His Room

 She stepped into the dim bedroom, walked over to the wooden bay window, opened wide the chequered curtains, and let in the morning light. Then she pushed out the handle to allow the air to circulate. Dawn fell on the tidied bed, the pine desk close by, the cabinet adorned with graffiti, and the closet door that remained shut.

Her apron donned, she set about clearing the room. From the single-bed she pulled off the quilt and sheets. Her hands peeled the pale covers off the pillows and freed the duvet from its polyester cocoon. She set her mind on the cool weather outside as she worked. On the coming weeks that promised blue skies and blooming cowslips. Not on the fact that she’d made this same bed six months ago and nobody had slept in it since.

His breakfast finished, she heard her husband ascend the stairs. She was folding the sheets when he entered, his shoulders slumped and eyes averted.

‘Well, where should I start?’ he said.

‘Hmm, I’ll empty the cabinet. You could see through the desk.’

‘Right, then.’

He nodded and went to work, still avoiding her gaze.

She laid the sheets down in a plastic hamper by her feet. Then she stepped over to the nearby cabinet. While stooped at an uncomfortable angle she sprayed, peeled, and wiped the stickers off the cabinet’s front. The long-dried adhesive all but disintegrated under her heavy rubbing. After drying the cabinet’s surface with an old table-cloth she set about emptying the contents of each shelf. Into the rubbish bag went half a pack of chewing gum, a dirty comb, dog-eared school books, page after page of irrelevant scribbles, and no shortage of crumpled-up flyers from an expo. The few items of value, like an acceptance letter since rescinded and a few Polaroids turned brown with age, she placed into another plastic hamper.

A team of tiny superheroes stood vigil on top of the cabinet. Their numbers boasted muscular men and sculpted women who could fly at will, run at supersonic speed, and even fire lasers from their eyes. They were lab accidents, demigods, and super-soldiers who’d step up and protect humanity should a great evil ever rear it’s head. She absentmindedly brushed the lot of them with her hand into a cardboard box.

‘I’m sure there’s a collector out there who’d buy these toys.’ She said aloud to her husband.

‘But I don’t have the energy to deal with that sort of person. Perhaps some other boy could play with them. They’re in too good shape for the recycling bin.’

Her husband came over to look at the trapped heroes.

‘Wait a minute, dear. Could I see them for one second?’

From the box of figurines, the man fished one out and held it up. It wasn’t an obvious one like the detective in black, nor the big boy-scout from another world. Instead, it was a little man in blue and gold, standing proud with fists on his hips.

‘This was his favourite. I don’t know his name. But he played with this one the most. I’d keep it.’

She shrugged, offering no resistance.

‘All right then, I’ll find a home for him.’

She took the little plastic man from her husband and slipped him into the pocket of her apron. Her husband then hefted the cardboard box to his chest and left.

Beneath the bed she pulled out shoe after shoe. White runners stained grey, black school shoes layered in dust, and smart tan loafers barely worn. Perhaps the last pair could find some matching feet to keep them company. They still had miles to walk before getting binned like the rest. She wasn’t expecting to find the skateboard as she poked around the bed’s underside. That was a novelty foreshadowed by weeks of pleading; every talk at dinnertime always turning to the merits of skateboarding. Plenty of exercise and socialising to be had, his words. They bought him his birthday gift five months early to settle that conversation. She softly dragged her fingertips across the dark, gritted surface of the wooden deck. Let the ceramic wheels spin as she remembered. After the trip to Accident & Emergency he must have kicked the board under the bed with his good leg. From then on he never spoke about the art of skating at dinnertime again. No, paint-balling took his fancy next.

When her husband returned, he knelt in front of the open closet and took to sort through the clothes. Socks and underpants went for the black bag. Jumpers, trousers, and shirts went for the white bag. The black was for the bin. The white was for the shop. After tying up the two bags he was rearing to leave when a thought came over his face. He turned to her and said,‘Do you remember that friend of his, Sean Curtin?’

She rolled her eyes as she poked a sweeping brush under the bed.

‘Sean Curtin? The boy who lit a flaming bag on our doorstep and once got him in trouble by skipping school together? 

Her husband nodded, ignoring her venom.

‘That’s right. I met him the other day at the garden centre where he’s working. He’s grown up quite a bit since then. He says he’s saving up to move to Germany. Going to make a living at a chemical plant that’s somewhere busy.’

She forced a smile when she answered, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Well, that’s good for him.’

Despite facing away from him when she spoke, her husband read her all the same.

‘He also said he was sorry, for not talking to us about him since. Paid his respects.’

Her smirk dropped, and she paused a moment. She aside her sweeping brush before answering.

‘It’s good to hear that he’s changed, then.’

Her husband nodded with a genuine smile of his own before leaving once again.

Alone, she kicked over the corner of the room’s carpet, then knelt down to roll it up. Despite the shampooing and vacuuming over the years, the rug still smelled of Loki. She’d banned that border-collie mutt from skulking upstairs. Yet still she’d find him, day after day, curled up on the rug. Loki got a good run, staying with the family his entire life. But in his last few years he didn’t have the energy to go out anymore, and not because of his age. He wagged his tail less and had fewer cause to bark all the time. She didn’t blame him. They all felt the same way. She spotted a few of his black and white hairs among the carpet threads before rolling it up fully.

From a shelf by the bedside, she pulled out a crude mug. The handle had long shattered, and the red acrylic paint now flaked off the hardened clay. It was a mottled, half-baked, lump of a thing quickly forgotten by its young maker. But she held the mug to her chest like a newborn. Alone, she closed her eyes. Her lips moved but she made no sound. She pictured the room as it was the first time she’d stepped inside. It was a sunny morning in May, much like today.  She was wearing jeans and a sleeveless shirt, her hair done up in bandana. He was in shorts and a striped t-shirt. She held his tiny hand in hers when they entered the room. It was draughty with peeling wallpaper back then, and the plastic bay window was covered in black grot. They cast their eyes to every corner, her face sour yet his face gobsmacked. She remembered lowering herself to his level and asking him if preferred the bedroom by the stairs. It was so much cleaner and brighter with a view of the sea. But he shook his head and said he loved this place. It just needed a lick of paint. This wasn’t just any room. This was his room.

Then she heard her husband’s footsteps ascending the stairs and the moment passed. Eyes open, she ripped the centrefold out of a nearby newspaper and wrapped it onto the crumbling red mug before packing it neatly into a cardboard box.

She and her husband continued apace, emptying the room of its contents and wiping away any legacy of its previous owner. They made small talk every ten minutes or so, always trailing off after a point as they did with every conversation. Noon came and the room was now clean and bare but for the bed-frame and furniture. They stood in the doorway to appreciate their handiwork. Her husband dug his right hand under shirt collar to massage his left shoulder. The morning’s work hadn’t been a hard labour, but it had been a heavy one.

‘I could go for a walk after this. Maybe down to the pier and by the shore. We could have lunch outside. You okay for that?’

‘Yes. It should be quiet enough, and the sun’s out. It’d be a shame to stay inside on a day like this.’

Her husband waved a hand towards the furniture.

‘Peter said he would pick up the desk tomorrow. With his help it shouldn’t be too much trouble getting it down the stairs into the trailer. Orla has her own room now, and she needs a proper place to study.’

‘I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen Orla in years.’

‘You’d be amazed at how tall she’s gotten, dear.’

The corner of her mouth twitched, and she changed the subject.

‘We didn’t find any takers for the bed?’

‘No, it’s too bulky and ratty. The last man who looked said so. On Sunday I’ll dismantle it and bring the pieces to the amenity site.’

She shook her head.

‘A shame, it was a fine bed, but we were never taking it with us.’

‘There’s a lot of things we don’t need to take with us, dear.’

Then he kissed her on the forehead before leaving yet again, for good this time.

Alone, she removed her apron, taking care to find the little gold and blue man a home in her trouser pocket. She trailed her hand along the soft grain of the pine desk, swirling the dark knots with her index finger. She pictured Orla, older now, hunched over the desk in the evening while she studied. Then she thought back to the boy who’d studied over the same desk years before and her expression soured. She shut the bay window and drew the curtains, letting the bedroom go dim once more. Motes of dust swirled in the thin ray of daylight that poked between the chequered gap. The faint din of birdsong slipped in from outdoors. A new emptiness had taken residence in the once lived-in room. Her mind now set on other matters, she closed the door, not noticing the shadow that crossed the gap. There were other rooms to clear, of course, and the movers would be here on Wednesday. She’d keep busy until then and always after. Never looking back, never stepping into his room again.