The Room Next Door

In August, Nia left for university. She packed two bags and a box of books. Her father drove her to the train station. Tobias stayed at home. He watched the car turn the corner.

Tobias was fifteen. He and Nia shared a wall all his life. Her room was next to his. At night, he often heard her laugh on the phone. In the morning, he heard her radio. Now there was only a thick, quiet wall.

He walked into her room on the first night. It was strange. The bed was made. The desk was empty. The walls were light blue. Old tape left small marks. He sat on the floor and felt like a stranger.

On the second night, he came again. He did not turn on the light. He lay on her bed and looked at the ceiling. It had a brown stain. It looked like a rabbit. Nia once told him she named it Gerald. "Hello, Gerald," he said. His voice sounded loud in the dark.

On the third night, his mother found him there. She stood at the door with a laundry basket. "Tobias," she said.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said. She sat on the edge of the bed. She was quiet for a while.

"I miss her too," she said.

"I do not miss her," said Tobias.

"She was loud."

"She was very loud," said his mother, and smiled. They sat together and said nothing. Then his mother cleared her throat.

"I want to talk about this room," she said.

"What about it?" said Tobias.

"Your father and I think about an office. We need a place for the computer. And the room is empty."

Tobias sat up. "An office?"

"Only an idea," said his mother.

"We do not decide yet." Tobias did not sleep that night. He stared at the wall between the two rooms. He thought of the blue paint. He thought of Gerald. He thought of Nia's voice. She always said, "Goodnight, Toby." He hated that name.

In the morning, he went to the kitchen. His father made coffee. His mother read the news on her phone. Tobias stood in the door with his arms crossed. "I have something to say," he said. They both looked at him.

"Please do not make it an office," said Tobias.

"Not yet."

His father put down his cup. "Why not?"

"Because she comes home for the holidays," said Tobias.

"And she needs a bed. And a desk. And her stuff."

"She can sleep in your room," said his father.

"She can sleep in her room," said Tobias. His voice was rough. He did not like the sound of it. "It is her room. She should not come home and find a computer there." His parents were quiet. His mother looked at his father. His father looked at the floor. For a moment, nobody spoke.

"Tobias," said his mother, very gently.

"She will not live here again. Not the same way. That is how it is when children grow up."

"I know that," he said. He looked at the table. His eyes were wet, and he was angry about it.

"I know. But not yet."

His mother stood up and put her arms around him. He was taller than her now. But he put his head on her shoulder. His father came and put a hand on his back. "All right," said his father.

"We leave the room for now."

"For how long?" asked Tobias.

"Until the holidays," said his mother. "Then we ask her." That night, Tobias went into the room again. This time, he turned on the light. He picked up a pen from the desk. He drew a small rabbit near the door. It was a bad rabbit. It had one long ear.

He took out his phone. He wrote a message to Nia. He wrote it, deleted it, and wrote it again. At last, he sent a short one. Gerald misses you. A reply came in two minutes. Tell him I come home in December. And Toby, I miss the wall too.