Day 3 / 18:07
Noah has already re-packed his small cupboard 3 times. He doesn’t have to wear school uniform here, but he’s brought his white shirts to make dressing easier. He doesn’t know if there’s a laundry or if he’ll have to do his own washing. So, 10 white shirts hanging. 3 pairs of jeans, each on their own hanger, and all the space taken up.
Shelves next.
5 t-shirts (navy blue, spares until the laundry question is addressed)
5 t-shirts (light blue, ref navy blue ones, above)
10 pairs of underpants (5 pale blue, 5 navy)
5 pairs of cotton pyjama pants (navy)
5 pairs of shorts (navy)
10 pairs of socks (5 pale blue, 5 navy)
2 pairs of trainers (navy)
1 pair of slipslops (navy blue soles with light blue thongs)
1 pair of slippers (navy blue, sheepskin-lined, stowed at the back of the cupboard, too warm for the rising heat).
All of the above would be fine – just enough shelf space – if it weren’t for the duvet. He’s folded it in ½, and in ½ again, but it still takes up a whole shelf and soon escapes over the edge, so closing the door properly is almost impossible. He takes it out (again) and spreads it over his bed. That looks neater. Hopefully he’ll be asleep when he kicks it off during the night and he won’t be obliged to get out of bed to fold it neatly and find somewhere to pack it away until the morning. He can’t be held responsible for what happens in his sleep.
You’re always responsible, Noah. Asleep, awake. You have your duties.
Sorting and resorting, shelving and re-shelving, sitting back to make sure that each pile (of, for example, t-shirts) is as close as possible in height to the pile next to it, that the navy blue on one shelf aligns perfectly with the navy blue above and/or below, that heels of his shoes line up with the bottom edge of the shelving …
When his room is as close as he can get to perfect, for now, he sits at his desk and carries out a check. His wallcharts are squashed together. He doesn’t like that, but there’s nowhere else to put them.
Nothing is working the way it should. You’ll have to start again.
He can’t though. He needs to work on his new timetable, see where he can shave off seconds, save minutes. He turns to his desk, to the sheet of paper he has broken down into small squares. At home he’d be able to use his laptop, get it all set out on an Excel spreadsheet. Here, he has to make do with a pencil, ruler, and handwritten notes. More time than he wants to spend, but he can’t skimp on this task. It’s too important.
At least everything has a place now, so that’s something, even if it’s not 100 per cent perfect. His bag’s fully unpacked …
Noah gets up, goes to his cupboard, reaches to the back, behind his 2 pairs of trainers and his slippers. There’s the bag his clothes came in. He unzips it, takes the duvet off the bed, folds it, folds again, squashes it in on itself. Then he reaches for the bag and jams the duvet inside. It puffs out a bit, and he can’t quite close the zip, but at least he can push it under his bed, next to his rolled up exercise mat, and out of the way.
Now he can close his cupboard door, and he’s gained an extra shelf, which may be a good thing. Who knows when he might need it, given the unpredictability of life at Greenhills?