Just Keep Swimming

II

 *2*

           “This is the living area and this,” aunt meredith says grinning at me. “is the stairs to your bedroom.”

            Windows cover the walls next to the stairs as the stairs wind around the house. Aunt mere clambers over the stairs, grinning and chirping about how this house was over sixty years old.

            the stairs were metallic rather than wooden and it sort of reminded me of a lighthouse.

            Pausing, I peer through one of the many windows.

            Shades of grey tumble over one another as the waves crash against the sandy beach, only to pull back swiftly, retreating.

            The skies were slightly cloudy and I can faintly hear the seagulls flying above the house.

            Aside from my worry that I’ll never be able to sleep with the seagulls nearby, the house was no doubt, beautiful.

            I mean, aunt meredith’s backyard was basically the oceanic beach itself.

            Regardless, I still couldn’t stop bouncing on the balls of my feet, feeling completely and utterly small in this foreign home.

            Newspapers litter the coffee table down stairs and bright pastels of pinks, blues and yellows cover the kitchen cupboards.

            In every room, aunt meredith had put an element of the ocean in it. In the living area, seashells strung through string line the walls; whereas in the kitchen, tacked onto the wall, is a surfboard with the words “ocean blue”.           

            Even walking into the bathroom was like walking in to a dump in the ocean. Sand in crystalline jars adjourn the small bathroom with random seashells placed in them. Even the hand soap was lavender tinted with sea salt.

            All in all, my upstate, dark mahogany home was replaced with this oceanic, summer home.

            “Auden? You coming?” My aunt calls, somewhere upstairs.

            I blink, snapping out of my thoughts. “Coming!”

            Climbing to the top of the stairs, I drag my suitcase with me, breathing heavily.

            “here,” I heave, standing at the top of what felt like mount Everest.

            Aunt meredith turns to take in my physical state before laughing. “Oh sweetheart, we’re going to have to work on your stamina.”

            I grimace, blowing a piece of hair away from my face.

            “Are you ready to see your room?” She asks, changing the subject to grasp the door handle of my supposed room.

            My room was on the second floor and the white door in the center of the floor. Right next to my bedroom, a pastel blue door led into a small bathroom. Down the hall, double French doors lead into what I now assume to be aunt meredith’s room. The wooden floors creak with age and I step gingerly, afraid that I’ll catch a splinter.

            I look back at the white door, half scared that I’ll find my room to be covered in pink bootylicious colors.

            “Yeah,” I mutter, biting my lip.