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The new carpet under her back felt stiff and uncomfortable as she stared up at the ceiling, paint fumes stinging her nostrils. She didn't like change.
She closed her eyes and began a mental tour through her childhood home. She walked first through the living room. Images sprang to mind of countless slumber parties, practicing cheerleading chants in front of the dining room mirror and laying out sick on the couch while her mother doted on her.
Her mind wandered into the kitchen where she and her brother tried to cook one night a week. Those nights morphed into pizza nights as the meals they churned out continued to be inedible. Through the breakfast room she floated, these memories were mainly of homework, and into her parent's bedroom.
The girl longed for the TV nights she would spend with her parents. She'd curl into the lazy boy by the side of the bed while watching the ginormous tv mounted on the wall. Was there anything more comfortable than a childhood home?
She slowly wandered up the stairs, remembering how she would have to skip the second step when she'd sneak out past curfew, for it squeaked.
At the top of the stairs lurked the air vent that her brother's pet snake had escaped to from it's cage. And turning to the first room on the right she gazed into her childhood bedroom.
Barbies, Stuffed animals, talking to her boyfriend quietly on the phone late at night. The memories washed over her. She would spend hours in that room doing everything and nothing.
The girl slowly opened her eyes. The house felt like a part of her.
And she would never see it again.