Imperfections
Page 24
Esteban looks up as the Monte Carlo comes into the clearing on the south side of camp. The distant engine noise stops and it takes a moment for the sound of a car door slamming to travel up the hill to our ears. For some reason, the disconnect makes me frown.
“Carnie’s home,” Esteban says.
“Yep.”
“Brought that new attraction he was talking about, I bet,” Esteban says.
“I bet so.”
Bodies of every shape, size and colour emerge from the tents and migrate to the car. Their differences are muted by the distance from which we view the scene.
“You want to go see?” Esteban asks. “It’s the spider man in the trunk. Carnie says he has four arms and four legs.”
“No. I don’t need to see.” I shake my head.
I watch the figures gather around the trunk. Fascinated eyes they have. This is a human zoo. We’re all watched. It’s why we’re here.
After a while, they pull someone from the trunk and carry him into a nearby tent.
“Can you scratch my leg stump again?”
Esteban complies. “Your stump don’t smell too good.” He waves away some flies and peers at it. “It’s turning black.” He sniffs his fingers and then wipes his hand in the dirt.
Esteban goes back to the paper.
There are many moments in life that conspire toward making you the person you turn out to be on your deathbed. All of the events, the people you meet, the places you go, the things you do and have done to you, everything foreshadows the person you are in the end. Final hindsight is like the cover of the puzzle box: it shows you the big picture but during life all you get are the pieces.
“Weird,” Esteban says, tracing the text with a furry finger. “It says here the guys who gave their voices to Tigger and Piglet died on the exact same day.”
“Paul Winchell and John Fiedler,” I say.
“You know them?”
“I feel like I do. I feel like I have known them forever,” I say. “How old is that paper?”
Esteban scans the page. “It’s a week and a half old.”
I’d been ready to die several times in my life and had made peace with the fact. Maybe I’d even looked forward to it. I could stop fumbling, stop trying. I didn’t want to give up but I was unsure how to keep going.
I’m happy with how it all went though. Everything I’ve done in my life matters. Even if it only matters for a short while and only to a few people, it’s more than enough.
If Leonard’s predictions come true, well, I guess I’ll know soon.
But then again, Leonard has been wrong before.
I can’t wait to see what happens next.
______________________________
On June 24, 2005, we mourned the untimely passing of Richard Trench. A dear childhood friend of mine and a beloved member of the fashion industry, Richard will be remembered fondly by his mother Debbie, his friends, family and fellow industry members.
Richard was often described as beautiful, stylish, compassionate, and approachable by fans and fashionistas. I personally know these traits applied as truly to the deeper levels of his being as they did on the surface. The words written here, read by you, can’t plumb the drive and depth of a man I am proud to have called my best friend.
Like in the 1998 “Heavenly Show,” Richard has been promoted to the position of Angel. He now dons an Ozone™ halo and looks upon us all from a higher catwalk.
Twenty-nine years is too short a time for someone like Richard to walk among us. You are missed. You are remembered.
–Leonard Fenton
Obituary from the Times
June 24, 2005
Gary Jan Fairway passed peacefully on the evening of June 24, 2005 at the age of 73. Gary, 6'3" and 245 lbs., is described by Sophie Fairway, his loving wife, as a man who had as much caring to give as space to take up.
His brothers at the #713 Fire Hall knew Gary to be a heroic member of the force and, in retirement, he was an active volunteer at all the #713’s fundraising activities. During his career, Gary fought fires bravely and saved countless lives. He lives on in the people he saved as well as through his son and three grandchildren.
Memorial services are open to the public and will be held at the Alliance Church on Plainview.
–Leonard Fenton
Obituary from the Times
June 24, 2005
Mr. Gary Jan Fairway has called to ensure me that he is very much alive. He thanks me for the kind words written in yesterday’s edition. Mr. Fairway also thanks his friends, family, and his brothers at the 713 Fire Hall, for all the lovely flowers and phone calls of condolence.
Mr. Fairway says it fills him with such pride and comfort to know that he will be well remembered when his time finally comes.
He says, “We should all live our lives to be so loved.”
This writer and his editor, on behalf of this newspaper, apologize for any undue anguish or confusion caused by this regrettable mix-up.
–Leonard Fenton
Obituary from the Times
June 25, 2005
Acknowledgements
This book could not have become what it is without the trust, caring, help and love of a gaggle of people.
First off, I’d like to thank my husband, Nenad, for being the kind of person I strive to be every day and for giving me quiet mornings to scratch away at the paper or peck away at the keyboard.
Hats off to the folks who have slaved and toiled and struggled with me through the early drafts of Imperfections. This includes the constructive direction from the ladies of the polycognomenal critique group I attend: Elena Aitken (any continuity errors are entirely my own), Nancy Hayes (apologies for all of the foul language in the book), Susan Lorimar (thanks to you, I now know what a nonrestrictive participle phrase is), Trish Loye Elliott (for bitchin’ direction on hand to hand combat … shit, sorry Nancy, I swore again) and Leanne Shirtliffe (for calling offside when I went too far)! A big thanks to my good friend Amanda Dow who has read and edited pretty much every word I have written so far. Also, good thoughts on derek beaulieu for the always stimulating conversations on writing, publishing and the sound that one hand clapping makes. To you all, my deepest appreciation.
A huge hug and a kiss to Nightwood Editions. To Silas White for seeing the potential in Imperfections and for bringing my first novel to print. I recognize the risk in the work you do, the time and effort you put in and I thank you for accepting that role. To Lizette Fischer for keeping me in line, on time and under control.
Like anyone reading this, we have to thank our parents. Mine are good and without them, nothing would happen. Any resemblance to Richard’s parents is purely coincidental.
And thank you for reading this book and supporting the literary arts with your patronage. If you liked it, tell a friend to read it too because without someone to read it, a book is a lonely and useless object.
—Bradley Somer
For more reading on nifty deaths, happy pills, pretty dresses and plastic skins, the following books fit the bill. The Dead Beat by Marilyn Johnson. Beauty Junkies by Alex Kuczynski. Fame Junkies by Jake Halpern. Eccentric Glamour by Simon Donnan. Making the Body Beautiful by Sander Gilman. Artificial Happiness by Ronald Dworkin. The Revolution Will be Accessorized by Aaron Hicklin, Ed. and Survival of the Prettiest by Nancy Etcoff.
Bradley Somer was born in Sydney, Australia. He moved to Canada in the early 1980s where he later attended the University of Calgary and the University of Alberta. Somer’s writing has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies over the past ten years, highlighting a bent for fiction with a touch of the urban fantastic. He lives in Calgary, Alberta. www.bradleysomer.com
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