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Roomby Emma Donoghue
No one calls me by my name. No one calls me anything, save Darrel, who calls me Worm. Mother never really tried to stop him. When she calls me, its You, shuck these,” You, card that sack,” You, grease this down,” You, watch the tallow pot.”
You. Keep still.”
The warmth I remember in her eyes is gone, replaced with iron. Father is long-since dead, and the daughter she remembers is dead to her. She buries the name with the memory.
No one calls me by my name.
Younger children do not know it.
I remind myself each day at sunrise, lest one day I forget.
Judith is my name.
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