Welcome to Gaia! ::

The door opens slowly with a tired moan as the scent of must and old perfume fill the air. Lilly of the Valley—just like she used to wear when I was a child, only now the sent has grown stale. The bed with the white painted metal frame is still neatly made in the right hand corner of the room. Lying upon it is the black blanket with the outdated large red floral pattern that is beginning to fade. However, the hideous blood red carpet with the large brown stain in the middle remains just as I had remembered it.
Across from the bed sits the maple-wood dresser topped with a thick layer of dust. It reminds me of a field right after a light snow shower—still perfect and untouched. Adorning the dresser are various relics from the past—a large, white, hand-painted jewelry box with a swirling pattern around the top, an olive colored, faux leather address book containing phone numbers of people who have long since moved away, several phone books dated from before I was born, and two, small, framed photographs from antiquity.
I pick up the first photograph from the left. The cheap, gold colored finish of the metal frame has begun to chip, and a small piece flutters gracefully to the ground as I lift it up. I dust the glass off gently with the bottom of my shirt to see the picture more clearly. A youthful woman with a carefree smile sits with her legs held to her chest amongst a field of white and yellow wildflowers. Her head is raised to the sky, and her long, flowing brown hair lies draped across her delicate shoulders. Her white linen bell sleeved tunic and beaded jewelry exemplify her free-spirited nature and immortalize the turbulent and revolutionary generation in which she was raised. Although the photograph has faded and turned yellow with age, this young woman—my mother—still shines as radiantly as ever.
I delicately place the photograph back in its place and reach for the one to its right. As I dust it off, I see a young bearded man with shaggy, shoulder-length brown hair—my father—sitting cross-legged by a quiet stream in a small, thickly wooded gully. With a very slight smile, he looks down gently at his white and brown spotted hound dog sitting beside him as he strokes her back. The dog, sitting comfortably with her tongue hanging out, looks peacefully across the stream at a fallen pine lying along the stony bed. As I put the second photograph down as well, I smile as I think of the times my parents had together, long before I was born.
I take one more look around the forgotten room. Beside the dresser sits an old television cased in faux wood on a flimsy metal stand. The television, like the dresser and photos before it, is covered all around in a layer of gray. Below the large, curved glass of the screen are two large metal dials that control the stations and volume. A pair of rabbit ear antennas sits atop it, though the left one hangs on by scrap of metal at a ninety-degree angle. At one time, this relic showed black and white picture, but now it shows only static.
On the lower shelf of the TV stand sits a messy stack of newspapers, manila folders, envelopes and various other papers. The envelope on top is an unsealed, pastel pink card envelope and is addressed “To Grandma Edie and Grandpa Nat.” I pick it up and remove the card. The outside is decorated in confetti of various colors and reads, “Happy 50th Wedding Anniversary!” in large red print. Inside the card, written in my mother’s script is written,

I smile slightly in sad contemplation at the card, remembering my grandfather who died many years ago, when I was still young.
From downstairs I hear the voice of my mother calling, “Rachel, it’s time to go. We have to get to the nursing home to visit grandma Edie before they bring her down for dinner.” I place the card back in the pink envelope and lay it back on top of the pile of papers. I take one last look around the room, then exit, leaving it to be forgotten once more.