In the (Not So) White Room

It was cluttered, I had to admit. I mean, I didn’t really use my mind any more than the average A student; I worked hard, was good at recalling facts, but didn’t really use my brain outside of school for more than quoting movies and calculating THAC0. My mindscape appeared to Jackie like my attic: one half was finished off, with carpeting, dry wall, and a fresh coat of blue paint. A door separated one half from the other, where insulation was exposed, a bare skeleton of wooden slats keeping it from falling out all over the place. It was packed from floor to ceiling with an assortment of boxes, trunks, and all manner of, well, junk. But even the finished half was in disarray, containing fragments of forgotten memories realized in the metaphysical space as old toys, video game controllers, and piles of books and notebooks.

Jackie walked precariously about the space, picking away cobwebs as she encountered them. “You could really use some spring cleaning up here, sweetie!”

She turned, and I was standing there.

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