The Not So Simple Life (A Comedy)

by Shea, Stephen

  I picked it up and returned to Odin.

  "We stopped for a shoe?" Violet asked.

  "I couldn't just leave it there."

  "Of course not, how silly of me. How long have you had this fetish?"

  "It's a hobby."

  "At last I've found someone weirder than me."

  I ignored her, opened Odin's trunk and set the Nike in beside six other single shoes. "There's a match somewhere down the road," I prophesied. I slammed the hatch.

  "You couldn't have lost your ring finger like that."

  "What?"

  "It just dawned on me. There's no way to hold a chicken's neck and expose just your ring finger. How did the axe get your ring finger and not the others?"

  I furrowed my brows. "It's the way it happened."

  "I'm not calling you a liar. I just want to understand how."

  "I don't know. Sometimes I think about it for hours. If the axe came in at an angle maybe it'd happen, but my finger was cut straight from one side to the other. Which means either me and my family fabricated this whole story, hiding something even worse or..."

  "Or what?"

  "Something impossible happened. Something like a—I don't know"

  "A miracle?"

  "No! Not a miracle. Just something that can't be explained, maybe fate. I wasn't supposed to have a ring finger...I don't know. I don't like to think about it too much."

  Violet nodded. "No, you might discover something."

  I rolled my eyes. "We should go." We got back in Odin, continued on. I wondered where we were now, realized it didn't matter.

  A gentle sound, right at the edge of being audible, drew my attention. I strained to hear it, thinking Odin's transmission was failing. The high-pitched disturbance grew louder, became clearer, and I realized it wasn't a noise a machine could produce—it was human.

  Violet was humming. I listened, not commenting, wanting to hear more. Her muffled tones grew, ascending scales, emerging as a song sung in Chinese, eerie and compelling, each note awakening emotions in me: sadness, warmth, loss. A lullaby, urging comfort. Then as quietly as she had begun, Violet trailed off.

  The silence that followed was rich with potential.

  "My father knew when he was going to die," Violet whispered. I found myself dreamy, struggling to listen to her. "He came out into the front room, beaming, and said I'm going to die today. He called his brother and his cousins, got me to bring my friends and that night we all crowded into our dining room to eat. When the meal was done our guests left one by one and each received a gift that father had kept for them. When everyone was gone he leaned over me and took my face in both hands, his palms burning with energy. ' Dad you can never die, never,' I said, but he only smiled at me. 'Violet,' he whispered, 'you will always be my little flower.' Then he gave me a box he pulled out of a pocket in his robes. Inside was a green broach: a dragonfly. 'It will bring you luck,' he promised and he held me for a long time before going to sleep in his bed for the last time. In the morning mother woke me to tell me he was dead."

  "I'm sorry." Weak words, possessing none of the healing power they needed.

  "I just want you to understand, to know. I guess. More about me. Because there are bad things. Things I haven't told you." She was sobbing softly.

  "There, there," I whispered. The English language was failing me. I reached to touch her, to convey my feelings through physical contact, but my hand was intercepted by the gearshift. I allowed it to rest there, halfway between us.

  The highway went on forever and I sped up, wanting to strand our conversation at the side of the road.

  I drove until I began to nod.

  "Why don't we find a place to stay?" Violet said.

  I immediately strained my eyes for a hint of civilization. Lights appeared, floated towards us and suddenly we were surrounded by buildings. We pulled off the highway and parked beside a motel with a restaurant built two feet away from one end. Its windows were yellow with light, dotted with heads.

  It seemed as good a place as any.

  Eleven

  Never Combine Hockey and Sex

  We entered the office first. I pushed open the door and it banged into the desk. Violet and I squeezed ourselves inside and waited. A truck calendar hung on one wall, keys on hooks beside it.

  A sleepy looking woman with a lumpy body marched out from the adjoining room. "What'll it be?" Her first challenge to us.

  "Uh..." I started. Would Violet want to sleep together?

  "A room for tonight," Violet finished.

  "Thirty dollars then—25 for the room and 5 more for double occupancy."

  We both dug out money, the woman snatched it from our hands and after signing a notebook, she handed me a key. "Check outs eleven. In the morning." Then she turned and trudged into the back room.

  "I thought it would be better to share and save money," Violet explained on the way to our quarters.

  "Good idea," I answered, finding myself nervous. I became more aware of her body, the subtle curve of her hips. Were we going to sleep in the same bed? Or would I be banished to the floor?

  This is it boys. The impossible might happen tonight!

  We arrived at room 43, a peculiar number since there were only twelve rooms in total. The door was unlocked. It wouldn't open with a simple shove so I put my weight into it and it gave way suddenly. I stumbled inside, Violet snickering behind me. I found the light switch, flicked. I heard a scuffling sound. Rats fleeing? But the room was clean, small and Spartan. A double bed dominated everything.

  There was a bathroom...thank God (if he exists).

  Forgetting my manners, I charged inside. The door wouldn't quite shut so I shouldered it into place.

  Once done I checked the mirror again. Travel hair, not quite fluffy, not quite flat. I grasped the door knob, gave it a twist.

  It wouldn't budge.

  I wrapped a towel around the knob for more grip. This time it turned, but there was a snapping sound. I glanced to either side. No windows.

  "Is something wrong, Casey?"

  "Uh...well...the door is broken."

  She tried it. "The thing-ama-gig inside isn't coming out. I can fix it." She took a few steps away then I heard a zip, a clink, and she was back again. A prying, scraping sound followed and with a click I was free.

  Violet stood there, smiling lopsidedly, a butter knife in her left hand. "I wasn't trying to get you out," she explained, one hand on her stomach. "I needed to get in."

  "Be my guest," I bowed and she slipped by me, careful not to close the door all the way.

  I wandered around the room, humming. Her backpack was on the bed, open. I felt the urge to look inside, but one of those rare episodes of etiquette came over me and I drifted past it to the window and pulled back the curtain. Cars flew down the highway like huge metal fireflies.

  "Where'd you get the knife, anyway?" I asked.

  "It's my good luck knife."

  "Lucky for me." I plopped myself down on the bed.

  Violet came out a few minutes later, smelling of perfume. "Shall we eat?"

  We went to the restaurant, passing a pay phone. I made a mental note to call my mother in the morning. Guess what, Mom! I'm an unemployment statistic now! Proud of me?

  The restaurant was packed. Truckers and families were jammed together, bumping elbows and sharing salt and pepper shakers. Violet and I squeezed ourselves into a table in the corner. We both ordered hamburgers. Halfway through the meal it dawned on me again that we would be sleeping in the same room and I felt a sudden anxiety. The small details flooded my mind. Would I have to go to the bathroom and change into my sleeping clothes or just turn out the light? What would she wear? What side would she sleep on?

  Then my thoughts turned towards nudity. While Violet was in the middle of a story about China (which would have enthralled me in any other situation), I pictured her breasts, seeing dark brown nipples, moving with the rhythm of her breath.

  I noticed she was silent. I pa
nicked, wondering if she was waiting for a response. Maybe she had read my mind! Violet looked directly into my eyes.

  What have I done?

  "Is something wrong?" she asked finally.

  "No, why?" Was I sweating? I started tapping my feet under the table. Stopped.

  "You seem to have a problem with eye contact."

  "I'm sorry, it's not you; it's the...the food. My stomach is upset. Traveling or something."

  "Well don't eat it then." Motherly wisdom. And I had this sudden image of her and me with kids, Odin in the background parked beside a cabin. I shook my head. These ghost families of Casey's future had been visiting me more frequently as I neared thirty. Every time I looked at an attractive woman I pictured her in a wedding dress.

  Vat do you tink it means, Dr. Freud?

  I left my plate half full and we returned to our room. I felt more calm now, looking back I had acted like a teenager. Had it been that long since I'd had sex? Counting on one hand, a year per finger...I grew depressed.

  I locked the door and when I turned, Violet was already sitting on the bed, her back to me, undressing. I edged towards her.

  "Is this my side?" I hesitantly touched the pillow.

  "Looks like it," she answered, working at the last buttons on her shirt.

  I undressed and slipped under the sheets, careful not to stray over the imaginary line between us. My feet were cold.

  The light clicked off and Violet slid into bed. Her knee bumped me, rested against my lower back momentarily. I held still, hoping for further contact. Violet's breath was warm against my shoulder.

  Why was she so close?

  "It's been a good day, Casey," she whispered. Her hand touched my arm, lingered there. A welcome guest.

  "Yes, it has," I answered weakly. I had forgotten how to breathe.

  And now class, watch as subject A grows very, very nervous.

  "Why are you so tense?"

  I didn't answer. She laughed lightly. "You're silly, Casey. Everything's new to you so you're scared. I told you, I've been here a thousand years." She traced a warm line down my arm, across my side, to my buttocks. I didn't move. She curled up to me, exploring with her hand for a few wonderful moments.

  Suddenly eager I spun towards her, all my masculinity rising inside and outside of me. Making me strong and perfect, the greatest lover since Don Juan.

  The king is in the building!

  I tried to roll on top of her and banged my skull on the headboard.

  "Ow!" I said, bringing my hand up to my head.

  "Ow!" Violet cried.

  I had caught her in the jaw. Two minutes for elbowing! "Sorry...sorry."

  "Oo ade e ite ny ong," Violet whispered.

  "What?" Oh God, I had hit her so hard she could only speak Chinese. "What?"

  "I said: you made me bite my tongue."

  "I'm so stupid, sorry," I reached towards her, felt my finger hit something soft.

  "My eye!" she shrieked, loud enough to wake up the neighbors.

  "Sorry...sorry...sorry," I caught my breath. "Sorry...sorry...sorry."

  There was no response. Was she out cold?

  She grabbed my arm, held it tightly. "Just don't move a muscle," she commanded. "Don't even twitch. We're going to do this if it kills us."

  I froze. She let go of me.

  Violet was silent for a moment, probably checking to see if her eye was still in its socket. Then she drew in her breath, like someone about to do a long, menial task. I felt her legs against mine. She rolled on top and pushed me down.

  She kissed me softly. Stopped. "You can move now," she whispered, then laughed. "You don't have to sit there like a wet noodle."

  I returned her kiss. I had never felt lips so soft.

  I wished for light, I wished I could see her body, instead only darkness and warmth.

  And hardness.

  Houston, we are A-Okay for lift off!

  Suddenly Violet froze, pulled back from our kiss. "You must really hate chickens."

  "What?"

  Then she giggled and magically I was inside her, a sudden soft movement that led to an urgency and onwards, upwards, her hips centering me down. Violet chuckled with every motion, had me laughing all the way to the edge of the universe.

  Sleep was the seventh wave, pulling me into pleasant, restful darkness.

  Twelve

  Casey Does a Double-take

  Unprotected sex!

  I awoke with a shock, sat up. Violet was showering, warbling a bubbly Chinese song. My only bedfellow was my guilt. Not once did I ask about her sexual history. Any moment from now the Unprotected Sex Patrol, a group of old Schoolmarms in Nazi uniforms, would be diving through the window and ramming down the door, brandishing condoms and a long list of sexually transmitted diseases.

  You have STD #517B! First your IQ drops, then your penis falls off.

  I knew I was healthy. I had been to the doctor after my last relationship and had every form signed and completed in triplicate.

  The shower stopped, the singing didn't. In a moment Violet would emerge with a towel wrapped around her head.

  One look in my eyes and she'd know what I was thinking.

  I yanked on my sweats and a t-shirt and scampered out of our room, into the open air. A hazy day closed in on me, either morning or late afternoon. A semi growled past, the ground rumbled.

  I needed more space.

  I wandered around to the back of the motel, discovering open prairie and no sign of humanity except a fence with one loose barbed wire. In the distance were those rare creatures of the flatlands: hills.

  The motel blocked the sounds from the highway, making this area almost peaceful. I drew in my breath two or three times, then I began swinging my arms back and forth, twisting my torso—warming up for Tai Chi. My fears retracted their tentacles and sank into the mire of phobias I had collected throughout my life.

  Staring out at the distance reminded me of a time, years before, when my father and I were fixing the fence on the north east corner of our farm, high above the valley. I had just finished hammering a staple into a post when Dad said, "That's in nice and straight. This is turning into a good fence."

  Was that a compliment? What would he do next? Speak Portuguese and tap dance?

  What followed was one of the strangest moments in my life. He gripped my shoulder and pointed down into the valley where our buildings sat, looking like miniatures. His hand felt gigantic, warm and alien.

  "Did you know all this was covered by ice once? Thick white ice, like a frozen ocean. It helped carve the valley, flattened the plains. But it never reached the top of these hills where we're standing. You can see the scars all along the edges. Can you imagine standing where we are today and seeing nothing but ice?"

  It was not like my father to speak of anything but the weather, the livestock and the price of wheat. I never dreamed he would give a moment's thought to an ice age. But with his voice in my ear, I could see it all. Him and I, alone, surrounded by glittering ice.

  I let the memory go and began practicing Tai Chi. For the first time in months my motions edged near perfection. I flowed from one to the other, no conscious thought, the form as natural as breathing. My human sky—my mind—cleared. Soon, I finished and headed back to the room, each step darkening this clarity.

  I turned the corner of the motel, stopped when I saw the public phone. Resigned to my duties as a son, I trudged over and dialed home with my calling card. I momentarily feared Dad would answer, which would force me to hang up.

  "Hello."

  Mom's voice. I released my breath. Such a debilitating thing to be afraid of your father.

  "Hi."

  "Casey! I phoned you this morning. Where were you?"

  "Um...I wasn't home. I'm on holidays."

  "You're what?"

  "Taking a vacation." A long one.

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I forgot."

  "You forgot?" Please don't ask me any more q
uestions. "Where are you?"

  "Somewhere in Alberta, I think."

  "Don't you know?"

  "It doesn't matter, Mom." My impertinence was rewarded with a long silence. "It's one of those small towns on the way to Calgary," I offered.

  "I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out." Sarcasm? With Mom one never knew. "Sarah Brennan is still visiting us," she added.

  "Oh, is she?" Sarah Brennan?

  "Yes. She wants to get in touch with her son, he lives in Lanigan. Isn't that near Saskatoon? I think he's twenty or so. Sarah works as a lawyer out east. I didn't know we had any lawyers on your father's side. Even though she married into the family, it's still good to have one. I can't figure out why she can't get a hold of her son. You'd think she'd call him before she came all the way out here. Seems like the common sense thing to do."

  I was lost, already my hand had fallen asleep and I couldn't feel the phone. "Mom, I have to go."

  "Oh, you're in a hurry?" she huffed. "I understand. You should drop by Christopher's place once you figure out where you are. You remember how to get there, right? Tell him to phone your Dad. He's been working too hard and coughing like a sick horse. Goodbye."

  "Bye, Mom." But she had already hung up, angered that I'd dared to try to end the conversation.

  Step aside Mr. Bates, outta my way Oedipus, I've got a story the therapist won't believe.

  Thirteen

  Methinks there's Something in your Backpack

  I returned to the room. Violet was sitting on the bed, her hand in her backpack. "Oh...uh...hi," she said, glancing nervously at me.

  She looked guilty. What was she doing? "You hungry?" I asked, edging closer. Trying to peer inside her pack.

  "I have something to show you." She removed a small wooden jewelry box. She displayed it with her right hand and patted the bed with her left.

  I sat. On each side of the box was an intricate carving: mountain scenes with bright suns, junks straining to stay afloat in choppy waters, clashing Chinese armies.