by Tyler Keevil
‘A turtle?’
‘Uh-huh. I want to be a bird in my next life.’ She ran a hand through her hair and glanced out the window. I still wasn’t used to her new look. It was harsh tripping me out. ‘Imagine being able to fly. I’d fly all over the city, watching.’ She turned back to me and smiled – almost as if she knew how flaky she sounded. ‘What do you want to be?’
‘I don’t believe in that stuff, Karen.’
‘Well, pretend that you do. What would you be?’
‘I don’t know.’ I ran a finger around the rim of my cup. ‘A weed.’
‘A weed? Why do you want to be a weed?’
‘You don’t have to worry about anything, or even think.’
Karen laughed. ‘I don’t know if you can be a plant.’
‘You said you can come back as anything.’
‘Well, I’d have to check with my spirit guide.’
‘Don’t bother.’ I swallowed a big mouthful of my hot chocolate. Man, did it taste awful. ‘If I can’t come back as a weed I don’t want to come back at all. I’d rather die and just be completely dead. It would be dark and quiet and cool and nobody would bother me.’
‘That’s so negative.’ She tore off a big chunk of styrofoam and began breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces, looking at them instead of me. ‘You sound just like Chris. He was always making fun of me for believing in this stuff.’
I didn’t say anything for a bit. I was sick of talking about reincarnation. I never thought I’d find Karen boring but right then sitting with her just wasn’t the same. She didn’t smell the same or look the same or have the same effect on me. She wasn’t the same girl.
‘That’s because it’s bullshit, Karen.’
I didn’t say it nastily. I just said it. I couldn’t be bothered to lie any more.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘It’s a bunch of crap people made up so they’d feel better about dying.’
‘Julian doesn’t think so,’ she said, getting all defensive. ‘He believes in it.’
I laughed. ‘Jules would believe anything to get you naked again.’
We stared at each other. She wasn’t sure whether I was insulting her or Julian. Neither was I, for that matter. I was just in a shitty mood from her dyeing her hair and wanting to be a bird and from this watery hot chocolate I was drinking. But in that moment a barrier dropped between us. It felt like I was talking to her through a glass partition – just like the ones they have in jail for speaking with prisoners.
There was only one thing I needed to know.
‘Have you seen Jules lately?’
‘I saw him at the funeral.’ She stared at her hands, as if she were holding something invisible in them. A heart, maybe. In a quiet voice she added, ‘And we’ve been hanging out a bit since then. He’s really upset over the whole thing, too.’
She didn’t have to tell me any more than that. I could imagine Jules at the funeral, and her crying on his shoulder. Probably he’d been crying, too. He was there for her, all right. He was there with his poems and his rides and his Frank Sinatra. He’d been waiting in the wings and now that the main event was over he had his chance to shine. The thought of them together, holding hands at the funeral, was enough to make me sick. I honestly thought I was going to puke hot chocolate all over the place: all over the table, all over the café, all over Karen. I crumpled up my cup in my fist. It cracked and squeaked in the way styrofoam does. Then I placed it in the centre of the table, as if it were a valuable piece of art.
I didn’t say anything else. I just stood up and walked out. It would have been rad, except I forgot my jacket. I had to wait across the street until Karen left before I could go back and get it. I hid in some bushes. It was still pouring, which meant I got absolutely soaked. Luckily Karen didn’t see me. At least, I hope she didn’t.
64
Me and Julian both switched schools.
I started commuting across town, because I got so sick of the questions everybody kept asking me. I didn’t really have friends at Seycove, anyways. My dad thought changing schools would give me a fresh start but within a week all the kids had found out that I was Chris’s friend. Now most of them are too terrified to talk to me, and those that do only want to know about Chris. This one dickhead even asked me if Chris had ever stabbed anybody. No joke. That pissed me off so much I wanted to stab him. The only thing Chris ever stabbed was that racoon, to put it out of its misery. But basically, one of the reasons I left my old school was to get away from all the bullshit. That totally backfired. The other reason I left was to avoid seeing Julian. There wasn’t much point in that, either, because he changed schools last fall, too. At first, I thought it was for the same reason I had.
That was before I started seeing him around.
Sometimes I see him with Karen, and when he’s not with her he’s with his new friends. They drive their cars – these super pricey cars with huge tyres – down to Cates beach and park them in a perfectly straight row, like at an auto show. One of them will crank up his stereo until the windows rattle and the frame starts shuddering. Then they just sit there, peering at the world through Oakley sunglasses. I don’t know what they talk about. Nothing, probably. Every so often, especially if there’s girls around, they’ll get out their frisbees. They’ve got dozens and dozens of frisbees, in all sizes and colours. This one guy even has a trick frisbee for making fingertip catches. I know all this because once in a while I walk down to Cates and sit in the shade where we used to sit. I don’t smoke any pot, though. I hardly ever smoke pot these days. It makes me miss him too much. Also, whenever I’m stoned I start crying and wishing I was dead. It’s pretty fucked.
But basically, Julian is usually there, playing frisbee and showing off. I spent a whole afternoon watching him. I wanted to know if he was happy. He looked happy. He looks just like the rest of them, now. He’s got the fake muscles and the fake tan and, with Karen, he’s even got the fake blonde girlfriend.
At one point, their frisbee landed beside me.
‘Hey man,’ a mannequin said. ‘Toss it here, will you?’
‘Get it yourself.’
I was in a shitty mood. Come to think of it, I’m almost always in a shitty mood these days. The mannequin came trotting over, flexing every single muscle in his entire body.
‘What’s your problem, pal?’
‘I don’t play frisbee.’
‘You just watch it, huh? Maybe you’re a fag who likes watching guys.’
‘That’s right. I’m a fag and I’m going to fuck you in the ass.’
Whatever the guy expected me to say, it wasn’t that. A couple of his friends came over. One of them was Tim Williams – that guy Chris had almost killed at the Avalon. I saw him and he saw me at the same time. He had this weird grin on his face, and I figured he was ready to pay me back for that night. Jules came, too, hanging a little towards the rear.
‘Get this guy,’ the first mannequin said. ‘He says he’s going to fuck me in the ass.’
I stood up. ‘First I’ll kick your ass, then I’ll fuck it.’
I went over to him and stared him down, as crazy as I could, like I wanted to burn a hole through his head with my eyes. I probably would have had to fight him, but Jules stopped it. He stepped between us and pushed the mannequin back.
‘Let it go, Steve. I know this guy.’
Tim came forward, too. ‘Yeah, man. You don’t want to mess with him.’
His voice didn’t sound right, almost like he was talking through gritted teeth. He still had that creepy smile on his face, too. It took me a second to realise his jaw was wired shut from when Chris had broken it. Steve looked from him to Julian and back to me. He tried to act tough but you could tell he didn’t want to scrap.
‘Yeah, well, he should watch his mouth.’
I didn’t even bother to answer. Steve and Tim and the rest of the mannequin mob faded away, leaving me and Jules standing alone. We’d seen each other around since the summer, but
we’d always managed to brush past without saying much. Now I felt kind of obliged to talk to him, and I could tell he felt the same way.
I asked, ‘Why is that guy’s jaw still screwed up, anyways?’
‘It healed wrong, so they had to re-break it and set it again.’
‘Oh. Fuck.’
We stood there. Neither of us knew what the hell to say. The weirdest part was that I noticed Jules didn’t have a birthmark on his chest any more. I guess he’d gotten it removed.
He asked, ‘So those bastards arrested you, huh?’
‘Just for questioning. The charges are being stayed or something.’
‘Oh. That’s cool.’ He scuffed the ground with his foot. ‘How’s your new school?’
‘It’s shit. Everybody’s an idiot. What about Collingwood?’
Jules had managed to get into that private school in West Van. I’d heard he was even playing on their tennis team. It must have been like a dream come true.
‘Oh, you know. Same old thing.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Anyways, man. I’ll see you.’
He trotted back to join the game, clapping his hands to call for the frisbee. Seeing that completely depressed me. He had all these new friends, a new school, a whole new life. I mean, it’s not like I wanted to hang out with them or anything, but just having somebody to talk to would have been nice. The problem is, since Chris died I haven’t met a single person worth talking to. I’m completely alone: just me, myself, and and my memories.
I guess that’s why I wanted to get them all down.
65
The last film we ever made – the very last – was about these bank robbers. We used the local bank on the Parkway. They wouldn’t let us take fake weapons inside, so instead we filmed the three of us walking towards the doors, holding our guns at waist level. Then we faded to black and added sound effects that make it seem like we’re really robbing the place.
It’s pretty awesome, actually.
‘Get on the floor! We’re robbing this joint!’
‘Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt.’
We also put in a bunch of screaming and shouting. You know – so it sounds like the customers and tellers are totally freaking out. That’s the very start of the film. Next the credits come up, and it cuts to Jules driving our getaway car. It wasn’t just the last film we shot – it was also the best. We didn’t worry about having a plot or anything stupid like that. Since we only had three characters, we decided the entire film would be us sitting around in our hideout, talking about how great it is to be criminals and how shitty the world is.
‘What do you think it’s all about, Bahn?’
Bahn was Chris’s character. Bahn Scott.
‘You know, man. Just hugging and thugging.’
‘Hugging and thugging, eh?’
‘Hugging your friends and thugging your enemies.’
I’ve watched that film about a hundred times. I watch all the old movies we made but I watch that one most of all. Chris wasn’t the greatest actor ever. None of us were. In that film, though, he’s a natural. Somehow he gets completely into character. We bought a twixer of Wiser’s and a pack of Old Port cigars and sat around my basement drinking our faces off. Then we set up the camera and started recording. After the intro, it opens on a wide shot of us sitting at the table, looking awesome. We’re wearing these super classy suits, which are way too big for us because we borrowed them from my dad. The table is covered in stacks of Monopoly money. Julian is counting it into little bundles while Chris puffs on a cigar and plays with his gun. For some reason we decided to give my character this sweet comb-over hairstyle. You know – so that all my hair is plastered to one side of my head.
‘How you gonna spend your cut, Bahn?’
‘I’m gonna buy me a hut down in Mexico. Just me and a little señorita. Someplace where they got tequila on tap and the heat won’t ever find me.’
There was no script, but he kept coming up with bizarre lines like that, as if he really had been a criminal all his life. At one point, my character gets up and goes to the toilet. That was an excuse to get me off-screen so I could change the angle. There’s a cut – a pretty awkward cut – and you can hear me say ‘action’ to start the next bit of the scene. This time the shot is of Chris and Jules facing each other over the table. The frame is tighter, so you only see their upper bodies. Chris pours them both a shot and they down it. Julian gasps, grimaces, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Totally dramatic.
Then he says, ‘Johnny Bananas told me the heat knows we’re holed up here.’
Julian’s pretty good in this film, too. We’re all good in it. It was our masterpiece.
‘Bring it on, man.’ Chris holds up his gun – one of the cap guns we bought at the dollar store – and sort of brandishes it. ‘We got enough ammo to fight them off for weeks.’
‘But shouldn’t we get out of here while we can?’
‘You go ahead. I been fighting my whole life. I ain’t gonna start running, now.’
At that point, it cuts to the wide shot again and I come back into the frame. We planned this next bit out. There’s a big argument. Julian wants to grab the money and run, but Chris thinks we should stay and shoot it out with the cops. Finally, Jules takes his share of the loot and leaves with no hard feelings. We had to get somebody off-screen because we needed the police to arrive. In the final shot, me and Chris are sitting side by side facing the door. We’ve each got a gun in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.
Julian is filming.
Chris says, ‘Here they come.’
I added some siren sound effects, and cars screeching to a halt.
‘This is it, man,’ I say. ‘I’m going to miss planning heists with you.’
‘Same here. You’re like a brother to me.’
Right then, somebody bangs on the door. Really it’s Jules banging on the table with one hand while he holds the camera with the other – but basically, it sounds like somebody banging on the door. Also, he muffles his voice and pretends to be a cop shouting off-screen.
‘This is the police! Come out with your hands up!’
Chris tosses back his whiskey and I do the same.
‘You ready to die, man?’ I ask.
The camera zooms in on Chris, until only his face fills the frame.
He sort of laughs and says, ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
66
‘Why did they give us these, anyway?’ I asked.
We were standing on the beach at Cates, staring across the plain of burning water. Chris lifted his medal, dangling it by the ribbon like a hypnotist holding up his watch.
‘Because they didn’t know any better,’ he said.
It seemed as good an explanation as any. I stared at my own medal, rubbing my thumb over the engraving. Hero of the Week. The funny thing is, for about a week, we really had been heroes. Then she’d died and everything had gotten super screwed up.
‘Fuck it,’ Chris said. ‘Ready?’
‘Yeah.’
Together, we stepped back and threw them out over the waves – as hard as we could.
After everything, I went back to Cates and tried to find them.
Nothing had changed down there. It was still super hot, people were still playing on the public beach, and the water still flashed and dazzled like a mirror that the sun had shattered into about a hundred thousand pieces. By then it was supposed to be autumn but it didn’t feel like autumn at all. Everything was exactly the same as on the day we’d thrown away those medals. Except Chris was dead, of course. That was different.
But then, that’s always going to be different.
I spent the whole morning diving. I even had a pair of old swimming goggles that I’d brought along. I developed this super professional routine. I’d fill my lungs with air and kick down to the bottom, then sift around in the gravel and sand. The only problem was the goggles. The seals kept leaking water, which made it impossible to see anyth
ing. By lunchtime I started freaking out. My arms felt weak and rubbery, my eyes stung with saltwater, the heat was boiling my brain, and I still hadn’t found those shitty medals.
It made me go a little insane.
I picked up this giant rock – a rock so big I had to cradle it in my arms like a baby – and walked straight into the ocean. When the water reached my head I took a breath and kept going. I wasn’t even looking for the medals any more. I just slogged along through the murk until my lungs were burning and my ears were aching, and then I sat down on the sea floor with the rock in my lap. The water at the bottom was cool and quiet and comforting. Overhead, I could see sunlight flickering on the surface. I didn’t want to go back up. I wanted to sit like that until the pain went away. I’d never have to face the heat again. I’d never have to think about anything, or do anything.
I’d just be this piece of seaweed in a dark well.
As an experiment, I let a little bit of water in my mouth and tried to inhale. That was a huge mistake. I started choking, obviously. I coughed all the air out of my lungs, dropped the rock, and kicked off the bottom. It was nuts. The surface was miles away, shifting and shimmering. I pawed through the water like a frantic little squirrel. My chest felt as if it was splitting open and white blotches appeared at the edge of my vision. Other than that, though, nothing very abnormal happened. I mean, I didn’t have hallucinations about Chris or my mom, or flashbacks to important parts of my life. All I could think about was getting one breath of air. That’s all I wanted. Just one.
And I got it.
When I broke the surface, I shot straight up and nearly cleared the water – like some kind of giant man-fish. Then I thrashed around in a panic, heaving and gagging up foam. I don’t even know how I made it to shore. I just remember the feeling of sharp shells beneath my knees and palms as I crawled up the beach. When I tried to stand, my legs gave out and I collapsed back into the sand, shuddering and gasping and retching and crying. I cried so hard it was like my entire face was melting. Luckily nobody saw me. I mean, when you almost die like that the last thing you want is for some joker to come up and ask if you’re okay.