I'm trying to study for my Canadian Literature exam. I keep cracking fresh beers and I desperately need to puff a j right now, but if I do that then this whole studying operation will be lost.
Oh the decisions of a university student.
Let me lament some more. What the fuck am I doing here? I mean honestly, what can I do with a BA other than end up in suspenders and bi-focal lenses with coffee breath and yellow tinged finger tips from chain smoking in between my social sciences lectures. All of this seemed so pointless, and there's no one to blame but me.
Sylvester calls me and the two of us go out on the town. Not because I want to spend time with the oaf, but because I can't stand sitting in my apartment alone for another full night. Natasha is working (and pretty pissed off at me lately anyways). My landlord came by today to check up on me, and he grimaced at all the holes in my wall. He asked me what happened to the window, and I told him there was a perfectly good explanation for what happened - and that I would get back to him as soon as I thought up what that explanation was. When he left I felt pretty lonely, to be honest.
The bars are dead on a Tuesday night and it's pretty close to Christmas so you can't expect the girls to get too slutty or anything. I feel a bit like dancing but the floor is empty and Syl is rambling on about how he needs to get laid tonight because his mom and dad are coming up for the weekend and he won't be able to do anything. I tell him he's an idiot and a whore, but he's so drunk now that he doesn't hear me. The music dies down and around midnight the bartender tells us to settle up.
"So, when are you gonna start working for your dad?" Syl asks, drunkenly.
"Step-dad," I say. "And that probably won't be happening for a while."
"That's dumb," he says.
"Well thanks for that contribution Syl, really, thanks for that. You're a giant fucking help."
"Calm down Charlie boy," he laughs, ruffling my goddamn hair with his gorilla hand.
Outside the wind is blowing snow into our faces and gentle humming giants with two beams for eyes crawl past us on the streets. Neither of us says anything for a while because it's too cold to talk. The inside of my jacket is all wet with saliva at the chin, and I wouldn't mind hacking into Sylvester's head with the blade of a hockey stick right now, but I guess that would be a waste - no one would see anything and the birthday surprise would be ruined. All of this was leading to something - there was definitely a point to this?
"Pretty decent night so far? eh Mahon?"
"Not? bad," I say, gasping.
There's a spider web on the roof that I can't stop looking at because somehow I think I'm going to get caught inside it.
Eight tiny eyes blinking at once.
"So," I pause, taking a deep breath, "what do you look for in a gal, Syl?"
"Huh?oh? her tits, no - her ass - yea."
"What about the inside?"
"Yeah, the pussy is good too," he groans.
"No, you idiot - just - never?mind?"
"Yours has better tits than mine"
"Wanna trade?"
"I'm done," he says.
And after a while, I finish too. The two girls put their clothes back on pretty fast and they leave without really saying anything - which is the way I want it. Sylvester pulls his clothes back on too and I step outside onto the balcony of the EconoLounge room to have a smoke. The cold is bright; illuminated white against the yellow streetlights as my breath comes pouring out of my mouth in a pale cloud. I look up into the sky but the glow from the city blocks out most of the stars, so I stop looking.
There are a lot of cars in the parking lot below - and it makes me sad to think about all the people spending their nights in this place; stuck inside these walls rather than at home beside a fire with their favourite novel on their lap, the smell of a decent home-cooked meal coming from the kitchen. Or wait? did people still want that? I guess it's hard to say.
Sylvester shuffles his way out onto the balcony and stands beside me. He asks me what I want to do for the rest of the night and I say 'get fucked up.' He asks me for a smoke so I give him one. We stand there in silence and I'm starting to get cold because I'm still wearing just my boxers and it's snowing out again.
"Hey," Syl points across the parking lot, "isn't that your dad's car in the corner there?"
"Step-dad," I say, straining through the white to see the red convertible tucked ever so carefully in the back corner of the Econo Lounge parking lot.
"What do you figure he's doing here tonight?" Syl asks.
"Nothing, that's not his car," I say.
"But I'm pretty sure?"
"Just go back inside," I say. "We're leaving."
Later that night.
Fogging through the streets like a sheet floating in air, light on my withered feet and bleak explosions in my brain. The snow is falling all around me, floating through my line of blurred vision, and a small part of me realizes that it's only 2 weeks until Christmas. I walked with Sylvester to his house and we did some coke before I left. He lives with a couple guys from the football team and they were still up playing flip-cup when we got there. They told me I should stay and hang out, but being around all that testosterone can drive me fucking insane.
The sign outside of the Econo Lounge says 'no vacancy' and for some reason this unsettles me. I go inside the lobby and there's a middle-aged woman working behind the desk wearing green-rimmed glasses with her hair up in a bun. I can feel the coke dripping down the back of my throat and I cough into my clenched fist before moving over towards the desk.
"Hello there," I say.
"I'm sorry sir, but we're all booked up for the evening?"
"Oh I'm aware," I reply. "It's just? there's been? an incident. People hurt, stocks dropping and what not?"
"Excuse me sir?"
"Yes, errr? I need some information, there is someone here who?"
"I'm afraid we can't disclose any of that sort?"
"Listen here!" I bark, slamming my fist down drunkenly on the counter. "I need the room for Paul Flannigan. Now! I am his son, do you got that? His son! And he is in grave danger, I'm afraid - top secret information of course, confidential files and so forth, but he is seconds away from being plunged deep down into a deep, black pit of despair!"
The lady looks at me sort of scared and I'm not surprised to find out that Paul hasn't bothered to come up with a fake name or anything (some people just don't have imaginations). She gives me the keys to room 469 and I stumble up the stairs with the stained walls and sticky railings. I feel like a zombie, my emotions sucked dry in all this torment and irony. But my hollow heart still beats in my chest and there's a ringing in my ears because I'm drunk, monstered, twisted and torn.
I come to door 469 and put my ear to the cold wood. There are random sounds of scuffling coming from the other side that might as well be dead leafs in the wind. I pull out a cigarette and smoke half of it right there in the hallway before killing it against the hallway wall. A light flickers above me and I wonder if anyone is watching this right now, what they would think of this little situation. I hope my Grandpa isn't watching?
I stick the key-card in the little slot and burst into the dank room. Paul is half-naked sitting on the bed with his dress shirt still on, and the hooker is down on her knees, completely naked. For a horrifying second I think it's the same girl I had with Syl - the same girl I had been inside, the same girl I had paid - but it's not her, this one is younger, and it makes me realize that it wouldn't have really mattered if she was the same girl, because in a way they were all the same. She starts screaming and Paul jumps up from the bed and pulls his boxers up over his naked lower-half. The whore scrambles to grab her pink dress up from off the floor and the whole scene is quite a spectacle.
"So sorry to interrupt," I laugh, pausing. I almost want to reach out to her, ask her what's wrong - why she's in bed with this piece of shit - how could such a young, pretty thing come and do this? But it's a rhetorical question my friends, because I'm the answer
.
The prince is up in a flash, bounding over the bed towards me in a mad dash to snuff out this insufferable pest. Hehe! But I'm drunk and limber, and as I manoeuvre my body to the left the old man isn't quite able to keep up. He trips over his own shoe and goes pitching forward into the corner of the night-side table. This makes me laugh all the more.
"You little fucker," he gasps, pulling himself up from the floor and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He sits back down on the bed and a stream of blood starts pouring from his left nostril, turning black against the blue carpet. The poor girl is standing beside the window staring at Paul with this concerned sort of look on her face. I tell the prostitute that she might as well toss on her little dress and get the fuck out of here.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks me.
"Just doing a little investigative work Paul, it's no big deal."
The girl scrambles to get all of her things and she leaves the room much like I bounded in, slamming the door behind her.
"You've crossed the line this time Charles," Paul says, using his hand to wipe away some of the blood trickling down his chin.
"That's Charlie to you, and yes, you may be right Paul, you just might be right there. The line seems to have been crossed at this point. But either way, we've got a little situation to work out here."
"What do you want from me?" he asks, attempting to stop the flow of blood with his sock.
"I've never wanted anything from you."
"Bullshit," he says, wiping more blood off his chin. "Ever since the day I met your mother, you've always wanted to ruin me?" Then he starts chuckling to himself a bit, "you will never work for my company, not a fucking chance in hell."
And in the flickering light his shadow whimpers against the carpet while my eyes stare back at my own reflection in the mirror from across the room. I seem far away. Hollowness and a toneless voice; "I guess you'll be taking a cab home tonight."
Chapter 13
It's Christmas Eve and I'm walking down the numbed streets, alone. Some of the houses have lights up and some don't, which sort of bothers me, but it's too cold to care and I'm getting tired. I don't really have anywhere I want to go. I walk past a church and I can hear the organ playing all low and rumbling through the enormous wooden doors, echoing inside my hollow chest. I haven't been inside a church since Meredith used to make me go with her every Sunday morning back in South Port. I used to kind of like it actually, until I got a little older and realized that it wasn't cool to like church. But I used to sing my little heart out in those pews, and I was even in a couple Christmas plays - back when I still had innocence.
I go inside and sit near the back. The church is full, but there aren't nearly as many young people as I remembered. It's dark in here and the organ makes my heart pound against my ribcage. The shallow hymns move through my body and I sit here in the pew trying to feel something, waiting for a lift inside - but the structure of the soaring steeples, the high ceilings and stained glass, it all made me feel so insignificant.
The candles burning at the front flicker and dance to the low rumble of the organ. Jesus is strewn up on the cross above the Alter, and he seems utterly alone. There's this little girl who has clearly just learned how to walk, and she is prancing back and forth through the aisles grabbing at people's knees and giggling with a purple crayon in her hand. Her parents are obviously embarrassed, grabbing at her and telling her to hush, but you can tell no one really minds, and for a fleeting second I feel enlightened. Everyone is standing now and sort of humming or singing, I can't really tell, so I stand up as well. There's an old woman walking down the aisle passing out candles to everybody, and so I take one too.
Next there comes an old man holding a long candle-stick, and he's walking down the aisle lighting everyone's candles. He can hardly walk and his arms are shaking under the weight of the long wooden pole.
There are people looking around at each other wondering what to do next. A murmur of confusion and impatience ripples through the crowd. Everyone starts whispering to each other and shuffling around because he's taking so long. I pull out my lighter and spark up a flame; putting it to the wick of my candlestick and watching the dancing whisper of the fire take hold. A nice looking woman beside me laughs with her husband and offers her candle over to me. She's wearing a white dress with dark red lipstick on, and while I'm reaching over to oblige her, I hear this voice behind me say:
"He shouldn't be doing that."
I turn around and see an elderly woman dressed in black staring daggers at me. Her old bastard husband has his flabby arm hung around her all protective like, and she says it again - he shouldn't be doing that. Where did she think the goddamn flame came from? Did god come down from the heavens and spark it up with a snap of his divine fingers? jesus Fucking christ.
I turn around and try to sit down and feel good again, but it's all ruined now so I leave. People watch me move through the aisle towards the exit, and I swear they are all whispering about me. On my way out I notice this big carving of the Virgin Mary above the door, and it occurs to me that Mary was a sucker; she got all the pain and none of the pleasure. Poor gal.
When I get to Paul's place my mom is on the phone and she scolds me for being late.
"Come talk to your sister," she says.
I answer the phone and wink at Meredith which makes her shake her head at me.
"Hey sis."
"Well look who it is, King Charles himself."
"King Charles the 1st," I say.
"He got his head chopped off, dumby."
"Yes, I'm aware?"
"So how have you been? We haven't talked to each other since thanksgiving."
"I'm okay, how's Thailand?"
"It's going well," she says. "Really well, I think dad just figured out I was here a couple weeks ago?"
"Oh yeah?"
"I got a postcard from him - here let me read it to you:
'Dear Alice
It's so nice to finally find you! I've been busy, working different jobs here and there - but mostly just finding time to enjoy the small things. I hope you are doing the same! How is your new job? It must be very fascinating work. I am so proud of you, I hope you know that. I wish you would call more often. Your brother and I are getting alone very well. He keeps in contact with me all the time. He's in his 4th year now at school. He tells me that it's going very well too - I think he really enjoys it there. I hope to hear back from you soon Alice.
Love always
Dad'
"Can you believe that shit?"
"Are you going to write him back?" I ask.
"Charles, I haven't spoken with Brian in over 4 years."
"I hardly ever see him either," I tell her.
"Yea, I figured that, considering you told me that you fucking hated school last time we spoke?"
"Yea, I tend to say a lot of things?"
"He doesn't even know what my new job is."
"Sure he does."
"Come on Charles, 'it must be fascinating work', you know what I'm doing over here! Brian is too busy enjoying the 'small things', I'm sure - because he sure as hell can't handle the big things."
"How is that going anyways, with all those kids??"
"Some of them are doing okay," she sighs, "it's hard to get over, you know - being violated like that for so long."
I try and think of something inspiring to say, but nothing seems quite appropriate. She worked at a rehabilitation centre with children who had been trafficked, and it made me sick to think about it.
"They really liked those books you suggested, the ones who can read anyways."
"That's good."
"I like that one set in New Brunswick with the son, and the daughter - and that poor father?"
"Yeah, Nights below Station Street, it's a good one."
"I miss you," she says.
"Come back to the country sometime kid."
"I promise I will, soon."
We say the rest and I hang up
.
Paul is already sitting at the table when my mom and I sit down. He looks at me briefly and then back down at his plate. My mom says a little prayer and I get reminded of that rotten old lady in church. I start trying to eat, but I'm not really hungry because there's a throbbing pain in the corner of my stomach, and so I end up just mashing all the turkey and potatoes together into one sloppy mess, with a little cranberry sauce mixed in there for colour.
"So how do you think you did on your exams?" my mom asks.
"Superb."
"Superb?"
"Yes, superb, and I would think that my extensive vocabulary should verify?"
"Oh be quiet," my mother says. "How is your apartment holding up?"
"The ants are dying off on account of the cold, so that's good," I say. "But Ron still hasn't come in to fix my window yet, so I mean, it's rather chilly at night."
"Why don't you and Natasha get a place together?" my mom suggests.
"I do believe that would be the death of me, mother."
I look over at Paul and he's sitting there glaring at me like the old bastard that he is, and when I meet his eyes he looks back down onto his plate and stirs the food around aimlessly with his fork - stirring the pot with his goddamn filthy fork.
"So where is Natasha? I thought she was going to come over and have dinner with us this Christmas," my mom asks.
"She's off to Kanata to see her perfect little family in their perfect little condo," I say, "and her dad's going to cut the turkey with the big knife while they sing carols around the dinner table. Then her mom will probably complain to her about that no-good boyfriend she has, and I suppose Natasha will sit there and scowl for a bit before her mom makes the Ceasers and then it will really turn into a party?"