The Room
by CV Gelvin

"It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." I'd read that somewhere, in some course called "Dead Tree Books 101", or maybe not, back when I still had enough gray cells to read. I'd murmur the words to myself every time things got bad.

Well, maybe murmur isn't the right word. I'd start out soft enough, whispering the words, but then they'd get louder until I was screaming them in my head and then the words would morph into something like: "fuck you, you little fucker." But I only did that when Rico would scream and bang his head against the crib slats or smear his poop over the walls or when he slapped or pulled at his hair. When Rico, in other words, was just being Rico. My little spawn of Satan, what can I say?

Anyway, back to the wonderful present. "Rico, stop that. Now. Put. Him. Down. God fucking damn it!" I raced over to the balcony where Rico was trying to push RoboCat off the ledge. I tripped over one of Rico's toys and staggered like a drunk 'til I regained my balance. The cat was doing a good imitation of reality, hissing and spitting air.

"Rico, put--"

Rico held the cat by its broken-off-to-a-stub metallic tail. He turned slightly and grinned at me.

"Robo go bye."

I glared at him, and Rico--I swear to God--sneered. Actually adult-level sneered. Then he stood on tiptoe, wavering, and hurled the cat over the ledge; the cat I had so conscientiously programmed daily for over three years.

I stood, gaping, not able to completely process what I'd just seen. "News You Can Use" was blaring from the Tele-wall behind me, and I turned away from Rico who was trying to get down from the stacked-up books he'd used to climb to the ledge. Would serve him right if he fell.

I caught sight of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror: limp hair, splotchy skin and a roll of blubber pooching out over my Skins. Look what the brat has done to me, I would have thought if I'd been capable of thought. For suddenly I was all action, my mind whistle-clear. I rushed back to Rico, grabbed him by the arm and walloped his butt midair. I ran, with him trying to wiggle out of my grasp. He howled and I was glad the walls of The Fortress TownHomes had Atomic Catastrophe-Rated soundproofing. Shut-up, shut-up, shut-up, I yelled as Rico tried to turn and bite my hand.

I navigated around the toys and bottles of Pre-Adult MegaNutrition Meal Replacement, torn magazines and other crap that littered the carpet and opened the door to The Room.

I pushed Rico in while he screamed no-no-no, then I slammed the door and leaned against its thickness that was impervious to his tiny fists flailing against it.

Okay, let me explain about The Room. It's not as bad as you're probably thinking.

"Why'd you insist on a two-bedroom when one is just a catch-all for junk?" Geoff had asked, harping, yet again, on the fact that Rico was almost eighteen months old and I still hadn't outfitted a proper nursery. Before I could sputter a reply he looked away and said, "Where's my little stink-ums? Where's my Reek-ster?"

I didn't even have the energy to do what most of the other mothers, our neighbors, had done which was hire someone to decorate the place for me. It was almost as if during my pregnancy and the months of Rico's baby-and toddlerhood, I was still worn out from the days and nights (yes, that's right: nonstop) of Geoff and my acrobatics that had resulted in this little monster. Notice I didn't say our making love or having sex or even getting it on because it wasn't like that. Geoff was on TurboV, so it was all his stiff dick and me up against a wall or bent over or you get the picture.

The first time I'd locked Rico in The Room he'd banged his forehead against the molding so hard it drew blood so I'd been, like, inspired. I'd had the room carpeted in a nice, dark shade and had a border of carpet supraglued four feet high around its entire circumference (I like that word, who'd ever have thought I'd get a chance to use it?)

"What the hell?" Geoff had asked when he saw The Room for the first time. "I'm generous enough to give you carte blanche" (nice expression, huh? So very Geoff) "when it comes to decorating and this is what you come up with? It looks like the home of that old-time rocker--what was his name?"

"Elvis."

"Yes. How did you know that? I remember the year my parents and I all dropped some RealityPlus and did a virtual tour of his home. Grand, uh, Greatland--"

"Graceland."

"Graceland, yes. Stop interrupting me. Anyway, it was super-tacky and the carpet…ooh, who's here, if it isn't my little man."

Rico had roused himself from the extra dose of Somanel I'd stirred into his MegaMeal. He had a goofy grin on his face as he loped toward his father, dragging the filthy blanket he called his "pretty."

"What happened to his hand?"

"Oh, you know the Rico-meister. Hurt himself when he fell after pushing Robo off the balcony ledge. Can you believe that? I've had that 'tron for three--"

"What was he doing on the balcony ledge? Jesus, Mia. Come, 'ere, boy, and give me a love hug." Rico flashed me a triumphant look. Geoff looked over his shoulder in my direction, "Oh, and call the carpet people and get that carpet stripped off the wall for Christ's sake." He shook his head. "You can take the girl outta the projects, but you can't take the projects outta the girl."

"Grr.. grr…lll." Rico said and they laughed.

"I thought The Room would be perfect for us the next time we V'ed." I looked at him coyly. "You know, my butt wouldn't get so bruised up and we'd be able to…"

"What's gotten into you? You take that sample of FemEros?"

"No."

"Fine, keep the carpet up. We can close the door when company comes.

Like we ever have company.

The next week Geoff tube'd to a MagnaWorld meeting. What he didn't know was that we were out of rations even though I'd gone to the Distro. Here's what came down: a group of Enviscero Boys, obviously wired on Sub, circled me. The ringleader said, "hey, baby, I feel like poppin' some TurboV and poppin' you." But he had that V'ed-out look like they get and I yelled "come and get it" 'cause I knew he wouldn't. He just shrugged and said, "Nah, I don't like it when it's too easy. Just give me your rations, like a nice, little cunt."

And so I had to hand them over, even though I knew they'd probably shoot up and forget the rations and they'd all go to waste. But getting our rations stolen didn't bother me as much as it would some people (other than having to tell Geoff, of course.) So here's a little confession, it's not that I'm an evil person or anything, but I like food; I mean, real food. I still have a connection--this guy I went to The Training with--who can get me eggs, bread, even fruit. For a price, that is. And yeah, I'm always afraid of getting busted, now that I'm a respectable married woman and all. It's weird, I know. The thing you've got to understand is that I'm still hungry after a triple double dose of Sa-ti-ate IV. And when I get hungry I get mean.

So Geoff was gone, and I guess, well, I'll admit it though it shames me a bit ('cause I do, like, have a heart, you know?) that I dipped into Rico's allotment of Replacement, but it backfired on me because he started wailing and wouldn't stop.

So when I couldn't stand it anymore, I went to the safe and unlocked it (I'd been more careful lately after our Association manager was robbed by a group of Hungers who cleaned out every Pharm she had.) I'd decided to double-Soma-dose Rico so I could have some peace and quiet.

Just then I heard the "News You Can Use" newscaster intone, "…the World Heath Center calls their findings the 'TurboV Baby Syndrome.' Aggressive tendencies including violent attacks, lack of bonding, abnormal height and weight and…"

I listened, rapt. They were describing Rico. There was hope, they were looking into a drug to "neutralize the antisocial tendencies, to…"

Shit! Rico had sneaked up on me and bit my leg. I wrestled him, kicking and flailing, to the door of The Room. Struggling, I unlocked the door and then something happened: a miracle, almost. Rico stopped writhing and collapsed in my arms. He squirmed, kinda cuddly like and looked at me with big saucer-wide eyes.

"Down."

I stood, confused.

"Down. Ma-ma."

Mama, he called me Mama. My eyes filled with tears and I set him, gently inside The Room.

He gave me a lopsided smile and beckoned like he wanted me to come to him.

I couldn't, couldn't believe it. This was Rico? I walked slowly toward him. Maybe the WHC was wrong, maybe with this TurboV Baby Syndrome the babies could outgrow their aggression, maybe they'd become gentle giants who loved their mothers and shared their rations with them and…

An odd look crossed Rico's face; his eyes became slits and his tongue, looking swollen, protruded from his mouth. He ducked his head down to his chest, ran toward me and head-butted me under the knees.

"Shit! Ouch! You little son of a--" I lost my balance and toppled backwards. Rico ran around me, and out the door, slamming it.

It's been two days since I've been inside The Room and it was three days before then when I had my last Replacement. Geoff doesn't come back 'til tomorrow (doesn't he wonder why I haven't answered the phone or his em's?) and even though I scream and pound on the door, I hear only Rico's laugher outside

The Room.

CV Gelvin is the deathlings.com fiction editor, a playwright and, after a 4 1/2 year wait and the hiring of a literary attorney, it looks like her long-awaited (well, for her anyway) novel No Reason to Lie will be published this summer.