by Tyler Keevil
36
Jules got a bit weird in the week before his party.
Come to think of it, Jules has always been a bit weird. When we were younger, one thing he used to do was buy Chris’s clothes off him. Seriously. His parents gave him all this super expensive clothing, but he only wanted to wear Chris’s old jeans and hoodies and t-shirts. He’d pay twenty bucks for an outfit. Chris didn’t mind. Most of his clothes he got at second-hand shops, anyway. I found the whole thing pretty bizarre. I mean, me and Chris had pretty similar taste, but I wouldn’t have wanted to wear his clothes.
But basically, Julian had a tendency to get all obsessive like that, and Karen brought it out in him.
‘Hey, sex-kitten. Are you in bed?’
It was after the funeral that he started phoning her.
‘Julian?’
‘That’s right, gorgeous.’
He phoned her every night. I called her occasionally, too, but I only called when I wanted her opinion on something. You know – like the weather. He called her for no reason at all. The phone would ring and Jules would be on the other end, talking in this low, sultry voice.
‘What does he talk about?’ I asked her.
‘Nothing. That’s the problem.’
I grinned. ‘Maybe he’s after midnight taps.’
She hit me, playfully. ‘Don’t ever tell Chris, okay?’
I wouldn’t have, if Jules had left it at that. But he took it too far, like always. He showed up at her house with a bouquet of flowers. He did that twice. He also texted little poems to her. They weren’t cute poems, either. They were creepy. I know, because she showed me one. It went: I am the bee, fast and strong. You are the flower, soft and delicate. I will pollinate you, little flower. Me and Julian had been friends for a long time, and I’d always thought that he was an okay guy. But when I read that, I had to admit that he was a bit of a nutball.
Occasionally, Karen caught him following her. She’d be over at Park Royal, or in Pacific Centre, and all of a sudden Jules would be there. He always acted surprised that they’d run into each other. Who knows? Maybe he really was surprised. Maybe they just happened to frequent the same shops. But it seemed pretty damned suspicious to me. He usually ended up offering her a ride home. She accepted once or twice, too. Just for kicks. She told me all about it. In the car, he rolled down the windows and played his dad’s Frank Sinatra CD for her. No fucking joke. I bet he thought that was super romantic.
‘Doesn’t it creep you out?’ I asked her.
‘Oh, he’s harmless. I think it’s kind of cute.’
He was about as cute as a sex maniac, or a serial killer. Him and his bees and his fucking Frank Sinatra music. I’d had enough. That afternoon, I told Chris everything.
‘Are you shitting me?’
‘No, man. She didn’t tell you because she thought you’d kill him.’
He laughed. We were down in the Cove, fishing off the government dock.
‘Are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Going to kill him?’
Chris checked his line and squinted at the water. ‘That would be too easy.’
I snickered, like an evil little sidekick. He was right, of course. There’d be no point in giving Julian a beat down. At the same time, this was too bizarre to let slide. Chris had to do something, and he did. The next time the four of us were together, he clarified things for Jules. We were in my basement, watching a movie. It was a stupid creature feature about killer leeches. None of us were into that kind of stuff any more – it just seemed boring.
Halfway through I heard this wet noise, like a cat licking milk. I looked over. Chris and Karen were kissing. They had their mouths open and I could see their tongues. I could see that and I could see Jules. He had a sick expression on his face, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Before the movie even ended, he made an excuse and went home. I didn’t. Chris and Karen kept kissing. It was almost like they’d forgotten I was there. I sat back and watched. It was ten times better than the movie.
37
Bates came back with the sole intention of shutting the party down. That much was obvious. Otherwise he wouldn’t have brought a dozen cops with him. If there had only been a few people in the house he still would have broken it up. Of course, there weren’t just a few.
There were at least a hundred – maybe more.
‘Jules!’ somebody yelled. ‘Those fucking cops are back!’
A bunch of us herded towards the door. Something was going to happen. You could feel it. Julian jostled his way to the front. He could barely stand. His toga was in tatters and his laurel crown sat at a funny angle on his head. Chris and I followed, keeping him upright.
People pressed against the windows.
‘Jesus – there’s six squad cars out there.’
‘Here they come!’
Knock-knock.
‘Who is it?’ Jules said.
We all snickered. He could barely talk.
‘It’s the police!’ The voice was muted, weak. ‘Open up!’
Jules did. There was a cluster of them on the porch. Bates stood at the front, with a smug little smile on his face. You could tell he’d been waiting for this all night. On his coffee break, he’d probably snuck into the toilet to pull his goalie and fantasise about it.
Jules grinned. ‘What’s up, Batesy?’
‘We’re shutting this party down. Clear everybody out.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
Jules was dumbstruck. You could see it in his face. This was his big night, his coup. He honestly couldn’t believe they were breaking up his party. He didn’t know what to say.
Chris did.
He said, ‘Fuck you, pig.’
And slammed the door in his face. Boom.
Somebody brought a camera to the toga party – one of those little digital video cameras. If it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t really know what happened that night. But I saw the footage, and the camera caught it all. When Chris locks them out, everybody cheers. A second later, the cops break down the door – they kick it right off its hinges. I’ve never seen anything like it. The door goes flying and they pour in, this blue wave that crashes against the group of us gathered in the hall. They pull out their nightsticks and start hitting at random. When you study the tape, it’s pretty obvious that those cops had absolutely no plan. They just assumed that if they thumped a few people and busted a few heads, then that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t. People started fighting back.
On the video, Chris is at the very front, swinging his fists in a windmill. Then the windmill connects with the face of this one cop who’s wearing glasses. Bam. The glasses go flying, like a frightened grasshopper jumping off his face. I’m in the frame, too – stumbling around in my ghost costume. I look pretty hilarious, actually. You can tell that I can’t see a goddamn thing. I walk straight into this scrawny cop, who grabs me for no reason.
I remember that part pretty well, but I didn’t know it was a cop at the time. I just thought he was some gearbox trying to fight me. We wrestled for a bit and around us everybody else was doing the same thing. That was when the cops totally wet the bed. In the middle of that madness they busted out their mace and started spraying it everywhere. I’m not exaggerating, either. They really did spray it everywhere: all over us, all over the house. They even managed to get each other. Basically, the whole thing was one giant fuck up.
Looking back, it’s a miracle that nobody got shot.
38
‘Come on – let’s see who can hold their breath the longest.’
That was another thing about Julian. He loved having stupid competitions.
‘Fuck off, Jules.’
Chris, Karen and I were lying around Julian’s pool, letting the sun pound us flat against the stone patio. But Jules couldn’t relax. He kept standing up and sitting down, standing up and sitting down. Also, he was drinking from this giant water bottle. He must have g
uzzled at least a litre of water before he mustered up the courage to whip off his shirt. Normally he did that sort of discreetly, because of his birthmark, but just then he was dying to show off his overblown muscles. He flexed them for us as he paraded back and forth across the patio. He’d been working on his fake tan, too. I don’t know if he’d been popping pills or hitting the tanning salon or what, but either way his skin was getting pretty orange.
‘You’re chicken,’ he said to Chris.
‘Fuck off, Jules.’
‘You think I’ll beat you.’
‘Fuck off, Jules.’
There was no way he’d convince Chris. Not a chance.
Karen said, ‘Would you guys quit bickering?’
We were just like a family. A dysfunctional family on the verge of breaking down.
‘You guys are such pussies,’ Jules said.
He still couldn’t get over them kissing. I bet he’d been awake all night thinking about it. The only response he could come up with was this competition. Obviously, it meant a lot to him.
I stood up. ‘Fine. You go first.’
‘Right on, man.’ He clapped me on the back. ‘You can use my watch to time me.’
His watch looked like something out of a science fiction movie. There were dials and levers and about six hundred buttons. He showed me which button to press for the timer. Then he eased himself into the water. His birthmark looked darker underwater, almost like blood.
‘All right,’ I said, starting the clock, ‘go!’
‘I’m not ready, yet.’
I reset the clock while Jules took these deep breaths. He breathed in and out for about a minute, closing his eyes on every exhale. I didn’t think he’d ever stop.
‘Tell me when you’re going, man.’
‘Okay. Now.’
He went under. I started the clock a little late but I didn’t tell him that. It was his own fault for having so many buttons on his stupid watch. He didn’t need the extra time, anyway. He held his breath for over two minutes. Even I was impressed. The thing is, I’m pretty sure he’d spent weeks practising, waiting for the chance to show off to Karen. That would have been just like him. At the end he popped up, heaving and spluttering.
He ran a hand through his hair.
‘Time?’
‘Two minutes six seconds.’
Karen applauded, clapping with her fingers spread like a little kid. Jules hauled his soaking bulk out of the pool and took the watch from me, acting all casual.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said.
I had no hope of beating him, but I didn’t care. Now that he’d shown Karen how long he could hold his breath maybe we could relax again. I slipped into the water, feeling it all tingly against my skin.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’
I took a few breaths and went under, plugging my nose. I kind of enjoyed being down there, actually. It reminded me of sitting in my shrink’s office: quiet and cool and safe. Water surrounded me like chilled jello, deflecting the sun, dampening sound, draining my warmth. It would have been perfect – except for the fact that I couldn’t breathe. My head started throbbing and the pressure slowly expanded in my chest, like a balloon getting bigger and bigger and bigger. It pushed little bubbles out my nostrils. I squirmed and writhed, then scrunched up into a ball, fighting the urge to give in. But I couldn’t. I was done.
I stood up. All the air exploded from my lungs.
‘One minute and fourteen seconds,’ Jules announced.
‘Good one, Razor.’
I sloshed to the edge of the pool and rested my elbows against the deck. My head felt empty and weightless, and white spots drifted across my vision like balls of cotton. The grass in Julian’s yard looked a little too green, and the sky looked a little too blue. It was as if the whole world had turned into a digital photograph. For about ten seconds everything seemed clearer and brighter and more real.
‘That’s so trippy,’ I said.
Nobody paid me much attention.
Jules said, ‘You’re up, Chris.’
‘Screw that.’
‘Are you scared?’ Karen said, tickling his foot. ‘Is little Chris scared?’
‘Fuck off.’ He swatted her hand away. ‘Leave me alone.’
I dragged myself from the pool and sprawled out on the patio. The water dripping off me made the sun-dried stones pop and sizzle. I felt like a fresh fish thrown on the barbecue.
‘You should try it, man,’ I said. ‘It gives you a weird head rush.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. You’ll like it.’
I had my eyes closed against the glare of the sun, but I heard the deckchair creak as Chris stood up and the little splash as he hopped into the water. Karen started making a drum roll noise. She tried, anyways. It sounded more like a machine gun misfiring – but we got the idea.
‘You’ll never beat two minutes,’ Jules said.
‘We’ll see.’
I sat up. Chris took a single breath, filling his lungs, and went under. His head stayed near the surface, the hair spreading out like tangles of brown seaweed. None of us said anything. We all knew there was no way he’d beat Jules. Aside from fighting, Chris didn’t work out at all – he never jogged or ran or hit the gym or anything. Jules still couldn’t help worrying, though. He looked from his watch to Chris and back to his watch. Time oozed by.
‘How long?’ I asked.
‘A minute and a half,’ Jules said.
There were no ripples in the water and Chris didn’t move. He just hung suspended like a dummy or a doll. Or a corpse. I leaned forward. It didn’t seem possible that he could hold his breath this long.
‘Time?’
‘Two minutes.’ Jules waited. Then he added, ‘Two minutes seven.’
He tossed his watch aside and crossed his arms. Chris still didn’t come up. Small bubbles were popping next to his ear. Then larger bubbles. He had to come up. He had to.
He didn’t.
‘Is he okay?’ Karen asked.
‘How long, Jules?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Check your fucking watch!’
Reluctantly, Jules picked up the watch and said, ‘Almost three minutes.’
‘Fuck this.’
I jumped in the water and turned Chris over. He was limp in my arms. As soon as his head cleared the surface he started gagging. It was totally insane. I dragged him to the edge of the pool. Jules and Karen stood there and stared. I don’t think they could quite believe it.
‘Come on! Give me a hand!’
We got him onto the pool deck. He choked up water and lay there, dry heaving.
‘Oh my God!’ Karen said. ‘Is he okay?’
‘Chris? Can you hear me, man?’
I slapped his face. His eyes were vacant and glassy, but he smiled at me.
‘You were right, man,’ he said. ‘It’s awesome down there.’
Karen and I burst out laughing. We were just so fucking relieved. Unlike Jules. He was too busy sulking to care. He sat and fiddled with his watch until Chris had recovered and we were all lounging around the pool again. That was when he came out with it, like a revelation.
‘I think I’m going to have a toga party.’
‘Fuck off, Jules.’
Everything was back to normal.
39
Total chaos.
That’s how one of the cops they interviewed described it. Normally it would have harsh pissed me off. I mean, people use that phrase without even stopping to think what total chaos would actually look like. But in this case, the cop was right.
That party was total chaos.
‘Leave us alone, you pigs!’
‘You fascist cocksuckers!’
They realised pretty quick that twelve cops wasn’t going to be enough. They called for back-up, and the back-up called for more back-up. At least, I’m assuming that’s what happened. All I know for sure is that cops kept arriving. There were cops from North Van a
nd West Van and a few cops from Burnaby. Eventually it got so bad that they brought in the riot police from downtown. It was nuts. They came with their helmets and shields and body armour and everything. They looked pretty sweet, actually. Also, they were thirty times more professional than the regular cops. They didn’t just attack everybody. They didn’t use pepper spray, either. They had a pretty basic strategy. They marched through the house, flushing out the rooms one by one – kind of like shepherds driving sheep from a barn.
Extremely violent sheep.
As soon as I left the bathroom, I got separated from the cop fox. We didn’t have much choice in the matter. Sweaty, bodies jostled and pushed up against each other. People were screaming and the stereo was still blaring and the whole house felt like one giant mosh pit. Somehow I ended up in the living room, which was less packed. The punch bowl had been knocked over in the brawling. A sticky puddle covered the carpet, and slices of orange lay scattered around like dead goldfish. Luckily, people had left half-filled cups all over the place: on tables, armrests, bookshelves, wherever. I downed a couple of the fullest ones to get my buzz going again, then headed back into the fray. Most of the action was near the front of the house, but I didn’t see Chris anywhere. I didn’t see Jules or Karen, either. The only person I saw who I recognised was a policeman, the same one who’d been there when Bates gave us those stupid tickets for not wearing bike helmets. You know – the one with the super big moustache.
‘Officer Moustache!’
I shouted that and shoved my way towards him. He was standing by the front door, arms crossed, dressed in a scruffy blue hoody and this Canucks hat. I don’t think he was even on duty. He didn’t look like he was on duty, anyway. He just looked awesome.
‘Hey officer – what’s up, man?’
As I said that, I stumbled right into him. He had to catch me in his arms and sort of prop me up against the wall.
‘How you doing, kid?’
I don’t know if he recognised me or what, I hope he did.
‘Pretty shitty.’