MICHAEL GRAY

A man with messy blond hair and a scruffy beard is standing in a dimly lit room, leaning against a doorway. He is wearing a plaid shirt over a red T-shirt. The room has dark curtains, a chandelier with candles, and mounted animal skulls and a framed photograph on the wall. The man appears serious and contemplative.

About Michael

Homes don’t become homes by remaining clean and always warm and quiet enough to fall asleep when it’s time. This one does not and is not, this house. I like it because it doesn’t mind me when I’m dirty and cold and loud myself. It keeps me very well even though I’m not as good at keeping it.

I’d write a love letter to Gray House if I thought it wouldn’t disappear if we ever left it, but it’s not strong enough to survive empty. My siblings forget how volatile this spot is and why we keep it standing by building new cells of the hive under it with our memories. Memories are all that’s in the pillows here instead of fluff. That’s how it can be lived in by us all at once, I think. 

What I like best is the sounds the doors make in the Clock when they close. 

Michael’s bedroom is Room Ten in the Clock of Bedrooms.

NOW SPINNING IN ROOM TEN