Room by Emma Donoghue
“They’re omnivores,” I tell her.
“My, you know some big words.”
We turn where there’s trees. I say, “Is this the Clinic again?”
“No, no, we just have to make a pit stop at the mall to pick up a present for a birthday party Bronwyn’s going to this afternoon.”
The mall means stores like Old Nick buys our groceries, but not anymore.
It’s just Paul going in the mall, but he says he doesn’t know what to choose, so Deana’s going in instead, but then Bronwyn starts chanting, “Me with Momma, me with Momma.” So it’s going to be Deana pulling Bronwyn in the red wagon and Paul and me will wait in the van.
I’m staring at the red wagon. “Can I try?”
“Later, at the museum,” Deana tells me.
“Listen, I’m desperate for the bathroom anyway,” says Paul, “it might be faster if we all run in.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“It shouldn’t be too hectic on a weekday.”
Deana looks at me, not smiling. “Jack, would you like to come in the mall in the wagon, just for a couple of minutes?”
“Oh yeah.”
I ride at the back making sure Bronwyn doesn’t fall out because I’m the big cousin, “like John the Baptist,” I tell Bronwyn but she’s not listening. When we get up to the doors they make a pop sound and crack open by their own, I nearly fall out of the wagon but Paul says it’s all just tiny computers sending each other messages, don’t worry about it.
It’s all extra bright and ginormous, I didn’t know inside could be as big as Outside, there’s trees even. I hear music but I can’t see the players with the instruments. The most amazing thing, a bag of Dora, I get down to touch her face, she’s smiling and dancing at me. “Dora,” I whisper to her.
“Oh, yeah,” says Paul, “Bronwyn used to be all about her too but now it’s Hannah Montana.”
“Hannah Montana,” Bronwyn sings, “Hannah Montana.”
The Dora bag has straps, it’s like Backpack but with Dora on it instead of Backpack’s face. It has a handle too, when I try it pulls up, I think I broke it, but then it rolls, it’s a wheelie bag and a backpack at the same time, that’s magic.
“You like it?” It’s Deana talking to me. “Would you like to keep your things in it?”
“Maybe one that’s not pink,” says Paul to her. “What about this one, Jack, pretty cool or what?” He’s holding up a bag of Spider-Man.
I give Dora a big hug. I think she whispers, Hola, Jack.
Deana tries to take the Dora bag but I won’t let her. “It’s OK, I just have to pay the lady, you’ll get it back in two seconds . . .”
It’s not two seconds, it’s thirty-seven.
“There’s the bathroom,” says Paul and he runs off.
The lady’s wrapping the bag in paper so I can’t see Dora anymore, she puts it into a big cardboard, then Deana gives it to me, swinging it on its strings. I take Dora out and put my arms in her straps and I’m wearing it, I’m actually wearing Dora.
“What do you say?” asks Deana.
I don’t know what I say.
“Bronwyn pretty bag,” says Bronwyn, she’s waving a spangled one with hearts hanging on strings.
“Yes, hon, but you’ve got lots of pretty bags at home.” She takes the shiny bag, Bronwyn screams and one of the hearts falls on the ground.
“Sometime, could we get more than twenty feet in before the first meltdown?” asks Paul, he’s back again.
“If you were here you could have distracted her,” Deana tells him.
“Bronwyn pretty baaaaaaagggggg!”
Deana lifts her back into the wagon. “Let’s go.”
I pick up the heart and put it in my pocket with the other treasures, I walk along beside the wagon.
Then I change my mind, I put all my treasures in my Dora bag in the front zip bit instead. My shoes are sore so I take them off.
“Jack!” That’s Paul calling at me.
“Don’t keep bawling his name out, remember?” says Deana.
“Oh, right.”
I see a gigantic apple made of wood. “I like that.”
“Crazy, isn’t it?” says Paul. “What about this drum for Shirelle?” he says to Deana.
She rolls her eyes. “Concussion hazard. Don’t even try.”
“Can I have the apple, thank you?” I ask.
“I don’t think it would fit into your bag,” says Paul, grinning.
Next I find a silver-and-blue thing like a rocket. “I want this, thank you.”
“That’s a coffeepot,” says Deana, putting it back on the shelf. “We bought you a bag already, that’s it for today, OK? We’re just looking for a present for Bronwyn’s friend, then we can get out of here.”
“Excuse me, I wonder are these your older daughter’s?” It’s an old woman holding up my shoes.
Deana stares at her.
“Jack, buddy, what’s going on?” says Paul, pointing at my socks.
“Thank you so much,” says Deana, taking the shoes from the woman and kneeling down. She pushes my feet to step into the right then the left. “You keep saying his name,” she says to Paul through her teeth.
I wonder what’s wrong with my name.
“Sorry, sorry,” says Paul.
“Why she said older daughter?” I ask.
“Ah, it’s your long hair and your Dora bag,” says Deana.
The old woman’s disappeared. “Was she a bad guy?”
“No, no.”
“But if she figured out that you were that Jack,” says Paul, “she might take your picture with her cell phone or something, and your mom would kill us.”
My chest starts banging. “Why Ma would—?”
“I mean, sorry—”
“She’d be really mad, that’s all he means,” says Deana.
I’m thinking of Ma lying in the dark Gone. “I don’t like her being mad.”
“No, of course not.”
“Can you back me to the Clinic now, please?”
“Very soon.”
“Now.”
“Don’t you want to see the museum? We’ll get going in just a minute. Webkinz,” Deana tells Paul, “that should be safe enough. I think there’s a toy shop past the food court . . .”
I wheel my bag all the time, my shoes are Velcroed too tight. Bronwyn’s hungry so we have popcorn that’s the crunchiest thing I ever ate, it sticks in my throat and makes me cough. Paul gets him and Deana lattes from the coffee shop. When bits of popcorn fall down from my bag Deana says to leave them there because we’ve got plenty and we don’t know what’s been on that floor. I made a mess, Ma will be mad. Deana gives me a wet wipe to unsticky my fingers, I put it in my Dora bag. It’s too bright here and I think we’re lost, I wish I was in Room Number Seven.
I need to pee, Paul brings me in a bathroom that has funny floppy sinks on the wall. He waves at them. “Go ahead.”
“Where’s the toilet?”
“These are special ones just for us guys.”
I shake my head and go out again.
Deana says I can come with her and Bronwyn, she lets me choose the cubicle. “Great job, Jack, no splashing at all.”
Why would I splashing?
When she takes Bronwyn’s underwear down it’s not like Penis, or Ma’s vagina, it’s a fat little piece of body folded in the middle with no fur. I put my finger on it and press, it’s squishy.
Deana bangs my hand away.
I can’t stop screaming.
“Calm down, Jack. Did I—is your hand hurt?”
There’s all blood coming out of my wrist.
“I’m sorry,” says Deana, “I’m so sorry, it must have been my ring.” She stares at her ring with the gold bits. “But listen, we don’t touch each other’s private parts, that is not OK. OK?”
I don’t know private parts.
“All done, Bronwyn? Let Momma wipe.”
She’s rubbing the same bit of Bronwyn I did but she d
When I wash my hands it hurts the blood more. Deana keeps digging in her bag for a Band-Aid. She folds up some brown paper towel and tells me to press in on the cut.
“Okelydokely?” asks Paul outside.
“Don’t ask,” says Deana. “Can we get out of here?”
“What about the present for Shirelle?”
“We can wrap up something of Bronwyn’s that looks new.”
“Not something mine,” Bronwyn shouts.
They’re arguing. I want to be in bed with Ma in the dark and her all soft and no invisible music and red-faced wide persons going by and girls laughing with their arms knotted together and bits of them showing through their clothes. I press the cut to stop my blood falling out, I close my eyes walking along, I bang into a plant pot, actually it’s not really a plant like Plant was till she died, it’s plastic of one.
Then I see anybody smiling at me that’s Dylan! I run and give him a huge hug.
“A book,” says Deana, “perfect, give me two seconds.”
“It’s Dylan the Digger, he’s my friend from Room,” I tell Paul. “ ‘Heeeeeeeeere’s Dylan, the sturdy digger! The loads he shovels get bigger and bigger. Watch his long arm delve into the earth —’ ”
“That’s great, buddy. Now can you find where it goes back?”
I’m stroking Dylan’s front, it’s gone all smooth and shiny, how did he get here to the mall?
“Careful you don’t get blood on it.” Paul’s putting a tissue on my hand, my brown paper must have dropped off. “Why don’t you choose a different book that you’ve never read before?”
“Momma, Momma,” Bronwyn’s trying to get a jewelry out of the front of a book.
“Go pay,” says Deana, putting a book in Paul’s hand, she runs over to Bronwyn.
I open my Dora bag, I put Dylan in and zip him up safe.
When Deana and Bronwyn come back we walk near the fountain to hear the splashing but not get splashed. Bronwyn’s saying, “Money, money,” so Deana gives her a coin and Bronwyn throws it in the water.
“Want one?” That’s Deana saying to me.
It must be a special trash for money that’s too dirty. I take the coin and throw it in and get out the wet wipe to clean my fingers.
“Did you make a wish?”
I never made a wish with trash before. “For what?”
“Whatever you’d like best in the world,” says Deana.
What I’d like best is to be in Room but I don’t think that’s in the world.
There’s a man talking to Paul, he’s pointing at my Dora.
Paul comes and unzips it and takes out Dylan. “Ja—Buddy!”
“I am so sorry,” says Deana.
“He’s got a copy at home, you see,” says Paul, “he thought this was his one.” He holds out Dylan to the man.
I run and grab him back, I say, “ ‘Heeeeeeeeere’s Dylan, the sturdy digger! The loads he shovels get bigger and bigger.’ ”
“He doesn’t understand,” says Paul.
“ ‘Watch his long arm delve into the earth—’ ”
“Jack, sweetheart, this one belongs to the store.” Deana’s pulling the book out of my hand.
I hold even harder again and push him up my shirt. “I’m from somewhere else,” I tell the man. “Old Nick kept me and Ma locked up and he’s in jail now with his truck but the angel won’t burst him out because he’s a bad guy. We’re famous and if you take our picture we’ll kill you.”
The man blinks.
“Ah, how much is the book?” says Paul.
The man says, “I’ll need to scan it—”
Paul puts out his hand, I curl up on the floor around Dylan.
“Why don’t I get another copy for you to scan,” says Paul and he runs back into the store.
Deana’s looking all around shouting, “Bronwyn? Honey?” She rushes over to the fountain and looks in all along it. “Bronwyn?”
Actually Bronwyn’s behind a window with dresses putting her tongue at the glass.
“Bronwyn?” Deana’s screaming.
I put my tongue out too, Bronwyn laughs behind the glass.
• • •
I nearly fall asleep in the green van but not really.
Noreen says my Dora bag is magnificent and the shiny heart too and Dylan the Digger looks like a great read. “How were the dinosaurs?”
“We didn’t have time to see them.”
“Oh, that’s a pity.” Noreen gets me a Band-Aid for my wrist but there’s no pictures on it. “Your ma’s been snoozing the day away, she’ll be thrilled to see you.” She taps and opens the Door Number Seven.
I take off my shoes but not my clothes, I get in with Ma at last. She’s warmy soft, I snuggle up but carefully. The pillow smells bad.
“See you guys at dinnertime,” whispers Noreen and shuts the door.
The bad is vomit, I remember from our Great Escape. “Wake up,” I say to Ma, “you did sick on the pillow.”
She doesn’t switch on, she doesn’t groan even or roll over, she’s not moving when I pull her. This is the most Gone she’s ever.
“Ma, Ma, Ma.”
She’s a zombie, I think.
“Noreen?” I shout, I run at the door. I’m not meant to disturb the persons but—“Noreen!” She’s at the end of the corridor, she turns around. “Ma did a vomit.”
“Not a bother, we’ll have that cleaned up in two ticks. Let me just get the cart—”
“No, but come now.”
“OK, OK.”
When she switches on the light and looks at Ma she doesn’t say OK, she picks up the phone and says, “Code blue, room seven, code blue—”
I don’t know what’s—Then I see Ma’s pill bottles open on the table, they look mostly empty. Never more than two, that’s the rule, how could they be mostly empty, where did the pills go? Noreen’s pressing on the side of Ma’s throat and saying her other name and “Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”
But I don’t think Ma can hear, I don’t think she can see. I shout, “Bad idea bad idea bad idea.”
Lots of persons run in, one of them pulls me outside in the corridor. I’m screaming “Ma” as loud as I can but it’s not loud enough to wake her.
Living
I’m in the house with the hammock. I’m looking out the window for it, but Grandma says it would be in the backyard, not the front, anyway it’s not hung up yet because it’s only the tenth of April. There’s bushes and flowers and the sidewalk and the street and the other front yards and the other houses, I count eleven of bits of them, that’s where neighbors live like Beggar My Neighbor. I suck to feel Tooth, he’s right in the middle of my tongue. The white car is outside not moving, I rode in it from the Clinic even though there was no booster, Dr. Clay wanted me to stay for continuity and therapeutic isolation but Grandma shouted that he wasn’t allowed keep me like a prisoner when I do have a family. My family is Grandma Steppa Bronwyn Uncle Paul Deana and Grandpa, only he shudders at me. Also Ma. I move Tooth into my cheek. “Is she dead?”
“No, I keep telling you. Definitely not.” Grandma rests her head on the wood around the glass.
Sometimes when persons say definitely it sounds actually less true. “Are you just playing she’s alive?” I ask Grandma. “Because if she’s not, I don’t want to be either.”
There’s all tears running all down her face again. “I don’t—I can’t tell you any more than I know, sweetie. They said they’d call as soon as they had an update.”
“What’s an update?”
“How she is, right this minute.”
“How is she?”
“Well, she’s not well because she took too much of the bad medicine, like I told you, but they’ve probably pumped it all out of her stomach by now, or most of it.”
“But why she—?”
“Because she’s not well. In her head. She’s being taken care of,” says Grandma, “you don’t need to worry.”
“Why
“Well, it doesn’t do any good to.”
God’s face is all red and stuck on a chimney. It’s getting darker. Tooth is digging into my gum, he’s a bad hurting tooth.
“You didn’t touch your lasagna,” Grandma says, “would you like a glass of juice or something?”
I shake my head.
“Are you tired? You must be tired, Jack. Lord knows I am. Come downstairs and see the spare room.”
“Why is it spare?”
“That means we don’t use it.”
“Why you have a room you don’t use?”
Grandma shrugs. “You never know when we might need it.” She waits while I do the stairs down on my butt because there’s no banister to hold. I pull my Dora bag behind me bumpity bump. We go through the room that’s called the living room, I don’t know why because Grandma and Steppa are living in all the rooms, except not the spare.
An awful waah waah starts, I cover my ears. “I’d better get that,” says Grandma.
She comes back in a minute and brings me into a room. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“To go to bed, honey.”
“Not here.”
She presses around her mouth where the little cracks are. “I know you’re missing your ma, but just for now you need to sleep on your own. You’ll be fine, Steppa and I will be just upstairs. You’re not afraid of monsters, are you?”
It depends on the monster, if it’s a real one or not and if it’s where I am.
“Hmm. Your ma’s old room is beside ours,” says Grandma, “but we’ve converted it into a fitness suite, I don’t know if there’d be space for a blow-up . . .”
I go up the stairs with my feet this time, just pressing onto the walls, Grandma carries my Dora bag. There’s blue squishy mats and dumbbells and abs crunchers like I saw in TV. “Her bed was here, right where her crib was when she was a baby,” says Grandma, pointing to a bicycle but stuck to the ground. “The walls were covered in posters, you know, bands she liked, a giant fan and a dreamcatcher . . .”