Somebody Else's House

I feel particularly at home at The Desert Lily this time around, much more so than the first time.

Maybe it's because I'm completely alone this time.

Or maybe, after so many stints housesitting for friends and crashing with welcoming strangers, I'm finally comfortable in somebody else's house.

To be honest, the house I grew up in never felt like mine. My parents even emphatically expressed to me that when I sat on the carpet in my bedroom, I was borrowing it from them. For years, I didn't have keys to my childhood house. And I was never allowed to use the stove, microwave, or laundry machines. Entering the dining room (except for cleaning) was verboten.

So when I moved into Nicki's parents house after my own suggested I "find somewhere else to sleep" during college breaks, I didn't really know what it meant when her mom told me to make myself at home.

What is home?

What is my home?

I lived in dorm rooms all four years in college. They were included in my scholarship.

I'm a lifelong renter of apartments. I can't paint the walls without asking. Someone else shovels the sidewalk and waters the plants. I just try to keep quiet and not break anything.

But out here in the desert, where I can just be, by myself, this sunset is mine. This dinner I made is mine. This wind is mine. Every sound, rattle, swoosh, and scrape that emits from outside my bedroom window is an integral part of my little world right now.

And every day, I can't wait to get back to it.

Every morning, it's hard to leave it.

But I know I have so much more to see, beyond the Desert Lily, and so I must go.

But I'm happy that this is the place I've found to sleep, for these three weeks now, for that month three years ago, and hopefully many times in the future.

I'll just try not to break anything while I'm here.

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