Sweet Serenity of Solitary

            Flinching out of sleep, I opened my eyes to stare into the pitch-black emptiness of my room. A migraine instantly rushed into my head like a school of fish. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, glided it over the top of my head of blonde hair and wrapped my fingers around the ponytail to loosen it from my head. My phone glowed on my bedside table. I had a number of missed calls from Mom, Dad, and a variety of other people. I turned the phone over, and rotated my legs off of the mattress, so my toes met the plush carpet of my new apartment.

            Attempting to calm my spinning migraine, I sat for a few seconds and rubbed my temple with my thumbs while I brushed sleep away from my eyes with my pinkies. I knew they all just wanted to know that I survived my first day alone in my apartment. Probably worried that they hadn’t heard a peep from me all day. But, truly, I was an adult with a well-paying job. All of 23 years of life experience. I could handle myself.

           I took a gulp of air and pushed myself off of the mattress, then stumbled toward the wall and balanced myself. Eventually, I was no longer so dizzy that I couldn’t walk straight, and glided my feet over the carpet, towards the bathroom. After I popped a Tylenol, I went back to my bed and collapsed. My legs felt like gelatin. As I pulled my covers up to my chest, I turned my phone back over and scrolled through the messages on my phone, all wishing me a happy first day in my apartment. The sweet serenity of having my own space without being completely abandoned tugged at the corners of my mouth.

            

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