The Island

I am stuck in Staten Island until Sunday morning. This is not good news, but I am at least comforting myself by knowing that I am apparently going to be given cash when my father drops me off. How much, who knows, but I will take what I can get. Anyway, SI is not my favorite place on earth. Not even close, really. In fact, I loathe this island. Earlier today I broke open the Season 3 HIMYM DVDs I received from my brother (the younger one, not the criminal) and in the very first episode Barney says something to Ted along the lines of, "If Robin's a 10, we'll find you a twelve...or 2 sixes...failing that, 4 threes. If we get really desperate we will go to Staten Island and get you 12 ones." I'm with you, Barney. This island is a blight on the east coast and I would rather be almost anywhere else, but my father and his family have been rooted here ever since the divorce. I've lost of hope of that changing.

Being stuck here, however, reminds me of all the randomly strange things that bug me not about the island, but the house in which I sit trapped. Weird things that I have never been able to understand. Like, for example, how all of their glasses make beverages taste and smell funny. I don't know if it's their dishwasher or the cabinets or what, but everything I drink tastes vaguely plastic-y and stale. Or how my stepmother always twists the blinds on the bathroom windows inside out so that I am constantly having to put them right before I feel comfortable peeing. No one needs to see that, especially not the loud old Italians in the house ten feet behind ours (Staten Island doesn't believe in yard space, you see).

Then there is the fact that every time I return to this house something new has been added, but nothing ever matches. The kitchen, easily the most rundown room in the house, is decorated with strawberries most of the time, but then there are angels on the one wall. The dining room has been painted in a horrible gold color, with matching sheer drapes, but the living room is painted a bright green with pink accents. This is my stepmother's "asian" themed room, but then she bought a cherrywood coffee table to go with the old Thai furniture from my dad's childhood home in Thailand. The "finished" basement used to be Southwestern until it got cluttered with unused exercise equipment and my brother's small assortment of belongings (he sleeps on the couch). Could she not decide on a theme or does she really think this looks good? I have never been able to understand her decorating ideals and I don't suppose I ever will. At least they keep only one picture of me up on display(my sister and youngest brother show up every few feet or so) so I doubt anyone would ever confuse me for owning part of the blame for the mess.

These are things I don't understand, but accept. Having to deal with them for more than 48 hours at a time, however, tends to start to grate on me. Add in the fact that I don't even feel at home in my room and I get even more frustrated at being here. My sister and I shared this room, technically, although I only inhabited it on the weekends, holidays and summers that my father had custody. I used to have drawer space, even. I mean, sure, my bed was a hideaway and I was never allowed to give input on the room's decor, but it was still my room. Still is my room. The fact that my sister is long gone and that my stepmother sleeps in here when I'm not around (don't ask) doesn't mean I should be made to feel like a guest being treated to the gift of an actual bed. Not that you can call this old thing a bed - the mattress is ten years older than I am and I wake up most mornings feeling crippled. There isn't even a lock on the door.

I have about 32 hours to go before I get to leave here and I think I am going to spend every one of them thinking of one more thing I hate about this island and this house and then I am going to go back to my stink bug infested attic apartment with its desperate need to be cleaned and I am going to lay down on my old mattress on the floor currently serving as my bed, exhale and be thankful I'm really, truly home.