Part Three, Chapter Twenty Seven -- Carrots and Celery... AND MORE!

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Date Posted: 17:32:41 07/01/04 Thu
Author: Karla
Subject: Part Three, Chapter Twenty Seven

'how can we be both skating... and dying?'
'lord knows i've been trying...'

Happy Birthday Canada!

---

I wish I could tell you how a conversation I was having with Jay resulted in me having a bleeding nose and him suffering from a rather nasty split lip, but I honestly don’t remember. Well, actually, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a legitimate reason TO remember, but all the same, details are a little hazy. The thing about it is, I’m fairly certain I didn’t really even WANT to punch Jay in the mouth. But I definitely did. Of course, the thing about that is, you don’t know who Jay is, so it’s probably really hard for you to understand why it wasn’t really him I wanted to punch, or for that matter why I still did.

So, let me backtrack a bit. We’re going to figure this one out together.

See, after we last saw our heroes, in the touching good night scene, they fell asleep and all was well with the world. Or you know, something like that anyway. I find that things tend to go a lot more smoothly when I’m asleep, and this was not exception. Things got complicated again when we woke up. Because we were lying in each others arms, feeling rested and at home, except that we weren’t. Well, we were rested, but we definitely weren’t at home. At least, I know I wasn’t, and I didn’t exactly love the idea that Celery might feel differently. After I went through that weird spacy, “where the devil am I?” thing you get when waking up in a strange bed, I was faced with the less than ideal reality, which was that we were crammed together in a cot like bed in a makeshift bedroom in Saul’s house. Not entirely what dreams are made up.

Still, he kissed me good morning and we successfully evaded getting into a fight all the way from the bed to the shower to the kitchen table. Further conflict evasion was achieved by way of a strategically placed phone call to Kyle and Jonas’s hotel room, requesting they come over and spend the day with us in some fashion. They readily agreed and showed up slightly before Saul graced the kitchen with his presence and nobody caused trouble, so we were out the door shortly after that. The four of us that is – Saul wasn’t invited. To his credit, he looked in no way like the expected to be.

We spent the day primarily drama free, getting a sufficiently sarcastic and depreciating tour of selected areas of Calgary at the hands of out fearless tour guide, Celery a.k.a John a.k.a “heads-up dude!” (this title having to do with the pigeon Celery narrowly missed getting crapped on by, a fate he was saved from the helpful shout of the same name coming from an observant stranger walking behind us). I kept my angst driven ire to a minimum, even in the face of the several strangers we bumped into over the course of the “and this is my mall, wherein I slave happily for mother capitalism and sell more trendy shirts to annoying 14-year-old girls than skateboard decks” portion of our tour. I even managed to not freak out when this random girl wearing a tag that says SIRENS: Tammy came out of no where and tried to simultaneously hit on Celery and Kyle. It was actually not especially hard to keep myself under control during this incident, as the girl was terrifying and Celery looked revolted the whole time, while Kyle looked panicked at his own lack of interest. Jonas and I shared a smirk about the whole affair, as we all moved on with our day. After our feet were sore and I’d declared Calgary to be, “shinny, oddly clear and not as cool as Winnipeg” we stopped at the Olive Garden for supper (cause, when we’re there, we’re family, and we like to suspect that “family” in some way refers to the mob, as we do about all Italian restaurants, because ethnic stereotypes are fun) and that was pretty much it for the night. Celery got an exciting tour of his own (of our hotel room), and then we all hung out watching pay perview movies and kicking each other.

All in all it was a good day among brothers featuring one or two schmoopy public displays of affection and a refreshing lack of angst. It wasn’t until we went back to his store the next day (that could also be known as Today), just Celery and me (because Kyle and Jonas had important things to do like sleep in and have a fight about how Jonas was going to approach facing his parents considerable wrath when we got home) that things got out of hand.

Admittedly, I got the day off to a less than triumphant start when I requested in a deeply wronged manner for a few helpful facts about the people we would be meeting, since, “they clearly know all about me and I’d rather not go through another emotional ambush, thanks.”

Celery stuttered out a reply, generally along the lines of, “It’s not like it was this big exposition of your soul – I didn’t even tell them about you really – well, I did but just more… what you mean to me. A little history, a warning that things might get kind of intense…”

I shrugged (we could fight about it later). “I still want to know about them. Advanced names would be something, if you’re worried about breaking some code of silence.”

He rolled his eyes, which it’s possible he was entitled to do. “We’re just stopping at the store to pick up Jay – cause he’s sort of useless to tell directions to and still hasn’t managed to find Saul’s house and the mall is closer than where he lives – and Jared’s going to be there too. Jay is 17 – in grade 11, he’s an okay guy. Kind of a hothead but in a funny way… like he got suspended from school for something and he shouted “the school’s going down!” and got suspended again.” I wondered briefly if I was supposed to find this charming. “And Jared’s like the best. He’s the manager of our store, he gave me my job, did all the training for me and everything. He’s really… just like smart and level headed. I really love working for him.”

So okay. Perhaps I was already biased towards the both of them. And maybe this little tribute speech already had me ready to hate Jared’s guts with special vehemence, but the simple fact is, from the minute I met him, it became clear to me that Jared was doomed to be my least favourite of Celery’s new friends. He had all the assumptions about his place in Celery’s life that Saul did, and yet I’d never heard of the guy. He had a propensity to clap Celery on the shoulder in a manly, affectionate brother/mentor sort of way and this arrogant half smile always on his face. Also, I wasn’t overly found of his hair. Who uses gel anymore anyway? Still, no one else seemed to see Jared for the smarmy weasel he clearly was, at least none of his dedicated employees, who lavish him with praise and obedience, as if working in a chain store in the mall is the greatest gift they could ever have received.

As Celery told me, we don’t stay there long, in this little haven of Jared worship, because the world is calling to us, and we must answer that call. There is, it’s safe to say, always something new going down at Mr. Sub. Celery’s life is busy and exciting. There’s always another skate spot to try, or a show to go to, or someone calling him on his cell phone with a problem from work or wanting to hang out. He is in high demand and accommodating to everyone. Traveling around the city with him, Jared and Jay, adding and reducing numbers as random friends come out of the wood work, I feel as though I am merely one of his posse. Despite Jared’s age and supposed wisdom and maturity, he follows Celery with as much commitment and dedication as the rest. He’s calm and funny and showers love on everyone, and means it, and I find myself liking him, this new version of my oldest friend, but naturally, I find myself resenting and rejecting any kind of newness, anything I recognize as other. Part of this John persona.

But of all of this, Jared’s presence continued to grate on me the most, I suffered over the course of the day, as we went to several different skate spots, took in a movie and several trips to 7/11 for candy, several wild moments wishing for Saul’s presence, because I was convinced that Saul couldn’t stand Jared either. I began to suspect this was indeed his true reason for failing to join us.

But as Saul wasn’t with us, I had no one to share my eye rolls and bitter out-of-the-corner-of-my-mouth comments with, so I held the impulses in and unwisely allowed my malice to simmer and grow in the pit of my stomach all day long. Which, doesn’t perhaps do much in the way of justifying what I did, but it gets us at least part of the way along to explaining it.

Of course, what must be noted when searching for the other part of the explanation, is that I did not in fact punch Jared, who I maintain had it coming. The thing about it is, as much as I spent the entire day wanting to draw blood from his condescending sickly sweet mouth, it wasn’t Jared who was talking some sort of preposterous trash about I don’t even remember what, his slightly nasal voice invading my brain to the point where I was certain I’d either have to find some (preferably violent) way to shut him up, or I’d go insane. It was Jay.

And so, despite the fact that it wasn’t as though I really wanted to punch Jay and that I WANTED to punch Jared, with his eyes full affected wisdom and concern about doing ‘what was right for Celery’, and his arm around Celery’s shoulders, pretending he was somehow necessary to Celery, thinking he could be some sort of Calgary Kyle, it WAS Jay who was just conveniently there, shooting his mouth off, being a typical, posturing 17-year-old male. It was simply far too easy to join him there and clock him in the mouth.

So I punched Jay and I may or may not have said, “the price is wrong bitch”, and then he DEFINITELY punched me in the nose and then there were a few unsuccessful attempts on both our parts to kick each other before Celery and Jared noticed what was going on and rushed over, separating us and sputtering with disbelief. We both sort of refused to answer their questions along the lines of, “what the hell man?” and stared at the floor petulantly. It felt distinctly like I was 5 again, except that I never really got into a fight with anyone when I was five.

And while the fact that I’d just engaged in some senseless and extremely stupid violence didn’t escape me, I couldn’t help feeling vaguely smug as Celery calmly slung my arm around his shoulder and helped me hobble away. Because see, he didn’t apologize, or even try to suss out some sort of explanation from me. This means – if you’ll follow some twisted Carrots and Celery logic for a moment – he’s not ashamed of my behavior, embarrassed or even surprised by it. He views this gross lapse in judgment and common decency to be my right, my privilege. Not even (or only) because I have been wronged, by him and through these people, but merely because it is in his mind permissible and justified for me to act in whatever way I wish. Simply because I am me, everything is permitted.

Anyway, that pretty much brings us up to date, and I guess basically explains why I have a bloody nose and Jay has a slit lip but it doesn’t explain why Celery, for all his previously explained lack of shame, is grinning so wide it’s gotta hurt.

I wait until we’re in the relative safety of Celery’s room before demanding, “What the fuck are you grinning about?”

“You got in a fucking fist-fight with one of my friends! This is fucking awesome! You can’t say ANYTHING to me now!”

Almost immediately, I realize what he means.

“Fuck you – there’s only one of Colin, you have like a posse. I mean, can you imagine what you would have done if there were five of him?”

The grin vanishes from Celery’s face.

“Oh god,” he exclaims with genuine horror.

In a minute, he recovers to say, “Whatever man. It’s totally not the same thing. Not ALL my friends are as bad as Colin, hell, not even Jake is.”

“It’s not like it’s a competition anyway. This isn’t about blaming anyone.”

“That’s what you keep saying, but you haven’t been acting like it.”

Bastard has me there.

“Fine, fine, but now my one act of overt aggression equals all your passive aggression and we’re even.”

He sits heavily down onto his bed, as though suddenly void of energy his legs simply gave out. “Perhaps, in retrospect, extensive quality with my friends wasn’t the best idea.” A conciliatory admission.

Frustrated, bone tired and emotionally frayed I run my hands through my hair, sighing as if breathing out in the exact right way will make me feel better.

“Everything we try to do goes wrong. It’s like we’re totally out of sync. I can’t catch up with you – I can’t understand you – we don’t… we just keep missing.” I’m tired of this being our song.

His eyes flit over to the bed. Oh the sex we’ve been having lately.

"I think we've still got a pretty good handle on that."

"Yes! Yes we do - excellent! Way to think positive." The truly sad part is that I'm being sincere.

He grins a little more. "Personally, I think we should just have sex all the time."

"I like it, and I'll tell you why." Which I then fail to do.

He raises his eye brows. "Can I get away with suggesting you just show me?"

I ponder this briefly. "Yeah. I think you can."

And then he does. And bwaha to all of you, cause it's awesome, and I'm not telling you a damn thing about it beyond that. Envy me.

Sadly, the hazy wonderful, I-just-got-laid-and-now-care-about-nothing after feelings don’t stick around nearly as long as I’d like, and before you know it I’m back to being insecure and I find myself unable to take my eyes away form the still half opened drawer of his bedside table and the helpful contents located conveniently therein.

“Nice set-up you’ve got here, by the way.” I say, offhandedly.

Celery’s eyes follow mine and flash with something unexpected and sad before returning to meet my hostile stare.

“It’s just left over stuff from the winter.”

Celery is not the only one who is shocked at the next thing that snaps out of my mouth, “Got a lot more sex in the winter did you?”

After the ruthlessly long minute it takes him to recover, he sighs – I’m going to take a stab and say – wearily. A healthy does of bitterness also making its presence known.

“Yeah actually. What with the seeing you and all. This dresser is actually mine, it’s the only bit of furniture I brought along when I moved from Their house. I just… never got rid of the stuff. I kind of forgot it was there.” Which of course, is a million times more plausible than what I was suggesting. “I’d never… you KNOW that I’d never do that. I couldn’t even, I don’t think. Even if I wanted to, which is a concept so alien I can’t even contemplate it.”

“I know.” Because I do, and always have. That’s the best part. “I was just…” Picking a fight. Going on the offensive. Trying to shake off this false (and it HAS to be false!) sense of peace and security.

He nods. “Yeah.” And just like that, it’s forgotten.

We’re quiet for awhile but then, I whisper, “Hey Cel,”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking,”

He sniffs and I feel rather than see him turn his head slightly away from mine.

“What?”

“I’m just trying to restrain myself from making a comment like ‘never a good sign’ or ‘hope you didn’t hurt yourself’.” He explains cheerfully.

I smack him. “That was me not restraining myself from giving you the blow you so richly deserved.”

“You’ve gotten extremely violent, I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah well, all that rage.” I shrug.

“I feel this conversation veering into serious waters, what were you thinking about?”

“Oh that. Um, I’d been thinking since we’re not having a huge amount of luck with trying to integrate ourselves back into the world as a couple we could just run away to some isolated wilderness location and raise goats.”

“Goats eh?”

“That’s right. Pigs are evil and scary, same goes for cows and I don’t know… sheep just bother me. I know a lot of people think they’re cute but I… I think something else may be going on there.”

“Goats it is then.”

“Celery?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s honestly the best plan I’ve been able to come up with.”

“Probably just a local fishermen out for a pleasure cruise… through eel infested waters.” It’s soft, like I’m not supposed to hear it, but I do.

“There really aren’t any topics that won’t eventually lead us back to angst and gravity Celery.” Like he doesn’t know, like that isn’t exactly what he meant, saying that.

“I know.” Like I didn’t.

“We really could just run away and raise goats Celery. I mean, I’m game if you are.”

He smiles sadly. “I don’t think we’d be very good at taking care of goats baby. They need to be fed regularly and tended and all that. We’d forgot they were there and then they’d all die.”

He’s something resembling joking, and yet I want to cry. Instead, I pout.

“Well I think it’s a great idea.”

He kisses my forehead. “Whatever you want baby.”

It’s enough for awhile to have simply found my way back into his arms, and to lie there with him, enjoying the sound of his heart beat against my ear. Unfortunately, my brain can’t quite let this peace last.

“Why didn’t I ever think about your 18th birthday? Why wasn’t it the date upon which I pinned all my hopes and longing? Why, when I marked off the day son my calendar, that wasn’t the one I was so desperate to finally get to?”

“Because we’ve always marked our lives by Septembers? Because the end of August is the end of the old year? Because June has always meant freedom and the date we met has always been the one it’s truly important to celebrate?”

“Not because you never mentioned it?”

“Why would I have wanted to be away from you any longer than I had to?” Tiredly.

“I don’t know. The same reason you left in the first place?”

He’s pulling away, letting me go, but I understand why. It hurts too much to have to say things like this when we’re in each others arms.

“I left because I had to.”

“But what kind of ‘had’ is that? For Them? To bow to them?” I shake my head, “I don’t know why I ever believed that.”

“We talked about this.”

“I know. I remember… but there was something else. You’re happy here. Did you leave because you ‘had’ to know if you could be? Outside of me?”

“Carrots…”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

Every time I think my sails can’t get more deflated.

“Well, bravo. You succeeded brilliantly.” I think this is the part where I get up and leave, but I can’t seem to get my body to cooperate.

“Care, it’s not like that. I didn’t… it was. I never meant,” he sighs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s funny, because I distinctly remember having a rather substantial argument about you not resisting the move for entirely different reasons.”

“I know. And it wasn’t that I was lying. I told myself that was why I wasn’t fighting it. I didn’t… I wouldn’t let myself know.”

“We’re blaming your subconscious now?”

“I just needed to see,”

“See what?”

“See. See if I had any strength, any WORTH outside of loving you. I needed to see if there could ever be people who valued me that hadn’t loved you first.”

“People who’d call you John.”

“And only ever know me as me. Just me.”

“I can’t believe I made you doubt the possibility.”

“I let myself doubt it. I could have told you how I felt.”

“But we’re so good at that aren’t we? Conveniently failing to tell each other stuff.” My classic head shake breaking up fun bouts of awful things I have to say, “I remember when I found it nearly impossible to be angry with you and now nearly everything you do fills me with ire... whether justified or not." He makes no comment, only shifts under me, so I'm resting more comfortably against his chest. I breathe in the scent of him, and take a moment to simply enjoy being surrounded by his touch before continuing, "Do you think maybe we made better friends than lovers?" A word in some ways, I still feel much too young to say.

Celery pulls one of my hands away from its place clutching my opposite shoulder and contemplates it for a time before responding with soft certainty, "We were always lovers... long before we ever touched each other or admitted why we wanted to. It was always going to be like this for us eventually."

"We were destined to bring masses of misery anger and confusion into each others lives?"

"We made each other deliriously happy for over 10 years, it had to balance out somehow."

"Like some cosmic pleasure pain scale?"

"Yeah."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"It's a whole mountains and valley's thing Carrots."

"What? Mountains? Valleys?" I sputter. "Have you gone mad?"

"Come on Carrots. Be Zen and apathetic with me. It's fun."

"Celery!"

"Consider the bumble-bee..."

I jerk out of his arms, and his calm expression immediately disappears, replaced by one of flushed anger.

"What the hell do you want from me?! I try to apologize, you say you forgive me. We talk, I feel like we've communicated but then at every turn I hit another wall with you. You say you're angry about the ways I've hidden my life from you but when I try to show you all you do is snipe and insult my friends. I touch you and sometimes you pull away and the other times you respond with this desperate hunger and either way there's never any joy in it. All the trying I could think of didn't work, so I decided to give not trying a go."

"That's also... very stupid." And yet amusement has found its way into my voice. Making a surprising victory over shock.

"Yeah well, I can do no right." He grumbles the words almost good-naturedly.

I recapture the hand that once held my own.

"Weren't we supposed to be forgetting about our dramas and just having fun together this week?"

"Lord knows I’ve been trying."

I smile, dare I say it, seductively.

"Celery?"

He swallows. "Yes?"

"Lets try harder."

And I follow it up with a suggestive leer, because corny puns about sex should always be followed by suggestive leers.

Celery smiles weakly but holds onto my shoulders, keeping me at an arms distance. “I don’t think we should… do that for awhile.”

I frown, out of confusion more than hurt. Turning down sex is a foreign concept to me. Finally I back away casually, raising my eye brows. “This is a radical departure from our ‘lets just have sex all the time’ plan of several hours ago.”

“I know,” He nods slowly. “It’s just, sex makes things seem like they’re okay when…” They’re not.

I sigh. “I know.” It’s kind of why I was in favour of the plan.

“Cheer up Care. It’s one of our plans – it probably won’t last long.”

I laugh.

“I’ll hold onto that then.”

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Replies:

Well done -- Deucalion, 17:56:26 07/01/04 Thu
O.M.F.G!!! now THAT'S a chapter! **grin** (NT) -- EMoe57, 19:38:20 07/01/04 Thu
Re: Most Satisfying. Thanks, Karla. (NT) (NT) -- Ena, 08:32:07 07/02/04 Fri
"All our accidents went purposeful and fell, stripped of providence or any way to tell that our intentions were intangible and sweet. Sick with simple math and shy discoveries, piled up against our impending defeat. " why do i always eqaute c&c with the weakerthans? (NT) -- dispenser of pez, 19:52:02 07/02/04 Fri
where's the love? (NT) -- ??????????, 23:58:04 07/02/04 Fri
Nice with the Dan Bejar epigram. Oh, yeah, good chapter, too. Happenings of stuff. (NT) -- Edward, 03:47:57 07/03/04 Sat
Re: Part Three, Chapter Twenty Seven -- Europe_guy, 06:49:02 07/06/04 Tue
argh. angsty angsty angst. And fuck you jay and jared. when is shit gonna work out?> -- Tamsyn, 13:22:22 07/09/04 Fri
plays Of Montreal's "When a man is in love with a man" for C&C and hopes they work it all out. (NT) -- dispenser of pez, 19:25:59 07/12/04 Mon

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>'how can we be both skating... and dying?' >'lord knows i've been trying...' > >Happy Birthday Canada! > >--- > >I wish I could tell you how a conversation I was >having with Jay resulted in me having a bleeding nose >and him suffering from a rather nasty split lip, but I >honestly don’t remember. Well, actually, I’m pretty >sure there isn’t a legitimate reason TO remember, but >all the same, details are a little hazy. The thing >about it is, I’m fairly certain I didn’t really even >WANT to punch Jay in the mouth. But I definitely did. > Of course, the thing about that is, you don’t know >who Jay is, so it’s probably really hard for you to >understand why it wasn’t really him I wanted to punch, >or for that matter why I still did. > >So, let me backtrack a bit. We’re going to figure >this one out together. > >See, after we last saw our heroes, in the touching >good night scene, they fell asleep and all was well >with the world. Or you know, something like that >anyway. I find that things tend to go a lot more >smoothly when I’m asleep, and this was not exception. >Things got complicated again when we woke up. Because >we were lying in each others arms, feeling rested and >at home, except that we weren’t. Well, we were >rested, but we definitely weren’t at home. At least, >I know I wasn’t, and I didn’t exactly love the idea >that Celery might feel differently. After I went >through that weird spacy, “where the devil am I?” >thing you get when waking up in a strange bed, I was >faced with the less than ideal reality, which was that >we were crammed together in a cot like bed in a >makeshift bedroom in Saul’s house. Not entirely what >dreams are made up. > >Still, he kissed me good morning and we successfully >evaded getting into a fight all the way from the bed >to the shower to the kitchen table. Further conflict >evasion was achieved by way of a strategically placed >phone call to Kyle and Jonas’s hotel room, requesting >they come over and spend the day with us in some >fashion. They readily agreed and showed up slightly >before Saul graced the kitchen with his presence and >nobody caused trouble, so we were out the door shortly >after that. The four of us that is – Saul wasn’t >invited. To his credit, he looked in no way like the >expected to be. > >We spent the day primarily drama free, getting a >sufficiently sarcastic and depreciating tour of >selected areas of Calgary at the hands of out fearless >tour guide, Celery a.k.a John a.k.a “heads-up dude!” >(this title having to do with the pigeon Celery >narrowly missed getting crapped on by, a fate he was >saved from the helpful shout of the same name coming >from an observant stranger walking behind us). I kept >my angst driven ire to a minimum, even in the face of >the several strangers we bumped into over the course >of the “and this is my mall, wherein I slave happily >for mother capitalism and sell more trendy shirts to >annoying 14-year-old girls than skateboard decks” >portion of our tour. I even managed to not freak out >when this random girl wearing a tag that says SIRENS: >Tammy came out of no where and tried to simultaneously >hit on Celery and Kyle. It was actually not >especially hard to keep myself under control during >this incident, as the girl was terrifying and Celery >looked revolted the whole time, while Kyle looked >panicked at his own lack of interest. Jonas and I >shared a smirk about the whole affair, as we all moved >on with our day. After our feet were sore and I’d >declared Calgary to be, “shinny, oddly clear and not >as cool as Winnipeg” we stopped at the Olive Garden >for supper (cause, when we’re there, we’re family, and >we like to suspect that “family” in some way refers to >the mob, as we do about all Italian restaurants, >because ethnic stereotypes are fun) and that was >pretty much it for the night. Celery got an exciting >tour of his own (of our hotel room), and then we all >hung out watching pay perview movies and kicking each >other. > >All in all it was a good day among brothers featuring >one or two schmoopy public displays of affection and a >refreshing lack of angst. It wasn’t until we went >back to his store the next day (that could also be >known as Today), just Celery and me (because Kyle and >Jonas had important things to do like sleep in and >have a fight about how Jonas was going to approach >facing his parents considerable wrath when we got >home) that things got out of hand. > >Admittedly, I got the day off to a less than >triumphant start when I requested in a deeply wronged >manner for a few helpful facts about the people we >would be meeting, since, “they clearly know all about >me and I’d rather not go through another emotional >ambush, thanks.” > >Celery stuttered out a reply, generally along the >lines of, “It’s not like it was this big exposition of >your soul – I didn’t even tell them about you really – >well, I did but just more… what you mean to me. A >little history, a warning that things might get kind >of intense…” > >I shrugged (we could fight about it later). “I still >want to know about them. Advanced names would be >something, if you’re worried about breaking some code >of silence.” > >He rolled his eyes, which it’s possible he was >entitled to do. “We’re just stopping at the store to >pick up Jay – cause he’s sort of useless to tell >directions to and still hasn’t managed to find Saul’s >house and the mall is closer than where he lives – and >Jared’s going to be there too. Jay is 17 – in grade >11, he’s an okay guy. Kind of a hothead but in a >funny way… like he got suspended from school for >something and he shouted “the school’s going down!” >and got suspended again.” I wondered briefly if I was >supposed to find this charming. “And Jared’s like the >best. He’s the manager of our store, he gave me my >job, did all the training for me and everything. He’s >really… just like smart and level headed. I really >love working for him.” > >So okay. Perhaps I was already biased towards the >both of them. And maybe this little tribute speech >already had me ready to hate Jared’s guts with special >vehemence, but the simple fact is, from the minute I >met him, it became clear to me that Jared was doomed >to be my least favourite of Celery’s new friends. He >had all the assumptions about his place in Celery’s >life that Saul did, and yet I’d never heard of the >guy. He had a propensity to clap Celery on the >shoulder in a manly, affectionate brother/mentor sort >of way and this arrogant half smile always on his >face. Also, I wasn’t overly found of his hair. Who >uses gel anymore anyway? Still, no one else seemed to >see Jared for the smarmy weasel he clearly was, at >least none of his dedicated employees, who lavish him >with praise and obedience, as if working in a chain >store in the mall is the greatest gift they could ever >have received. > >As Celery told me, we don’t stay there long, in this >little haven of Jared worship, because the world is >calling to us, and we must answer that call. There >is, it’s safe to say, always something new going down >at Mr. Sub. Celery’s life is busy and exciting. >There’s always another skate spot to try, or a show to >go to, or someone calling him on his cell phone with a >problem from work or wanting to hang out. He is in >high demand and accommodating to everyone. Traveling >around the city with him, Jared and Jay, adding and >reducing numbers as random friends come out of the >wood work, I feel as though I am merely one of his >posse. Despite Jared’s age and supposed wisdom and >maturity, he follows Celery with as much commitment >and dedication as the rest. He’s calm and funny and >showers love on everyone, and means it, and I find >myself liking him, this new version of my oldest >friend, but naturally, I find myself resenting and >rejecting any kind of newness, anything I recognize as >other. Part of this John persona. > >But of all of this, Jared’s presence continued to >grate on me the most, I suffered over the course of >the day, as we went to several different skate spots, >took in a movie and several trips to 7/11 for candy, >several wild moments wishing for Saul’s presence, >because I was convinced that Saul couldn’t stand Jared >either. I began to suspect this was indeed his true >reason for failing to join us. > >But as Saul wasn’t with us, I had no one to share my >eye rolls and bitter out-of-the-corner-of-my-mouth >comments with, so I held the impulses in and unwisely >allowed my malice to simmer and grow in the pit of my >stomach all day long. Which, doesn’t perhaps do much >in the way of justifying what I did, but it gets us at >least part of the way along to explaining it. > >Of course, what must be noted when searching for the >other part of the explanation, is that I did not in >fact punch Jared, who I maintain had it coming. The >thing about it is, as much as I spent the entire day >wanting to draw blood from his condescending sickly >sweet mouth, it wasn’t Jared who was talking some sort >of preposterous trash about I don’t even remember >what, his slightly nasal voice invading my brain to >the point where I was certain I’d either have to find >some (preferably violent) way to shut him up, or I’d >go insane. It was Jay. > >And so, despite the fact that it wasn’t as though I >really wanted to punch Jay and that I WANTED to punch >Jared, with his eyes full affected wisdom and concern >about doing ‘what was right for Celery’, and his arm >around Celery’s shoulders, pretending he was somehow >necessary to Celery, thinking he could be some sort of >Calgary Kyle, it WAS Jay who was just conveniently >there, shooting his mouth off, being a typical, >posturing 17-year-old male. It was simply far too >easy to join him there and clock him in the mouth. > >So I punched Jay and I may or may not have said, “the >price is wrong bitch”, and then he DEFINITELY punched >me in the nose and then there were a few unsuccessful >attempts on both our parts to kick each other before >Celery and Jared noticed what was going on and rushed >over, separating us and sputtering with disbelief. We >both sort of refused to answer their questions along >the lines of, “what the hell man?” and stared at the >floor petulantly. It felt distinctly like I was 5 >again, except that I never really got into a fight >with anyone when I was five. > >And while the fact that I’d just engaged in some >senseless and extremely stupid violence didn’t escape >me, I couldn’t help feeling vaguely smug as Celery >calmly slung my arm around his shoulder and helped me >hobble away. Because see, he didn’t apologize, or >even try to suss out some sort of explanation from me. > This means – if you’ll follow some twisted Carrots >and Celery logic for a moment – he’s not ashamed of my >behavior, embarrassed or even surprised by it. He >views this gross lapse in judgment and common decency >to be my right, my privilege. Not even (or only) >because I have been wronged, by him and through these >people, but merely because it is in his mind >permissible and justified for me to act in whatever >way I wish. Simply because I am me, everything is >permitted. > >Anyway, that pretty much brings us up to date, and I >guess basically explains why I have a bloody nose and >Jay has a slit lip but it doesn’t explain why Celery, >for all his previously explained lack of shame, is >grinning so wide it’s gotta hurt. > >I wait until we’re in the relative safety of Celery’s >room before demanding, “What the fuck are you grinning >about?” > >“You got in a fucking fist-fight with one of my >friends! This is fucking awesome! You can’t say >ANYTHING to me now!” > >Almost immediately, I realize what he means. > >“Fuck you – there’s only one of Colin, you have like a >posse. I mean, can you imagine what you would have >done if there were five of him?” > >The grin vanishes from Celery’s face. > >“Oh god,” he exclaims with genuine horror. > >In a minute, he recovers to say, “Whatever man. It’s >totally not the same thing. Not ALL my friends are as >bad as Colin, hell, not even Jake is.” > >“It’s not like it’s a competition anyway. This isn’t >about blaming anyone.” > >“That’s what you keep saying, but you haven’t been >acting like it.” > >Bastard has me there. > >“Fine, fine, but now my one act of overt aggression >equals all your passive aggression and we’re even.” > >He sits heavily down onto his bed, as though suddenly >void of energy his legs simply gave out. “Perhaps, in >retrospect, extensive quality with my friends wasn’t >the best idea.” A conciliatory admission. > >Frustrated, bone tired and emotionally frayed I run my >hands through my hair, sighing as if breathing out in >the exact right way will make me feel better. > >“Everything we try to do goes wrong. It’s like we’re >totally out of sync. I can’t catch up with you – I >can’t understand you – we don’t… we just keep >missing.” I’m tired of this being our song. > >His eyes flit over to the bed. Oh the sex we’ve been >having lately. > >"I think we've still got a pretty good handle on that." > >"Yes! Yes we do - excellent! Way to think positive." > The truly sad part is that I'm being sincere. > >He grins a little more. "Personally, I think we >should just have sex all the time." > >"I like it, and I'll tell you why." Which I then fail >to do. > >He raises his eye brows. "Can I get away with >suggesting you just show me?" > >I ponder this briefly. "Yeah. I think you can." > >And then he does. And bwaha to all of you, cause it's >awesome, and I'm not telling you a damn thing about it >beyond that. Envy me. > >Sadly, the hazy wonderful, >I-just-got-laid-and-now-care-about-nothing after >feelings don’t stick around nearly as long as I’d >like, and before you know it I’m back to being >insecure and I find myself unable to take my eyes away >form the still half opened drawer of his bedside table >and the helpful contents located conveniently therein. > > >“Nice set-up you’ve got here, by the way.” I say, >offhandedly. > >Celery’s eyes follow mine and flash with something >unexpected and sad before returning to meet my hostile >stare. > >“It’s just left over stuff from the winter.” > >Celery is not the only one who is shocked at the next >thing that snaps out of my mouth, “Got a lot more sex >in the winter did you?” > >After the ruthlessly long minute it takes him to >recover, he sighs – I’m going to take a stab and say – >wearily. A healthy does of bitterness also making its >presence known. > >“Yeah actually. What with the seeing you and all. >This dresser is actually mine, it’s the only bit of >furniture I brought along when I moved from Their >house. I just… never got rid of the stuff. I kind of >forgot it was there.” Which of course, is a million >times more plausible than what I was suggesting. “I’d >never… you KNOW that I’d never do that. I couldn’t >even, I don’t think. Even if I wanted to, which is a >concept so alien I can’t even contemplate it.” > >“I know.” Because I do, and always have. That’s the >best part. “I was just…” Picking a fight. Going on >the offensive. Trying to shake off this false (and it >HAS to be false!) sense of peace and security. > >He nods. “Yeah.” And just like that, it’s forgotten. > >We’re quiet for awhile but then, I whisper, “Hey Cel,” > >“Yeah?” > >“I’ve been thinking,” > >He sniffs and I feel rather than see him turn his head >slightly away from mine. > >“What?” > >“I’m just trying to restrain myself from making a >comment like ‘never a good sign’ or ‘hope you didn’t >hurt yourself’.” He explains cheerfully. > >I smack him. “That was me not restraining myself from >giving you the blow you so richly deserved.” > >“You’ve gotten extremely violent, I’ve noticed.” > >“Yeah well, all that rage.” I shrug. > >“I feel this conversation veering into serious waters, >what were you thinking about?” > >“Oh that. Um, I’d been thinking since we’re not >having a huge amount of luck with trying to integrate >ourselves back into the world as a couple we could >just run away to some isolated wilderness location and >raise goats.” > >“Goats eh?” > >“That’s right. Pigs are evil and scary, same goes for >cows and I don’t know… sheep just bother me. I know a >lot of people think they’re cute but I… I think >something else may be going on there.” > >“Goats it is then.” > >“Celery?” > >“Yeah.” > >“That’s honestly the best plan I’ve been able to come >up with.” > >“Probably just a local fishermen out for a pleasure >cruise… through eel infested waters.” It’s soft, like >I’m not supposed to hear it, but I do. > >“There really aren’t any topics that won’t eventually >lead us back to angst and gravity Celery.” Like he >doesn’t know, like that isn’t exactly what he meant, >saying that. > >“I know.” Like I didn’t. > >“We really could just run away and raise goats Celery. > I mean, I’m game if you are.” > >He smiles sadly. “I don’t think we’d be very good at >taking care of goats baby. They need to be fed >regularly and tended and all that. We’d forgot they >were there and then they’d all die.” > >He’s something resembling joking, and yet I want to >cry. Instead, I pout. > >“Well I think it’s a great idea.” > >He kisses my forehead. “Whatever you want baby.” > >It’s enough for awhile to have simply found my way >back into his arms, and to lie there with him, >enjoying the sound of his heart beat against my ear. >Unfortunately, my brain can’t quite let this peace >last. > >“Why didn’t I ever think about your 18th birthday? >Why wasn’t it the date upon which I pinned all my >hopes and longing? Why, when I marked off the day son >my calendar, that wasn’t the one I was so desperate to >finally get to?” > >“Because we’ve always marked our lives by Septembers? >Because the end of August is the end of the old year? >Because June has always meant freedom and the date we >met has always been the one it’s truly important to >celebrate?” > >“Not because you never mentioned it?” > >“Why would I have wanted to be away from you any >longer than I had to?” Tiredly. > >“I don’t know. The same reason you left in the first >place?” > >He’s pulling away, letting me go, but I understand >why. It hurts too much to have to say things like >this when we’re in each others arms. > >“I left because I had to.” > >“But what kind of ‘had’ is that? For Them? To bow to >them?” I shake my head, “I don’t know why I ever >believed that.” > >“We talked about this.” > >“I know. I remember… but there was something else. >You’re happy here. Did you leave because you ‘had’ to >know if you could be? Outside of me?” > >“Carrots…” > >“Answer the question.” > >“Yes.” > >Every time I think my sails can’t get more deflated. > >“Well, bravo. You succeeded brilliantly.” I think >this is the part where I get up and leave, but I can’t >seem to get my body to cooperate. > >“Care, it’s not like that. I didn’t… it was. I never >meant,” he sighs. “I don’t know.” > >“It’s funny, because I distinctly remember having a >rather substantial argument about you not resisting >the move for entirely different reasons.” > >“I know. And it wasn’t that I was lying. I told >myself that was why I wasn’t fighting it. I didn’t… I >wouldn’t let myself know.” > >“We’re blaming your subconscious now?” > >“I just needed to see,” > >“See what?” > >“See. See if I had any strength, any WORTH outside of >loving you. I needed to see if there could ever be >people who valued me that hadn’t loved you first.” > >“People who’d call you John.” > >“And only ever know me as me. Just me.” > >“I can’t believe I made you doubt the possibility.” > >“I let myself doubt it. I could have told you how I >felt.” > >“But we’re so good at that aren’t we? Conveniently >failing to tell each other stuff.” My classic head >shake breaking up fun bouts of awful things I have to >say, “I remember when I found it nearly impossible to >be angry with you and now nearly everything you do >fills me with ire... whether justified or not." He >makes no comment, only shifts under me, so I'm resting >more comfortably against his chest. I breathe in the >scent of him, and take a moment to simply enjoy being >surrounded by his touch before continuing, "Do you >think maybe we made better friends than lovers?" A >word in some ways, I still feel much too young to say. > >Celery pulls one of my hands away from its place >clutching my opposite shoulder and contemplates it for >a time before responding with soft certainty, "We were >always lovers... long before we ever touched each >other or admitted why we wanted to. It was always >going to be like this for us eventually." > >"We were destined to bring masses of misery anger and >confusion into each others lives?" > >"We made each other deliriously happy for over 10 >years, it had to balance out somehow." > >"Like some cosmic pleasure pain scale?" > >"Yeah." > >"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" > >"It's a whole mountains and valley's thing Carrots." > >"What? Mountains? Valleys?" I sputter. "Have you >gone mad?" > >"Come on Carrots. Be Zen and apathetic with me. It's >fun." > >"Celery!" > >"Consider the bumble-bee..." > >I jerk out of his arms, and his calm expression >immediately disappears, replaced by one of flushed >anger. > >"What the hell do you want from me?! I try to >apologize, you say you forgive me. We talk, I feel >like we've communicated but then at every turn I hit >another wall with you. You say you're angry about the >ways I've hidden my life from you but when I try to >show you all you do is snipe and insult my friends. I >touch you and sometimes you pull away and the other >times you respond with this desperate hunger and >either way there's never any joy in it. All the >trying I could think of didn't work, so I decided to >give not trying a go." > >"That's also... very stupid." And yet amusement has >found its way into my voice. Making a surprising >victory over shock. > >"Yeah well, I can do no right." He grumbles the words >almost good-naturedly. > >I recapture the hand that once held my own. > >"Weren't we supposed to be forgetting about our dramas >and just having fun together this week?" > >"Lord knows I’ve been trying." > >I smile, dare I say it, seductively. > >"Celery?" > >He swallows. "Yes?" > >"Lets try harder." > >And I follow it up with a suggestive leer, because >corny puns about sex should always be followed by >suggestive leers. > >Celery smiles weakly but holds onto my shoulders, >keeping me at an arms distance. “I don’t think we >should… do that for awhile.” > >I frown, out of confusion more than hurt. Turning >down sex is a foreign concept to me. Finally I back >away casually, raising my eye brows. “This is a >radical departure from our ‘lets just have sex all the >time’ plan of several hours ago.” > >“I know,” He nods slowly. “It’s just, sex makes >things seem like they’re okay when…” They’re not. > >I sigh. “I know.” It’s kind of why I was in favour >of the plan. > >“Cheer up Care. It’s one of our plans – it probably >won’t last long.” > >I laugh. > >“I’ll hold onto that then.”
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