This was a poem that Christina wrote in college for her English class. We found it while going through our scrapbooks, and wanted to share it. We hope you enjoy it!
xoxo Nicole and Christina
I never went past the tenth step. My body would release all emotions and tensions when my foot would press down onto the concrete step of the staircase. It was always the happiness of the first step that I would look forward to. My body would automatically know that I was about to release the emotions of the day, and enjoy the company and safety of my friend. The first step was the pathway to my comfort zone, and to my healing.
The dirty staircase that was connected to the cottage cheese covered wall was where I shared my deepest secrets, my tears and my laughter with my best friend Nikki. For over four years we used the staircase as our couch, with each of us taking turns at who would be the counselor and who would be the patient. Our ritual was always the same. Once darkness had fallen and her roommates where dutifully watching their sports channels she and I would sneak outside with our glasses of wine to immerse ourselves in conversation. The staircase was our hideout, and our journal.
The multi colored rocks that decorated the steps would leave dime size imprints in the back of our thighs, and the rust covered railing would eventually become the headboards that we rested against once the wine made our heads heavy after hours of talking. We would stain the steel gray steps with the red dye of our cheap wine, and wet the dirty ground with our tears. The space between each step was the test of our inebriation, with one of us inevitably losing a lighter or cigarette to the ground bellow.
We saw the occupant of the apartment upstairs only once; when at five o’clock in the morning our session of laughter and venting had kept him up for over 7 hours. Stepping out of the door, he looked down at us and whispered “Go to bed now girls, it is time to turn in”. It was as if he understood the sanctuary of the steps that we sat upon, or that he had simply been listening to our stories, our laughter and our pain.