Member-only story
The Dream Room
“Reality is wrong. Dreams are for real.” — Tupac Shakur
Ever since I was a small girl I’ve been fascinated with houses. I used to dream about what my house would be like when I grew up. I loved decorating my doll houses. Even when playing the game Clue I planned my dream floorplan — the library, the conservatory, the billiard room, the lounge. I watched the Saturday afternoon mystery movies and was enthralled by the hidden staircases and secret rooms behind bookcases. I didn’t always remember the plot or whether or not the butler did it, but I always remembered those rooms.
When I bought my first home, it was significantly larger than any of my previous rental dwellings. The first few nights after getting the keys to my new kingdom I was there all alone. I walked around what then seemed like a vast empty space. Not yet used to the layout, I got a little lost a couple of times.
Each night I settled down on my temporary mattress exhausted from the work of painting, cleaning, and preparing the house for habitation. I fell into dream-filled slumbers. One dream in particular kept repeating over and over. I was wandering through the house and I came upon a hidden room. Sometimes it was filled with various objects, like an abandoned attic. Other times it was just an empty space. But, either way, the new room was a welcomed surprise.
