Devonne Brown

I am simple. I go to my shade room. It would be a sun room if there were no giant oaks and holly trees covering its porch and backyard. Moss, hostas, ferns and begonias grow there, as well as my bed of impatiens. Mint, the plant that’s supposed to take over the planet struggles. But the room is shady like the yard with blue curtains that I mostly keep drawn. 

I hide there. I’m in my “Blue Period,” like Picasso, only its furniture and rugs. I have some rusty red for contrast, but mostly it’s blue in my safe space. I’d have the whole house blue, all the rugs are, but not necessarily all the furniture. The shade room is sacred, I write back there.

In the morning, when the sun comes through the trees just right, a hundred rainbows dance and rock across the room from the prism ball I’ve hung in the window nearest my chair, or my nest as my son calls it. I have a stack of books, computers, paper, pens, scissors, and other tools of a writer, reader, and teacher within arm’s reach. 

My boy sits behind me and studies at the table. He’s quiet and doesn’t exist when my back is to him. “Out of sight and out of mind” runs true. Sometimes I listen to one of his professor’s lectures. I’ve learned some interesting financial facts. Like if you divide your car payment into two installments a month, you’ll pay it off faster. What a concept. I’ve also discovered my son’s more extroverted than introverted. 

My textbooks, cookbooks, writing books, favorite novels, and my Star Wars Guide to the Galaxy pop up book are in that room. Along with special pictures and toys from the boys’ childhood. I even have the cash register from my dad’s first barbershop there. Once just like it was in an episode of one of the first seasons of the Twilight zone. 

The vibe of the room is glorious and welcoming. Nothing but goodness and light exists in there. My world could be going to hell all over the place, but there I am safe. It’s like when we were kids playing dumb games, it’s base. I can’t be tagged “It,” when I’m in the shade room.