“Where do you go during the day?” she asked. “Can I ask you that?”
“You can ask me anything. I go to the university. At least, I start off trying to go there. Sometimes I don’t make it and I am not too sure what happens.”
“I don’t understand. Do you have blackouts?”
“Nope. It is more like I get distracted. I slip into a daydream and I miss the bus I am supposed to take and I take whatever bus comes along next. I know, rationally, that the bus is not going in the same direction as the one I was supposed to take, but I can’t help myself. There is a voice in my head that says ‘a bus is a bus’ and next thing I know, I am on the wrong bus. Then I drift around getting off here or there, and I might find a bookstore in which case I can lose a day reading. Or I watch people or I think about my poems.”
“Don’t the people at the university mind?”
“They think my coming and going is part of my so-called genius. And who knows, maybe it is but it is not something I can control. I have been this way since I was very little.”
Henry face suddenly lost its cheer. He cracked his knuckles and Megan winced.
“That’s why my mother sent me to boarding school when I was five,” he added. “Mother said I was too much of a risk to myself, and my nannies could not control me, and so she gave up.”
“When you were five?” Megan sat up and sloshed water, horrified. “Who sends their kid away when they’re five? Sorry. I shouldn’t criticize your mother. I don’t even know her.”
“It is fine. Once you meet her, you’ll understand. It is also this temperature thing. I am out of sync with the natural world and I am out of sync with other people. Normal people are regulated by temperature and seasons and time but that’s not the case with me. And even day and night. I get them mixed up. I do night things in the day and day things in the night. Ordinary people don’t do that. They work during the day and they sleep at night. I can start reading a book at two in the morning and I will read until the afternoon of the following day and then I’ll sleep. My world works differently from the rest of mankind. Apologies. Womankind. Peoplekind.”
“It must make having a job pretty tough,” Megan commented, wriggling her toes on the faucet. “I can’t see my bosses being okay with that.”
“I have never had a job. Not even a summer one. Because I can’t. You are right, no one can put up with it. That’s also why I haven’t had a girlfriend up till now either. I never thought anybody would be able to handle my situation, but then I met you.”
“And I let you down by having a huge meltdown.” Megan flushed red and her eyes filled with tears.
“No, you did not. You told me how you felt. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to see me again. Thank you for that, by the way. Have you had a boyfriend before?”
“Yes. His name was Joshua and I was so in love with him. But he and his family are Orthodox Jews and he said there wasn’t any point in us seeing each other. He waited until we had been dating for three months before he told me. I would have been better off if he hadn’t asked me out at all and I wish he hadn’t. I only dated him for three months and then I spent two years crying about it.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I dated him when I was sixteen and now I am nearly twenty-two.”
“No one in between?”
“No one in between.”
They grinned at each other.
“I think I am ready to get out of the bath now,” she said.
“I’ll dismantle the candelabra,” he told her and he blew the candles out.
“Make a wish with each candle,” Megan said. “But don’t tell me what it is.”
He held the towel for her when she got out and he wrapped it around her and patted her dry. “You are so beautiful,” he said. “You are my dream girl.”
She laughed and was about to say something when he put a finger to her lips.
“Ssh,” he said. “You are about to say something self-deprecating and it’s not necessary. Besides, I think I should finish drying you in the bedroom. We don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“Henry,” she said, “you really are a genius.”
The following weekend, Henry took Megan home to meet his family. They caught the subway to Rosedale and as they got closer, Megan could feel the tension building. Henry’s shoulders climbed up to his ears and he started drumming his fingers on his knee. She grabbed his hand. “We don’t have to do this,” she said but he shook his head.
“We do.”
They got off the train and crossed the bridge close to the tracks.
“The houses here are mansions,” Megan marvelled. “I’ve never been here, not in all the time I’ve lived in Toronto, which isn’t that long, but still. And the gardens are works of art, not like where I’m from, where a rose bush and a garden gnome count as landscaping.” She was trying to lighten the mood but she could see it wasn’t working and she fell quiet, holding his hand as they wound down one street and up another.
The porches were piled high with Halloween decorations, and large clay pots bloomed with purple, burnt orange, and white chrysanthemums. Expensive fall wreaths hung from every door, and carved pumpkins lined the steps. Megan didn’t voice her unease but she felt distinctly out of place. She tugged her last-season’s Sears jacket down with her free hand and hoped that Henry’s parents wouldn’t be home.
“There it is,” Henry said, a note of desperation in his voice. Megan looked where he was pointing, and she wanted to turn and run. The house reminded her of The Keg mansion on Jarvis Street, where her parents had taken her for her twenty-first birthday. She had heard rumours that The Keg was haunted and she was sure that Henry’s family home came with its own crowd of unhappy ghosts.
They stood outside the ornamental wrought-irons gates and Henry dug in his pocket for a set of keys. His face was tight and his hands were shaking as he punched in a security code. The gate opened slowly, as if it too was questioning the soundness of their visit. “I always think they’ll change the combination and not tell me,” he murmured, more to himself than Megan.
They walked up the long curved driveway and the silence felt oppressive. Megan felt as if she was being watched from all sides and she realized she wasn’t holding Henry’s hand so much for him as for herself. “Not much noise in this neighbourhood,” Megan whispered and Henry tried to smile.
“You’ve got that right,” he said.
He fitted a key into the front door and pushed it open. The door was painted a high-gloss red enamel and an elaborate artificial wreath of maple leaves and berries hung in its centre. Megan thought the wreath must have cost a month of her salary.
The polished hallway was spotless and there was a Persian rug in the centre of the gleaming hardwood floor. A carved antique wooden table held a tall crystal vase, spilling an abundance of roses in shades of pink, peach, and apricot.
Henry flicked on a light switch and the vase glittered under the light. It seemed to Megan that there wasn’t anything in the house that didn’t gleam or shine.
Henry was about to head for the curved staircase to the left of the table when he and Megan heard a voice.
“Henry?”
Both Henry and Megan started in fright. Megan pressed close to Henry, and she could feel his body shaking.
“Dad. Yes, it’s me.”
“Been a while.”
“Yeah.”
There was silence.
Henry’s father had emerged from a shadowed hallway. He was tall — a good six feet — but he was a wraith, a thin scarecrow frame for the undeniably costly clothes that hung loosely. His cheeks were sunken and the hollows underneath his eyes were black. Megan recalled a moment at the pub, the night she had met Henry, when, after he had finished reciting his poems and was wrung out, she had noticed his eyes closed and deeply shadowed. She could see the
similarity between father and son.
“I’m Megan,” she said and she went up to Henry’s father and stuck out her hand.
Henry’s father shook it uncertainly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do.
“Henry?” A female voice this time, and not a happy one at that.
Megan turned to the voice, in time to see Henry stiffen.
“Mother,” he said, striving for a casual tone and failing. “I’ve brought my girlfriend home to visit. I thought she should see the happy hearth upon which I was so lovingly raised.”
“I see you’ve lost none of your gratitude for all the things your father and I have done for you.”
Henry’s mother scrutinized her son. He was once again wearing his girly hospital orderly garb, his yellow flip-flops, and the scarf that Megan had given him.
“Please tell me none of the neighbours saw you like that,” she said, and Henry shrugged.
“They know me,” he replied.
“Yes,” his mother said. “That is correct. They do.”
Megan felt trapped in a malevolent current of hatred and pain. She looked back at Henry’s father who hadn’t moved an inch and then she turned to Henry’s mother, who was frowning with obvious displeasure. She was about to say something when Henry grabbed her hand.
“Mother,” he said. “This is Megan. And if you say one nasty thing to her, even one, I will wring your neck, so help me god, I will.”
“Now he’s turning to violence,” Henry’s mother remarked to his father, as if Henry was not there. “This is a new development. It must be true love.”
Megan eyed Henry’s mother. She, unlike the father, was short and heavy around the hips and jowls. She did, however, have Henry’s large clear grey-green eyes, his perfect nose, his sensual mouth and high cheekbones. Her hair was Marilyn-blonde and curled as if she had just come from the salon, and she was dressed in a cream shirt and tan slacks, draped with pearls at her neck and wrists.
Megan was reminded of a gold-dusted vanilla macaroon she had seen in a high-end bakery on Bloor Street.
“Megan you say.” Henry’s mother scrutinized her. “I am Mrs. Arbuthnot-Berlin. This is a surprise, Henry. Here I was, thinking you were entirely asexual all these years.”
“You’ve never understood a thing about me,” Henry commented pleasantly. “And now that we have had this fantastic catch-up, I’m going to show Megan my room.”
“Change your clothes before you leave,” his mother called out as they started up the stairs. “Or at least, throw a coat over that nonsense you’re wearing. You have never cared what the neighbours think, but I still do.”
Henry ignored her and led Megan down the length of a wide, carpeted hallway, not stopping until he reached the very end.
“How many bedrooms did we pass?” Megan whispered and Henry grinned.
“Five. Two with en-suite bathrooms. Here we are, my room. When I was not at boarding school that is, which was most of my life.”
He twisted the door handle and waved Megan inside.
Megan gasped. The room was filled, floor to ceiling, with model airplanes. There were dozens and dozens of them, hanging from the ceiling, the bookcases, and the lamps. They lined the windowsill and there were piles of them on the floor. The only space left uncovered was the bed, which had a wine-covered coverlet and chocolate-brown pillows.
Megan sat down on the bed and stared. “No books?” she asked. “I was sure there’d be books.”
Henry tapped his head. “All up here. I read a book and never forget it. Trust me, it’s not as wonderful a gift as you might think. I would love to empty my head. That is why I take so much acid. When I am stoned, there is less going on inside, which is a relief.”
“When did you do these planes, if you were away at school?”
“I had to come home for the holidays and it helped pass the time. When I am putting a model together, the voices in my head shut up for a bit. It doesn’t always work, but for the brief period of time it does, it is a blessed relief.”
“Henry,” Megan said gently, “tell me about the voices.” But Henry shook his head.
“No, no,” he said. “I can’t talk about them. They get louder when I do. They don’t like being talked about. They punish me then.”
“It’s okay.” Megan looked around. “Not even one picture on the wall,” she marvelled. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s a model airplane museum, that’s what it is! Wow. My dad builds bird houses. Our basement is full of them. Mom keeps telling him to sell them at craft markets, but he isn’t interested. He says she can sell them if she likes. He just enjoys making them.”
Henry grinned. “I can understand that.”
He came and lay down close to her, turning her to face him, and he cupped her buttocks with his hands.
“I didn’t think I would ever show this room to anybody,” he said, and he kissed her. “And now you have even met my family. I bet you haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“As long as I’m with you, my life is perfect.”
She hugged his waist and closed her eyes. There was a knock at the door and Megan pulled away and started to sit up, but Henry held her back.
“Yes?” he called over his shoulder.
His mother pushed the door open. “We’re going out now, to the club, and you need to leave. I can’t trust you. You know that. He’ll leave without locking up, or he’ll leave the shower running, or he’ll leave the stove on — who knows?” She said this last bit conversationally to Megan, despite not having acknowledged her to this point.
“She’s right,” Henry said, sitting up and brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I have done all of those things and more. Come on, let us go.”
“Do you need money?”
“No, mother, I don’t. My monthly stipend suffices as always, but thank you.”
“For the love of god, put a coat on over that getup,” his mother said and she opened a closet, revealing a display that would rival the menswear section of Club Monaco. She pulled out a modern-day navy pea coat and tossed it at him. “Don’t argue, Henry. I don’t care if you throw it away when you get around the corner, but please do me the favour of wearing it.”
Henry stood up and pulled the coat on. Megan thought he looked like a fashion model. “Happy, Mother? Now the neighbours will really think I have lost my mind because they know I would never wear anything like this.”
“Thank you for indulging me, Henry.” His mother flicked a finger at one of the model airplanes. “We’re going to get rid of this junk one day,” she said, waving her hand around.
“If you do,” Henry said evenly, “then I will know that you never want to see me again. That will be our little signal, Mother. When I come home and this room has been cleared out, then I will know to leave, never to return.”
“Oh, Henry,” his mother sighed, and for a moment she looked slightly human. “Why must we do this? Why? Look at you. So handsome. So clever. Why can’t you be halfway more normal than you are? Why? I really, truly do not understand. You could have the world at your feet.”
“If you think about it, Mother, we all have the world at our feet, quite literally. And why am I like this, you ask? Why? Your and Dad’s genes are to blame, I guess.” Henry pulled Megan to her feet. “Although that is not fair,” he added. “I do need to accept some responsibility. But this is what you and I do, Mother. We hurt each other. That is how we know we are still family. When we lose the power to hurt one another, well, then we will just be strangers.”
He led Megan through the hallway and down the stairs.
Henry’s father was still standing in the doorway where they had left him.
“Dad.” Henry tipped a mock cap.
“Son. Do you need any money?”
“Nope, Mother already asked me. See you around, Dad.”
“Take care, son.”
“Always.”
Henry closed the front door gently behind him and he and Megan walked down the path to the gate.
Megan thought it was better to remain silent and she did, all the way to the train station and even on the journey back to her apartment. Once they reached her stop, she leaned in towards him.
“Henry? Do you need to be alone for a bit?”
He nodded, unable to look at her. “Thank you,” he said, looking at his hands. “I will try to come back tonight.
“That would be lovely,” she said. She kissed him and got off when the doors opened.
She watched the train pull away and as it did, she caught sight of his downcast head and she thought her heart would break.
3. MEGAN
HENRY RETURNED LATER THAT NIGHT, much to Megan’s relief. She was lying on the sofa, smoking and watching re-runs of Bonanza on TV. “Crazy people out there today,” Henry said, settling down next to her and putting his arm around her shoulders. “How are you?”
Megan nodded. “I’m good.” She rubbed his leg. “You feel like heading out to meet my folks tomorrow? We may as well get the family dynamics established—”
“And thenceforth ignored,” Henry added. “Yeah, sure.”
His head drooped.
“Tired?” Megan asked and he nodded.
“I think I will take a shower if that is okay,” he said. “Wash away my sins.”
He ambled off the bathroom and Megan turned her attention back to the television set, happy in the normalcy of their domesticity. She heard him turn on the shower and when he started singing loudly, she grinned. Until there was a knock at her door. The evil landlord, no doubt, she thought.
“This apartment’s rented to ONE person and one person only,” the landlord said self-righteously, his hands on his pregnant belly.
“And I’m the only one living here,” Megan insisted. “A friend of mine got cold and I said she could take a shower.”
“Pretty manly sounding she, if you ask me,” the landlord said as Henry crescendoed to a particularly vocal piece of opera.
The Nearly Girl Page 4