The Wall
Splinter's room is something unique. I've heard it referred to as a study or a library, but
those terms are just about as inaccurate as calling it a bedroom. What I think it is, really is a den.
It's a dark, enclosed space where he sleeps, and hoards all his stuff. See, he doesn't fool me. As
learned and as intelligent as he is, he's still a rat. I've seen the empty boxes of Cheez-its. I
know.
The den has bookshelves covering every spare inch of wall space, a small lumpy futon,
and a small table he uses as a desk, which is always covered with books and papers. The only
light comes from a reading lamp and whatever candles he has lit at the time. This part of the
room is always tidy. If he leaves the closet door open, then you can appreciate what a complete
pack rat he really is. He keeps everything. There's all kinds of junk in there, from our old
finger-paint pictures, to stuff that's even older than that.
Once, I came running in to tell him that Mikey had set the kitchen on fire - that happens
sometimes - and I caught him sitting on the futon, his face buried in a black kimono that had
been worn by Hamato Yoshi. When he heard me come in he dropped it, and his head snapped
up to glare at me. I've never seen him look so embarrassed or angry.
Thinking about the stuff in Splinter's room is a lot easier than thinking about what I'm
are doing in Splinter's room, because if I'm in here, it usually means I'm in trouble. With my
brothers, that's not true. Donnie comes in here to play chess. Leo kneels at Splinter's feet for
hours while they discuss, for example, how one can reconcile absolute loyalty to one's clan with
individual moral responsibility, or how the principles of ninjitsu apply to everyday life, and all
kinds of fun shit like that. Mikey comes in here when he has a scary dream, or wants Splinter to
come out and play, or when he just needs a hug. Damn, I wish I could do that.
But there's a wall between me and Splinter. There's something that keeps him from
asking me to be a part of everything that he shares with the others. There's something that
makes me clench my teeth and snarl, when deep down I know I should say I'm sorry.
There's something that keeps me from hugging him, and something that keeps him from
hugging me.
There's a wall, and I don't know which of us put it there. But I do know this: I don't
want it that way. I want things to be like they were. I want to feel like I can tell him about my
problems. I want to feel like I can trust him with my secrets. Most of all, I want to feel like he
loves me. Like he used to when I was little.
I can hear him coming now. And I'd love to be able to tell him that I'm sorry, that I
didn't mean to hurt Mikey, that I'd like to be able to stop this, but sometimes I feel so hurt and
scared I just want to scream and fight back., and I need his help.
But damn it, I just can't do that.
You see . . . there's a wall.
Splinter's room is something unique. I've heard it referred to as a study or a library, but
those terms are just about as inaccurate as calling it a bedroom. What I think it is, really is a den.
It's a dark, enclosed space where he sleeps, and hoards all his stuff. See, he doesn't fool me. As
learned and as intelligent as he is, he's still a rat. I've seen the empty boxes of Cheez-its. I
know.
The den has bookshelves covering every spare inch of wall space, a small lumpy futon,
and a small table he uses as a desk, which is always covered with books and papers. The only
light comes from a reading lamp and whatever candles he has lit at the time. This part of the
room is always tidy. If he leaves the closet door open, then you can appreciate what a complete
pack rat he really is. He keeps everything. There's all kinds of junk in there, from our old
finger-paint pictures, to stuff that's even older than that.
Once, I came running in to tell him that Mikey had set the kitchen on fire - that happens
sometimes - and I caught him sitting on the futon, his face buried in a black kimono that had
been worn by Hamato Yoshi. When he heard me come in he dropped it, and his head snapped
up to glare at me. I've never seen him look so embarrassed or angry.
Thinking about the stuff in Splinter's room is a lot easier than thinking about what I'm
are doing in Splinter's room, because if I'm in here, it usually means I'm in trouble. With my
brothers, that's not true. Donnie comes in here to play chess. Leo kneels at Splinter's feet for
hours while they discuss, for example, how one can reconcile absolute loyalty to one's clan with
individual moral responsibility, or how the principles of ninjitsu apply to everyday life, and all
kinds of fun shit like that. Mikey comes in here when he has a scary dream, or wants Splinter to
come out and play, or when he just needs a hug. Damn, I wish I could do that.
But there's a wall between me and Splinter. There's something that keeps him from
asking me to be a part of everything that he shares with the others. There's something that
makes me clench my teeth and snarl, when deep down I know I should say I'm sorry.
There's something that keeps me from hugging him, and something that keeps him from
hugging me.
There's a wall, and I don't know which of us put it there. But I do know this: I don't
want it that way. I want things to be like they were. I want to feel like I can tell him about my
problems. I want to feel like I can trust him with my secrets. Most of all, I want to feel like he
loves me. Like he used to when I was little.
I can hear him coming now. And I'd love to be able to tell him that I'm sorry, that I
didn't mean to hurt Mikey, that I'd like to be able to stop this, but sometimes I feel so hurt and
scared I just want to scream and fight back., and I need his help.
But damn it, I just can't do that.
You see . . . there's a wall.