Bow Grip

by Coyote, Ivan E.

  I was up and showered by seven o’clock the next morning, wide awake and ready to go. I couldn’t believe it, but I was actually missing the feeling of getting my hands dirty.

  I could hear Hector moving around next door, flushing his toilet, the bang of water running through old plumbing. I wondered if he would mind if I started in on the cello this early. I didn’t have that much to do with myself.

  I opened up my stress journal.

  7:06 a.m. Trying to relax stresses me out. I work so much because most of the time I don’t know where to put my hands. Maybe that is why I can’t quit smoking.

  Maybe I could take Hector out for breakfast. I picked up the phone to call him, instead of just knocking. Maybe he wasn’t decent yet.

  “Good morning, Hector McHugh residence.”

  “Hector. It’s Joseph. Can I take you out to breakfast? I heard you up over there. Hope it’s not to early to call.”

  “Not at all, my friend. In fact, it’s the best time of the day. I’ll be over in a minute or so.”

  I went to put my journal away in the bureau drawer, but thought again. I should keep it with me. Hector would understand. I could tell him I was writing a book, too. Or I could tell him nothing. Fuck it, I could tell him it was my stress journal. He’d made his own hair fall out from stress, he’d told me so. Maybe Hector already knew all about stress journals.

  Hector rapped three times on the door, then opened it himself. He smelled like soap, and like aftershave, but not the obnoxious stuff. Kind of woody like.

  “You got a favourite place you like for breakfast? I’m buying this time.”

  “Do you like crepes?”

  “Never had them, I don’t think.”

  “What a tragedy. We can take my truck.”

  Hector drove me to a tiny little house converted into a restaurant, with a picket fence around a deck and sparse winter garden. It smelled amazing inside, a combination of coffee and cakes in the oven. When the waitress came, Hector ordered for both of us without even opening the menu.

  “Two Americanos with steamed milk, and two apple and cheddar crepes, please. Thank you, Bernie.”

  “Sure thing, Hector. And this one’s name is…?”

  I remembered the ladder-boned cowboy from a couple nights ago. “My name is Joseph.”

  “Hector has the best-looking friends, I swear.” She winked at me and disappeared into the back. I felt the red warm the back of my neck, and Hector smiled.

  “I believe she’s taken a fancy to you, Joseph.”

  “She probably talks to all the guys like that. Make more tips.”

  “She’s actually not like that at all. She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine. I’ve known her since she was a baby. Bernadette. She’s both the cook and the server here.”

  “I’m sorry Hector. No offense. I didn’t know you were friends.”

  “I’m her godfather.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “I’m trying to set the two of you up, to be quite honest. I was already thinking of asking you here for breakfast when you called. She’s long past due to meet a decent guy, and if you don’t mind me saying so, Joseph, you’ve got lonely all over you, and I thought you two might hit it off. I told her about your cello. I hope you’ll forgive me for meddling, but I wanted her to meet you.” Hector whispered this last bit, looking past me over my shoulder.

  Bernadette appeared with two sturdy mugs of coffee and raised a sly eyebrow at Hector, then disappeared back through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

  I leaned forward across the table, keeping my voice down. “I’m very flattered, Hector, believe me, but I don’t think I’m good dating material right now, if you know what I mean. I’m having panic attacks. I have to keep a stress journal. I’m supposed to be taking things easy. Avoiding stimulants.” I spooned sugar into my coffee, shaking my head at myself.

  “I just thought a bit of female attention might do you some good.”

  “The last thing I need is more women in my life, Hector. My wife is a lesbian, and my mother is a pit bull.”

  “All the more reason to meet a new woman, if you ask me. Reacquaint yourself with the benefits of the fairer sex.”

  Bernadette appeared with our breakfasts, and Hector fell silent, his eyes focused on the beautiful plate she placed front of him. Three perfect crepes, steaming under a light cheese sauce, fresh herbs on the top, a fan of fresh fruit and parsley.

  “Bernadette, you are an artist.”

  “Eat your breakfast, old man. Call me if you need more coffee. I’m making a soufflé and have to keep an eye on it. I’ll come chat when it’s out of the oven.”

  It was the best breakfast I ever had and I ate every scrap of it, would have licked the plate if I were home alone. Hector ate his in an orderly fashion, cutting it into careful bites. I finished way before he did, and found myself eyeing his plate.

  “You could order yourself another, if you’re still hungry.”

  “Sorry. That was the most delicious thing I think I ever ate.”

  “Maybe you should think again about asking her on a date.”

  “I can’t just ask someone out because I like her cooking. That wouldn’t be right.”

  “You see, that is why I want you to go out with her. You’re a good man.”

  “I’m a mess.”

  “Who isn’t?”

  I changed the subject. “How long were you and your wife together before she died?”

  Hector sipped his coffee. “Thirty-two years. I married her when I was twenty, and she died on my fifty-second birthday. Almost eleven years ago. She was fifty-four. Overdosed on painkillers. She had been losing a long argument with cancer for several years. She was in a lot of pain. Some might call it suicide, she would call it bowing out gracefully.”

  “I’m really sorry, Hector, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “I don’t mind at all, it was a long time ago now. I can’t expect you to do all of the talking. Wouldn’t be much of a conversation then, would it?”

  “My mom said pretty much the same thing to me a couple of days ago.”

  “Your mother sounds like a smart woman.”

  Bernadette came out, wiping her hands on a clean rag, and sat down next to Hector.

  “Breakfast was perfect, as usual,” Hector said. “I had to fight Joseph off to keep him from eating mine as well.”

  Bernadette smiled at me. “Where did you meet this old rascal then?”

  “We’re both staying at the Capri. We’re neighbours. I actually live in Drumheller.”

  “I love that town. I drive out to the Hoodoos all the time. I should look you up next time I’m through. Does Hector have your number there?”

  “I’ll make sure I leave it with him. What do we owe you for breakfast? I’m buying.”

  “It’s on me. Hector’s helped me out a lot. The least I can do is feed his friends crepes.”

  “Well, thank you very much. It was the best breakfast I ever had.”

  “You probably say that to all the ladies.”

  “No.” I said. “I’ve never had crepes before today.”

  Bernadette then looked at me with the same direct gaze as Hector. “It was nice to meet you, Joseph. Come by any time. This guy’s here almost every morning.”

  Hector kissed Bernadette on both cheeks, and didn’t say anything until we were back in his truck.

  “She’s a lovely young woman, no? She had a bad experience with her last beau, who was heavy-handed with her. She hasn’t really dated since. The whole experience left her a bit gun-shy.”

  “She doesn’t seem like the type of woman who would put up with any bullshit,” I said.

  “There is no type of woman that allows a man to hit her. There is only the type of man that would beat his wife.”

  “I guess. I just can’t imagine anyone hitting a woman like that and getting away with it.”

  “What makes you think he got away with it? Don’t delude yourself into thinking women are
the weaker sex, Joseph. They are just expected to tolerate more bullshit than we are.”

  “You go to college, Hector? You talk like a professor sometimes.”

  Hector shook his head. “I went to work in the bush as soon as I got through with high school. Driving a bulldozer for the government, fixing up the Alaska Highway. They had built it in such a panic during the war, because of the Japanese threat. I met my wife in Dawson Creek, she was a waitress in her father’s restaurant. I was just a grunt at the time, but after two summers of overtime, I went back there and asked her to marry me. I had saved up for a truck and started my own little business, supplying mining camps all over the north with food and parts, stuff like that. We had good fun together, working like dogs all summer and then travelling five or so months out of the year, spending our winters all over the world.”

  “You never had kids?”

  “No. Anna was an exceptional woman, very strong-minded. She wanted a different life than her mother’s, or any of the other women she knew. We read books, we travelled, we dined. We did whatever we wanted. People with children are not usually afforded those kinds of freedoms. Especially women. Anna believed childbirth was largely responsible for the enslavement of women.”

  “You never wanted a son? Pass on the family name, all that stuff?”

  Hector shrugged. “I guess I never felt it was for me to decide, lacking a womb, as I do.”

  “Sounds like you two were kind of radical.”

  “If a marriage between two equals seems radical to you, then I guess we were.”

  “I meant for forty years ago. Ally and I were kind of like that, too. Equals. We did our own things. We never had kids, but that was only because I lack the necessary sperm count.”

  Before we knew it, we had arrived back at the Capri. Hector turned the engine off and turned to look at me.

  “So how do you feel about that?”

  “I was pretty bummed about it, actually. I really wanted kids, like, three of them, but Ally wanted to start with just one, and see how it went. I was heartbroken when I first found out. Deep blue funk, even. At first I blamed my sperm count when she left me for Kathleen, which is ironic, if you think about it. But now I watch Kelly with Raylene, and how my sister thinks she can’t leave the dink she married because of her two daughters, and I try to imagine how much harder my divorce would have been, you know, with a baby in the picture. How I’d feel only seeing my kid on weekends and every other Christmas, and having to watch someone else raise them up, like some of my buddies have to. Then I think maybe I’m grateful. Raising kids seems a lot more complicated than it used to be.”

  “I think the very same thing all the time. Evidence of it everywhere.”

  We sat there in the truck for another second or two, just staring through the windshield at the empty swimming pool.

  “I should be off,” Hector said finally. “I’ve got a few errands to do.”

  “Me too. Take care of yourself, Hector. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I stood outside my door, watching Hector back his truck out and leave. He raised four fingers at me to wave goodbye, keeping his thumb and the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. My dad used to do the very same thing.

  I sat down on the edge of my bed, my journal open in front of me.

  9:15 a.m. Even the thought of dating anyone stresses me out. It makes me feel broken, just thinking about it. Like I’m missing a wheel, or my transmission won’t let me shift out of reverse. Like I got taken apart and put back together again, but missing a few pieces.

  Seeing Allyson again stresses me out. She seems like she’s morphed into some whole new person, but I’m still here, just being who I’ve always been. Treading water, with all these questions I need answers to. Except the person I want to ask isn’t around anymore.

  I closed the book and picked up the phone.

  Just when I thought I was going to get her machine again, Allyson picked up on the third ring.

  “Joseph! How come you didn’t call me yesterday? Have you checked in with your mother?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m doing?”

  “I was just getting to that. Did you call that doctor yet?”

  “I already had my first session. I’m all over it.”

  “Your first session? Is this going to be a regular thing? Like Tony Soprano?”

  “Who?”

  “He’s a television character, Joey. A mafia crime boss.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “He goes to a shrink, Joseph, pay attention. He goes every week. Is that what you’re going to have to do? That’s going to be a lot of driving, isn’t it? There must be a shrink in Drumheller, the place is full of nut cases.”

  “I like this doctor. Besides, if there’s a shrink in Drumheller, chances are I play hockey with him, or I went to school with his wife or some fucking thing. The drive is worth it. Plus, I’m lining up a cello teacher in Calgary. I’m going to take some lessons. Did I tell you I got myself a cello?”

  “Your mom told me. But I think she thinks it’s a viola. A cello makes more sense.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I can barely imagine you playing the cello, much less a viola, Joey. That’s what it means. You listen to classic rock, is all. I would have thought maybe the electric guitar, or something.”

  “Rick Davis says any dumbfuck can learn to play ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on the electric guitar. He says the cello is classy. That chicks will dig it.”

  “Rick might just be right. I’d like to hear you play the cello sometime.”

  “Not any time soon. All I can play is the first bit of ‘I Found My Thrill on Blueberry Hill.’”

  “Your dad used to love that song, remember?”

  “I think that’s why I picked that song to learn. So what are you up to this morning? Can I come by and drop off these boxes?”

  “Only if you let me take you out for breakfast.”

  “I just finished breakfast with my buddy from next door.”

  “Coffee, then.”

  “I’m supposed to be avoiding stimulants.”

  “Then I’ll buy you a juice. You know what I mean, Joey. Don’t you think we should maybe … hang out, just you and me? Kathleen is at yoga, and then she’s working all afternoon.”

  “What’s she do?”

  “She works in a group home for high-risk kids. She takes them on field trips, does workshops, counselling, stuff like that.”

  “I like her, she seems nice.”

  Allyson was silent for a minute.

  “Come on over, Joey. We can talk face to face, just you and me. I’d really like that.”

  “You want me to bring anything?”

  “Just you.”

  I hung up. Opened up my journal again.

  9:30 a.m. On my way over to meet with Ally. She told me just to bring myself. She used to say that all the time, when I’d call her just before I left work to come home. Do you need anything? All I need right now is you, she would say.

  Stress level: medium, with periods of a slow high. Weather: overcast. Mood: vaguely depressed, giving way to reluctant hope in the late afternoon.

  Before I left, I kind of uncharacteristically took a swig out of the bottle of scotch Hector had left on the desk, then brushed my teeth, so it would just be my little secret. Didn’t want Ally leaking it to my mom that I was hitting the sauce.

  When I arrived, Ally was wearing a pair of blue yoga pants and one of my old shirts, still in her bare feet. I had forgot all about that old shirt. It was corduroy, kind of a suede colour, with pearly snaps. I loved that shirt. I was trying to feel pissed off that Ally had boosted it from me, but the truth was I had forgotten to miss it. Then I got to thinking for a second about Ally wearing my shirt to bed with someone else pressed up against her, and I chased the topic from my mind, because I could feel it starting to make my heart race a little. It occurred to me that hanging out in their love nest might be
negatively affecting my mental health. Probably got blood on their hardwood floors the last time I visited.

  “Why are you shaking your head, Joey? You want to go unload my stuff or not? I’d love to help, but you’re standing on my shoes.”

  I was standing like a dumbfuck, parked like a deep freeze in the middle of her doorway, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I swallowed and looked down. She was right. I passed Ally her runners, the sweat socks balled up inside of them.

  “I parked right out back, close to the elevator. We can drag them that far. They’re pretty heavy, like I said.”

  “Thanks again for bringing my stuff.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for thank you’s, Ally. Be careful of your back when you start lifting the boxes.”

  “I’m thanking you because I mean it, really. I’m sorry I didn’t come and get it all sooner. Besides, you’re the one whose back is shot.”

  “It doesn’t bug me so much as it used to. All that yoga you forced on me helped, after all.”

  “I told you so.”

  “You did so. Mostly I didn’t like going because Franco kept giving me a hard time. Nine thousand jokes about me wearing tights. It got a little tired. I tried telling him how yoga class was just me and twenty really flexible women, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “You care too much what people think.”

  “Let’s go move some boxes.”

  “I’m serious, Joey. It’s bad for your health.”

  “Don’t you have a new wife to nag?”

  Allyson stopped short. “Are you trying to be an asshole?”

  “It just comes to me naturally.”

  “You’re starting to sound like your father.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ally slapped my arm, right where my shirtsleeve was rolled up to. “Smartass.”

  “You’re not allowed to beat me anymore.”

  “Don’t let Kathleen hear you talk like that. She volunteers for a shelter hotline.”

  “Kidding. Besides, you started it.”

  We went on like that while we got her stuff out of my truck into the elevator, dragged it down the hallway, and stashed it in the little office space under the loft. About nothing and everything.