A Room Of My Own Choosing
A short story about happiness and sadness…
“Happiness is a direction, not a place.” Sydney J. Harris
It was late August and I was getting off a bus. This was in a small Lake Erie town about three hours west of the city. I had no intention of staying. I just needed somewhere to stop and think.
The previous week, my wife had asked for a separation. She went to live with her sister, I boarded a Greyhound. On the way, I was thinking about this place I’d gone as a kid. There was a harbour with these old sagging boathouses right in town. When I saw those sagging boathouses again, I grabbed my bag from the overhead compartment and pulled the chord.
At a newspaper box on the corner, I grabbed a paper and turned to the rental section. One had a picture of a big old gabled house. Oddly, it was taken in winter. The copy read: “Rooms for rent. Lots of them. Take your pick. Let the phone ring if you’re calling. We could be outside.”
She had a rough but not unpleasant voice. I told her she hadn’t included the rental amount.
When I phoned, a woman answered. She had a rough but not unpleasant voice. I told her she hadn’t included the rental amount. “I know,” she said. “I told Duane — my husband — that’s the most important part.”
I asked if she was renting weekly or monthly. “I can’t say how long I’m staying,” I told her. She laughed at that. “We don’t know how long we’re staying, either,” she said. “I guess we’re all gonna play it by ear.”
She gave me directions, and I found the house at the end of a long dirt driveway. Two young kids were outside, splashing in a puddle.
“Your parents in?” I asked when I came up the walk. One of them ran in the house. He came flying out a minute later with this heavyset woman behind him. “You’d better run,” she said. She was red-faced and smiling. “See what I’m dealing with here?” she said. “That one’s Egan and the other’s Angus. Duane’s out back fixing his truck.”
I looked around the corner and there was this old tractor shed. Most of the shingles on the roof were curled up or missing altogether.
“He’ll join us once he gets cleaned up,” she smiled.
We went inside and down a dark hallway to the kitchen.
“Well, goodness,” she said, “ I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Greg,” I said. “Greg Innis.”
“I’m Maddy. Duane shortens it to Mad. Don’t be surprised if you hear him calling me that.”
The kitchen was a room of confusion, cupboards open, kettle whistling.
The kitchen was a room of confusion, cupboards open, kettle whistling. Maddy moved about in an old print dress and wool sweater, putting out cups, milk, a jar of instant coffee.
“Spoon away,” she said. “Duane likes to heap it in there. He’s the same with the sugar. That’s what’s in the saucer there. Go ahead, take what you want.”
We drank our coffee while Maddy filled me in on the place. They’d rented it from Duane’s boss, Old Man Izner. He had three gas stations, two farms, and a couple of houses. Duane was his mechanic.
“I doubt Izner even knows what he owns anymore,” Maddy told me. “He’s got to be ninety by now. Never does any work on the places. Always telling us he’s got other things to fix first.”
“So which rooms are you thinking of renting?” I asked.
“All of them,” she said, getting up, bringing a package of sugar donuts to the table. “Go ahead,” she said, eating one, licking her fingers. “I’ll show you around when we’re done. You in a hurry?”
“No,” I said.
“Where are you coming from?”
“Toronto,” I said. “I’ve been on a bus most of the morning.”
She ate another donut and licked her fingers.
“Duane said to me earlier,” she said, “‘You show him around, Mad, you’re the dickerer.’ Not much you can dicker with these days. I work at the second- hand store when the kids are in school. Everyone says ‘That’s too much’ whether it is or not. So what do you need?”
“Just a room,” I said. “Any with a washroom?”
“The master bedroom,” she said.
She stood up.
“I was here as a kid, I think,” I said. “I recognized the boathouses.”
“I said to him ‘I got the real thing right out the front window, why do I need a painting?’”
“Everybody does,” she said. “We had an artist here last year. He painted all of them boathouses, even offered me a few in lieu of rent. I said to him ‘I got the real thing right out the front window, why do I need a painting?’”
“You won’t have that problem with me,” I said.
We went back down the dark hall, passing a living room. Leaning up against one wall was a Harley motorcycle. Judging from the condition of the floors, Duane probably rode around the house on it.
As Maddy led me upstairs, I could feel a breeze. All the windows were open, curtains blowing. You could smell the lake, the trees, burning leaves in somebody’s yard. Maddy took me to the front room. It was large with a single bed stuck in the corner, a card table, a dresser, two chairs.
“Which rooms are yours?” I asked.
“Oh, we’re not in this part of the house,” she said. “We mostly stay in the extension off the back. We couldn’t afford the rent otherwise. Izner’s okay with us renting rooms out. It’s mostly seasonal, unfortunately. We get all kinds, tourists, theatre people when there’s summer stock. You’re not an actor, are you?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, we’ve had our crazies, I’ll tell you that,” she said. “Duane doesn’t mind them. He bought that Harley in the living room off one guy.”
“You said on the phone you didn’t know how long you’d be staying,” I said.
“Duane wants to go out west and work on the oil rigs,” she said. “He’d make five times what he’s making with Izner. You got towels?”
“I can buy some,” I said.
A man in oil-stained jeans and t-shirt came in the room. His hair stood up and he had two fingers missing.
I heard heavy boots on the stairs. A man in oil-stained jeans and t-shirt came in the room. His hair stood up and he had two fingers missing.
“How are you two making out?” Duane said. “Mad explain everything?”
“Everything except the price,” I said.
“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We had a discussion about that earlier, didn’t we, Mad? Tourist season’s nearly over. I know that should bring the price down. How long you plan on sticking around?”
“Not sure, to tell you the truth,” I said.
“We’re used to that, aren’t we, Mad?” Duane said.
She nodded.
“How’s two hundred a week sound?” he said.
“You want the money up front?”
“If you’ve got it,” he said. “We had an artist in this room before. Kept trying to trade paintings for rent. We finally moved him to the back of the house.”
“I mentioned that,” Maddy said.
“Ignore the bed,” Duane said. “I’m picking up a bigger one today. You’ll have to do your own laundry. I was aiming to fix the washing machine later.”
“You’ve been saying that for a month,” Maddy said.
“I’ll get on it right now if you want.”
He went back down the stairs. Maddy showed me the washroom. I took out my wallet and handed Maddy a week’s rent. She left and I looked out the window. Boats were coming back to the harbour.
Below, Duane was backing out his old pickup truck. Maddy appeared, grabbing the kids. They all got in next to Duane and drove off. I walked down the hall, looking at the other rooms, four in all. The last door was closed. Maddy hadn’t mentioned any other tenant living there.
I decided to knock. There was no answer.
I went through them all. They seemed to be the same style as the portrait. It showed a man sitting at a table in my room. He didn’t have any arms.
I opened the door. The room hadn’t been aired like the others. There was a single bed, a dresser with one leg missing, a portrait hanging on the wall. Other paintings were stacked in the corner, mostly of the harbour. I went through them all. They seemed to be the same style as the portrait. It showed a man sitting at a table. He didn’t have any arms.
Later, Maddy, Duane and the kids came home. They had a double bed in the back of the pickup, the springs jangling away as they drove up. I went and helped Duane bring it up to my room.
“Where do you want the single bed?” I asked.
“We’ll put it in the back,” he said.
We each got an end and took it down the hall. Duane opened the door of the artist’s old room. “It can go next to the paintings,” he said. He didn’t try to explain what the paintings were doing there. We went back for the mattress, stripped off the sheets, put it in the back, too.
“This room’s becoming a regular catch-all,” he said. “Hope the new bed’s more to your liking. I know it’s not exactly new. Only one owner, though.”
He winked at me.
I looked up at the portrait on the wall.
“That the artist?” I asked.
“That’s him,” Duane said.
“He doesn’t have any arms.”
“Told us his wife ran over him years ago. I said to him, ‘Didn’t your head get in the way?’ He said she made a few passes.”
“Sure doesn’t,” Duane said. “Told us his wife ran over him years ago. I said, ‘Didn’t your head get in the way?’ Seems she made a few passes.”
“How did he paint?” I asked.
“He had these chrome hooks and a harness.”
Maddy was coming up the stairs. She had folded sheets and pillowcases.
“They sold these to us as well,” Maddy said.
“Good dickering on her part,” Duane winked again.
We set up the bed, Maddy put on the sheets, Duane got some blankets.
“Looks like you’re all set,” he said. “Mad suggested you join us for dinner. Get acquainted. She makes a good meatloaf.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I just need to shower.”
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll be sitting down in about an hour.”
When I came in the kitchen later, Maddy was putting the food out. “Sit anywhere,” she said. The kids jumped in their chairs, Duane brought other dishes to the table. He’d been right. Maddy’s meatloaf was good.
Afterwards, the kids ran out to play again. Maddy brought the mugs, the hot water, the instant coffee. We sat there spooning it along with the sugar.
“Greg was asking about that portrait upstairs,” Duane said.
“Tommy,” Maddy said.
“Mad’s not fond of the picture,” he said.
“It’s not that,” she said. “I just wish — I don’t know.”
“She’s always had a soft spot for cripples. She came home with a two-legged dog once. It ran around on this little chariot thing. Got run over.”
“That we hadn’t asked him to leave?” Duane said. “She’s always had a soft spot for cripples, Greg. She came home with a two-legged dog once. It ran around on this little chariot thing. Got run over eventually.”
“I thought Tommy’d do something desperate when he left,” Maddy said.
Duane reached over and squeezed her hand.
“We got ourselves to think about, honey,” he said. “We gotta get out west.”
“I know it,” she said. She took some crumpled Kleenex out of her sweater pocket. “It’s still so sad,” she said, blowing her nose. “Poor man.”
“Where did Tommy go?” I asked.
“I put him on a bus,” Duane said. “He’s got family in Ancaster.”
“And the wife?”
“No idea,” Duane said. “I didn’t have the heart to ask.”
“I did,” Maddy said. “Her family kept her out of court. They’ve got money. She should be behind bars.”
“I guess family comes in handy sometimes, don’t they? How about you, Greg? You got family?”
“Family comes in handy sometimes, don’t they?” Duane said. “How about you, Greg? You got family?”
“Separated,” I said. “Divorce should go through soon.”
“Is that why you’re travelling around?”
“Something like that.”
Maddy started clearing the table. Duane stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head. I finally stood up.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said. “Guess I’ll turn in. It’s been a long day.”
“Just holler if you need anything,” Duane said. “There’s a coffee shop on the corner. They make a good breakfast.”
Maddy was wrapping a piece of meatloaf in some waxed paper.
“Just in case you get hungry later,” she said, handing it to me.
“By the way,” Duane said. “We never asked what you do?”
“Graphic design,” I said. “Logos mostly.”
“You looking for work while you’re here? We got a sign guy down the road. Does logos and stuff. He’s always telling me we need a sign for this place. Otherwise, nobody knows we’ve got rooms unless they pick up the paper.”
“He’s probably right,” I said.
“We’ve never even named the place, have we, Maddy?” he said.
“You wanted to call it Maddy’s Place,” Maddy laughed.
“That’s right, I did,” Duane laughed back. “I keep telling her we should offer home-cooked meals. Food’s important when you’ve been travelling.”
“That’s true,” I said.
I was about to say goodnight, but then I thought, here I am with a full dinner in me, and a piece of meatloaf wrapped in waxed paper.
“I could do a design up,” I said. “I’ve got my laptop.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Maddy said.
“Only if you feel like it,” Duane said.
I remembered the one time my wife and I went to the beach. We sat there looking at everyone. We didn’t go in the water.
I went upstairs, laid down, fell asleep. In the morning, I looked out the window. Cars with outboards were coming in and out of the parking lot. Further along was the beach and people wandering around with beachballs and stuff. I remembered my wife and me going to the beach one time. We sat looking at everyone. We didn’t go in the water.
I got up, shaved, put on the same clothes. I took my laptop downstairs. Maddy was in the kitchen. The dishes from the night before were still on the counter. She looked at me and smiled.
“I’m just going for breakfast,” I said. “I’ll work on a few logo designs there.”
“Tommy used to draw while he ate,” she said. “Him and his hooks.”
“See you in awhile,” I said.
“We’ll be here,” she said.
That night, I came downstairs. The kids were already in bed. Maddy and Duane were in the kitchen, spooning instant coffee into their mugs. I had a few logo designs. They seemed surprised I had anything.
“That was fast,” Maddy said.
Duane was turning his coffee mug around in his hands. “Actually,” he said, “we needed to talk to you. A buddy of mine called earlier from Calgary. There’s an opening for a mechanic out on the rigs.”
“Sooner the better,” Maddy added.
“I guess we won’t be needing a logo afterall,” Maddy said. “And here’s you going to all that work. We’re so sorry.”
“ Hopefully, we’ll be heading out there sometime next week,” Duane said.
“I guess we won’t be needing a logo afterall,” Maddy said. “And here’s you going to all that work. We’re so sorry.”
“They’re just rough drawings,” I said. “Who’s taking over here?”
“Nobody,” Duane said. “Izner’s gonna close the place up.”
“Will you be okay?” Maddy asked me.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll probably head back to Toronto.”
“We were so excited last night about the sign,” she said. “Duane was saying, ‘We could make this work, Mad. Might even turn the place into a small hotel.’”
“We’ll do it one day,” Duane said, putting his hand on hers.
She got her wadded up Kleenex out, wiping her eyes. I went to my room and opened the window wide, smelling the air, hearing the crickets. I was thinking how the house would be boarded up, left to waste away until Izner died.
It’d been occupied before by an artist with no arms, just these chrome hooks.
Two days later, on the bus, I opened my laptop and looked at the logos. Beneath one I wrote: “I took a room in this big rundown house. There was a harbour below with all these sagging boathouses. The people renting said I could have any room I wanted. A room of my own choosing, in other words. It’d been occupied before by an artist with no arms, just these chrome hooks.”
I stopped at that point. I was thinking about Maddy. She sure did like cripples. Me included. I didn’t have chrome hooks, or only three fingers on one hand, but I still felt I was missing something. I’m not sure exactly what. I got on a bus to find out. Now I was facing a divorce. I wondered what Maddy would say about that. I guess now it doesn’t matter.
