There are two beds in my room. These two beds hold two very different people. My sister and I share a room and we have identical day beds-well, at least we did when Mom bought them for us. Mine of course is still in mint condition. Metal painted white and cool to the touch is sculpted into half circles that are the headboard and foot board. Four stubby posts hold four spheres atop them-also white-with ridiculous embellishments of colorful flowers branded into the round surface. It is not a solid, sturdy structure-there are cut out shapes in both the headboard and foot board. I have managed to keep the contraption in god condition by taking care of it-or perhaps just out of habit.

My sister's bed on the other hand is losing not only the Battle-but also the War of Time. Amanda, my older sister, who will be happy to correct any poor soul that may make the common mistake of considering us twins, does not like the fact that we have matching beds. Consequently, my dear sister has taken it upon herself to "unintentionally" destroy her bed. Each and every post has been decapitated of its spherical top and last year she ripped off the foot board. In her defense, it was suffering severely-it's welded joints reduced to loose hinges from a year's worth of use. She merely put the foot board out of its misery.

Contrasting, also, are the clothes on the beds themselves. I painstakingly chose my coordinating bedspread, sheets and pillowcases while Amanda chose to take theā€¦eclectic route. She has three different comforters from three different bed sets and over a dozen pillows ranging from a large, fuzzy, electric blue body pillow to a small, patriotic flannel decorative pillow. My plain, green comforter seems pale in comparison to the noisy, vibrant kaleidoscope of color piled on Amanda's bed. I keep my bed tucked against the window so that, like today, I am able to enjoy the afternoon sun. Sunlight, warm upon my flesh, is filtered through blinds and chopped into geometric beams that spear the air, illuminating specks of dust.

The walls remain an impersonal shade of off-white and even worse, they are scantily clad, with next to nothing on them-they are nearly a naked mass of white. The only personal object that saves (or, rather prevents) the walls from a complete transformation to a plaster cage is a drawing hung halfway between our two beds. Crudely drawn in pencil by my sister, the sketch is that of a still life-an assignment from her Art Foundations class.

It's quite ironic that despite the fact that Amanda is not known for her artistic abilities (bless her heart, she tries) and I am considered "the artistic one," it is her artwork that scatters the room, and not mine. Besides her distorted still life, there is also a blue, brown and yellow vase beside my bed that was the result of many hours of labor-a creation from Amanda's ceramics class last semester. Stout, lopsided and rough around the edges (literally and metaphorically), it depicts chunky, canary-colored polar bears against a set of wide, chocolate teeth of mountains and a clear, periwinkle sky. It is extremely heavy and, therefore, surprisingly lethal-a dangerous weapon if ever dropped on any part of any living, or non-living thing. There is also a ceramic giraffe, collaboratively named Jeffery. Jeffery is an unexpected delight with a taupe coating speckled with mocha, giraffe-like prints. From his resting place on the floor, he stands proudly on display, his proportioned neck stretching from his rounded torso, and ears cutely sticking out, frozen in motion.

Yes, it is only these artifacts that are visible in our room. My numerous paintings, ink drawings, sketches, and etchings are collectively packed into a portfolio, tucked away in my side of the closet-as are my books. The closet itself is a disaster zone, with clothes scattered about like war victims. We don't have dressers, but, rather, 50-gallon plastic tubs in which we are supposed to keep our clothes. However, during spring break we both worked a lot, so that in the hours we didn't work, we were both too tired to care about the tedious task of putting our clothes away properly. No matter, though, because sooner or later, Amanda will snap out of her drowsy state, crack her whip, and will make sure our room returns back to its usual, tidy state.