Rollaway Room

“What hadn’t he used me for? They are the worst, these people.”

I look at my neighbor. Looks none the worse for wear. Plain beige coat. Skinny. Pointy nose. Eraserhead hairdo up top, that’s a bit different. For nowadays, anyway, what are we, in the Sixties?

Politeness seems to dictate that I answer. “You don’t say?”

“Had me stab someone, how does that strike ya. And that mouth on him… I still have the teethmarks. Want to see?”

“No, that’s fine, that’s fine, I believe you.” I glance to both sides… We have a talker. My luck to get stuck right next to him.

“And the other day, he actually blamed me. Me, of all things…”

Maybe if I say nothing, he’ll stop talking to me? I do my best to pretend to listen to crickets. But he doesn’t stop.

“How is that fair, I ask you? To blame me. Might as well blame the sun for shining. Or the clouds for rain!”

“Ugh, sir… I think they do exactly that, blame them…”

“Oh, don’t you pretend you didn’t understand I meant!” he yells… and promptly disappears.

Disappears, pulled upward. Just like in the movies. Leaves me staring at an empty spot where he was but moments ago.

I look away. It’s too painful, this thing that happens to us. But he comes back, of course. We always do. Almost always.

”What would you call it, this place?” he asks me. “A jail cell? So close to each other that skin touches skin? Disgusting.” He falls silent.

I stare forward. What else is there to do? We’re stuck here, like the guy says. But he doesn’t stay silent for long.

“You know what I’d really like to do? Instead of what he makes us do? For once? Work with a beautiful woman.”

I decide to humor him. “Wouldn’t we all. And do what, exactly?”

“Catch her unawares, for one. Like when she’s not looking. And then hold her like that forever. So I could go back and see her the same way again and again. The same. But different each time.”

I try to edge to the side, but there was truly no space to move. Not an inch.

“Dude,” I tell him. “You’re kind of freaking me out… I’m getting very uncomfortable.”

“Good,” he says, “that makes two of us. Or a dozen. Now you know how we all feel.”

I stop looking. Oh, I don’t know, for no more than a few seconds, and he disappears again.

This time he’s gone for longer. Maybe thirty minutes? Or even more.

“Look,” he says when he comes back. “See the teeth marks? Told ya.”

I have to find a way to change the subject. “So tell me more about your ideal woman. The one you want to capture. Catch, I mean. Or whatever you said.”

OMG, is he going to break down? But no, he recovers. “I think about the lines of her neck, you know? Like where the soft curls of her hair fall on it? Or if she has her hair pulled up, but it’s just, I don’t know how to say it, airy… No, not like it stands on air, but like more there’s space between the hairs, but there isn’t. And it glows in the sunlight…” He trails off.

I gotta keep him talking. “I can see how that’s kind of hard. But maybe with practice…”

“And the cheek,” he interrupts me. “Especially the cheek. How it has that almost imperceptible fuzz, soft to the touch, and a peach red comes through it? Who would not want to capture that forever? Who could ever give it up?”

He starts disappearing again. Is there any way I can hold him? There isn’t. “I think this may be the last time,” he yells. And then is gone.

On the plus side, there’s room to the left now. Almost enough room to roll over. But I don’t risk it. Can’t.

What’s worse, I can’t chase the image he painted from my mind. Graceful, I picture her. Neck like a swan. Cheek like a peach. What is she doing, I wonder? Drinking coffee? Holding a flower? Maybe blowing a kiss? Is she naked? That’s harder.

Well, that’s not very gentlemanly, I tell myself, but the image stays in my imagination, first just an outline, and then slowly fills out, dripping with color. Ugh, he’s cursed me, I think, when he suddenly reappears.

“See the bitemarks,” he says, all proud-like. “Told you. But I really do think it’s the last time. In fact, I am more than surprised he didn’t just discard me. Threw me out when he’s done with me, like he’s done to the rest of us…”

“The rest of us!” I interrupt him. “There are others?! I thought this was all there was!”

And he laughs. “Someday you’ll know,” he tells me. “You will see the world outside for what it is, and you will know. And understand.”

I feel it, just as he finishes. The pull. The sheer, impossible-to-resist pull upward.

I’ve no means to stop it, to clutch at the sides, prolong my safety at this place, whatever it is. Will they hurt me? Will I come back with bitemarks all over me? What am I going to do?

I do all I can to resist. Maybe I can stick with this guy to the right? He’s been awfully quiet. It works, and my ascent slows. I feel the force trying to shake me loose. “Won’t you help your neighbor?” I ask the guy on the right, but he’s silent. Worse, he unsticks himself and rolls to the right.

“Hey, you,” I yell, hoping the guy on the left can still hear me. “They blame you, you said before. That’s why they punish you? Blame you for what?”

And he laughs again, long and hard.

“For their writing block, of course, you silly dot,” he says. “I used to be his number one, for the longest, held the record… And now it’s just you.

You’re his number 2 pencil.”