The Room

Delving further into the mystery that is Dana

Book 1 Story 7

All stories are listed here

 

Cans of paint and other supplies landed on the counter with a clatter. They were quickly followed by two large enthused blue eyes, flaming red hair and a lunatic grin that split her face.

“HI!!! I needed more supplies AGAIN! Can you believe it!? But wow, I get to see you! That’s great, isn’t it? IT’S GREAT HUH!?”

If the clerk was taken aback by her manic energy, he didn’t show it. 

Dana grinned for a while but all he did was slowly start to scan her purchases. One side of her mouth twitched. It was hard to keep this smile up for long, but she was going to damned well try. 

It’s just, this guy was really weird. No expression. He barely ever moved, just his mouth. It was like one of those creepy coin operated fortune tellers. If she gave him money he’d animate, get her change, then come right back to his apathetic stare.

He was kinda cute though. Chinese guy, maybe a bit younger than she was. He had the longest hair she’d ever seen on a man. It went with all the death metal t-shirts he wore. The one he was wearing today said ‘Rotting Serpent.’   She’d heard of them. Had the misfortune of suffering through one of their gigs when she went to the club on the wrong night. 

So, they weren’t her thing. They were his though.

“Hey! Rotting Serpent! Wow I saw them you know? They were great! That one song? You know the one, that one with the drum solo, the BUM BUM BUM duhduhduhduhduhduh, and that death growl? Wow, really good, loved it!”

He glared at her for a moment then cut into her babble, which was getting irritating. “Why do you need so much paint?”

Her words trailed off, replaced with a few uncertain blinks. “It’s just a few cans.”

“You buy this much paint every week. Sometimes more.”

Her hands retreated to her chest, nervously fidgeting. “It’s for a project…” she replied, letting the last syllable nearly disappear into the air.

“What kind of project?”

“Huh? Oh, well you know. A sort of never-ending project.”

“Can I see it?”

Her fidgeting stopped, eyes blank, as if she were buffering before being able to continue.

“It’s pretty big…” she said, trailing off once again.

“So bring a picture.”

Now the panic began. She couldn’t possibly show him that. She backed up a step, fingers resuming their nervous weaving. 

“Erruhhh I don’t…I don’t know, it’s pretty personal.”

“What if I buy you coffee?”

The offer caught her off guard. Interest in her, of any sort, from any one at all, wasn’t particularly common. “You, you’ll what now?”

“You show me your work, I’ll bring coffee.”

“Wait, coffee? You? You want to buy me coffee?”

In a rare change of expression, the clerk narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t want to…”         “NO! I mean YES!” she nearly screamed, slamming her hands onto the counter then recoiled just as quickly. 

“I mean wait WHOAH,” she stammered, accidentally backing into a shelf. She turned in alarm, hands flying to catch a few cans of spray paint as they teetered on the edge. She cringed at the ones she couldn’t save from hitting the floor.

Sweat appeared on her brow as she transitioned into full panic mode. Forget the cans, she needed to get out of there now while she was still coherent.

“Yes, I want to just, hey wait, I mean, I just gotta think, I mean, check something, I mean, just wait here?” she sputtered, finger in the air, begging for a pause. “Can I come back and let you know?”

“Don’t you want your paint?” he asked, in his odd monotone.

She nearly ran out the door, flattening herself against a wall out of view, chest heaving, her stomach in knots. THAT was unexpected. A lifetime of being absolutely fucking hopeless in catching a guy’s eye and one asks her out just like that? JUST LIKE THAT?

She wished what she felt was excitement, but it was just garden variety terror. Of all the things he could have asked for, why did it have to be this? 

She took some long deep breaths, trying to force the overreaction out of her system. When at last her heart slowed, she extracted herself from the wall, still a bit shaken. Her breathing had calmed but her mind was swirling.

What am I going to do? No one’s ever seen my little piece of hell. Was a cup of coffee worth it?

Her thoughts never ceased as she got into her rusted old Datsun and made her way home.

***

What a mess, she thought, looking over the large room. Not unlike my head, I guess.

It started life as a master bedroom. Even had its own toilet and shower. Some deranged individual had coated the walls with hideous floral wallpaper. Everything else, including the ceiling was painted pea green. All that was the first to go. Trouble was, she didn’t have much luck trying to rip the paper off barehanded. Kitchen tools didn’t fare much better. After a while, those gigantic roses just seemed to be laughing at her. A trip to the hardware store gave her the solution she needed.

With wild eyes and a wilder grin, she stood again in the room, gripping her new sledgehammer. With a maniac screech, she pounded on a wall, squealing with joy when the horrible decor crumbled to bits. Lit up with glee, she tore everything else down to make it one big room. She nearly flooded the whole place in the process when she forgot to turn the water off. Admittedly, she might have gotten a little carried away. 

The whole idea of wrecking stuff just stuck. She’d felt so much better after all of that. The memories of her vile aunt soon disappeared. She liked bashing at things and turning them into little pieces. It was so therapeutic.

For what remained of the walls, she tried different things. In the end, throwing entire cans of paint at it was so much more satisfying than brushing it on, or trying to decorate it. Hurling things like axes at it or taking chunks out of it with a hammer were even better. 

It eventually evolved. Anger wasn’t the only emotion she felt. There was fear, loneliness, unfulfilled needs and her frequent companion, crippling depression. There was also hope, joy, wonder, simple contentment and manic excitement. Each became little projects, all different, claiming their own spots in the growing landscape. When she needed more room, the old ones got covered or removed. The space became an ever-changing snapshot of her mind, heart and soul.

Today? It looked like this.

She took a long hard look at the chunks of wood scattered all over the floor. It was a broken-up ladder that had been pulverized to smithereens with her trusty sledgehammer. The previous night’s task. She’d done that in response to a neighbor building a high fence between the properties. Unable to distance themselves, blocking the view of her seemed like something at least. She’d stolen the ladder from outside their garage once the lights had gone out. Smashing it into pieces had made her feel better, for a short while anyway.

She kicked one of the larger bits aside, letting it rebound against the wall. She should probably clean this up.

She scanned the rest of the room. How much of this could she really show someone? What in here would have to go?

For one thing, just about every inch in the room was coated in black paint. She bought it by the armful, emptying whole cans at once. It was a nice palette cleanser for the walls, but it looked pretty disturbing.

Speaking of disturbing, Dana stepped towards the far end to examine her mural. A dozen or so simple white characters, each in their own unique way, tearing the central figure to pieces. A naked girl, kind of frail, with familiar red hair. She’d been proud of that one. She’d mixed up precisely the right shade for the blood. It was the first time she’d gotten it right. Ironic really, since she saw so much of it at work. She cringed at the thought of having to cover it up, but it wasn’t really a first date kind of image.

Neither was the enlarged photo of her last one-night stand she’d been using as target practice. She’d hit him square between the eyes with a knife on one lucky throw.

Then there were the pleas for death scrawled near the floor, to the right, topped with her own blood.

And what about the dozens of faces she’d clipped from leaflets and magazines tacked to the wall? They were supposed to make her feel less alone but wound up just being creepy. All those eyes looking straight at her, judgmental and disapproving behind their fake little smiles. She reached up and began tearing them down, shuddering as she did so.

When all had been reduced to tiny wads she sat down on the floor with a sense of relief. One less thing to worry about. 

Of course, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t be bothered by any of this. It meant something to her, but would it mean the same to him? 

And it wasn’t all bad.

Her eyes fell on an older bit, about knee height. She’d redone the room hundreds of times, but this little piece always escaped the transformations. It wasn’t much, just a simple handprint, but she remembered why she’d done it. She examined it closer. Much of the glitter had fallen off, but there were still gold flecks to be found.

She’d been high that night on LSD and saw paradise. It was in this room. The walls pulsated with life, the air warm and welcoming, embracing her. All her pain was welcome too and absolved. Her shattered pieces came together, becoming part of a beautiful whole. She’d found some glitter paint and became one with it all, pressing her hand to the lifeblood around her.

When she woke the next morning, she knew it’d been a chemical fantasy, but the hope remained. The print w as a reminder of that. So long as it existed so did the idea of that dream.

She sighed. It was unlikely he’d make much of that one. 

There was one thing, though, he couldn’t possibly ignore.

She looked up to the ceiling, the only permanent installation, and smiled. It always made her smile. 

Fairy lights cascaded down from the clusters they were woven into. Interspersed were a vast range of objects, all shiny, or glittery to catch the light. Ribbons, metallic paper, shards of mirror and Christmas ornaments. Rainbow hues that twinkled and shone in every direction. You could stare at it for hours and see something different each time. 

She tipped herself backwards to lie on the floor, extending her arms to the side. Taking a deep breath, she let the colorful lights calm her, as they always did. 

She gazed at it for a few minutes then rose to her feet, feeling much better. Her mind seemed clear enough now to find a solution. 

She left the room as it was, debris and all, making a mental note to add something to it later to represent this dilemma. 

She made her way to the kitchen, noticing the time. The art store closed at six and it was already a quarter to five. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat down at the table.

Ok, so what exactly is the problem? 

That room isn’t actually an art project, it’s every one of my deepest feelings splattered all over the place.

Could it be passed off as an art project? 

Probably.

She placed her elbows on the table, crossing her forearms considering the conversing voices in her head. It seemed simple enough. Call it a commentary on society or something generic like that.

What if he sees it and runs like hell?

Well, that was the real problem, wasn’t it, voice number three? She waved her hands in the air, calling out in a lunatic voice. “HI!!! I’m TOTALLY normal! Oh, don’t mind that disemboweled doll with the super realistic guts! NORMAL NORMAL NORMAL!!”

She then dropped her arms to her side and slammed her forehead down on the table a little harder than intended.

“Ow!”

What if he got to know me better? Soften the blow?

Her head jerked back upwards. She knew exactly what to do.

It didn’t seem like she was coming back so the clerk returned her pile of items to where they had come from. Irritated by the extra work, he sat back down at the counter to continue reading his newest comic acquisition. He’d only made it through a few panels when he was suddenly ambushed by Dana’s manic grinning face.

“FIVE dates, REAL dates and you can see my work!” she blabbered at incredible speed. “I mean, seeing as it’s sooo personal, I just can’t let you walk off the street and take a look! So how about we go out on five, or even FOUR dates, including one home cooked meal. Sounds good right? A good deal? Then I’ll know you better and you can see it!”

“My girlfriend might object,” he replied in his strange listless tone.

“Girlfriend?” She clutched her chest like she was having a heart attack. “B-But you offered to go for coffee. And you were interested in me!”

“I like ART,” he asserted with surprising annoyance. “I was just curious about your work!”

Her perfect plan slipping between her fingers, Dana gripped the edge of the counter, leaning in. “But aren’t you interested in me at all? You are, aren’t you?” 

His unwavering face wasn’t encouraging. She began to panic, dropping lower and lower until her chin rested on her whitening knuckles, hoping to come across as adorable. 

“I bet your girlfriend has nothing on me. She’s not half as interesting. She’s pretty dull, right? A snooze in the sheets? A real bitch? Ugly as sin?’’

The clerk lifted a hand and pointed somewhere behind her.

Dana rose to her feet and turned. The subject of his focus standing right behind her. A hideous troll of a woman, grossly overweight, with an unfortunate bob cut that did nothing to flatter her acne ridden face.

Dana’s eyes flew wide. “WOW! You really ARE ugly.”

Dana shifted the ice pack to her other hand and gingerly applied it to her swollen eye with a wince. It wasn’t the first time someone had punched her and probably wouldn’t be the last. She just couldn’t get the hang of confrontations.

She grabbed the red marker and drew a thick ‘X’ through the clerk’s picture but was hesitant to take it down from the large bedroom mirror. Never know how soon he might be single again. She backed away from the dresser to view her collection. Dozens of photos, dozens of possibilities. 

That new barista was pretty cute.