Study

Someday, years from now, I will have a study.  It will be a tight little room with symmetry and angles, and an old writing desk with a drawer full of pens.

Along one wall will simply be shelves and shelves of books.  This will be my own little library, with even my old books from college that I read, or skimmed, or didn’t even open, but knew I should keep just in case.

Another wall will be my official map wall.  On this wall I will put maps and pictures of places I’ve been.  This wall will have a large, fake rustic-looking map with dozens of push-pins pushed into the places I’ve visited.  I will have pictures of me at those places as additional proof, in case someone comes by and says, “Oh, I didn’t know you went to Seattle; when did you go?” and I will say, “Back in ’91, right before it became the center of the world.”

My study will be quiet.  It will be neat and tidy and punctual beyond question.  I will have a writing chair at my writing desk.  The chair will be soft, leather, and most likely brown.

I will also have a reading chair strictly for reading.  This chair will be nestled next to the room’s only window and will soak in the perfect amount of sunlight.  I will have a reading stand next to my reading chair where will sit the most recent National Geographic and whatever book I’m into at the time.  Needless to say, my study will come equipped with the long stretches of peace and quiet necessary to read an entire National Geographic magazine in one afternoon.  That way I won’t fall behind.

My study will probably have a closet, and inside the closet will be file cabinets filled with all my old journals, all the way back to the fall of 1988, 7^th grade. All my old writing, nearly every word I’ve ever written, will fill these drawers, along with pictures, and all of this intellectual property will be meticulously organized, so if someone comes over and asks, “Hey, do you remember what we did in August of 1996?”

I will say, “Let’s me check.”  And I will, within a few minutes, take out my journal from the summer of 1996 and turn to August and nod and smile.

“Yeah, we went canoeing in Missouri that summer.  Don’t you remember?  I got distracted and lost my boat.”

My friend will also smile and we will look at old pictures of us when we felt like a team of misplaced superheroes, and all of these photographs will also be chronicled in space and time.

Yes, someday, many, many years from now, I will have a study.  It will be clean and quiet, and a good place to sit.

I’ll probably have a coffee maker in the closet, so I will often just make myself a cup of coffee and sit and look out the window.  I will think about what needs written now and what will need to be written later.

After a cup of coffee and some reflecting, I will probably get a little bored and walk to the kitchen, also neat and orderly, and I will do some dishes.

There won’t be too many dishes, though, so it’s a quick chore, but the dishes will take me just long enough to look out the big picture window facing the back yard.  I’ll study the yard and I will glance at the old swing set, faded from the years.  I will then study the swing set awhile.

The day will be bright and breezy, and the red plastic horse will sway in the wind.  The way it moves will remind me of other bright days, when I lived in a very messy house, full of too much noise and not enough time to read an entire National Geographic in seven afternoons.

I will dry the dishes, go back to my study and think.  I will look at some pictures and remember the days before I had a study.