates (a working title)

Sometimes when I enter my room, he's there. And it's not my room. It's not his room either. And before you start thinking this is some stupid love story, I need to tell you that:

The first time we met, we were eight and I was sure it was a nightmare. (Because it couldn't have been anything else.) It was a Saturday afternoon and I ran inside to change my shoes—but the place I ran into was empty and it had no windows. No bed, no table, no Hello Kitty rug, no Barbies on my shelves, no shelves. But on the other side of the room was a pale boy with messy hair and glasses. He was holding a compass.

When you're eight years old and you run into a place which you think is your room and you find yourself in some other place with nothing in it, and no one with you but some pale boy you've never seen before (bear with me, this sentence WILL end), what do you do? I screamed 'MUMU'.

Mumu! Mumu!!! MUMUUUUUUUUUU!!!

He ran out the door first.

I counted till '3' forcing myself to breathe in between counts. One… *breathe*…two…*I'm NOT scared*…three— *ok, RUN*. I put my hand on the doorknob, half-afraid it wouldn't turn. It turned and I found myself in the family room. Nana Nilda was cross-stitching, it was 3.30P.M., and from the outside the sorbetero bell was getting fainter and fainter.

It took Nana and my parents three nights to get me back in that room. I screamed I pleaded I tried to reason with them. Finally what really worked was to become very quiet and sad-looking.
—What's wrong? You can tell us the truth.
—I…miss sleeping in your room. (Don't judge me. I was desperate.)

Mama and Papa let me sleep in between them till Papa couldn't stand it. On the third night, he suggested that we all sleep in MY room. And guess what? It was just my room. Same table, same bed, same Hello Kitty rug. Angelina Ballerina, Stacy Malibu, and Veronica Day-to-Night were lined up on my shelf sporting perfect stewardess smiles.

It's easier to accept strange things when you're eight. I was scared but there was so much else to think about. I had provinces to memorize for Sibika. Yssa was hanging out with Mela (without me). I hated P.E. It was easier to believe Nana when she said it was a bad dream. What did I know? Maybe it was possible to dream with your eyes open and screaming your lungs out.

The next time I met him, we were 17. I'd just gotten home from my Junior Prom.

(to be continued)