Room: A Novel

“What did you do to yourself?” Grandma rushes across the deck.

“I didn’t, it was the bee.”

When she spreads the special ointment it doesn’t hurt quite as much but still a lot.

I have to use my other hand for helping her. The hammock hangs on hooks in two trees at the very back of the yard, one is a shortish tree that’s only twice my tall and bent over, one is a million times high with silvery leaves. The rope bits are kind of squished from being in the basement, we need to keep pulling till the holes are the right size. Also two of the ropes are broken so there’s extra holes that we have to not sit in. “Probably moths,” says Grandma.

I didn’t know moths grow big enough to break ropes.

“To be honest, we haven’t put it up for years.” She says she won’t risk climbing in, anyway she prefers some back support.

I stretch out and fill the hammock all myself. I wriggle my feet in my shoes, I put them through the holes, and my hands, but not my right one because that’s still agonizing from the bee. I think about the little Ma and little Paul that swinged in the hammock, it’s weird, where are they now? The big Paul is with Deana and Bronwyn maybe, they said we’d go see the dinosaurs another day but I think they were lying. The big Ma is at the Clinic turning the corner.

I push the ropes, I’m a fly inside a web. Or a robber Spider-Man catched. Grandma pushes and I swing so I’m dizzy but a cool kind of dizzy.

“Phone.” That’s Steppa on the deck, shouting.

Grandma runs up the grass, she leaves me all on my own again in the outside Outside. I jump down off the hammock and nearly fall because one shoe gets stuck. I pull my foot out, the shoe falls off. I run after, I’m nearly as fast as her.

In the kitchen Grandma’s talking on the phone. “Of course, first things first, he’s right here. There’s somebody wants to talk to you.” That’s me she’s telling, she holds out the phone but I don’t take it. “Guess who?”

I blink at her.

“It’s your ma.”

It’s true, here’s Ma’s voice in the phone. “Jack?”

“Hi.”

I don’t hear anything else so I pass it back to Grandma.

“It’s me again, how are you doing, really?” Grandma asks. She nods and nods and says, “He’s keeping his chin up.” She gives me the phone again, I listen to Ma say sorry a lot.

“You’re not poisoned with the bad medicine anymore?” I ask.

“No, no, I’m getting better.”

“You’re not in Heaven?”

Grandma covers her mouth.

Ma makes a sound I can’t tell if it’s a cry or a laugh. “I wish.”

“Why you wish you’re in Heaven?”

“I don’t really, I was just joking.”

“It’s not a funny joke.”

“No.”

“Don’t wish.”

“OK. I’m here at the clinic.”

“Were you tired of playing?”

I don’t hear anything, I think she’s gone. “Ma?”

“I was tired,” she says. “I made a mistake.”

“You’re not tired anymore?”

She doesn’t say anything. Then she says, “I am. But it’s OK.”

“Can you come here and swing in the hammock?”

“Pretty soon,” she says.

“When?”

“I don’t know, it depends. Is everything OK there with Grandma?”

“And Steppa.”

“Right. What’s new?”

“Everything,” I say.

That makes her laugh, I don’t know why. “Have you been having fun?”

“The sun burned my skin off and a bee stinged me.”

Grandma rolls her eyes.

Ma says something I don’t hear. “I’ve got to go now, Jack, I need some more sleep.”

“You’ll wake up after?”

“I promise. I’m so—” Her breath sounds all raggedy. “I’ll talk to you again soon, OK?”

“OK.”

There’s no more talking so I put the phone down. Grandma says, “Where’s your other shoe?”

• • •

I’m watching the flames dancing all orange under the pasta pot. The match is on the counter with its end all black and curly. I touch it to the fire, it makes a hiss and gets a big flame again so I drop it on the stove. The little flame goes invisible nearly, it’s nibbling along the match little by little till it’s all black and a small smoke goes up like a silvery ribbon. The smell is magic. I take another match from the box, I light the end in the fire and this time I hold on to it even when it hisses. It’s my own little flame I can carry around with me. I wave it in a circle, I think it’s gone out but it comes back. The flame’s getting bigger and messy all along the match, it’s two different flames and there’s a little line of red along the wood between them—

“Hey!”

I jump, it’s Steppa. I don’t have the match anymore.

He stamps on my foot.

I howl.

“It was on your sock.” He shows me the match all curled up, he rubs my sock where there’s a black bit. “Didn’t your ma ever teach you not to play with fire?”

“There wasn’t.”

“There wasn’t what?”

“Fire.”

He stares at me. “I guess your stove was electric. Go figure.”

“What’s up?” Grandma comes in.

“Jack’s just learning kitchen tools,” says Steppa, stirring the pasta. He holds a thing up and looks at me.

“Grater,” I remember.

Grandma’s setting the table.

“And this?”

“Garlic masher.”

“Garlic crusher. Way more violent than mashing.” He grins at me. He didn’t tell Grandma about the match, that’s kind of lying but not getting me into trouble is a good reason. He’s holding up something else.

“Another grater?”

“Citrus zester. And this?”