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>I've heard my masters call. > >La la a-la a-la (the big one) > >--- > >The problem with ever thinking anything is okay ever, >is that it’s a really stupid thing to do. Because I >mean, think about it. There’s always going to be >another fight, or tragedy or accident, or whatever. >And there’s this moment, when you realize that you’ll >never be safe. Not ever again. What’s worse is that >you realize you’ve NEVER been safe from disaster, and >that every kind of misery that could befall a human >being is waiting around the corned, bound and >determined to smother you to death at any moment. >Thing’s don’t even need to happen. Bombs live inside >people everywhere, waiting to go off. Hormones and >chemicals and synapses can betray without warning. >And they do. They can take a perfectly wonderful >moment and make it into something ugly simply by >turning your feelings into ash before you even >recognize the change. > >There was no fight. There was just a 30 second phone >call that broke through our fragile yet perfect >seeming peace. 30 seconds was all my brain needed to >swing viciously back into anger and melancholy for no >reason I could justify and it made me so frustrated >and sad that by the time he’d switched off his phone >Celery’s eyes widened in shock upon discovering there >were tears in mine. This was some nameless fear, a >bitterness at moments lost that had nothing to do with >him, so I was allowed the comfort of his arms, but >instead of buoying my mood, it pulled his down. We >clung to each other glumly, not bothering to move or >shed off excess clothes as the sky blackened outside >his small window and the room slowly receded into >darkness. Sleep came in small gasps and brought >strange dreams, short and intense. We woke up and >talked about them, but our dreams were never shared, >and nothing ever made sense in the telling. > >Morning arrived before any real rest was achieved and >we were already making tiny cuts with our eyes and >voices as we pried ourselves apart and showered >because it was so easy and our heads hurt. I found >myself resenting a happiness and clam that could be >taken away so easily, so we fought about that too. It >was far too automatic and simple to be angry with each >other, and we hated that most of all. If I had been >thinking about it, it might have occurred to me that >all this tension was probably due to the fact that we >were ignoring the inevitably of my approaching >departure the next day, but I was not. Thinking about >it that is. > >But you know what’s a lot more comforting and >effective than you might think? Make up Yatzee. > >Note the lack of sarcasm or jest. > >After one more false start to recovery and the deep >conversation fraught with heart wrenching revelations >No. 172 that followed the sniping of the morning, >Celery and I got our sorry asses down to Kyle and >Jonas’s general location, which turned out to be a >deli/bar they discovered when wandering around near >the hotel that gave me warm fuzzies because it >reminded me strongly of Cousins, especially in the >board games at the back capacity, and I what meant to >say in dramatically fewer words is we all met up at a >deli and have since spend the day sitting around >drinking Jones pop and playing Yatzee. > >In between best-out-of-three tournaments Jonas seems >nearly physically incapable of losing, we take turns >making trips to the cooler for more drinks and going >to the front counter for these abnormally large >cookies I’ve theorized must have crack in them. >Sometimes we go in pairs, and on one such occasion, >Kyle takes the opportunity provided by Jonas and >Celery’s absence to punch me in the arm and >congratulate on ‘becoming a man’ in the sense that >I’ve engaged in senseless violence for the very first >time and finally released some of my aggression. > >*I* take the opportunity to scoff audibly, “Yeah, and >such a healthy outlet for my anger. He-man violence. >My cup runs over with pride.” > >Kyle grins in the face of this caustic sarcasm. “It’s >just satisfying to have you come join the rest of us >stupid testosterone driven males every once and >awhile, that’s all.” > >I try to avoid pausing to consider that the correct >way to interrupt this statement would be to conclude >I’m being called girly, and that Kyle’s saying he’s >glad it’s finally like he has a real brother around >and instead take the track that prompts this reply. >“So this is just you enjoying a chance to be smug >about my most recent fall my grace, is that it?” I’m >pretty sure there aren’t many more grace rungs from >which to plummet. > >He nods. “Sure. Mere mortals like me have to get our >kicks where we can.” > >Detecting seriousness, I sigh. “Kyle, is this some >sophisticated form of cruel mockery my mind is too >feeble to comprehend? I’ve been acting like a spoiled >petulant brat pretty much full time for going on a >year now. There’s been plenty to be smug about, if >that’s what you’re looking for. Mine has not been the >behavior of one deserving admiration. I have no where >to be knocked down from.” > >Kyle shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. You haven’t killed >Celery, Saul or yourself. I’d say you’ve displayed >the patience and restraint of a Saint.” > >I stare at him blankly. > >“I’m serious.” > >“That’s what I find so disturbing.” I respond flatly. > >His eyes go frighteningly cold, “Whatever amount of it >you’ve been responsible for yourself – you’ve still >gone through hell this year. And despite all that and >every time you’ve failed or been failed, you’re still >here, trying to work things out. You’ve forgiven more >that I thought Celery was ever capable of requiring >and instead of giving him the ultimatum I’d have to >say I think he richly deserves, you spent the week >trying to adapt yourself to this new life he started >on the sly and get to know his friends. That you only >punched one of them – who from Celery’s reports has a >mouth that gets him into fights every other week – >would once again fall under “restraint of a Saint” >category in my book.” > >I blink. “Restraint of a Saint rhymes, did you notice >that?” > >“It wasn’t intentional, but yes, I did notice.” > >“I love a good unintentional rhyme.” > >“I know you do Carrots.” > >About that time it occurs to us that Celery and Jonas >have been gone longer than could generally be >considered reasonable for a trip to buy four veggie >burgers (lunch!) and another round of Jones Orange >Cream Soda, so we get up and mosey over to the front >counter, where we fully expect to find Jonas and >Celery. And we do. The part that comes as something >of a surprise is that Celery is on the phone having a >conversation that at first glance appears to involve a >great deal of getting interrupted and heavy sighing. >When he sees me he actually looks relieved, shoving >his cell phone at me saying, “Here, it’s Saul.” > >Mystified, I put the phone to my ear. “Buddy?” >Notice my masterful use of irony. > >“So I hear you punched Jay in the mouth.” > >Ah. “Yeah, I did.” Not sure what else to say. > >“Totally understandable – we’ve all been there. What >I’m checking about is if this was a ‘jay is a mouthy >punk, loveable only if you’re Celery – and here we >define Celery as ‘insane, often a very poor judge of >character and possibly blinded by the worship in Jay’s >eyes’ kind of punching, or a ‘you know who deserves a >good punching? Jared, that’s who. But damnit, he’s >all the way over there… oh hey, Jay – punch!’ type >situation. I’m guessing it was the latter, but wanted >confirmation.” > >I resist the urge to punch the air. “I knew you would >understand!” Which, take a beat to yet again love the >irony. > >“We dislike Jared for the same reason we dislike each >other – except possibly more cause –“ > >“He’s a total poser?” > >“Exactly.” > >“So, is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” > >“Yep.” > >“Okay then.” > >“See you around.” > >I take a moment to try to figure out how to turn off >Celery’s phone, and then give up and hand it back to >him. This is when I notice that he’s staring at me >quite as though one would stare at someone who has >spontaneously grown several extra heads. A moment >later I notice the same looks on Kyle and Jonas’s >faces. > >I do one of my patented frustrated noises at the back >of my throat before saying, “Relax guys. It was just >a civil conversation – it’s not like we’re going to >pick out curtains and a china pattern you know?” > >They all seem to feel continuing to stare at me is the >best way to respond to this. I do the angry noise >again, and then sigh. > >“Let’s just move on shall we?” > >My motion meets with no resistance, and we get the >food Jonas and Celery never got around to and then >return to the table. After all the food is gone and >Jonas gets his second bonus Yatzee of the game, I’m >feeling just bored and spiteful enough to say, “So, >did you guys decide what you’re going to do about the >Parental Factor?” > >Jonas shifts in his chair, but Kyle answers promptly. >“As yet, the house is divided. 50% voted for >groveling and submission to wrath in hopes of >maintaining peace, while the other 50% put out a >strong motion in favour of putting a permanent end to >cowering under tyranny and hurting those who truly >love you in favour of said tyrants. Guess which side >I voted for?” > >There’s a shocked pause before I sputter, “Jesus Kyle, >maybe you should have punched Jay too. It works >wonders for the old pent up reserves of hostility.” > >Jonas is up and running from the table a second after >these words pass my lips and there’s barely a gap >measurable by known units of time to before Celery is >fixing Kyle to the table with a look and jumping up >after him. Once Celery too has disappeared out the >deli doors, Kyle’s shoulders sag and his face crumples. > >“It’s been a banner year for us Vasskez brothers, >hasn’t it?” > >I’m without a sarcastic or witty quip this time around >so I just reach over and grasp his hand across the >table. We stare at each other bleakly, and we’re >still doing so when Celery and Jonas come back nearly >20 minutes later. Jonas’s jaw is set and his eyes >bright, determined. > >Kyle is visibly lost for words. Just when I think an >apology might be creeping onto his lips, Jonas cut him >off with an impatience wave of his hand. > >“Look, no one’s saying you’re wrong okay?” A crack in >his armor forms, but he keeps most of the emotion out >of his voice. “It’s just that this is just isn’t one >of those time where logic applies.” > >Kyle’s choice of response is breathtaking in it’s >simplicity as he holds up his arm and Jonas bites back >relief as he rushes to take the invitation and slides >into the booth beside Kyle under said arm. Just as >Celery’s taking his seat next to me, Kyle presses his >lips to Jonas’s ear, and whispers something that >sounds suspiciously like, “I’m sorry anyway goldie.’ >But, after he does he goes back to looking stoic and >vindicated, so that’s just a theory. > >Most of the charm of endless games of Yatzee is lost >in the wake of such things, and following along with >conventional wisdom we put a stop to it, settle our >bill and roll out (in the Le Baron). Suitably >exhausted after such a whirly-gig of fun as the past >few days have been, I fall asleep not long after >getting into the car and curling up on Celery’s >conveniently located shoulder. > >When I open my eyes, he’s smiling at me. > >“What?” Suspiciously. > >“Nothing. I’m just happy.” > >I push myself up into a sitting position, eyeing him >with heightening alarm. “Why?” > >He shrugs. “Because – why shouldn’t I be? You’re >here! You’re beautiful and you’re mine and you’re >HERE. What right do I have to be unhappy?” > >“After all, you’re young and free in Canada!” > >“Exactly.” > >I nod. “Okay. I’m in. I’m on the joy train.” And >grin. > >He sighs. > >“Well it won’t work now.” > >“Why not?” I sputter. > >“Because these things have to be spontaneous.” > >“It was your idea!” > >“It wasn’t an idea – it was an emotion.” But what you >have to pay attention to are the corners of his mouth, >and how he’s working hard to stop them from turning up >into a stupid grin. > >“You’re ridiculous.” > >He loses the battle and grins. “Whatever.” > >I kiss him, and for a minute things are so simple >again. Celery threads our hands and I settle against >him. For the first time in too long, life is perfect, >because we’re together. > >“Clearly that goat idea of yours was much better than >I realized.” Which is his way of letting me know he >feels it too. > >“See?” Triumphant. “You scoffed – but now you see >how brilliant it was.” > >“I think we should do it. Scout ourselves a nice cave >somewhere, steal some goats. It’ll be perfect. Just >us.” > >“No one else.” > >I pause. > >“Of course, you’ll have to do all the work.” > >“What work?” > >“Oh you know – all the manly woodsmen work… log >cutting and animal slaying and so on.” > >“And what will you do?” > >“Lounge about on furs strewn about the cave floor and >wait around for you to come home and ravish me.” > >He laughs and kisses my shoulder. “What about the >goats baby?” > >“Oh well, I assumed they’d just take care of >themselves. Goats are very industrious you know.” > >“I thought going to the mountains and raising goats >was the whole point?” > >“Maybe in your scenario. I like mine better.” > >He kisses me again, on my neck this time. “Me too.” > >“So it’s settled. We’re to run away and become >inattentive goat herdsmen.” > >“Best men in the woods.” > >“Can we live one forest over?” Jonas wants to know. > >I almost jump, as this question is the first reminder >I’ve gotten since waking that we still happen to be in >the Le Baron, meaning along with Kyle and Jonas. Not >that I would have conducted myself differently if I’d >remembered sooner, nor am I embarrassed now. It just >startled the fuck out of me. Still, I have to grin, >once I’ve recovered, as this question of this surely >implies some sort of victory for my eldest brother. > >“Absolutely. We’ll take epic once a year hikes over >to your cave and give you goats to bless your home. >It’ll be great!” > >Kyle refrains from loudly protesting, but has this to >say, “Jonas – recognize that I’m going to require that >we have some sort of electoral slash plumbing system >hooked up in our cave.” > >Jonas gives him a confident thumbs up. “Recognized.” > >“We better look into something like that for >ourselves.” I mention to Celery. > >He nods. “I’ll get right on that.” > >After a long silence of silence set off only by the >hum of the car and the distraction of passing cars I >venture, “Could anyone see themselves being even >vaguely enthusiastic about putting the drunks to bed >and confronting our real fears instead?” Am I the >only one who wishes Doug would have let the Bonaduces >rest in peace instead of reanimating the corpse and >calling it The Paperbacks? (This is a related topic >if you’re aware that what I just said was partly a >quote from the Bonaduces song). > >But back to matter at hand. Which would primarily be >the resounding lack of answer to my question by all >concerned. I’d criticize, but I’m not exactly >tripping over my pylons of desire to go through >anymore emotional Olympics myself just yet. > >“I’m up for mentioning that we should probably call >mom and dad one of these days. To, you know, let them >know we’re all still alive and what the plan is.” > >I’ll get to the second part as soon as there is one. >“No one’s called them yet? At all? Jesus – they’re >probably in the midst of a massive search and rescue >mission as we speak!” > >“Chill Winston. I called them – but only once – well, >twice. The morning we got there and then again that >night, to say we would be staying for awhile. I told >them I’d call them again once I knew how long that >would be, but I don’t really yet. Still, no one’s >going to be releasing a fleet of hounds following the >sent they picked up from getting up close and personal >with one of your socks any time soon.” > >“Even so.” > >“Lecture me on correct parent/son relations Carrots. >See how fast it gets you kicked out of the car.” > >Jesus. And here I thought Kyle was the last safe >place I had left. The one relationship I was sure I >hadn’t (and could not) screw up. > >I opt quickly to take the not getting kicked out of >the car route, “Yeah. Sorry.” > >Kyle lets me off easy with a slightly embarrassed >smile. “I sort f didn’t mean for it to come out that >way.” > >“Probably best that it did. I need to be reminded of >the people I have to make stuff up to, the work that >needs to be done if I want things to get better. >Because you know, I do, and they will.” It ends up >sounding more commanding than you might think. > >From his seat beside me in the back of the Le Baron >Celery’s looking tense and startled. Maybe because >nothing’s been resolved between us, or that we seem to >be far too good at instantly tearing any resolutions >down. I meet his gaze steadily. > >“I want things to be better. All the things in my >life. I need them to be, because they can.” While >not spoken, the implication is clear. It’s time to >move on. Pick up the pieces, sort through the >wreckage, salvage what I can and throw away the rest. >It may be simply my most recent epiphany borne life >change decision of many, but it’s my favourite, and >I’m determined to do this. To make the necessary >changes. With or without him. (I’m almost brave >enough to mean it.) > >“I think I like this talk better when it was about >goats.” Jonas cuts weakly through the nearly audible >tension following my declaration. > >At Jonas’s words Celery’s eyes break from mine, and >settle determinedly out the window. I keep looking at >him, watching his Adam’s apple move as he breathes >heavily and takes deep reaching swallows. This goes >on until we reach Saul’s house, and I have time to >wave good night to Kyle and Jonas hastily after I get >out of the car and follow Celery’s rapidly receding >back into the house. > >We lie down together and he closes his eyes tightly. >I listen to his breath waiting for it to go from >ragged to smooth or give me some other kind of sign. > >When he opens his eyes, they’re blazing brightly. >“I’m so angry.” > >I reach up, and brush rebel strands of hair out of his >eyes. > >“I know.” > >The softness of my gaze eventually breaks him, and >Celery dissolves into tears, angry and broken. > >“I wanted to hold onto your forever.” > >I want to beg him with every ounce of strength in my >body to understand that he still can, to make him see >that despite all our changes we still belong primarily >in each others arms. But I say nothing, knowing it is >a decision he must arrive at on his own. In the place >of pleading words what I offer up as persuasion are my >hands around his face, my legs across his as I >straddle his body and look down at him with tear >soaked eyes. > >“I am here,” I whisper. “Here in your arms. But for >no longer than it fails to cause you pain.” > >At this, his hands, which had hitherto lain limp at >his sides, come up and grip my own. > >“I told you, I mean, that what I’ve been trying to >tell you anyway. It doesn’t matter that I’ve found >happiness without you – happiness with you is the only >kind I care to have. You are the thing that I trust… >you will always be one who saved me. For that and for >everything that you now are, I will always love you.” > It’s two plus two equaling four, it’s gravity. >Trusted, accepted, but infinitely comforting at the >right times. > >I kiss him fiercely, possessively. “That goes for me >too – all of it. If you ever doubt that again – doubt >US again – I may be forced to kill you.” It’s scary >cause it’s true. > >He nods. “Okay.” > >I’m brave enough for the next bit now. “I need you to >come home.” > >Confusion… reluctance… shadows of too many doubts to >name. > >“This isn’t who you are,” brushing my fingers against >his lips, our faces still close enough to be almost >touching, his eyes almost the sum of what I can see. >I have to draw away from this tantalizing closeness to >be able to say the rest of it. “Or it is,” I shrug >heavily. “And if that’s the case, the person I love >doesn’t exist anymore.” And either way, I have to >leave. It’s just a question of whether or not he’ll >come with me. > >Without a moment’s hesitation, he places his hand >against my (pounding) heart. “I’m right here baby.” >Against my sob of relief he murmurs, “And I promise >this time I’m saying, okay?” > >I nod brokenly and allow myself the luxury of falling >sobbingly into his open arms.
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