Chapters (31)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Room in the Dark I
- Fawns of the Diaspora Court Liliane in Paris, While Tabou Combo Whispers “Coq Qualité” in Her Ears
- Room in the Dark II
- “I Usedta Drink, Smoke and Do the Hoochie-Koo,” or What’s a Girl to Do When Her Mother Looks Like Ruth Brown
- Room in the Dark III
- “El Bochinche” es que only Fe Cortijo Knows or All the LeBron Brothers Know If Victor-Jésus María Sang Lili to Her Freedom
- Room in the Dark IV
- And Where Is Garnett Mimms?
- Room in the Dark V
- I Know Where Kansas City Is, But Did Wilbert Harrison Ever Get There?
- Room in the Dark VI
- Zoom Went the Strings of Liliane’s Heart, But Arsenio Rodriguez Could Have Told Her the Music Sounds Just as Sweet When We’re Blind and Still We See
- Room in the Dark VII
- I Know Where the E Train Stops But I’m “Sendin’ Out an S.O.S.” and I’m Not Edwin Starr Either
- Room in the Dark VIII
- “Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby” or Wouldn’t It Be Great If the Lead Singer of The Crests Wasn’t a White Boy and I Could Be My Mother?
- Room in the Dark IX
- Every Time My Lil World Seems Blue, I Just Haveta Look at You and Learn Eye-Hand Coordination
- Room in the Dark X
- “That’s Why I Love Her So and Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, I Want to Know” or Why Jackie Wilson Died in Silence
- Room in the Dark XI
- There’s No Use Cryin’ “Forever” or Hyacinthe Returns from a Very Blue Holiday for Real B(l)ack at Ya
- Room in the Dark XII
- Lollie Struts Her Stuff Thru “The Sea of Love” or the Brides of Frankenstein Catch the Bouquet
- By Ntozake Shange
- Acknowledgments
- Copyright
——— I thought for sure I would never tell him, you know. Why burden a flawless relationship with a mistake? God, whatta jackass I was. I say to myself, he’s not like the rest. That’s why I love him. I’m not in this relationship by myself. I can tell him what has happened to us. It’s not just my responsibility. We can work this out together. If women keep taking responsibility for the relationship, men’ll never be full partners, mature caregivers. What shit. He starts going back over the months, my last period, where we made love, like this is some kind of scientific interrogation. My body is going to reveal to him how this happened. Like I’m a body of evidence. Jesus. We fucked. The sperm got out and found a egg. It’s as simple as that. I know how we got pregnant. I want to know what we’re going to do now. Not how did this happen. What kinda idiocy is that? Well, I covered my head with ostrich feathers and a red clay mask. Next thing I know I’m with child. Maybe we should call the news:
“Woman inseminated by feather fetish.” Or better yet, I think I’ll hire a sky-writing plane and tell the world what I discovered: “Only the man you fuck doesn’t know fuckin’ makes you pregnant. Let’s tell em.” How’s that?
——— Pretty expensive, those planes. Pretty dense feelings in those clouds where you’re to write the news.
——— I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them. I wanted him not to know. He doesn’t know. I couldn’t stand him looking at me that way. I could not take it. How he looked at me.
——— What kind of look was it?
——— Like I had a disease or I was contaminated or stupid or clumsy.
——— You know you are none of those things.
——— I know. I know I can’t stand to look at him, now. Not anymore. It’s not like he didn’t do his share. He drove me, waited, paid his half of the doctor’s bill, brought me dinner. But it was so fuckin’ obligatory like I was his sick relative or something heroic he’d done. He did.
———