by Mel Bossa
I had dozed off.
At the sight of this arrogant salesman towering over me, grinning devilishly, I popped up on my chair and wiped my damp cheek with the back of my hand.
“Hey, easy now. You’ll give yourself a head rush.” Nathan seemed perfectly amused.
I shot him a puzzled glance, and adjusted my jacket.
His dark eyes quickly moved over me, and I flinched, as if he had seen me in my boxer shorts. “Lunch is up in the next room,” he said. “They have liters of coffee. Not very good, but by the looks of you, I don’t think you’ll mind.” He extended his hand. I stared at it for a moment, and then reached out. “I’m Nate.” He pumped my hand as if we were sealing an important transaction. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”
I frowned. How could this jerk know my name?
He laughed, then flicked the plastic badge I had clipped on my jacket. “Your name tag.”
I glanced down.
Right.
“So,” he asked, pulling me out of my chair as if it was the most natural thing to do, “accounting or marketing?”
That afternoon, we were tormented with more presentations, but though I had rarely witnessed such blatant disregard for engaging talk, I was excessively alert. Every time I turned my head, I would catch Nathan’s gaze devouring my face. By the last interminable presentation, Nathan’s persistent stare had worked itself under my skin, and I began holding it.
Soon, the chemistry between us had reached levels fit to dizzy any inhibited, guilt-tripping Irish Catholic boy.
I could barely swallow.
When the VP of communications broke out the projector, my will left me. I dared a glance Nathan’s way. His eyes gleamed with desire. I lowered my gaze to his full lips and caught them mouthing the words, “I want you.”
That was it.
Nathan’s room was on the second floor. We shot up the steps, ripping at each other’s clothes.
We nearly did it in the staircase, but managed to make it to his room. He dropped his key card twice before he could open the door, and I huddled against him, whispering, “Hurry. Oh God, hurry.”
That was two years ago.
Since I’ve met Nathan, my life has changed. Through his mind-boggling social network, Nathan has helped me secure a job as a financial analyst with the Bank of Canada. He’s paid my school loans, put me in touch with a wonderful speech therapist who, through grueling exercises and persistent coaching, has completely rid me of my stuttering problem (though, at times, when cornered or nervous, I do have some small setbacks).
Nathan has made my dreams come true. I owe him much. I’m very grateful to him.
What does it matter if I don’t particularly like modern art or sushi? What does it matter that I prefer a Guinness to sake? Or popcorn to soy nuts? None of these things matter. What is important is our commitment to one another.
Yes, he works a lot. Travels a lot too. But that’s normal. That’s to be expected. Patience is a virtue I intend on cultivating. No sense in placing blame. I knew what the score was when we agreed to take this dive. This lifestyle doesn’t come cheap, and with my less than impressive salary, my contribution is mainly domestic.
Aunt Fran can squint at me all she wants.
I’m perfectly happy with my life.
*
Dear Bump,
Dad is leaving for two months.
On account of a job in the Hudson Bay. I’m going to be responsible for the garbage and snow shoveling. Some of the cleaning too, but mostly the scrubbing of the toilet bowl. Aunt Frannie is coming to stay with us until Christmas. Dad is leaving on a train, and he’s leaving on Tuesday. He said, “Take care of your ma and don’t let Aunt Frannie drink too much.”
I’ve never been on a train, but I’ve been on the subway a lot, so that counts for something.
Next week is Halloween. I’m going as a pirate. Boone is going as a mass murderer. Him and Nick have been working on some sort of graveyard set. They plan on “having little kids shit their E.T. costumes.” When I was there yesterday, they were trying out a home recipe for fake blood and human tissue. Mrs. Lund warned, “If one of you ends up blind because of this revolting mixture, don’t expect me to drive you around for the rest of your life.” But she stuck around the kitchen anyway. I think she was fascinated by the result.
I didn’t know this, but Nick is really good at arts and crafts.
I tried not to watch him, but that’s like trying to keep my eyes on a book when the TV is on.
I noticed everything Nick picks up always looks so much more interesting in his fingers. He made a mask out of papier-mâché. It’s in the shape of a human face, except it has no mouth, just two slits for the eyes, and a pair of small holes for the nose. When Nick slipped it on, he looked terrifying. Then he tried on Johan’s old work clothes and walked around the house for an hour. I played my worst game of chess ever. Every time I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, I squirmed in my seat. I think he grew two inches since August. Nick must be close to six feet tall now. His voice is just as deep as Johan’s. His shoulders are wider than the fridge.
It was his sixteenth birthday on August eighth. Johan gave him a car. It doesn’t work, but they’re going to fix it up together. Nick knows a lot about cars and mechanics. It’s a Chevy Nova.
I hope we don’t encounter problems, you know, on account of us living without Dad. I don’t know if Mom knows how to change a fuse. Dad showed me where he keeps his shotgun. It isn’t loaded, so it doesn’t matter much that I don’t know how to use it. “Just to scare ’em,” he said.
Mom’s hair is growing back, but she’s skinny. I don’t like it when she hugs me because I can feel her bones on my stomach.
Aunt Frannie said, “I’m going to show you how to cook. If your mom knows you made it, she’ll have to eat it.”
I don’t mind learning how to cook. I just don’t want anyone knowing about it. If JF or his friends find out that I’m spending Sunday morning baking cookies, even Boone won’t be able to stop them from torturing me.
They’ve started calling me a homo, and yes, Bump, I know what a homo is.
Well, I’m pretty sure I know.
Jesse Chao quit the math club. Can you believe him? “I kissed a girl on her privates,” he said.
But it’s a lie, of course. Boone and JF cornered him during recess and demanded to know what it looked like. Jesse said it had a pair of lips and five small holes. Boone gave Jesse a wedgie while JF slapped his ears pink.
Boone got detention again, but JF got off with a warning.
*
Dear Bump,
I really need to start using my head if I’m going to become an accountant.
I’m grounded until next Saturday. I’ve never been grounded before.
It all started with an argument during gym.
We were playing volleyball. I don’t mind playing volleyball, but I don’t like to serve. My wrist ends up looking like a lobster tail, and I hardly ever get the ball over the net. I was lucky yesterday, because of Boone and Sebastian’s fight, I didn’t get to serve.
Boone and Sebastian have been sworn enemies since the first grade. Sebastian lives on Gordon Street, where the “decent people live,” and he constantly brags because his father owns the building. Also, on top of that, when Sebastian’s white Adidas get too dirty, his mom buys him a new pair.
Everybody hates him, but no one ever says it to his face.
Except for Boone.
Sebastian has an older brother. David. David is the same age as Nick. David and Nick are also sworn enemies, but the two of them were once best friends. They used to share a paper run and build the best snow forts in the neighborhood.
Until Miguel Santos moved to Verdun.
Miguel was only here for a year, but he left a disaster area behind him. After Miguel moved back to Toronto, Nick and David never spoke to each other again. Now David goes to Loyola. It’s an all-boys Catholic school. Nick goes to Monseigneur Richard. I
t’s a French public school. It’s brown and looks like a jail. Yesterday was the first time Nick and David spoke in two years. I think they might be friends again. Even though Nick had to give back the Chevy Nova on account of what he did to David’s house.
What happened was this.
Yesterday morning, in gym class, we had been playing for ten minutes when Boone’s turn to serve came up. He and Sebastian had both been named captain of their teams. Sebastian’s team was winning, on account of them cheating twice. Coach Angelos hadn’t caught Sebastian’s double hits (he never does for some reason), so we hadn’t gotten the points for them.
Boone’s eyes had shrunk a size and his mouth was a straight line on his face.
He was going to pop his lid.
“Watch this.” Boone grabbed the ball and made his way to the back of the court. “I’ll show ’em.”
I took my position and held my breath. I know how hard Boone can hit that ball, and somehow, I had a feeling he wasn’t going to be aiming it at the ground.
I was right.
Boone looked straight at me, bounced his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, and before I could try to reason with him, he had tossed the ball up, slamming it over the net in a powerful jump serve. We all heard the ball as it bounced off his skin and flew across the court like a stray bullet. Boone’s aim is near perfect. It’s hardly ever off. When it landed on Sebastian’s cheek, I cringed.
Then someone whispered, “Ooh…that must have hurt.”
Of course, Sebastian had to play it up. He fell to his knees and started screaming. “My face! My face!” Coach Angelos blew his whistle and ordered Catherine to get the nurse. Sebastian only yelped louder, moaning that he couldn’t feel his face anymore.
Boone sneered. “How come it hurts, then? Huh? Liar.”
I tried to keep Boone quiet. I knew Coach Angelos was going to get on his case as soon as he was done tending to Sebastian’s swollen, reddish cheek.
“Don’t say-say anything el-else,” I pleaded softly. “Tonight’s Hal-Halloween, remember-ber?” I didn’t want Boone to get detention. We had plans to go trick or treating. This was going to be our last year. “Go ask if he’s okay-kay.” I suggested in a whisper.
Boone only scoffed. “Are you crazy? No way. He had it coming for him.” Then he raised his voice. His words thundered through the gym. “Bastian, you cheater! I hope your face stays like that! You should thank me, now you don’t even need a mask for—”
“Mr. Lund.” Coach Angelos was getting to his feet. His usually warm brown eyes were sharp on Boone’s pink face. “Out you go. Change your shorts and go to Principle Strozuk’s office.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Boone threw his hands up and kicked the ball across the gym. “No fair.”
As Boone passed out the gym doors, Sebastian cried out, “I’ll get you back for this, Boone! You and your retarded brother!”
Boone spun around. “What did you say?” His face was white with anger.
Coach Angelos set his humongous hand on Boone’s chest. “Easy, Lund.”
But Boone’s eyes were on Sebastian, who was still on his knees, glaring up at him. “You heard me,” said Sebastian. “Your brother’s so fucking dumb, he can’t even read a license plate.”
I don’t know how Boone got past Coach Angelos, but somehow, he did. He lunged at Sebastian and fell on top of him. All I could see were Boone’s arms going up and down, and Coach trying to pull him off. “Stop it!” he kept saying to Boone, but Boone wouldn’t stop. “Don’t ever call my brother a retard! My brother’s dyslexic! You and your faggot brother don’t even know how to spell that word.”
Later that night, after we were all safe in our beds, I looked the word up in the dictionary. Dyslexia: any of various reading disorders associated with impairment of the ability to interpret spatial relationships or to integrate auditory and visual information.
I guess it means Nick can’t read or write without thinking about it for a long time. That’s probably why he always looks so serious.
Boone is suspended from school until Friday.
He’s not allowed to leave his apartment until Christmas.
That’s two months. I think he got lucky.
Here I was, all dressed up in my pirate costume, but no one to go trick or treating with.
I could have gone with JF, but I didn’t feel like taking his abuse all night. Lately, JF has been getting meaner and meaner with me. I don’t know why he hates me so much. He keeps staring at me all the time. His eyes move over me the way Aunt Frannie’s eyes move over the deli counter.
Aunt Frannie helped me with my makeup and lent me her red scarf to tie around my head. I had an eye patch, and she even made a hook out of tin foil to stick inside my sleeve. I wore my black shorts and my dad’s white shirt. I was aiming to look like Long John Silver (I read Treasure Island four times since Aunt Frannie gave it to me ), but when I stood in front of the mirror, all I saw was a skinny boy dressed up like a gypsy. I decided I was too old for Halloween anyway. I would stay home and help Aunt Frannie give out the candy.
Our part of the building wasn’t decorated, but the Lunds’ front yard looked like something out of the “Thriller” video. They even had creepy music and everything.
I sat on the balcony steps and watched the street.
“Why don’t you go out there with your friends?” Aunt Frannie asked.
“I have a sto-stomach ache.”
“Red, honey, you’re missing out on all the fun.” She spoke through her fake teeth. She was dressed up as a woman vampire. Her long red dress hung all the way down to the floor, and her wig was black and shiny. “Are you sad about Boone?”
I shrugged.
“Suit yourself, but I still think you look too darn cute to be sitting here moping around.”
Cute? I’m eleven.
“I wanna.”
Besides, I wanted to watch Nick and his friends.
Josh D’Amico, who’s the only boy I know who had a beard in grade seven, wore a hockey mask and a plaid shirt. He stood quietly at the far corner of the front yard, stiff as a statue, and every time kids came up the steps, he would lunge at them, screaming like a crazy man. Terry, who was dressed up as a headless nun, would then grab the kids by their sleeves, and yell, “Trick or treat? Come on, what’ll it be, you little bugger!”
The kids who made it to the front door were finally greeted by Nick.
I liked his persona best.
Nick wore the mask he had made, and a black jumpsuit that made his shoulders seem wider than usual. The suit had a shiny zipper all along the front. His hair was tucked under a black cowboy hat. Nick didn’t say one word. Never made a single sound. He would only drop a few candies into the courageous kid’s treat bag and nod slowly.
It was beyond creepy.
It was great.
Until Mrs. Lund came back with Lene.
She had passed a few of our neighbors on her way. Some of their little kids were in tears. “Nicolai!” she yelled from the sidewalk. “You stop frightening the children! Let your dad give out the candy.”
Nick nodded slowly. His silence was even creepier than when he had done it for the kids. Josh and Terry, who are terrified of Mrs. Lund, ran off with the Sanchez girls. Nick stayed behind.
Lene was dressed up as Marie Curie. I know because she showed me a picture of the scientist in the Lunds’ encyclopedia. She cut loose of Mrs. Lund’s firm grip and skipped up our front steps.
She sat by me. “Hello, Derek.”
“Hi, Lene.”
“Are you the Count of Monte Cristo?”
“No.”
“Don Juan?”
“No.”
“Our baby is sleeping. The cat ate one of her eyes out, but the doctor said she would be fine without it.”
“Lene? Why is your to-ton-tongue bl-u-ue?”
She plucked a lollipop out of her apron. “I was sucking on this. You wanna taste it?”
“No
.”
“How come you aren’t trick or treating?”
“Don’t wa-wa-want to.”
Then, like some kind of slow, deep dream, Nick’s voice dripped down to me. “Come on, Lene.” He leaned over the railing. “Mom wants you to take your bath.” He wasn’t wearing his mask or hat anymore.
Lene pouted. “You know, Nico, baths weren’t common practice in the early 1900s, and I—”
“Inside, Lene. Now.”
Even Lene knew not to protest. She got to her feet, and Nick picked her up, carrying her as if she were a doll, right over the railing. “Come on, bright eyes, and wash your mouth. It looks like a Smurf had an accident on your tongue.”
I got nervous.
There weren’t that many kids anymore. Nick and I were basically alone. I wanted to go back inside, but that meant having to say good night at least, and I didn’t know if I could manage to do that. My mouth was too dry. My tongue, too heavy. I sat on the first step, trying to keep my breathing in check, with my hands on my lap, staring at the empty sidewalk.
I could see Nick out of the corner of my eye.
He leaned over the front railing, watching the street. “You want some of this leftover candy?” he finally said. “Nothing but toffee and raisins, but I think I saw a few gum sticks in there.”
I dared to look over my shoulder. “No-no thank you-ou.”
“No? Sure?” He was handing me the plastic pumpkin over the railing. He looked nine feet tall. The street lamp shimmered inside his eyes. “Come on, O’Reilly.” His mouth glistened like water under the moon. “Have a box of dried raisins, at least.”
I wanted to, but that meant having to reach out and take the pumpkin out of his hand. I wasn’t sure if I could do it, but he still stood there, with his arm stretched over the railing, and I had to get myself together. “All right,” I said, standing up. “Than-thanks.”
I took whatever my fingers landed on, and stuffed that in my pocket without even looking at it. Nick set the pumpkin down, shut the front door, and then stood against the wall with his hands in his pockets. I wanted to sit down again, but instead, I stayed by the railing, staring at the ground.