The Tumours Made Me Interesting

by Matthew Revert

  “I tell ya, man. You were a sad sight down there, flailing about,” said Jerry.

  “You could have helped me.”

  “Nah,” he replied with a laugh. “What are you drinking?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  He held his tumbler of chunky pink liquid up for me to see. “I doubt you’d like it. It’s fermented bacon fat. An acquired taste.”

  I snatched the tumbler from his hand and took a sip. The revolting slush clung to my throat, inviting vomit. My whole body cringed. “Perfect,” I said. “I’ll have one.”

  “Whatever you say, man.”

  He gestured toward the barman, then toward his tumbler and then toward me. The barman nodded and made his way over to something resembling a clothesline from which hung strips of vulgar bacon. He milked the bacon strips into an empty tumbler, which filled gradually with liquid ipecac.

  It was placed in front of me with nonchalance. I gave a nod and shuddered a mouthful down, making strangled duck noises all the while.

  “Do you remember that girl I was talking to last time we were here?” I asked Jerry.

  “Which girl?”

  “I scratched an itch she had. Ring any bells?”

  “Vaguely, man… I think she took you into the backroom after your little ‘incident’”

  My eyed bulged. “That’s it! So I did go out back with her?”

  “More like you were carried, ya drunk fuck.”

  “What did we do while out back?”

  He shotgunned the remaining bacon broth and wiped his lip. “I dunno, man. I figured you were taken care of, and if I remember correctly, I hooked up with a couple of midget chicks in a long trench coat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They were pretending to be one person, man!”

  The chances of me gleaning anymore information from Jerry were unlikely. I needed to speak to her. I gestured toward a barman. He made his way slowly toward me.

  “What’ll be?” he asked, clearly uninterested.

  “Do I look familiar to you?”

  “Nope.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and pressed on. “Does a lady work here?”

  “Yep. You after any lady in particular?”

  The only reference point I had was someone dressed in a tent. Given everyone behind the bar was dressed the same, I doubted it would help.

  “She had an itchy nose when I was here last time.”

  “You mean Becky?”

  “Maybe…” I replied. “Is Becky prone to getting an itchy nose?”

  “You could say that. We all get itchy, but she’s the only one I’ve ever seen ask a customer to scratch her.”

  “Do you know when she works next?” I asked with desperation that made my voice squeak.

  He glanced at the fluorescent blue clock behind him. “She starts in just over an hour. Now are you ordering anything or what?”

  I lifted my arms triumphantly like I’d just won a Winter Olympic curling event. The barman shook his head and walked away.

  “What are you so happy about?” asked Jerry.

  “Looks like I found her.”

  “Found who?”

  I shot him a dismissive glance. “That tent girl I was telling you about. She starts her shift in an hour.”

  Jerry chuckled. “Well you’ve got an hour. Build up some courage.”

  He passed me another tumbler of bacon muck, which I choked down against anything resembling better judgment. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  It took me a good 20 minutes to turn myself around. When I did, a woman was staring at me. She looked… okay. Her teeth bore evidence of lifelong chain smoking. What looked to me like labia swung like bulldog cheeks beneath her micro mini skirt. The skin around her cleavage looked like an aged map, and the breasts themselves seeped through the arm holes of her singlet.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?” she asked. Her voice sounded like liposuction.

  “Umm… I don’t think so.”

  With an exploratory finger excavating the innermost recesses of her nostril, the woman cocked her head and gave me a squint. She withdrew her finger and pointed toward the ceiling when recognition hit – a worm of blood drizzling from her nose. “I know! You’re the tumour guy!”

  I was stunned. It was like how Casper Van Dien must feel – occasionally recognised. This woman suddenly appeared more attractive to me. Her labia retreated. The skin on her cleavage whitened (as did her teeth).

  “Yes, that’s me,” I said with attempted suave, even twirling at a non-existent moustache. “Are you a fan?”

  The woman placed a clammy hand on my shoulder and nodded. “I’ve got all the videos. You have fucking hot tumours.”

  I could feel my cheeks burning with blush. “Thank you.”

  “You have to dance with me. It would be such a trip.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I had never been asked to dance before. I had never danced before. Even at the height of health, it would be a problematic exercise. Right now, with my legs like they were, I had my doubts that standing up would be possible.

  “I don’t know. I’m having trouble standing,” I confided.

  “You won’t have to do a thing. I promise.”

  Her eyes pleaded. Jerry nudged me and threw a revolting wink. Get in there, he mouthed. He followed this with pelvic thrusts and clenched fists. I looked back at the woman. An errant eyeball hair was swaying in the breeze kicked up by the ceiling fan.

  “Let’s dance!” I said.

  I tried to stand up, but couldn’t. I stretched my arms toward the woman for assistance. She leant into me and helped me up, then dragged me toward the centre of the dance floor by my armpits. Her arms wrapped around my body in a tight bear hug to the point where my feet lifted from the ground. I convulsed gently in her grip. Hazy Fantazy’s ‘Shiny’ came through the speakers.

  "I love this song," the woman whispered before shaking my body around spasmodically.

  I could feel the displacement of everything inside my body as she intensified her frenzied shake. Flashes of environment bounced around in a blur and the smell wafting from the woman was profound. I burped a splash of vomit down her back, which she either ignored or failed to notice. The contents of my bowel were slowly being milked out into my diaper. For the briefest moment, I thought this would be the end. My body attained ever greater levels of flaccidity until I spilled through her arms like pancake batter. While on the ground, I could feel the vibration of other dancers massaging me through the floorboards.

  The woman knelt down beside me. “Are you alright? The song isn’t even over.”

  “Would you mind dragging me to the bathroom?” I asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders, picked up my leg and dragged me toward the gents.

  “Need help getting on the toilet?”

  I nodded with as much dignity as I could muster. This was met with another shrug before her foot slammed open the toilet door. I was dragged across the urine-soaked floor, watching the dirty ceiling pass me by. Men – hundreds of them – stood at the urinal, noticed the female intruder, hurriedly tucked their weeping dicks into their trousers and made for the door. All of the cubicles were occupied by what sounded like anal orchestras. My insides were clenching and relaxing in rapid succession.

  “Just leave me here,” I said. “Someone will be out soon.”

  “I’m not leaving you on the toilet floor. I’ll get you in one of those there bogs.”

  The woman dropped my leg and approached a cubicle at random. She raised her foot to her mouth, gave it a kiss and kicked at the door. The occupant inside the cubicle moaned in fear as the door began to splinter and break away. When a sufficient amount of damage had been caused, she reached inside, plucked the poor ankle-panted man by the collar and threw him out. A fecal tail hung from his arse and broke away in mid-flight.

  I was then retrieved from the floor and dropped onto the un-flushed toilet. She pulled down my diaper before reaching over m
e and flushing the previous occupant’s waste away. The tumultuous whirl of the toilet water lapped at me, as did my feelings of shame. Before leaving me be, the woman sat herself on my lap, fished a handful of mobile phones from within her cleavage and snapped a photo of the two of us.

  “It was nice meeting you,” said the woman, tipping an invisible hat.

  I pulled what was left of the toilet door closed and embraced the tenuous privacy it provided. With the coast clear, men started trickling back inside. We pretended not to notice each other. Instead, I focused my breathing, trying to infuse my body with calm. Strength was beginning to rush back to my legs, but I wasn’t in the mood to stand yet. I let whatever was inside me drip into the toilet bowl and shut my eyes.

  I blindly reached for a cigarette. I was running low and wondered if perhaps I should make them last. Running out wouldn’t be pleasant – especially when my particular brand of chemically enhanced cigarettes were only available via Fiona. Unsurprisingly, I capitulated to the cigarettes and had one wedged between my lips within seconds. My body gobbled on the smoke and my tumours purred. The purring grew louder and more intense, the sensation of which massaged me internally. My hips began to spasm and my stomach rattled. The purr evolved into a deep hum that filled the toilet bowl with pink light. I shut my eyes again – tighter. The hum began altering in pitch and mutating into attempted language. Then, from between my legs, an unmistakable word formed. “Thank you.” My eyes blinked open and remained that way. Holy shit! My tumours can talk.

  Fiona was going to be floored. I couldn’t wait to tell her. Strength flowed through my body. The desire to celebrate was strong. My confidence levels were soaring.

  “Hey there buddies,” I whispered, trying to inspire more communication. I repeated these words a few more times, eventually eliciting a confused burp. This was a start. Fiona would train me to communicate better. I had glimpses of my tumours giving speeches and wooing women. Most of all, I had glimpses of the adulation I was bound to receive for growing such an advanced disease.

  “You in here, Brucey?”

  Jerry’s voice interrupted my indulgent train of thought. I poked my head through the broken toilet door. “Jerry, over here,” I yelled, summoning with twinkling fingers.

  “You okay, bud? You’ve been in here for a while.”

  “I’m more than okay. I’m ecstatic! My tumours can fucking talk!”

  Jerry folded his arms so tight his elbows popped off and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t say, huh?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll convince you. I just need to get better at making them talk. Right now, though, I want to party.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he said with an assured laugh. ‘Good timing too. It looks like your tent girl has arrived.”

  I stood up straight, spat in my hands and slicked back my hair. “How do I look?”

  “Pull up your strides and I’d introduce you to my mother,” he replied.

  “My mother!” I yelled. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. Tomorrow I’m going to take her out for a day on the town.”

  “That’s nice, man,” he said dismissively. “For now, though, there’s a lot of booze that needs drinking and pussy that needs fucking. You coming?”

  I nodded and stepped forward, tripping on my dropped pants. Jerry laughed, helped me up and wriggled my pants up, jokingly telling my genitals to breathe in.

  The strength that now coursed through me was unparalleled. I didn’t walk as much as I skipped out of the men’s room. Bony M’s ‘Babylon’ thumped from the speakers and moved my body in something resembling rhythm. On my way to the bar I embraced random women and swayed against them like a sex matador. A few returned the sway, most pushed me away. My spirits couldn’t be dampened.

  And finally I saw her. My precious tent girl. She was huffing at the uncooperative hair that dangled in her eyes while trying to pour a drink. It floated up only to waft back down. She didn’t look happy. The tent she wore looked bigger this time, more constrictive. She knocked into bottles, glasses and other tent-trapped staff members. I spat a wad of pink-tinged slime into my hands and ran it through my hair, making sure I looked presentable. My mid-section humped at the air in time with the music. I moved toward her – imagined I could smell her over the combined scent of everyone else. Her line of sight speared me. Our heads cocked in unison as I allowed possible recognition to sink in. I moved closer until there could be no doubt in her mind that I was approaching. She tried to busy herself with customers and fumbled her way through a few orders. Glasses broke. Faces were cut. Alcohol soaked into the sticky carpet. I slowly mounted a barstool, squishing my hardening genitalia into the seat. She tried to avoid me, but I remained. Eventually she stood before me.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  I didn’t respond. All of my energy had been wasted on the approach. I sat like a dolt, feeling my confidence ooze out of me like sweat.

  “Can I get you anything?” she repeated.

  I nodded.

  “And what would you like?”

  I rubbed at my eyes and filled with nervous wind. I pointed toward the man next to me.

  She slowed down her speech, like she was talking to a developmentally challenged child. “You…want…what…he’s…having…?”

  I nodded once more. I watched as tent girl reached toward a shelf full of bricks. She cautiously removed one and dropped it into a metallic machine that looked like a food processor. The machine chewed into the brick and howled mechanically before spitting out some dark, grainy liquid into a glass waiting below a spout. She sat the glass in front of me.

  “One glass of liquid bricks. That’ll be $11.50.”

  “Look,” I said, before my anxiety had a chance to prevent me. “Do you remember me?”

  She glanced over her shoulder with caution.

  “Of course I remember you,” she whispered. “You didn’t make yourself easy to forget.”

  Now that I’d made contact, I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. The woman who stood before me, the bar that stood around me, were relics of a prior, less interesting self. The person who tent girl had been introduced to was a deeply pathetic man. The new me was infinitely superior and I just knew that I could win her over. I just had to play it cool.

  “Is there somewhere we could go to talk?” I asked.

  “No,” she replied. “I’m stuck here for the next five hours.”

  This response stung. I wasn’t expecting it. In all my new found confidence I assumed this woman would jump at the chance to talk to me. I imagined her dropping whatever drink she was serving and bounding over the bar. But no… she still saw the old me.

  She was no longer paying me attention. That honour had been given to a man further up the bar who looked like an underwear model. I really wanted to hurt him. She was laughing at whatever he had to say.

  "Pay attention to me", I muttered.

  My eyes were glued to the two of them as they engaged in that sickening, mindless flirtation. I fumbled for my cigarette packet and nearly threw up in fear when I saw there were only two left. I popped one in my mouth, leaving the other shivering in isolation. I set it alight and sucked it down in two long drags. I churned my insides in that special way that enabled the silken smoke to absorb and assimilate. The tumours were moving around like fish scurrying for food.

  I kept staring at tent girl. She was still talking to that sexy fucker like I didn’t exist. Who was he? What I was growing inside me was far more beautiful than he’d ever be. She continued to laugh at whatever banal crap he was spewing. The movement of the tumours intensified in response to my jealousy. They were pushing against me, desperate to get out.

  You deserve better than this, they told me.

  My fists were balling and my eyes were welling with tears.

  “Talk to me!” I yelled.

  No one listened.

  Don’t let them do this to you, said the tumour queen inside me.

  My eyes remained glued to tent girl.
She was leaning forward and letting that handsome fuck scratch her nose. That was our thing.

  You’re too important, said the tumour queen.

  I stood up, swiping empty shot glasses from the bar as I did. They smashed and popped on the ground. I was finally starting to get some attention. I pushed my way toward my goal, pushing anyone who dared obscure my path. I could hear people yelling but I didn’t care to make out the words. She was looking at me now, concern painting her eyes. The Fabio reject stood up and turned to face me. His arms slowly crossed, in what I assume was meant to be an act of intimidation. His lips curled into pure smarm. Someone like me wasn’t supposed to fuck with someone like him. I was causing a tear in the social pecking order. I kept advancing under the loving direction of my beautiful tumours.

  “Tent girl!” I yelled, slamming my fist on the bar for emphasis. “I have a question and you are going to answer it.”

  “What?” she stammered.

  “The last time I was here, something happened between us. I need to know what.”

  Her brow furrowed in a mixture of fear and frustration.

  “Nothing happened. You were drunk. I dragged your arse out of the bar because you were pissing off the other customers.”

  I shook my head.

  “No… that’s not it. Something else happened. I kept getting these flashes the next day.”

  “Leave her alone, pal,” said the underwear model. “Maybe you should leave before I throw you out.”

  I turned to face him and watched his pupils breathe in and out. I met his gaze.

  “Fuck you,” I replied.

  I turned back to tent girl and pointed my finger.