However, houses of this vintage normally didn’t have large rooms or high ceilings. Maybe that didn’t matter as much to boys. He certainly didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed, neither of it nor of my blown-up photograph. I was surprised that he had nothing else on any of his walls, no sports posters, no posters of singers or movie posters, nothing. It was as if he had just moved to America. The room was spartan, with an old, dark cherry-wood dresser that matched the bed’s headboard. There was a large, dull yellow, saucer-shaped light fixture overhead and light brown hardwood floors with no area rugs. The closet was on the left, and there was one nightstand on the right side of his bed, with a square-shaped clock on it and a small lamp that also looked like a refugee from a thrift store. The bed itself was neatly made, with two large pillows and a light blue spread. There were two windows, both with their dark blue curtains closed. I wondered where he kept his books and did his homework.
