Meg's House (Oh, the creativity)

In which Karen make sit to Meg's house alive. Mostly. Joking. She's all the way alive.

I pull into Meg's driveway, or what I seriously hope is Meg's driveway. I ring the doorbell, and no one comes. Crap. I came on the wrong day, or the wrong time, or both. Maybe Mapquest's directions were wrong and this isn't her house at all. I'm getting ready to head back to the car and go find a library and use its computer, or someone selling maps of Milwaukee, and probably get lost on the way, too, when I notice a sign by the doorbell. "The doorbell's broken, please knock. Thank you." I knock. A dog starts to bark, there's the patter of footsteps, and someone yells "Coming!" A little girl opens the door. Actually, she's not that really that little, probably eight or nine, just younger than me. She asks if I'm Meg's friend.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" I smile at her. I don't really have that much experience with younger kids, having been raised as an only child.

"Oh, you're way too cool to be one of Mark's friends," she says, smiling. Makes me wish I'd grown up with my brothers, so I could say stuff like that. "D'ya want me to get her?" I tell her that that would be great, and she dashes off, yelling. "Meg! Meg! Yooouur friieeend iiisss heeeeeeeeeeerrrree!" Meg comes sliding across the bare floor in sock feet. She stops right before the doorway and bows. I'm amazed that she hasn't changed on bit since I saw her last summer. Still tiny, still wearing that army jacket. I think I must've grown since she seems smaller, and I don't think you start shrinking until you're old.

"Hi, hi, Karen, come in! Sorry, did Louisa bug you? Oh, do you have anymore bags? I can get them." I tell her Louisa was cute, and that this is my only bag, I pack light. Then again, the bag is Mom and I's jumbo duffel stuffed full, but it's still my only bag. The comment about Louisa being cute seems to confuse her.

"Cute? No way, she's the devil in the form of a grade schooler." We head inside, and she debriefs me on the house. Her parents' room is down to the left. There's a kitchen, living room and bathroom. Pretty normal house. Upstairs, Louisa's room is the one with the sign that says Louisa's Room, Mark's is the one with a skull painted on the door and smells like what Meg tells me pot smells like. The bathroom is at the end of the hallway. Her room is at the other end of the hallway. It has multiple signs pasted to the door.

KNOCK! And wait for a reply before entering. Thank you.

If I'm practicing the guitar, wait for me to finish before you talk to me.

If your name is Mark, just don't bother.

No, Louisa, I will not help you with your homework.

KNOCK, GOSH DARNIT!

Meg sucks.

She scowls at the last one and takes it down. We enter without knocking. She's dragged the mattress off Mark's top bunk for me to sleep on, and yes, it really does smell kind of funky. I'm fearing the moment I run into Mark. Meg also cleared out one of her dressed drawers for me to put my stuff in. She seems to have put a lot of thought into all of this.

Meg's room seems to be a combination of all her interests throughout the ages. There's Winnie-the-Pooh curtains from when she and Mark shared a room as little kids. There's a squishy pink pillow chair from when she had a pink and purple theme in fourth grade. Finally, she's got a gray shag carpet from a supposed redecorating before starting high school. An acoustic guitar leans against a bookshelf, which is piled with papers, knickknacks, and most everything but books, which seem to have been confined to the corner of the bottom shelf. She grins.

"I need to make more room for the mattress, so I let Mark take my electric guitar and amp. I mean, technically its part his, but whatever. He should leave us alone unless we wish otherwise. I have complete control over him and he doesn't even realize it."