The Room (32 page)

The blanket scratched his face and his breath burned his face as it warmed itself in the long, stiffened fibres. But what the fuck was the difference. It was all the same. Lean against a wall, hang from a bed. What the fuck was the difference? Everything is nothing anyway. Just wait. Just hang here and wait. Eventually it will move. Eventually you will be stretched out on the bed and you
can squirm your way under the blanket. Why rush? Fuck it. You lean. You hang. You stretch. Whats the fucking difference? The blanket scratches your face or it scratches your ass. So what? So fucking what? Its all the same. Just wait and sooner or later it will move or youll just freeze here. Its all the same.

His arms stretched slowly forward, his hips wiggled and his toes pushed against the floor. He crawled forward on the bed until his hands gripped the edge of the mattress then he pulled until slowly all of his body was firmly on the mattress. He rested. Sniffed the blanket. It smelled. All kinds of smells making 1 blanket smell. Its own smell just like any armpit or asshole. All different, but all the same. All their own. Their own fucking stink.

He squeezed the pillow under his head and thought briefly of getting under the covers. No. Screw it. Rest first. Just rest. First rest. Get under the blanket later. Just rest for now. Rest.

He replaced the gray of the walls with a darker shade by closing his eyes. It felt good to shut out some of the light. Not all, just some. Just enough so there was a gray without images or threatening corners. Not the blackness that gives birth to those sudden flashes of stinging light that slash your eyes, or the velvety darkness that thickens and becomes animated and flows and somehow moves around and over you. Just a soothing gray. Nothing to see.

But he could feel. He could always feel. There was a sense of security in old, familiar feelings in spite of their discomfort. He felt the nausea tugging at the back of his throat and he automatically swallowed repeatedly and rapidly, and the more he swallowed the more his sickness seemed to flow through his body until it nestled in every part of him, every cell, every breath, until they were one.

He knew he didnt have to worry about throwing up. Not now. That was done with for now. There would be a time, as there had been from time to time, when he would once again be hanging over the bowl, his face puking on his reflection as he hung desperately to the edges of the commode his body once
again jerking and writhing with dry heaves, his face breath-close to its shattering reflection. But not now.

For now his sickness was more friend than foe. His sickness, now, was persistent and constant, but it wasnt threatening to burst from his mouth. It was just there – in him, through him – everywhere. And he knew it would always be there. That it would never desert him. That no matter what happened, no matter where he might go or what the world might do to him, he could always rely on his companion. He was as constant as the northern star. That was the one thing he could always rely on.

And he could always curl around his little ball of sickness and share his pain of loneliness, of shattered dreams, of tears on saddened faces. Tears that he may have caused and that made it necessary to curl himself around his friend so he could live with the knowledge of these tears, knowing that no matter how bad the pain was that it should be worse, that it wasnt really equal to the tears.

He snapped his eyes open and stared into the commode corner, then slid from the bed and stumbled to the corner. He very, very carefully examined the wall, the floor and the gleaming white porcelain. He tore off a long piece of toilet paper and got on his knees and inspected the area from various angles, dabbing and wiping at any spot that looked wet. When he finally finished he dropped the paper in the bowl, watched it flush out of sight then looked at the bowl for many minutes to be certain it didnt somehow work itself back up. He nodded his head approvingly and staggered back to his bed and checked the corner once more before kneeling beside his bed and managing to push the blanket down far enough to allow him to squirm under it as he climbed onto the bed. He lay quietly for a moment catching his breath and thinking of the easiest way to get under the blanket. Eventually he searched around for the edge of the blanket with his feet, worked them under it then reached back and grabbed the edge of the blanket and, curling up, pulled the blanket over him.

He felt the hard coarseness of the blanket against his body and neck, and his little ball of sickness deep within him
tantalizing the back of his throat. His eyes were fixed on the corner and he felt quiet. He knew that soon his eyes would start to burn and ache and then they would close. Everything seemed to be quiet and still. His comfort was logical.

His eyes slowly drifted from the corner along the junction of wall and floor and the tributary cracks until the lids closed and he could be closer to his friend. The coarseness of the blanket was soothing. He started feeling weightless, as if it were possible for him to simply drift away from wherever he was to some place as yet unknown, unimagined, and he hugged the blanket tighter around him, rubbing his cheek with its edge, experiencing the same tremor as usual when the drifting started, but knowing that his friend would not allow him to stray too far, and soon, very soon, he would be back where he belonged. Back to the safe and known.

He felt the blanket on his cheek and the mattress under him. He curled his knees up closer to his chest and clasped his hands between them. He could feel the spirit of his friend flowing through his body, reassuring him, and having finished his journey he returned to his place and nestled deep within his host.

The drifting ceased and he was once again fully aware of his body and his friend. The gray got darker and more soothing, more comfortable. He was once again in a familiar place, the place to which he always returned. No matter where or how far he might go in any direction he always returned to his friend. There was a time, it seemed, when he traveled great distances for long lengths of time, but the journeys continually became shorter and more frightening and he would hasten home to his friend. And, unlike the past when he would start his journeys often, he now found very little desire to attempt to leave the security offered by his friend. A step or two was enough to convince him now that whatever might be out there wasnt worth the effort so he simply stopped trying and remained where he belonged. And if he had ever felt any different he could no longer remember it, and even trying to remember seemed pointless. He knew how it felt now, and that was the way he always felt and would always feel. There was
no other way. Thats simply the way the world is and always will be. A pair of tight shoes and blistered feet. If you get a pair that dont hurt youre a winner, but you cant expect it. Its just a freak. The next pair will cut you to pieces. Theres no point in trying. Its all a game. Thats all it is, a fucking game. You just have to try and screw them more than they screw you. Make them pay. Right through the nose. And make them keep paying …

Yeah, like their kids. Send copies of the pictures to the school principal and pass them out to the kids. Make them keep paying. I could get envelopes in a five-and-dime store and print the address with one of those cheap ball-point pens. They could never trace that. Just be careful of fingerprints, thats all. And just drop a few envelopes with pictures where the kids will see them and theyll be all over the school in no time. And what could those bitches say? Theyd have to deny it and claim they were fakes or something. And if they admitted they were real and told them about the night with me their old men would really go crazy. Theyd never get out. Theyd be as crazy as Mrs Haagstromm. I could just deny it anyway. Just hide the cameras and the rest of the stuff and they couldnt prove a thing. Nothing. And before it was over theyd all be on the funny farm. The kids too. Spend the rest of their lives locked up, a bunch of blithering idiots. And maybe they could meet each other, once a week, in the basket weaving class. And there would be no way they could prove anything. They wouldnt be able to touch me. And they could just rot away in there, smelling their own stink,

mary, mary, quite cunttrary

and let them eat breakfast with each others stink …

Screwem, the bastards.

Like that rotten sonofabitch Joey. He must have washed and gargled with garlic the way he stunk of it all the time. The lousy wop bastard. He sure did screw me. I know goddamn well he did. You couldnt get a marble, any fucking marble, in the holes in his cigar box. The sonofabitch clipped me for a whole bag of marbles. Maybe more. I
shouldve broken that fucking cigar box of his over his head and taken my marbles back. And his too, the rat fucking bastard.      O fuck it. I guess its not important anyway, some other sonofabitch wouldve cheated me out of them anyway.

I shouldve just dried myself off with Leslies handkerchief, or something, then nobody wouldve known anything.

Like that goddamn kid at the beach that time. Screamed and hollered like he was dying because I hit him on the head with a rock. His own fucking fault for suddenly coming around the corner of the house. How in the hell was I supposed to know he was going to turn around the corner. I couldnt see him. Asshole sonofabitch. Walking right into the rock. No matter where you go theres some fucking asshole screwing things up.

But its going to be my turn now. I/ll get those fuckers in court and really tear them apart. I/ll make them jump through hoops. I/ll make them beg for mercy. I/ll fuckem up so bad theyll have to crawl out of court. I/ll get that d.a. so confused he/ll have to go back to law school. I/ll teach him a few tricks he never even heard of. I/ll teach them tricks that havent been invented yet. And I wont let them just dismiss the charges and throw the case out of court. I/ll make them go through with it and let the jury bring back a verdict of not guilty. Theyre not going to trick me with any of that legal bullshit and throw the case out and then refile the charges. Not me. I aint falling for that shit. I/ll see to it that it goes to the jury so they cant get around the double jeopardy. The rotten pricks. Theyd just love to pull that shit on me. They think they can get away with anything, but they wont get away with it this time. I aint buying it. They can peddle that shit somewhere else. I aint having any. Theyre going to find me not guilty, and then Im going to shove it up their ass.

Q
. 
In what direction were you traveling as you approached the intersection?

A
. 
North.

Q
. 
And what was the time?

A
. 
Approximately 2
A
.
M
.

Q
. 
And you were driving?

A
. 
Yes sir.

Q
. 
And your partner was sitting next to you?

A
. 
Yes sir.

Q
. 
In the front seat?

A
. 
Of course.

COUNSEL
Just answer—

PROSECUTOR
Your honor, I object. Theres no need to continually ask the same question 6 different ways.

COURT
Sustained. It is not necessary to repeat the same question after it has been answered.

Q
. 
And how fast were you driving?

A
. 
Approximately 25 miles per hour.

Q
. 
And how far from the intersection were you when your partner said he saw someone in the doorway of Kramers Jewelry store?

A
. 
About one hundred feet.

Q
. 
And how far from Kramers Jewelry store?

A
. 
Approximately three or four hundred feet.

Q
. 
Dont you know exactly how far you were from the doorway?

A
. 
No. Not exactly.

Q
. 
And were there cars parked on the avenue?

A
. 
There were a few, further down the avenue.

Q
. 
There were none parked near Kramers Jewelry store?

A
. 
No.

Q
. 
And how was the visibility at that time?

A
. 
Good.

Q
. 
There were no visual obstructions?

A
. 
None.

Q
. 
Was the area well lighted?

A
. 
Yes.

Q
. 
And was the weather clear?

A
. 
Yes.

Q
. 
There was no fog or haze?

A
. 
None.