The Room (34 page)

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Its not really my fault things never seemed to come out right. They just seem to come out that way. Yeah, like that time. And that was a long time ago. A long, long time ago. And it was an accident. It was just something that happened.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

We were just playing and somehow he fell and got a bloody nose. He wasnt really hurt and
I told his mother I was sorry. And anyway, it wasnt even my fault. I didnt do anything, but I told her I was sorry anyway. We were just playing. Thats all.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

God, I dont know how it happened or how any of those things happened. They just seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute everythings all right and the next its all fallen apart. Just crumbled. And I don’t know how. Or why. But it always seemed to work out that way. And I know I tried. I tried not to do those things. Im sure I did. Yeah, maybe I could have tried harder. But how hard do you want me to try?

A long way from home
And anyway, whats the use? Everything will fall apart eventually anyway. Everything always ends up nothing eventually. I cant win. I just cant seem to win. There just doesnt seem to be any point to anything. It will end up being wrong anyway. Everything I do is wrong. Even if Im right Im wrong. Been wrong so often so long I guess I wouldnt even know if I was right. Its not important anyway. Ive been wrong enough to last me the rest of my life anyway.

A long way from home

And I guess I always will. Really doesn’t make any difference where I go or what I do. May just as well stay here, or anywhere. Its all the same. And always will be,

his legs hanging over the side of his bed and swinging back and forth slowly, rhythmically, his hands still clasped between his thighs. His head hanging from his neck. His friend tugged at the back of his throat and he swallowed automatically. His friend flowed caressingly through his body and closed his eyes with a wet ache. He felt his friend sing to him and he could taste him. At least he wasnt alone. He would always have his friend. He didnt have to seek him out. And he knew that his friend was right, that there was no point in trying anymore. How many times had he tried? Endless and countless attempts, but the result was always the same and he always had to return to his friend and automatically swallow rapidly
and repeatedly as his friend tugged at the back of his throat. Yes, his friend was right.

The door clanged open and a set of blues was tossed on his bed. A voice yelled court time. He didnt move, but stayed with his friend, his legs swinging slowly back and forth, ignoring the open doorway.

PENGUIN CLASSICS

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First published 1971
Published in Penguin Classics 2011

Copyright © the Estate of Hubert Selby Jr., 1971

Cover photograph © Michael Ackerman/Agence Vu.

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ISBN: 978-0-141-96623-6