Hummingbird

by Hummingbird (retail) (epub)

  “I see.”

  “Is it the same way for you?” I asked, hopefully.

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “But it’s fine.”

  We carried our drinks past a strip mall and into a small park surrounded by older two-storey homes. It was starting to get dark. I wanted to tell Meredith that she didn’t have to worry, that I’d taken my medication that morning, but she looked perfectly at ease (naively so, it seemed to me) as she gazed around the park.

  In the distance, a small group of boys were kicking a soccer ball around. We came to a bench and I asked if she wanted to sit.

  She shrugged amiably. “All right.”

  We sat facing the boys. The soccer ball flew back and forth. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Where did you say you were staying again?” Meredith asked.

  “The Best Western on Fifth.”

  “That’s right. Is it nice?”

  “It’s okay. It has a pool.”

  “Oh! Do you swim?”

  “No.” I stared at the soccer players. “I’m sorry … I’m really nervous.”

  “Don’t be nervous.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s nice here,” Meredith said. “Don’t you think?”

  I nodded, tears of self-pity welling in my eyes. I couldn’t see what she was seeing. The park didn’t look nice at all. It looked dangerous. As the sun slipped behind the trees, one of the boys fell to the ground and the others swarmed around him, kicking. Meredith was six inches away from me at most, but felt much further. She held her cup with both hands, her back perfectly straight. “I haven’t been out with a man in years,” she said, confirming that this was in fact a date for her.

  “Oh?” was all I could think to say.

  “I was engaged. He broke it off. Since then, there hasn’t seemed to be much of a point.”

  “Jerk,” I said. “I mean, I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine that. You’re just so …” I trailed off, groping for the right superlative.

  Meredith laughed. “Well, that’s kind of you, but people aren’t always the way they appear. I struggled with depression for a long time before they sorted my meds out … If there’s one thing that I’ve learned as a psych nurse it’s that none of us are immune.”

  “Yeah, but I’m different. I’m really different.”

  “No, Felix. You’re not. If you had a window into other people’s heads, I don’t think you’d be so hard on yourself.”

  Out on the field, the fallen boy was back on his feet, unharmed and laughing. It took me a moment to realize that one of Meredith’s hands was drifting towards me, crossing the space between us in slow motion. It came to a rest on my little finger.

  “Is that all right?” she asked.

  I glanced over, surprised to see the shadow of something I understood pass across her face, loneliness mingled with hope. “Yeah,” I said. “It is.”

  We had our second date at Meredith’s house. She lived on a narrow cul-de-sac lined with ironwoods, several kilometres from my old apartment. She picked me up from the hotel in an older sedan and we ate Indian takeout on her couch, while watching a family-oriented comedy about an eccentric old married couple. Meredith laughed at nearly every punchline, not helplessly, but dutifully, as if out of consideration for the filmmaker. Halfway through the movie, I slid my hand into hers, exactly as she’d slid hers into mine in the park. I’d never actively fantasized about her. When she’d been my nurse, it had seemed ungrateful, profane. But suddenly, sex was at the forefront of my mind. The movie ended and we watched the credits roll, still holding hands.

  “Can I kiss you?” I asked, terrified.

  Her eyes glittered with ironic humour. “Sure.”

  We lunged at different moments, butting faces like hungry birds. Through a silent, mutual agreement, we moved to her bedroom, where we undressed and crawled into bed, moving cautiously together. Later, sex would become effortless, a routine that we perfected and performed without thinking, like figure skaters. But on that first night we couldn’t connect—so out of sync that my desire began to ebb away. Nothing I did could recover the situation. Eventually, I gave up and rolled onto my back.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s all right.”

  “I think maybe it’s the medication.”

  “That can happen.”

  As I stared at the ceiling, Meredith sat up and took my head in her lap.

  “You know,” she said. “One benefit to getting older is you gain perspective. You learn that some things are more important than sex.”

  “Like what?” I said and we both laughed. She stroked my hair and a strange calmness came over me. Every muscle, every fibre in my body slackened as I listened to her steady breaths and the underwater sounds of her digestion. Her ample torso seemed built to accommodate the precise shape of my head. My own breath slowed, sleep coming on fast.

  “That’s nice,” I muttered, thinking I must have slid into another delusion. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t possibly be real.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up alone in Meredith’s bed, squinting in the late morning sun. I cautiously emerged from the bedroom, finding an empty house and a note in the kitchen explaining how the coffee machine worked. I set the note aside and looked out the window at Meredith’s tidy back yard. Statuettes of centaurs and nymphs dotted her small flower garden, a cherry-red blown-glass hummingbird feeder suspended from a hook at the patio’s edge. I’d never seen a live hummingbird before and watched the feeder hopefully for a minute, before giving up and starting the coffee machine. Meredith had left a box of cereal on the counter beside a clean bowl and spoon. I took the hint, adding a splash of milk, before carrying my breakfast out to the living room. I settled on the couch in front of the television, feeling as if I’d not only broken into a stranger’s house, but stolen his identity and slept with his wife. A voice in the back of my head told me that if I cared about Meredith, I would finish my breakfast and get out. No good had ever come to anyone who’d gotten involved with me, imaginary or otherwise. And yet, I couldn’t seem to remove myself from the couch. The universal remote had an interesting curve, allowing it to rest snugly in my hand. I hit the guide button and scanned Meredith’s impressive cable package until I found a station running an all-day marathon of Family Ties. I flipped to the station and let the nostalgia wash over me, melting me back into the couch. There was something familiar about the moment. I had the sense of having dreamed it a long time ago. But I couldn’t say if it would carry on pleasantly like this forever, or if it was destined to evolve into a nightmare.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Meredith’s eyes weren’t strictly brown. By the window on a sunny day, they took on an orangish hue. In the dark, they looked almost black. When she laughed they sparked with gold. When we made love, her widened pupils were depthless. Her smile was spontaneous and unstudied, and she smiled frequently, as if experiencing impossible amounts of delight throughout the day. There were no flashes of anger or sadness in those first weeks. She appeared truly content from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes. I didn’t know if this was her natural disposition or the work of antidepressants, but it made me want to be around her all the time, the way a student craves the company of an excellent teacher. At first, the situation felt temporary, the hotel phased out for convenience. When she came back from work I would greet her at the door with a kiss. When she left, I tried to make myself useful, tidying up, even cooking the occasional meal. My first attempt at a casserole sat Meredith back in her chair.

  “Wow! That, um …” her eyes watered, and she started to cough and laugh. “That’s a bit spicy.”

  But she appreciated the effort, and I eventually made one or two meals worthy of genuine praise. After dinner, I’d put the dishes away and we’d share the sofa for a couple of hours, watching reality shows, commenting archly on the action onscreen. Before bed, we’d brush our teeth together, taking turns spitting in the sink. Sometimes we
had sex, sometimes not, but we always fell asleep with some part of our bodies touching.

  On the weekends, we played card games or worked on massive jigsaw puzzles in front of the television. Occasionally, we went to the store, and I’d sit in the car while she shopped. One afternoon, she parked outside a home improvement store and turned to me with a little smile. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Uh … no, that’s okay. I’ll wait here.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said, still smiling. “You’re not going to make me look at paint chips all by myself, are you?”

  “I …”

  She laid a hand on my arm. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” I thought back to the phrase Kim had used on the day she first appeared in my apartment. Love-touching.

  I nodded and unbuckled, getting out somewhat unsteadily and crossing the wide parking lot with my hand in Meredith’s. As we wandered through the broad aisles, the gaze of strangers slipped around me, as if I was camouflaged by the woman at my side. I soon forgot myself, stunned by the way people responded to her friendly smile with smiles of their own. She steered me over to the paint department, where I offered my opinion on the rectangular cards she presented me with. When she purchased a sample pot of Corn Stalk yellow to test in the bathroom, I stood half a foot behind her—close enough to show that we were together, but far enough to leave no doubt who was in charge.

  “How was that?” she asked when we got back to the car.

  “Okay,” I said.

  She grinned. “You did good.”

  The next week, she took me to a florist, then a drugstore, and finally to a crowded supermarket, where I shopped for nearly half an hour before I had to leave. After that, we took in a movie, visited an art gallery, and walked along a crowded beach. Meredith never pushed me, or insisted I do anything I wasn’t ready for. When she asked me one night if I had any interest in looking for work, it was a sincere question, not a demand.

  I’d made her favourite quiche for dinner, and she tucked a bite into her mouth. “I was reading that more and more people are working from their homes. Telecommuting, I think it’s called. Apparently, there’s work out there for writers.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I doubt I’d make much.”

  “It’s not about the money, Felix. It’s about keeping busy. Didn’t you say you get bored when I’m not around?”

  I shrugged. “A little.”

  “So?”

  The next day, when Meredith was at work, I started to put my resume together. I wasn’t sure what to do about the seven-year gap in my employment history, most of which I’d spent drifting between rooming houses. My publication credits might have had some small value, but you could tell at a glance that something terrible had happened after my final year of university. I considered revising my biography, claiming to have actually graduated and worked for some defunct business. If I was lucky, I could bluff my way into a decent-paying job. I could get my driver’s license so I wouldn’t have to rely on Meredith to chauffeur me around. When we went to the store together, I could be the one to approach the desk, to lay down my credit card without fear. These things were possible. There was no reason they couldn’t happen.

  But in that moment of wild optimism, the doorbell rang. It was the middle of the day. Visitors had never arrived unannounced before. There were no packages due that I was aware of. The bell rang again and someone knocked—urgently, as if they were in trouble. I gripped my thin resume, worried that Zoe was out there, or Kim, or the wraithlike superintendent—hammering on the door with her knobbly fist. The bell rang five more times in rapid succession. Then everything went quiet. I eased over to the window and pried the curtains apart the thinnest of slivers. Two small boys in hockey jerseys were walking away from the house with bulging garbage bags. A bottle drive. I looked down at my resume, wondering how I would ever hold down a job, when a couple of seven-year-olds could make me cower.

  I might have put this humiliation behind me if it hadn’t been directly followed by Meredith’s first real loss of patience—a stress fracture that had been building for months. She’d just come home from a gruelling fourteen-hour shift when a shout came from the bathroom, followed by an unprecedented “Fuck!” and the sound of water hitting tile. I went in and found Meredith jamming a plunger into the toilet, dirty water and shit—my shit, it had to have been—all over the floor. “Can you get me a towel, please?” she said, pumping the plunger.

  I stared at the mess on the floor, a lump of fecal matter touching her clean white sock.

  “Felix!” She glared at me. “A towel!”

  “Right, sorry.” I hurried out of the room.

  By the time I got back, she appeared to have calmed down. She took the towel from me and patted at the sewage on the floor. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I didn’t mean to take it out on you …”

  “I can clean it.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve seen worse at the hospital, believe me.” She looked over. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded. But the reproachful look she’d delivered as I hovered in the doorway doing nothing had stung. It was the exact look that Dad had always given me, a look that communicated a silent rhetorical question. How could anyone be so stupid? That was what she really thought of me. She’d kept it hidden better than most, but all this time she’d held me in secret contempt. And now that I’d glimpsed her true face, her true feelings, nothing could ever be the same.

  A few days later, I woke to find Meredith unpacking groceries from reusable canvas bags, filling the fridge with organic produce and good-quality meat. She might have been frugal in other areas of her life, but she made an exception when it came to food. “Hello,” she said cheerily. I responded with a halfhearted smile. I’d been planning what I wanted to say all night and was starting to worry that I’d lose my nerve.

  “Do you want some help?” I asked.

  “No, I’ve got this.”

  She finished stocking the fridge, then neatly refolded the bags, while I sat at the kitchen table, skating a salt shaker in circles. “So … I was hoping to talk to you about something. I don’t quite know how to say this …”

  “Did you remember to take your meds today?”

  “What? Okay, see, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Your meds?”

  “No, the way you look after me. It makes me feel … inadequate.”

  “So you took your meds.”

  “Yes, I took my meds.”

  “Good.” Meredith stuffed the folded bags in a drawer and gave me a shrewd smile. “I like looking after you.”

  “Seriously? You come home from a twelve-hour shift and find a crappy meal on the table, some fat middle-aged guy living on your couch …”

  She laughed. “Stop it.”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed me getting fat.”

  “As a matter of fact, I hadn’t.”

  “I don’t contribute.”

  “Sure you do.”

  It was true that I chipped in a little from the rent I got from Dad’s house, but she wasn’t taking me seriously, idly going through the mail while we talked.

  “Don’t you find it galling?” I persisted.

  She made a dismissive noise, then looked up to see if I was serious. “Felix, I make good money. I love my work. The house is paid off. You give what you can. It’s fine. Your being here isn’t a burden. I like having you around.”

  “You say that like I’m a houseboy or something.”

  “Hey,” she said, with a light frown. “Why are you trying to pick a fight?”

  I slouched in my chair. Everything had been fine up to that point. I’d been making genuine progress with Meredith’s help, but suddenly I wanted to take a sledgehammer to the whole thing.

  Meredith sighed and set the mail aside. “Maybe it’s time to make an appointment with Dr. Howard.”

  “No,” I said quickly, remembering the psychologist’s plunging necklines and naked calves,
the tantalizing spot of darkness between her folded thighs. I gave my head a firm shake to banish the image. When that failed, I hit myself—nothing serious, just one good blow to the forehead with the side of my fist, the way a person might bang on an old flickering television.

  “Don’t,” Meredith said sharply, grabbing my hand.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her.

  “No. It isn’t.”

  But it was okay. It was exactly what I needed. If she’d have let go, I would have done it again, with a little more force. She held both my hands until the tension left them. A familiar heaviness came over me.

  “Do you want to break up?” I asked, almost hopefully.

  “What? No, I want you to feel better.”

  “This is better,” I said. And I meant it. Compared to the state I’d been in a few months before, an occasional knock to the head didn’t just feel healthy, it felt downright therapeutic. Meredith didn’t seem to know what to say to that. She deserved so much better than me: a kind, gregarious man, with an unusually light-hearted disposition.

  She sighed and glanced at her watch. “Survivor’s on in ten minutes. It’s the season finale. Do you want to watch?”

  I nodded, deciding that there was nothing in the world that I’d have rather been doing at that moment than watching Survivor.

  Meredith made popcorn and I turned on the television. Dramatic theme music boomed out of the surround sound. A montage of beautiful mud-streaked people flashed across the screen. We sat on the sofa together, the popcorn bowl between us, and for the span of an hour, everything was okay.

  After Survivor’s final tribal council, we turned off the TV and headed for the bedroom. This was the routine. For whatever reason, sex and Survivor always happened on the same night. We undressed in the dark—kissing the way we always kissed, touching where we always touched. Then I was on top, riding the rhythm without protection, the way Meredith had always preferred it—trusting me to withdraw in time. I started to crest more quickly than usual and stopped. Meredith encouraged me to continue with her hips and I leaned back to look at her face. Her eyes were closed. I assumed she understood the situation and quickened my rhythm, watching her closely, wondering how I could be certain that she was actually there, that this wasn’t just another ghost, another fiction I’d built for myself. Pleasure flooded my body and her eyes snapped open. She stopped moving and stared at me in surprise.