Surviving the McLane Boys - New and Improved

6: A little lost in translation

Chapter 6

A little lost in translation

“And this is your room,” Seth says as he sweeps open a familiar looking door. At first I just stand there, staring in.

“Wow… it’s just like I remember it.” I murmur as I walk into the room I’d inhabited for most of my childhood while sleeping over. Everything’s the same. Nothing’s been moved or painted over. Even the ceiling is still scattered with the little glow in the dark stars – or blobs really – that John helped me paint on just before my mom died.

 I remember sitting on his shoulders while he was on a ladder, reaching up with my chubby arms to splatter the roof with paint while my mom and Claire stood beneath us, ready to catch me if I fell and ready to move swiftly aside if John fell. I also remember Wes, Jake and Dylan standing in the doorway and chanting “Fall, Fall, Fall!”

My white wardrobe stands in the corner near the window, gold flowers and swirls engraved on its doors. Claire helped me paint them when John took the boys out for a soccer match one day when I was 5.

The walls are still covered with the different images I’ve painted, sketched and stenciled on over the years. Some people would call it graffiti, but to me, it’s my life. I remember, John bringing me paint sets, pencils, crayons, pastels. I never had enough paper to draw on, so he suggested I decorate the plain white walls of this bedroom. Up until the day we moved, if I wasn’t around, you could definitely find me in my room, nose close to a wall, a paintbrush in my hand.

Dad never encouraged my artwork. Mom was the one who taught me to love art even though she wasn’t around for long. We would spend afternoon after afternoon, just sitting at the kitchen table drawing. 

A table stands next to the bed, the baby blue lampshade still smattered with little birds.

I walk over to my wardrobe and open the cupboard. I laugh out loud. “You didn’t take the pictures down?”

“Huh?” Seth comes up behind me and gasps in shock.

I turn around and grin at him. “You were such a cutie! I remember your mom gave me these to stick up!”

I smile fondly at the collage of pictures of our childhood all over the inside doors of my wardrobe. I point out the picture of Seth and me, his arm slung over my shoulder, both of us grinning our heads off, soaking wet, next to the pool.

When I was 4 years old Jake told me that the pool cleaners were really sea creatures that ate little girls. After that I refused to get into the pool or tell anyone why I was scared. I would sit and sulk on the deck chairs by myself while I watched everyone jump in and have fun. They were boys, it wasn’t like they were going to be eaten. After a while Seth got sick of me moping around and just dumped me unceremoniously in the pool.  At first I tried to swim to the side and climb out but Seth had dragged me to the middle and refused let go of my arm. Once I realized he wasn’t going to let me go panic replaced my anger and I’d clung to him waiting for pool cleaner to gobble me up. I could feel my t-shirt and shorts that I still had on, becoming heavier as they soaked up the water, giving me the sensation that I was being pulled down. I really thought I was going to die that day.

  

“You really gave Jake hell that time when you found out that the pool cleaner does exactly what its name suggests. Clean.” Seth teases. 

“Shut up,” I grumble as I survey the rest of the pictures. There’s one of Jake and Wes with their arms around a very uncomfortable looking me when we were 9, me and Chace dressed up in our mom’s clothes, Dylan asleep with a bad make-up job – credit going to me, Zach and me at the beach with my mom holding us up in the surf, her beautiful blonde hair fluttering in the wind, her deep brown eyes, alive with laughter… There are so many photo’s, each one a reminder of days that will never happen again.