Forty Years Later

6:00 am Minnesota public radio turns on, all by itself, in my Hello Kitty clock radio. It's shaped like a tea cup, a white plastic cup sits on pink saucer, and Hello Kitty sits on top; and placed on the side of the cup is a plastic orange slice, the night light. I leave it on all night. Classic music fills my bedroom. Blue walls, a black framed print of Frida Kahlo, matching Hawaiian prints of beautiful women from the 40’s or 50’s that belonged to my dad’s Aunt Sue. An antique brass standing lamp. Purses hung on door knobs, books piled on the radiator. I awake, rather glad as I had unpleasant dreams. The music continues, and then The Writer’s Almanac, with Garrison Keillor, and I don’t want to get out of bed. Do I really have to go to work, again, just like every other day? The air is chilly, the bed is warm, the blankets soft. Why does this feel so familiar, the feeling of wanting to stay in bed, and just listen to the radio?


7:00 am KQRS turns on, all by itself, on the GE clock radio that was a present from my parents when I turned 12. It’s a good one, a nice one, with good reception, nice sound, not tinny. On my bedroom door is a nearly life size poster of George Harrison, from his All Things Must Pass era, I think he’s cool, and maybe cute, but looks were never as important to me as persona. My sister just thinks he looks freaky. There’s a poster from an old movie, Good Night Paul sitting still backed by a piece of cardboard, wrapped in plastic, just set upon the highboy dresser. I may get this one framed, so I don’t want to unwrap it. A brass incense burner sits on the dresser, also. Two twin beds, although the room is mine alone, each with a different cotton batik spread from India, purchased at Global Village, in Dinkytown. Rod Stewart is singing Maggie May, I need to get ready for school. I don’t want to leave my cozy bed, I want to lie there and listen, just listen.

My brain is thinking of all the things I need to do today, and what will happen if I’m late for school, and I wonder, did we really mean to create this kind of world? Where kids are stressed the moment they wake up? I look around at my antique trunk, the beginnings of my hope chest, the black and white framed photos I’ve taken, sitting on top. I want to stay home, bake cookies, maybe take a walk. But I get out of bed, make my way to the bathroom, and get ready to go to school.