Three-Bunk Room

Interior Spaces 

Great Spirit, help me always to remember the peace
that may be found in silence. - Cherokee Prayer

I'm twelve. The 'Room Of Three Mats' is no more. With Dadee's bonus as Erlanger's new manager, we're able to add a room to accommodate all six older children. Last Brother has taken his place with Mum in the heretofore only bedroom in the house.

The new space is blissfully plain except for a closet that's set against the front wall to hold our sundry wear. Next to it is a calendar, a promo from the corner Caltex gasoline station. Cafe-style curtains, salvaged from Erlanger, hang across the windows from a taut wire tacked to nails. In a corner are six pairs of shoes, black and brown (how dull is that?) and a wood container the size of a shoebox filled with assorted junk. The room's central area awaits the three double-decker beds from Homewise Furniture that are being delivered today.

We're brimming with eagerness. Are they here yet? Eldest Brother purrs, clasping his hands in delight.

After a seemingly unending vigil, we blurt out, Nandito na! They're here!

Bolting and chasing each other across the expanse of the room, we gasp in barely-contained chaos. Already, we've staked our spots and know who's bunking with whom. 

Third Brother and I always pair together. Being the most alert among the siblings, we always manage to get the choicest of anything. We've claimed the right side of the window that faces the front yard for our bunk's location. Eldest and Fifth Brothers' bunk will be against the far wall, also with a window. Second and Fourth Brothers feign disinterest. They get the leftover area by the left wall facing the back yard for their bunk.

After fattening ourselves at dinnertime with boiled rice and string beans sauteed with a sprinkling of ground pork, we get ready for bed and rush to our respective bunks. The arrangement looks rather neat, the tall beds taking up most of the height of the room. We cackle excitedly. The mosquito nets hanging overhead, one on top of the other, look like double-stacked translucent boxes rising up from wood floors to the white-washed ceiling. 

As usual, chatter pops and cracks irrepressibly even after the lights are out. Third Brother and I exchange stories of magic and witches in whispers. Remember that one with dark men turning into wolves?  I feign a choked panic. The other brothers are stomping and shouting with a cacophony that gives a combined effect somewhere between the Second Coming and Hannibal Crossing The Alps By Elephant. 

But as Dadee comes by to sleep with two-year-old Fifth Brother and hushes us softly, all becomes quiet on the Three-Bunk front.

Wrapped in a blanket, I cover my mouth with a slight flourish of my hand to hide a yawn. I gaze into the darkness, relishing the intimacy. I sense the camaraderie, the connection. I feel like I belong here. I roll over and watch my sleeping siblings. No one is stirring, not even the pesky mice that daily visit for their ration of crumbs under the dinner table. 

The long night has come in perfect peace.