Once she is completely calm, she turns to me and asks “Can I stay with you for a bit?” I’m surprised. ‘She has never done that before. Why is she asking now?’ I think to myself, but I nod my head yes and pull out my homework again. Rafael slips out and returns with homework for himself, and for the next three hours, we relax in my room together, talking and laughing and working, a rare moment of unity. My room, the one place in our house that has become a refuge for my siblings and I. For as long as I can remember, my room has always been the place we go to just to have some company with each other. I have a known penchant for cozy and soft things, and I have decorated the little space I have with pillows and blankets galore. If any sibling is having a bad day or needs to wind down, they come to my room, and the other sibling usually follows. Relaxing, we sit and talk about life or simply wind down. I do my homework, Hailee reads, Rafael plays a game. It’s frequent enough that it doesn’t feel strange, but rare enough so that it feels like you have to come when this unity does happen. Some of my earliest memories are from the traditions we have made in my room, such as meeting in my room before present time on Christmas morning, coming in when we want company, or bedtime tuck-ins when we were small. My sister and I used to have sleepover parties together when she was scared of the dark. I would wake up to her sleeping beside me without ever knowing when she came in. Once again, while we have had our ups and downs, our arguments and our reconciliations, they always took place in that room. No other place has ever given me the same feeling of peace, and while I’m biased, the memories, the pictures, the stories, the arguments, and the events that I so vividly remember having with my siblings will remain with me for the rest of my life, and the place that I shared these memories with is most important of all.
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