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>Tidings of comfort and joy... comfort... and... joy. > >--- > >Celery and I used to talk. And I don’t just mean >about him and Carrots and giving advice and shit. We >did some of that too, it’s a fairly essential role in >the friendship package when it comes to those guys, >but mostly we talked about family. Specifically, the >Vasskez family. We talked to each other, because as >the only outsiders, we knew there was no one else who >understood how fucking weird they all are. I mean, >come on. You’ve got five kids, not one of them even >vaguely normal, with problems and adventures no less >beyond the pale, and then you’ve got the parents >themselves, who by and large sit back and let life >with all its insanity bear down on said offspring. >Not to say they aren’t there for their kids when >they’re needed – but rules are something like a >novelty in that house. And, honestly, the whole >double beds as birthday gifts at 15, feel free to have >lots of gay sex in our house thing? The leave no >weirdo behind, you don’t like your parents, try ours, >move on in deal? That one I am currently making use >of, mind you, not that I’m complaining here, just, >like it or not, some seriously weird shit goes down on >a fairly regular basis around here. As a current >member of the official residence of insanity, you >gotta take notice. Basically they’ve adopted me and >Celery, despite the fact that he’s in Calgary and I’m >still clinging to the past. So, I mean, there’s that, >but there’s also a million other weird things they all >say and do day to day – and none of them fucking >understand how truly weird it all is. Carrots is loud >and he talks in strange coded phrases and everything >means something else or is from something else and >that’s all fine, that’s all weird, but there’s >something way deeper, and it’s in all of them. >They’re weird, and to an extent they know this, but so >much of what makes them so very weird they have no >grasp of whatsoever. > >I mean, here I am, living with them suddenly, randomly >for who knows how long and for largely unexplained >reasons, and everybody’s fine with it. They’re all >acting as though it’s perfectly natural, like there >was no question in the world about this being what >happens now. It’s the kind of time where I could >definitely do with the benefit of Celery’s experience. > >--- > >Despite the ease with which everyone else is taking my >sudden change of residence, I myself am having a >considerable amount more difficulty with it. And it’s >not that the casual way the Vasskez household has >taken me into its midst is an unwelcome event, nor do >I equate casual with indifference. I know from the >way that the cavalry charged in to save the day that >everyone was concerned, I know all of them showing up >like that was my brothers showing me, and my parents >for that matter, that they had my back. These are >things I will carry with me, the image of all of them >standing around expectantly, trusting me to trust them >– that’s one I’ll keep. It’s a memory, a feeling, I >never want to lose. It’s one worth fighting for. > >So it’s not that I’m not feeling it. It’s not that I >don’t understand that I’m where I’m supposed to be. I >get that for whatever reason, I’ve been given this >family, these people. And I’m grateful. I just don’t >know what to do with them. As real as they are, I >can’t believe that they’re really around for the long >haul, it seems impossible to suggest that all I need >to do is give in and I never have to leave. This is >temptation impossible to resist but possibly just as >impossible to succumb to. Kyle was trouble enough. >Tell him my secrets, tell him my fears, and strip >those illusions away and all that’s left is me. This >limbo being somewhere between who I once was and who >I’ve convinced these people I am. Whoever I am, I >know that’s who Kyle loves, but what if that’s not >enough? When you add not just Kyle – but his family >(not that they weren’t always on the line, a package >deal I can kiss goodbye the day I screw things up with >Kyle in too big a way) it’s way too much. Kyle’s Kyle >and there’s a promise there, a future in the distance, >something to hope for and work towards, but it’s all >already there if I give in. It’s everything I hope I >might be ready for in a few years already at my >doorstep. More than that actually, since I’m >technically already living in the middle of it, I just >have yet to let go and really commit myself to this >life. But you get to that level of permanence and >certainty and I start the cold sweats hyperventilating >thing. > >Hence my sleeping in the converted guest room formerly >occupied by Carrots. Hence my remoteness and >reluctance to be touched. And Kyle, though he may not >understand all the why’s, gets at the very least that >I’m wicked spooked. He’s treating me very much like a >wounded wild animal he’s trying to coax close enough >to mend, capable of striking out violently or of >bolting at any moment, which I suppose is very much >like I’m acting, so I guess it fits. But this >cautious thing he’s developed with me since I’ve been >here (or if it’s not that new, he’s certainly pushed >it into hyper drive since then) is the last way >anything will ever get sorted out between us. Not >that I’ll ever indicate this to him. He knows about >Emma, and he might have enough about Erica pieced >together to understand that a bit, and he knows in a >vague nebulous sort of way that my parents have >overseen it all, and for that he holds them >responsible. But there are big gaping holes in Kyle’s >version and so he keeps missing. I can’t explain the >things that stick in my throat and push me into the >moods where he asks what’s wrong every 15 minutes >until my fake smiles get too appalling, and one of us >leaves or kisses the other, anything to escape, to >make something new. Because these are fundamental >parts of who I am, not simply products of what >happened to me before, Kyle is at a loss to fix them >and I am unable to explain why he shouldn’t try. > >--- > >It’s hard to convince yourself you’re not going crazy, >lying alone in the dark of a room that isn’t yours, so >close and yet so far away from someone who is, >especially when you know full well that you should be >with them. When you know how easy it could be and >still somehow can’t make yourself move. For several >nights now, I’ve chosen to deal with this problem by >managing movement, albeit in the wrong direction. >Hence, my sitting at the kitten table at three in the >morning, looking at the clock on the stove and then >back at my hands, wondering if they’re shaking because >I’m cold, or if, at the very least, I could convince >myself I am. > >I’m thinking this, again, for maybe the tenth time, >getting no closer to anything I might be trying to >sort out if I was smarter, or quicker with things like >this, when I’m startled by the light suddenly turning >on. The shock settles into surprise when I see that >it was Jerry who turned on the light. For a minute I >think this is an intervention of some kind, and I >wonder at the type of pep talk I’m about to receive, >when I realize he’s as surprised to see me as I was >him. And then it occurs to me that this is just the >morning for someone who has to be at work by 4:30. In >my other journey’s through the house at night I’ve >taken to the back porch or one of the bathrooms, >sitting in the tub, remembering Full House episodes, >and then, the one other time in the kitchen, it was >much earlier than it is now, which is why we’ve never >crossed paths before, I guess. > >I set aside wondering if I’m still about to get a talk >of some kind to just watch him. Which he seems happy >enough to let me do. Surprise gone, Jerry is now >simply making himself his breakfast in what I assume >is the very quiet unassuming way he always does it. >What I think about, watching him, is how strange it >must be for him to live on this very out of sync >schedule, and a pang of pained confusion follows, >thinking about how much of our lives, his children’s >lives, he must miss, living this way. And I wonder >how it’s possible, or why he would choose to do it, >what would be worth missing so much, when he stops >stirring the milk into his cereal and comes to stand >near me, and puts his hand on my shoulder, looking at >me with such a depth of empathy and understanding that >I almost have to shake my head and do a double take to >see if it’s really there. We hold each others gaze, >and all that understanding remains, simple, visible >and open, until he squeezes my shoulder once before >letting go, saying, > >“Go try and get some sleep son.” > >Without questioning I find myself following this >command, up the stairs and into my room, where I fall >nearly instantly to sleep. > >--- > >I ask Kyle, the next night, to find me an all-night >restaurant in North Kildonan so I can trace his >outline in spilled sugar, killing time and killing >hope. > >But instead of laughing at me, or rolling back over >onto his side facing away from me, Kyle got up, found >pants and a T-shirt on the floor, and stood there >expectantly, keys in hand (after finding them in the >pocket of his jeans) silently waiting for me. I was >already in a strange mood, which is what prompted me >to quote Weakerthans lyrics at him at 1 in the >morning, after crawling into his bed (where I wasn’t >supposed to be in the first place, or I was, but it >hadn’t been where I’d been staying, anyway) where I’d >found him quite awake. That sentence got away from >me, but what I’ve been trying to say is that I was >already in a strange mood, heightened and challenged >by his solemn response, so there was no way I was >going to let him call my bluff, or whatever it was I’d >been doing in the first place. > >So I got up too. I was already dressed, sort of, I >usually sleep in the same sorts of clothes I would >wear during the day, jeans, shirts, but most of the >time what I sleep in basically amounts to the base >layer of many I would wear out in the world. But a >T-shirt and worn jeans did just fine for tonight, warm >yet chilly in a hesitant spring kind of way. It takes >a long time for winter to stop fiddling around with >spring in Winnipeg. > >It wasn’t the kind of trip where I would hold his hand >as we drove in silence. Just when I was beginning to >think, a combination of two things really, one that I >was getting anxious about what Kyle had planned for >when we got there, and two, that there actually might >not be a ‘there’ to get to, and that possibly there >weren’t actually any all-night restaurants in North >Kildonan – we pulled into a parking lot of a Salisbury >House. > >Kyle got out and I struggled to follow his confident >stride into the building. He got us a table without >speaking at all, and ordered coffee and those weird >donuts they sell there in the same way. I stared at >him across our small table, struggling to find >something to say, tempted to spill sugar in hopes of >getting a laugh, anything to break the tension, to get >him looking at something not me, wishing, better >still, Carrots was there to make an inappropriate joke >to most effectively cut through the tension, when the >gaze he’d locked me in stole my voice and Kyle asked >me, “how I got to bitter” and it wasn’t just another >lyric from the song, he really wanted to know, and I >suddenly realized he’d chosen that of all moments to >actually expect an answer. > >Which I suppose is what I get for starting to tell him >things occasionally. > >I wasn’t sure what he’d do when I couldn’t find one to >give him. > >I wondered briefly if there was away I could jokey >rhyme my way out of this one, before the look in his >eyes snapped my insides back to attention again. > >“I’m not bitter.” I told him, startling myself my >starting honestly. “I’m spoiled. And sheltered. I >lost one thing in my life and then expected every part >of the rest of it to be paying me back until the day I >died. I’m a horrible person and I’m terrified you’re >going to find out.” > >For a long time I was too busy being shocked that I’d >just said all this to notice he was nodding and taking >my hand. When I did, I almost jerked away, so >surprised all over again. But he was still smiling, >and there was no amusement there, he was taking >seriously what I’d said. Not just humoring me. > >He looked so sad, so serious and grave when he asked, >“Can you forgive me for loving you anyway?” > >And that’s when I realized that maybe, that’s been the >problem all along. The suspicion, the nagging at the >back of my mind, that maybe, probably, Kyle knew me >much better than I thought I wanted him to, and always >had, but the knowledge had never made him love me >less. The possibility that maybe, my flaws drew me >closer to him, making me all the dearer. That’s the >part of the way Kyle is I’ve never wanted to look at >too closely – all the ways my darkness feeds his. The >dangerous and imperfect way he allows us to love each >other. > >I stretch out my fingers and tighten them around his. > >“There’s nothing to forgive.”

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