My bedroom is probably one of my favorite places to be.
One reason is obvious: it’s the spot where my bed is. Bed equals sleep. Sleep equals a relatively happy and peppy Leah. This is the Leah people want to hang around with.
It isn’t a big room, but it is shaped like a backwards L, which is what I’ve always liked.
The walls used to be a soft lilac purple (back from my princess obsession days), but now they scream a vibrant electric lime-green. I chose that color back before I went into high school, because… well… actually, I don’t remember why I chose that color specifically, but I do remember I liked it – and I still do! Though if I had a choice, I would have these really cool walls that would automatically change color with the seasons – bright lime-green for Summer, Pumpkin-orange for Fall, a soft Evergreen-green for Winter, and Lilac-purple for Spring. Of course, there isn’t such an invention yet, but hey, a girl can dream.
It’s also one of the only rooms with the giant lilac bush right underneath it, so when the flowers bloom, my room is filled with the relaxing sweet smell of springtime and purple. (In case you were wondering, the other room is the laundry room.)
But there’s one thing about my room I don’t like: the windows.
Let me explain.
The windows themselves are relatively new, with neat window panes that fold out so I can clean both sides of the glass, and locks that never stick or get rusted. One window – the one closest to the foot of my bed – has a screen on it. It’s great, because not only does it keep out the bugs that like to feast upon my blood in the dead of night, but it also allows my cat Spooky to sit on the sill without fear of falling out and landing hard on the deck railing below.
The other window does not have this screen. It’s supposed to, but my dad decided he would take it out so he could sneak in, gently open the pane, and aim his gun at the grey squirrels and the occasional raccoon who seem to think the bird feeders were made for them.
There was one occasion where I did not know this window had no screen – Binx (bless his grumpy old man soul), let me know when he leaped onto the sill, missed, and landed on his poor little belly, hanging halfway out the window like a rag doll and screaming like a miniature banshee. He was fine shortly after though. He quickly scrambled back inside and mewed at me with his rusty Mrrrrawwwh, as if to say, “Ma! What happened to the screen?!”
Now let me fill you in on a certain little tidbit: the birds around my parents’ house aren’t always the brightest. One species that comes to mind are the chickadees. They are certainly the bravest, (measuring their courage to how close they come to us humans, of course) but their mentality to windows remind me of mosquitos to bug-zappers.
One day, it was hotter than an egg on a sidewalk outside, and I just wanted to have as much of the tiny breeze meandering outside in my room as possible. So, I opened both windows. Not five minutes later, I was regretting my mistake.
One of the chickadees must have seen the screenless window open and thought, “oooh, a new place for me to explore!”
Next thing I knew, the sounds of furious flapping and high shrilled squawking filled my room. I turned just in time to see one of the little black, grey and white daredevils zipping about my room, slamming against walls, and trying so hard to get back out.
I didn’t have any nets, and I’m pretty sure one of the cats had heard him.
Thankfully, this is not the first time I’ve had to catch a bird bare-handed. I’m sure the situation must have looked comical, me jumping and crashing into my furniture and crap-filled boxes, waving my arms hysterically around my head, herding a tiny little critter into a corner so I could catch him. But at the time, I was more worried about one of the cats making a snack out of him.
I couldn’t tell you how long it took to catch the dumb bird. I can tell you, however, what it feels like to have your fingers pecked at and bitten when you finally close your hand around the damned thing. Imagine having a small pair of needle-nosed pliers gently squeezing the skin between your fingers and tapping your knuckle – it doesn’t draw any blood, but boy is it annoying!
The bird’s fine if you’re wondering. He flew right to the lilac tree and proceeded to yell at me for a few minutes. He flew away eventually once he had his fill of yelling. I like to imagine he was swearing at me and threatening to call the manager for unnecessary feather ruffling and lack of seeds.
L.J. LaBree 