The room disappeared every second Thursday of the month. For a majority of my life, it

had been more of an inconvenience than a hazard, since as long as I could remember, there

would be a routine. It happened to my parents first. One day, they woke to discover that

the door to my half-painted nursery opened to nothing but a flat brick wall. They called

in a report to the police that led nowhere. They were unable to explain how or why someone

could or would break in and wall off this one room of their new house. The cop thought

they were wasting his time. They called a friend to come and look at it, but when he arrived

the next day, my nursery was back. By the third time it happened, my mom was

full months pregnant with me and my parents caught on that this was a pattern. They moved

the crib and all the baby stuff to the guest room that day and started looking at other

houses. The following months, however, the room that was my nursery didn't disappear.

Instead, the guest room with a crib vanished. My parents sold the house at a loss two days

later and moved into a new place they'd been scouting. By that next second Thursday, however,

the room they decided would be mine was walled off. My parents, catching on to the pattern,

took the next few months of my gestation and my infancy to learn the rules of the disappearing room.

First, it was only my room that would disappear. They tried dragging my crib into their room,

thinking they'd just share and never let me have my own room. They were cautious that month

and camped out that first Wednesday. Sure enough, their room vanished.

If they were staying temporarily over at someone's place, however, the room I was given

remained intact. For a few years, their solution was to leave my toys and bed in my room,

but have me sleep in the guest room every night. But I was three and I called that guest room my room.

That next Thursday, the guest room disappeared. So, the loose rules is that anything that felt

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