A TALE OF TWO STORIES

a novel

by

Matthew Gerard Leslie

Bachelor of Arts (Honours), University of Windsor, 2002

A Thesis Submitted in Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Master of Arts

in the Graduate Academic Unit of the Department of English

Supervisor: Mark Anthony Jarman, MFA, English

Examining Board: John Clement Ball, PhD, English Anette Guse, PhD, Culture and Language Studies

This thesis is accepted by the Dean of Graduate Studies

THE UNIVERSITY OF NEW BRUNSWICK

January 2008

© Matthew Gerard Leslie, 2008 Library and Archives Bibliotheque et 1*1 Canada Archives Canada Published Heritage Direction du Branch Patrimoine de I'edition

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1+1 Canada ABSTRACT

A. Tale of Two Stories is a non-linear multi-narrative novel with metafictional tendencies. It tells—in tandem—the stories of Jimmy Jenkins and Leanne Jacobs, and explores the idea of liminality within the context of developing and maintaining relationships with others. The novel touches on themes of isolation, renewal, friendship, guilt, perception, urbanity, and love. It examines urban

Canada and popular culture through its depiction of college students growing up and living in the border city of Windsor, Ontario, and the more metropolitan

Montreal, Quebec. Critical influences on this work are Jeanette Winterson, Victor

Turner, Marcel Cornis-Pop, and contemporary Canadian novelists Michael

Winter, Lynn Coady, Russell Smith, and Heather O'Neill.

11 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my family and friends for their constant love and support and the countless others who have inspired me along the way. Merci.

Dedicated to David and Rachelle Leslie

111 TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABSTRACT ii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS iv

TITLE PAGE v

A TALE OF TWO STORIES 1

AFTERWORD 394

BIBLIOGRAPHY 410

CURRICULUM VITAE

iv A TALE OF TWO STORIES

a novel

v I

CALL him Jimmy.

James David Jenkins is a twenty-three year old man—we'll have to use the term very lightly as we begin—with a bright smile and brazen wit. We find him in his car on a Saturday night turning left onto Riverside Drive, the Detroit skyline a backdrop of lights, refracted and twinkling on the water.

Jimmy slapped the gas, racing past Casino Windsor and its gaudy facade. He popped in the car lighter and pulled a slightly bent cigarette from his breast pocket. He turned on the stereo. The lighter popped. He lit the smoke. Inhaled.

Exhaled. Jimmy flicked ash out the window and took another drag. He could feel the nicotine increase his heartbeat, feel it shorten his breath, feel it course through him.

And then just like that, Jimmy Jenkins figured his way in.

Raising his brows, it suddenly seemed so goddamn simple to him.

It's as quick as a firm slap in the mouth. It's as effortless as falling asleep drunk.

Shit, it's as smooth as Miles on Kind of Blue. As emotional as Coltrane on A

Love Supreme!

Put another way: it's as smooth as Boards on Musk Has The Right and as sonically emotional as Aphex on Ambient Works Volume Two!

Wooh ... a double whammy! Expressed bluntly: it's fucking Huge with a capital aitch! And all Jimmy has to do is kid himself into believing this, and he'll be all right. Then Jimmy Jenkins will be jusssst fine.

He glanced out the rear-view mirror and pressed his foot down on the gas, the momentum of the car accelerating his thoughts.

And with speed, music, and tobacco supporting him, Jimmy Jenkins decided to comfortably swallow the fact that he was probably never going to be happy with the finished product of anything that came out of his puerile brain—at least not yet.

He blamed most of this on quitting smoking.

You see, Jimmy felt as if he'd been neglecting his introverted thought process as of late. For habitual reasons, he felt he needed a goddamn cigarette to take his mind to that solitary and stillest of places . . . sigh . . . and he was convinced that smoking one of these little death rockets would facilitate this important and exigent thinking process.

So he'd mooch a smoke off of some random and secretly smoke it in his car on the way home.

What a fucking laugh riot.

Regardless of all this wash, Jimmy Jenkins wanted to start something big.

Something genuine, something driving, ya know? And so he shall.

2 Picture him as a fledgling bird, a chick really, all puffy and fluffy and yellow.

All he can do is chirp, and everyone thinks he's as cute as a peach.

Oh life was so easy before I had wings, Jimmy thinks to himself, and then he laughs, yes—and then he chirps himself to sleep with his weary cock in his hand.

But like he mentioned, he quit smoking. And would not wrap his filthy lips around another cigarette for nearly six months. An entire winter and a delightful spring spent cough free, but oh! then the summer . . . and with it Jimmy's predilection.

"So is this like your New Year's Resolution?" just about everyone asked him.

"No, it's like my life resolution," Jimmy would say.

Yet sometimes he lost all conviction. His mind was incredibly liable, especially when it came to tricking him. So he'd have a private relapse. And then, inevitably, the subjective guilt would set in. While Jimmy huffed nicotine deep into his lungs, pangs of guilt would smack him in the face with filthy rubber gloves.

SMACK SMACK.

Nevertheless, Jimmy would smoke that cigarette down to filter, and with a delicate cough, followed by a clearing of the throat—that struck one's ear like a brick being dragged across the pavement—his clandestine litde smoking adventure would be complete.

3 This would only happen like once every other week or so, but on such a day

Jimmy would wake in the cool wee hours of the morn and huskily whisper to

himself: I will smoke a cigarette today.

And tonight, of all nights, just happened to be one of those humid nights where Jimmy would bum a cigarette from a stranger and secretly fire it back in his car on the way home. And it was at this very moment (while Jimmy was smoking a cigarette from a stranger), that he figured out his way in, and a way to begin.

Nicotine is a deceptive drug—because while you're pumping your lungs full of its taint, for some reason, it creates an illusion of significance, as if life only makes actual sense when you're breathing tobacco in and out of your lungs. It's completely fucking false, but when a smoker decides to do something exciting or important and has a gesticulating cigarette in hand, it does seem to drip an extra drop of emphasis into that person's resolve.

Case in point: one Jimmy Jenkins.

In spite of these bi-weekly transgressions, Jimmy was steadfast on the quitting tip, he was rocksteady, and the bastard could breathe again.

Ahhhhh . . . in through the nose and out through the mouth.

Still, the cravings endured like tiger claws in his belly. So, during the process of making his charred husks o' lungs as pink as a pussycat's tongue again, Jimmy immersed himself in books. He distracted himself with words.

4 You wanna smoke?

Read a short story.

You wanna buy a pack?

Start reading a novel.

You wanna sift through the ashtray in the backseat of your car? C'mon, there's gotta be a refry in there somewhere for Chrissake!

Just keep reading Jimmy Jenkins, just keep reading.

At this moment {while Jimmy speeds through ayellow light), he's reminded of a woman named Grace. Grace is a high-school English teacher who hangs out at a pub on campus called The Archive with the English professors. She was once an ambitious young academic who wanted it all, but ended up getting pregnant while completing her Master's, which unfortunately resulted in her never getting her

PhD. Hence, the reason why Grace teaches feral ingrates in high school, rather than pretentious ingrates in university.

Now, Jimmy has had some fine chats with Grace over pints of beer in the past, and goddamn did this woman ever smoke a lot of cigarettes. Fire 'em back, baby! Smoke 'em if you got 'em, Gracie! One after the other after the other of those extra long special mild smokes. The kind everyone calls 'bitch-sticks'.

5 Anyway, summer came and summer went, and a new semester began on one of those textbook autumn days. This meant that instead of going to class just to pick up the syllabus and check out how many hot girls there were, Jimmy was sipping Heinekens on The Archive's spacious patio.

Leaves as yellow as Jimmy's beer were gracefully falling all around him, as he prepared himself for yet another year of school. He noticed Grace walk onto the patio with a pint of beer and he gave her a little wave. She smiled and sat down at a table with a group of professors. They were all yipping and yapping about their fabulous summers abroad and their unpleasant course loads for the semester. But, the point of all this is, the next thing Jimmy heard out of the self-involved clamour, was that Grace had quit smoking. He looked over at her, rigid in her chair, and saw her bony hands clenched in her lap. He stared at those hands for quite some time. It was as if she was afraid to move them, as if at any second she would lash out at Dr. Ellis next to her, and gouge out his eyes with her non- nicotine stained fingers.

"I'd claw 'em out if I could!" Grace would scream, lunging at him, but her nails were bitten down to the quick. So naturally, gouging them out would be the most effective move, and perhaps a bit more violent to boot.

At the same time she was bluntly carving out Dr. Ellis's eyes, she'd also be tearing the cigarette from his mouth and jamming it in her own. Obviously, she'd be screaming and the whole scene would get pretty ugly. She might even froth at the mouth a little. Jimmy could feel her inner tension so strongly it made his

6 stomach tight. Swifdy, Grace let her vice grip loose, and lifted her right hand to

grasp her mug of beer. Jimmy flinched.

Wow, that must have been one hell of a nicfit, Jimmy thought, as Grace took a manly

swig of her beer, and resumed crushing her left hand with her right.

For one reason or another, this image of Grace's hands, gripped so damn

tighdy in her lap, would periodically pop into Jimmy's brain. And while he suckled

on his own cigarette as if it was his mother's teat, the recurrent image resurfaced.

Plink.

Uh oh, Jimmy Jenkins is all fucked up and ready to go. For some reason it

seems like Jimmy is always fucked up and ready to go. It's in his nature, he really

can't help it. But don't worry, this isn't some sort of biography. This ain't no

character sketch.

This ain't no rainy day.

Get out of that puddle fledgling bird, get out!

When Jimmy quit smoking cigarettes, he started smoking books instead. Books

about selfish tin-drumming Oskars, and families made of Glass, and sticky

summers with whisky and Peyton. Stories where everything rose and converged in dramatic climax, and terse tales about all things Russian.

7 But then he broke up with his girlfriend. Like he said, this ain't no coming of age tale, but Jimmy believes it is necessary to situate yourself (comfortably) in his world, before you decide to go any further. I mean, you probably aren't going to particularly like his world, but there's always hope for something prettier on the next page.

FLIP.

Yeah, keep flipping.

Jimmy looked up from the story he was reading just to tell himself he loved it.

Sentences and images so crisp in his mind. He wished he knew who the hell had written it. He took a deep breath, rubbed the whiskers on his chin, and quickly fell back in.

But yeah, Jimmy broke up with his girlfriend, which was one of his excuses for smoking again. He also lived with her in a nice one-bedroom apartment downtown on the corner of Park and Pelissier—but after they broke up he had no other option but to move back home. His parents' home.

A split heart, his tiny childhood bed, and a family again for Jimmy. This took some adjustment. At first Jimmy felt claustrophobic—his mother constantly concerned, yet thrilled her boy had returned—his father with his words of advice, mindful but irritating to Jimmy, who felt they were redundant, because he already was his own man—and Kaitlin, his sister, an extra body in the house, always in

8 the bathroom or on the phone when he needed it. Coming home late and having

to tiptoe, feeling guilty if he slept past noon—like a boarder in his own house.

But as the spring months warmed into summer, Jimmy settled. And started to

enjoy the comforts of home and the money he didn't have to spend on bills.

Then Canada Day weekend arrived, and with it excitement—mosdy due to

some cursory yet major chemistry with a new girl named Jessica, a new girl with a

lasting impression.

Jimmy Jenkins is seated on the edge of his childhood bed reading. Right leg

crossed casually over left. Jimmy has tiny knees—knees he's self-conscious of.

Patellas that crack when he bends them. He's afraid that as a result of this

consistent cracking he'll be blessed with crippling arthritis in his golden years. It's not that Jimmy is a small man, it just so happens he has tiny litde insignificant knees. Knees that sure ain't gonna be remembered after their last crack. And since we're on the subject of Jimmy, we might as well stay here, at least for a moment.

Pretend that you are looking at yourself in the mirror for a second . . . OK, good. Now, if you're female, please tilt your head to the left, because there's going to be some minor modifications . . . but only from the neck up. You can keep all the rest—unless you feel like givin' it up for Jimmy.

9 Sorry, Jimmy made me say that. He's just being cheeky. You'd never dream of doing anything like that, you barely even know him. However, it is safe to assume you will be in love with him before the week is through.

Fair warning.

But oh yeah, you were in the process of studying yourself in the mirror. Please feel free to continue. You gaze intendy at the slighdy unkempt hair that tickles your forehead and caresses the tops of your ears. It is thick and prone to curls the longer it grows. Your eyes are cat-green, and you have been known to purr and mew at your girlfriend with your attractive and full (yet unquestionably manly) lips. You also used to pet and tickle her like a kitty, but that's a moot point in this paragraph. Your steady olive stare looks back at you curiously, as you move in close enough for your nose to touch the mirror. It's at this point you notice how thick your eyebrows are, and wonder if they may display themselves as broodingly bushy at times. At any rate, you don't want to browbeat yourself, so you move your head back to a comfortable gazing distance.

"Damn, I'm looking just fine," you say to yourself.

Neither of your ears have been pierced for any reason whether fashion or folly. You haven't shaved in five days, but don't mind the scruffiness. In fact you prefer it. Your skin is for the most part nice skin, but every so often it wants you to feel like you're in high school again, so it will strategically place a couple blemishes on your face to keep you in check. And of course, once they appear

10 you cannot help but attack them . . . squeezing and prodding, scrubbing and

washing, steaming and cleansing.

And for the record, if it was up to you, people would have the common

decency to plain not talk about the acne of others.

For example: "Holy shit bro, that zit on your forehead is glowing!"

Why thank you sir, I wasn 't aware of it. . . where is it exactly? Oh, good heavens, is it right

smack dab in the middle of my forehead?

To your chagrin, you might attempt to talk to people on your good side—

meaning the side of your face without the unfortunate blemish. To your

embarrassment, you may suddenly wear a hat for a few days, but you ain't fooling

anybody. To your humiliation, you'll look someone in the eyes and watch them

glance at this minor social setback burning on your cheek with a look of mild

antipathy. But then, it finally fades away like the ugliest sunset and you can smile

at yourself in the mirror again.

"Damn, I'm looking just fine," you say to yourself.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Back to Jimmy in his car—driving down

Riverside Drive, secredy smoking a cigarette, and realizing he had his in. While he was realizing this, he also realized that the guy driving in the car ahead of him was drunk.

11 Every other minute or so, Rummy (as he will now affectionately be called), would toss one of those hotel-sized shooter botdes out his window. Jimmy thought it was kinda funny at first, but as he watched Rummy throw his fourth whisky sampler in as many minutes out the window he started to get worried.

Does Rummy have an entire mini-bar, complete with crushed ice and slices of lime riding in shotgun with him?

Rummy kept veering to the left, enough for Jimmy to know he'd had a few, but for the most part he was driving all right, and he'd probably make it home—if only to drive drunk again tomorrow.

Jimmy decided to follow this guy, no matter how far, because he was bored and wanted to keep moving, driving, speeding, with the hopes his thoughts would keep pace. And this way he could make sure Rummy safely stumbled out of his

Sebring onto his front lawn.

Jimmy stared at the tail lights ahead of him and his mind drifted off to the happenings of the last few days.

/ asked Dana out yesterday, he reminded himself with a chuckle and a cringe.

Dana was the new girl at the video lab in the Film Department on campus where

Jimmy worked. She was cute and he liked her attitude, but it didn't go over so well. Jimmy was as smooth and subtle as ever, but sweet sweet Dana was already seeing someone else.

"Hey before I jet, can I ask you something completely off topic?" Jimmy said, while gazing at the fullness of Dana's bottom lip.

12 "Sure, go ahead."

"Um . . . (Jimmy awkwardly scratches his head) are you into foreign films? Ya know, like the more independent movies, rather than big shoot-em-up blockbusters filled with product placement and unrealistic dialogue?"

"Yeah, for sure I am," Dana replied. Her faindy glossed lips waltzed over top of her teeth, as her tongue peeked out onto the dance floor of her mouth and did the cutest little shimmy.

Good 'Lord, does she ever know how to enunciate her words'. Jimmy yelled in his mind.

"Cool... so, um, would you maybe like to go see one with me then? They're playing old Almodovar movies all month at the Landmark in Royal Oak. We could fool around during the previews if you want—"

Dana laughed. "You seem like a really nice guy, Jimmy, but I have a boyfriend.

I thought you knew that. He's actually studying film at Ryerson, and bla bla blah blah ..."

Oh sweet Dana, the love we could've had is the love we should've had, Jimmy nearly said aloud, as he watched her eyes turn into sunny skies, while she blithered and blathered about some jackass she had fooled herself into falling in love with.

"Well, that's fine ... I was just curious. Look (Jimmy mindlessly glances at his watchless wrist), I gotta get goin', but um . . . tell Cal I said bye when he gets back and I guess I'll see you in a couple weeks." Jimmy was no longer making eye contact with Dana, but he didn't feel stupid. I mean, what did he really have to

13 lose anyways? Just a litde dignity, but Jimmy's got botdes of that stuff, sitting on

his dresser at home.

"Yeah, have a fun vacation," Dana said. "I can't believe we get two weeks off

with pay! Isn't it awesome?"

"It sure is," Jimmy replied. "K, see ya."

"Bye, Jimmy. Happy Canada Day."

Jimmy thought going on a date with a new girl would be good for him, like

eating spinach and drinking some oolong tea, but being shot down by one's just

about as good, right?

What a silly bastard.

Picture him, driving down an atypically quiet road, following the revelling and

rebellious Rummy, and laughing to (at) himself, while he dances in his seat, and

uses the steering wheel to practice off-time drumming.

He and Rummy stopped at a red light. Jimmy stared at the silhouette of

Rummy's head, and his mind drifted back to the smoky bar he had just left.

Mmmm right, I also tried Kelly out at The Loop, Jimmy reluctantly reminded himself

with a kind of half-chuckle and a full-on cringe.

Oh Kelly, jou are so so hot! The rose bulbs of our love have been planted and are on the cusp

of blooming! Me, you, two glasses of wine, some laughs, maybe a movie—all to flirtily precede a passionate and torrid snuggle!'Jimmy bit his bottom lip to control himself, as he

caught Kelly's eye across the smoky bar and began walking over to her. They had

14 worked together for a while last year at The Amsterdam, a popular bar and grill on Ottawa Street.

"Hey Kelly, how's it going?"

"Not bad, how are you sweetie? Nice to see you."

Goddamn she always smells so good! Uke apricots and peaches and honey and wine.

"I'm doing great, you smell absolutely fantastic by the way."

"Thanks. It's my love potion. Are you falling in love with me, Jimmy?" As

Kelly coyly asked him this, she batted her eyes in comparable fashion to the gende flutter of a butterfly's wings on the freshest of summer afternoons.

Oh sweet Lord, I'm smitten! This gorgeous girl could ruin me. She's a little firecracker! I'd let her punch me in the face if she wanted! I love her!

Jimmy outwardly maintained himself and managed to say: "You know it's far too late for that, Kelly," with just the right amount of nonchalance. She giggled and touched Jimmy's shoulder. Her hand felt quite warm, and received an even warmer welcome from Jimmy's usual cold shoulder, as she lighdy rubbed her palm up and down his back.

Jimmy took a deep breath. "Hey, d'you remember that night we stayed late at

The Dam because of that crazy private bachelor party with all those coked up lawyers and their escorts?"

Kelly laughed.

15 "And we ended up staying there and drinking with Brandi until like five in the morning, and afterwards on the way home we went to Willistead Park and smoked a joint and watched the sun come up?"

"Yeah I remember—"

"And we were talkin' about girls and guys and love and sex, ya know, the birds and the bees, and in the end, you said that you were uh, looking for someone who you could just go out with and have 'fun'?" Jimmy actually did that cheesy quotation mark thing with his hands as he said the word fun.

Kelly nodded.

"Well, I was thinking about that conversation a few days ago, and it's pretty weird because two different people came up to me tonight and said, You know what Jimmy? You really are one hell of a fun guy dagnammit!" Upon spitting this one out, Jimmy's face flushed bright red and he inwardly cursed himself for using the word dagnammit.

"Oh really!:" Kelly asked him, accompanying her question with the most endearing giggle Jimmy had ever heard. Teehee!

"Isn't that odd?" he said with a silly grin. "So, considering the circumstance

(Jimmy clears his throat), if you maybe wanted to go see a movie, and afterwards enjoy a relaxing drink, I'd be more than happy to accompany you—"

At this, Jimmy quickly pinched his right thigh through the pocket of his jeans to stop from screaming: God, you're gorgeous! I love you! Let me give you cunnilingus!

16 "Well, I'd love to Jammy (Jimmy swooned as she called him this), and I know we'd have a great time . . . but we could only go as friends, because well, you remember

Dale, right? Yeah, we decided that since we've still been kinda sleeping with each other, we might as well give it another try. I mean, we were together for over two years, and we still love each other, so doo doo daa daa dee dee die die ..."

Our children would've been little fleece-haired cherubs!Jimmy cried to himself, as sweet sweet Kelly continued telling Jimmy all the details about something he'd rather not hear about, especially on this particular page. Still with Dale? My God, you poor girl, that guy's an absolute douche. You need to try somethin' new!

The fledgling bird really wants to get out of that puddle, but now there's oil in it. Jimmy Jenkins desperately wants to fly again. And so he shall.

Let's face it, Jimmy's a sucker for the romance. It really all comes down to three simple reasons: a) he's seen way too many Hollywood movies, b) he's read far too much poetry for his own good, and c) he's cried himself to sleep six times more than the average 'guy' would ever admit. Nostalgic pangs can really hurt a man. But on the flip side, there's a sexually charged, twenty-three year old smooth talker—a bona fide Hawkeye Pierce of a man! A persistently aroused male who wants to lap up pussy like a thirsty dog, ya know, stick his tongue—no, his whole goddamn snout—in between a pair of legs and seriously get to work. Apologies

17 for the crudity, but it's all about the lovin' with Jimmy Jenkins. The female figure takes up over half the memory in his brain. Our poor fledgling bird is running out of RAM.

There are numerous galleries of women in the art museum of Jimmy's head.

The female body, as seen in Jimmy's mind, is the greatest aesthetic achievement.

It is aphroditically artistic and apexically arousing. Like Winged Victory placed high atop the Daru staircase at the Louvre . . . she's there for a reason. Now picture her, perched on the prow of a mighty ship—majestic beauty welcoming the open sea and praising Poseidon. Now see her atop a mountain in Greece, fresh, alive, with arms and a head, a trumpet in one hand, the other raised to the heavens, and just try to imagine how beautiful her face must have been! Oh sweet Jesus! That's how it is in Jimmy's galleries. LM Ma/a Desnuda by Goya, Olympia by Manet,

Botticelli's Venus, 1M Grande Odalisque by Ingres, they all hang there too . . . along with coundess others.

Some real, some imagined.

Oh! A flash of belly in between the place where shirt ends and jeans begin, a sandaled foot, a toned upper arm, a full bottom lip, a nipple pushing itself through Lycra and cotton to say hello, a tight peach of a tush ... all this and so much more careens enticingly and incessantly inside Jimmy's puerile little mind.

The first nice day of the year in late March or early April is a day Jimmy doesn't go to class. He and his buddy Gavin park their butts on a bench outside

18 the student centre and people watch all day. Having grown accustomed to big

jackets and woollen scarves over the cold winter months, Jimmy's mind goes on

sensory overload as he takes in the gorgeous sights. Long, pony-tailed hair waves

at him in the gende spring air, as he sips on a coffee and meditatively sighs to

himself. Large, happy-to-be-seen-again breasts, nod at him, as they bounce by on

their way to Psychology class. Asses cling taut to denim and smile curvaceously at

Jimmy, as he and Gavin bashfully grin at every woman that walks by.

Thank you springtide, thank you. Merciprintemps. . . oh mon Dieu, merci.

Jimmy has a superstitious mantra that has never failed to ring true in his life:

Bad things come in threes. Tiny litde terrible trilogies occurring everywhere all the

time. So it was quite clear that since he'd been burned twice already this weekend, he'd surely be turned down again. That's when he spotted Monique from across

the crowded bar at The Loop. She was drinking what looked like a White Russian and swaying her hips to the music. Monique Lachine, the so-called 'sex-machine.'

Jimmy immediately went over. Monique's a girl that Jimmy knew through six different people. He was constantly being reintroduced to her by one of their mutual friends, and the last time it happened they made a joke about it, so now

Jimmy was going to use it to his advantage.

19 "Pardon me, have we met?" Jimmy said over top of the music, putting out a

hand and wrapping it around her waist.

Monique smiled. "Um, I'm not sure. You're friends with some girl I know, or

wait... is it some guy I know?"

"All of the above."

Monique gave Jimmy a light kiss on the cheek. His eyes couldn't help but

migrate towards her breasts.

Ho-lee shit! You've never looked more stunning! And no bra either. . . God blessyou

Monique! You're a vixen!

Jimmy's brain continued to rant and scream in this fashion until it came to the

fantastic conclusion that Monique's cleavage was so protuberant and round it looked like her ass. And naturally, the fact that sweet Monique wasn't wearing a

bra was something Jimmy could really appreciate (c'mon, he is a guy after all).

"So, what's goin' on, Jimmy?"

"Oh ya know, just tryin' to get lucky, you know how we do—"

"Wish I could help you out."

"Well I was kinda hoping you could ... I mean, don't you think it would be lovely to share the glories of orgasm with me?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Don't try and pretend that you didn't. And don't pretend that you don't want to either, Monique."

20 Monique grabbed Jimmy's hand and began pulling him towards the exit. "Let's go back to my place, Jimmy. You're looking fine and I gotta bottle of wine."

"Sounds good to me," he said with a wink and a smirk.

"And by the way, I'm not wearing underwear either," Monique whispered into

Jimmy's ear—her hot breath tickling the tiny hairs in his tantalized ear canal.

Jimmy glanced down at her sandaled feet, and smiled at her cute little toenails painted the lightest of pinks. They made it to the exit and went down The Loop stairs groping each other all the way. They burst out of the bar and walked arm in arm down Chatham Street, passing a bar called Cougars, and a pizza place, and a strip club. The thick-chested bouncer nodded to Jimmy and looked down

Monique's top. They stopped on the corner of Ouellette and kissed. A group of guys walked by and one of them made a lewd comment.

"This is the first perfect night of the summer," Jimmy said, placing his hand on the small of Monique's back as he gazed up at the night sky and winked at the sliver of a moon. Hundreds of summer memories flitted through Jimmy's head with great celerity. Bike rides and June bugs. Campfires and sunburns. Ice cold beers and that infectious summer album that becomes a sort of soundtrack for the season. Girls upon girls upon girls juxtaposed with friends come and friends gone. Jimmy sighed and wrapped his arm around Monique's waist as they continued walking down the busy downtown stretch.

"It is a beautiful night isn't it?" Monique finally said, as if she'd just noticed she was actually outside. Jimmy smiled at Monique and then at her breasts and then at

21 her cute little pink toes and then at himself. Ahh . . . summer. And the crickets

played their leg-twisting symphony all night long.

All right, all right, all right, so that obviously never happened. It was just

Jimmy's mind putting on a little peep show for him as he turned left off Riverside

onto Lacasse Boulevard, still following Rummy's Sebring. There were nice big

brick houses in this neighbourhood, with maple and oak trees canopying the road.

But no, unfortunately for Jimmy, that ridiculous scene with the hilarious dialogue

never happened. Jimmy had seen Monique at The Loop this evening, however, all

he did was give her a quick "hi and bye" and ask her for a cigarette. He was

feeling too jaded for small talk at that point. And now, as he fantasized and

idealized matters over in his mind, he got angry for not being more assertive.

"Get on your game, brother! Get over yourself, you sack of shit!" Jimmy

cursed aloud, as he watched a swarm of bugs collide with the windshield.

Don't worry, Jimmy's just acting out the compulsory bitter scene from act one

of the dramatization to his life. I mean, part of the problem is, Jimmy can see it all

happening. He can see it all unfolding in front of his eyes like a lone hand in

Euchre—he just never deals the fucking cards. So naturally, he has to feel his way through a few disagreeable moments, and then shake them off, the same way one

22 shakes and stomps the pins and needles from a foot that has fallen asleep. Really

all Jimmy has to do ... is fucking do.

And so he shall.

Oh geez, it's a Sunday night of all nights . . . and Jimmy is on fucking fire.

Days and dreams are starting to mix seamlessly with each other, like a DJ fading

up a perfectly matched beat into the mix. Apparently, because of last night's

incident with Rummy, Jimmy got started around 6:45 in the evening, and now at

3:12 am, he's all keyed up and ready to go. It's been a debacle of a weekend, an

excessive and superfluous dip in the gravy bowl, so to speak. It may have even

started on Wednesday. So, considering the circumstances, we might as well let

him go, and deal with it later ... so without further ado, here he is, Jimmy

mafuckin' Jenkins, ladies and gendemen.

Hello everyone, hike the good narrator said, I'm all fired up and ready to go. The ladies

show up with a deadholt hut leave with the keys in their hands, if you know what I'm sayin'. To put it mildly, I've been swillin' gins on a gahdammm Sundee. Let's drink to uncertainty and I'll pick up the tab! I'm feeling a little bit angry and two little hits homy. I completely forgot what

happens to me when I'm single. It seems I turn into a girl-cra^y-man-whore. But the sad fact of

23 the matter is, even though I turn into this girl-cra^y-man-whore, at the end of a wild and

tumultuous Sunday, I am at home and alone.

Oh well. . . fuckjou.

OK, great! So um, yeah—that's all Jimmy Jenkins has to say at this time, good

folks. Please try to remember that first impressions are always slanted. C'mon, give the drunken litde birdie a chance . . . you just might like him.

24 II

BUT Good Lord, where the hell were we? Or more to the point, where the hell

was Jimmy Jenkins? Oh yes, he was driving down an atypically quiet road,

drumming on his steering wheel, and watching his new friend Rummy drunkenly

steer his Sebring in the general direction of home.

Up ahead was a stop sign. Instead of politely braking for this big red octagon

on the side of the road, Rummy blew through it like a breeze through a window.

Then the bastard was off, racing up the block and turning down the first side

street available. Surprised, Jimmy put his hands back on the wheel and followed in

quick pursuit. He turned just in time to see Rummy make a tight right around the

corner.

"Fuck! Rummy's gone all blotto!" Jimmy screamed, as he jammed his foot on

the gas with the hope of gaining some ground.

Oh shit, what if he thinks I'm after him? I've been practically humping his goddamn bumper for the last twenty minutes! And he's fucking hammered!'Jimmy said to himself, as he ripped around another corner wondering if he should stop.

He didn't have to wonder long, because the next thing he saw was Rummy's

cherry red Sebring smashing into a Starcraft pop-up trailer parked on the side of the road. As Jimmy slammed on his brakes, he was convinced he saw Rummy

crash through the windshield and fly thirty feet in the air. As his tires squealed on

25 the warm asphalt, he was sure he saw brain blood splatter along the side of the trailer.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Jimmy groaned through clenched teeth as he shut his eyes only to see blood red . . .

His mind conjured up the face of a friend he hadn't seen in two years. Lovely

April Sanders. On a chilly morning while April was on her way to school, waiting for the subway at Lansdowne in Toronto, the guy standing next to her came to the conclusion that life was bullshit, and threw himself in front of the train. Seeja.

Blood and things much worse splashed on April's face and new winter jacket.

Months later, after several drinks, she told Jimmy that even though she was there and saw it and knew it was "real" life, she couldn't help but think that it looked fake, as if the special effects were cheesy or something. Sure, it fucked her head up for awhile and she had a couple nightmares, but April couldn't get over the fact that it just seemed like a movie to her. It made her feel callous, soulless even.

"Smash your TV," Jimmy advised her, as they fired back shots of Jagermeister.

"It's too late," April chagrined. "TV's already pressed itself into my mind.

Instead of smashing one, I'd just wait until I saw someone else do it on some bad reality show. Vicarious life for me, Jim."

"What about all the people who copy the crazy things they see on TV?"

"They don't smoke enough weed. Still got too much energy."

"God, you're bitter for a woman."

26 "I've just been thinking . . . that's all."

"Well, let's put a fix to that. Excuse me kind sir, can we please have two more shots of Jager?"

"Chilled?"

"You betcha ..."

Jimmy snapped open his eyes knowing April would not be in front of him.

Instead, he saw Rummy's cherry red Sebring all fucking cracked and smacked up, its front end jammed in the pop-up trailer like a fist in an ass.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," Jimmy continued to say, now in sync with his erratic heartbeat. Well, the special effects sure looked good to Jimmy in that scene. He got out of his car and ran towards the Sebring on legs he couldn't feel. As he approached, he saw the airbag had gone off. The windshield was cracked and the side window was completely shattered. Suddenly, the driver's side door was pushed and kicked and wedged open with a guttural uhnngh sound.

A smallish man in a faded suit literally leaked out of the car like the tear about to roll down Jimmy's cheek. His right arm slung like a scarf across his back.

Rummy is alive!Jimmy thought he was fucking dead. Brain blood. Thirty feet in the air. All his fault. But instead, there Rummy was, splayed out on the asphalt next to his mangled car. Jimmy's eyes darted around wildly, and he smacked a mosquito that landed on his cheek.

27 "Fucking little bastard!" Jimmy cried, as he swatted his face a second time and wondered just what the hell he was going to do.

But before Jimmy was even close to being done wondering just what the hell he was going to do, he had Rummy by the armpits and was dragging him towards his own car. He tore open the back door and placed him, none too gently, in the backseat.

"Unngghh," Rummy replied. Jimmy took it as a sound of gratitude. He threw his backpack on top of Rummy's head so he wouldn't be as noticeable and shut the door. He walked backed towards the Sebring praying to his special gods that it wasn't going to explode and that no one saw what he'd just done.

I didn 't smell gas I don't think, Jimmy raved, biting his thumbnail. Porch lights were flicking on two at a time as bedraggled neighbours began to migrate towards the accident.

"What the hell happened?" an overweight bald man yelled, as he hobbled down his front porch in an old bathrobe.

"Beats me," Jimmy panted. "I was just drivin' by."

Jimmy held his breath long and hard after that one—his upper lip becoming a litde reservoir for the sweat and tears that were trickling down his face. He wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

28 "Ho-lee shit! Lancaster's gonna shit a goddamn brick!" a guy in plaid pyjama pants said, approaching the scene. More people were coming, including the aforementioned Lancaster and his wife. Lancaster cussed and swore his way through the growing crowd. His wife had a cell phone to her ear, already on the line with 911.

"Oh, you gotta be shittin' me!! I just bought that mothetfmkmg thing!"

Lancaster screeched. At any other moment, Jimmy probably would've found the scene rather humorous, because Lancaster was clad in just a pair of tightie-whities.

His beer gut was hanging precariously over the worn elastic band, and his hairless legs were the colour of paste. He kinda looked like a pot-bellied Gollum with a mustache. His hair was shooting off in every which direction—even his stash had bedhead. A vein was pulsing on his forehead with frightening alacrity.

"Where is the motherfucker?!" Lancaster squealed, noticing the driver's side door was ajar. People were everywhere now. Swirling the scene like vultures.

Jimmy heard sirens in the distance.

"Where the. fuck is he?!" Lancaster screamed, punching the air with his fists.

"I'll strangle the cocksucker!!" There was a buzz of excitement running through the mob of people, as if they were gathering for a hanging.

Jimmy was having trouble breathing.

Why aren 't these people in bed?

"Ya know what, Dan?" said an attractive middle-aged woman, standing with

Lancaster's wife.

29 "What?" Thick spittle was collecting at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm not a hundred percent positive, but I'm pretty sure I saw a kid runnin'

down the street that way, as soon as I looked out the window."

God lady, I will make sweet love to you, right here on this fucking sidewalk1.'Jimmy

screamed inside of his head with cathartic glee. He was holding his stomach as if

he'd been punched.

"Yeah I seen some guy runnin' too ... I was watching TV and I heard this big

CRUNCH sound, and when I looked out the window I think I saw a guy running

too!" a kid of about thirteen said, excited about the action happening on his

street. It wasn't as cool as a fire, but that car looked pretty funny shoved inside of

Lancaster's trailer.

Kid, I'd pull on your dick and stick a finger in your bum, if you wanted!!

Others began to third and forth and even fifth the motions of the first two.

God bless the masses. Praise the herd. Hallow be their silly desire to make things

up so they can feel more important, ya know, feel like they're really part of the

action. Raise them on high, for they are truly God's people!

The sirens were getting louder now. Abruptly, a car honked behind the crowd.

Jimmy turned and looked at his car, certain he'd see a bleeding and feral Rummy

behind the wheel.

Shit, he'll sure be pissed now. He'll probably gun the engine and try to take out the whole fucking mob—

30 "Excuse me! Can someone move this car so I can get through?" bellowed a large head sticking out the window of an even larger vehicle.

Not Rummy.

Someone else.

Move car.

Must move car.

"Yeah sure!" Jimmy yelled a little too loudly. "It's mine! Sorry about that! I was just drivin' by." The large head started asking Jimmy questions about what had happened. Thankfully, other people spoke for him. Jimmy was an outsider, a passer-thru, no one gave a shit about him, he wasn't part of their neighbourhood, the 1300 block of Kimberley Avenue. Pillars of their local community, albeit very light sleepers.

"Well you see, Tom ..." the guy in plaid pyjama pants said, a cigarette in his teeth, and a swagger in his step, as he moved towards Tom's protruding head and his big SUV. Jimmy ran to his car on legs that felt like over-cooked penne noodles. He jumped in. It was still running. The crowd began to part like the Red

Sea for Jimmy's car. He drove through them cautiously and courteously.

"Thank you good Israelites," Jimmy mumbled as he passed Lancaster and his modey crew of neighbours. "Moses was right, you are good people," Jimmy said, and then had a small fit of giggles followed by a bigger fit of chuckles, which turned into a nasty fit of chortles. He managed to turn the corner, drive a block, and turn another corner before he had to stop. He could not believe he had just

31 driven through them all. He twisted around in his seat and saw that Rummy was still there. He grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse.

Slow, but unquestionably pulsing away. Good.

The squeal of authority was very loud now. Two cop cars and an ambulance drove past Jimmy's car. From the moment Rummy had smashed into Lancaster's trailer no more than seven minutes had passed.

If time is linear Jimmy's a goddamn circle.

The actuality of his actions slapped Jimmy in the face at about the eight- minute mark. He then experienced a panic attack so severe he yelped like a frightened coyote. Holy shit, the fledgling bird is changing species!

"Who woulda thunk it?" Lancaster might've said.

Screw the feathers, this boy's going mammal.

As Jimmy panted in wolf-like fashion, he felt his heart twist, his muscles tighten, and his mind swoon. As the actuality pulled itself tighter and then tauter, and the helpless panic felt like adamantium claws in his belly, he knew he was going to lose it.

Like for real.

He was waiting for the sound of a real loud snap-crackle-pop in his head.

Any second now—

32 Jimmy twisted around, hoping the sight of Rummy would spur him into action and get him the hell out of his hyperventilating head. He tore the backpack off

Rummy's back and scattered the CD's on the floor.

God, was Jimmy ever sweating! And God, did Rummy ever reek of booze.

Mindful of Rummy's arm, Jimmy began to rifle through the pockets of his suit jacket. Change and two casino chips fell to the floor. Jimmy went for his pants pockets, digging deep and pulling them inside out. A worn leather wallet and a lighter in the left, a crumpled pack of Rothman's in the other.

"Rummy, you're a king of men!" Jimmy screamed as sweat stung his eyes and claws vexed his belly. He hungrily flipped open the pack of cigarettes, pulled out one of the remaining three and tossed it in his mouth. With a flick of the wrist, he spun the lighter in his hand and lit the cigarette. God, he looked cool! It totally had a movie scene look to it.

And it feels so goddamn natural! Jimmy thought as he exhaled a thick stream of smoke and put the car in drive. Shit, that looked pretty cool too. With the right lighting and camera angles, this little pup could really mark some territory. Jimmy pulled away from the curb and sped down the quiet street, smoking the cigarette slowly and deciding to drive down Lacasse to Tecumseh Road. He stopped at a red light, just any random guy on his way home from a night at the bar or the movies or his girlfriend's or whatever, and began to inspect the contents of

Rummy's wallet.

33 "Alexander Gerard Matvey," Jimmy pronounced as he glanced at Rummy's

driver's license. "Two-eighty-six Jarvis Avenue." Rummy's house was a ten-

minute drive in the opposite direction.

Fuck, I wish I had a cellphone! I can't take him to the hospital. I gotta take him home.

What the hell else can Ifuckin' do?

Jimmy's brain started to hyperventilate again. The wallet fell from his hands

onto his lap. The light turned green. Jimmy drove down the street to the next set

of lights and pulled into an all-night gas station on the corner. The place was

deserted save for a woman of about sixty, smoking a cigarette and watching a tiny

black and white TV inside her litde kiosk. He pulled up next to a phone booth

and put the car in park. Jimmy looked down in his lap and saw a yellowed wallet-

size photo of Rummy and his family. Jesus. Wife. Two kids. Jimmy cringed,

shoved the photo back in the wallet, tossed it on the dash, and stumbled out of

the car towards the old gas lady and her smoky glass sarcophagus.

"Mornin' son," the lady chimed, as Jimmy opened the door to her tomb. He

nodded to her, intensely looking around for something to drink. Water.

Shit shit shit, what am I gonna do? What the hell am I gonna do? OK, OK, I'm gonna

hafta call his house. . . I'm gonna hafta call his wife. (Jimmy slaps himself in the

forehead) What the hell am I going to say to his fucking wife?! Uh, pardon me, sorry to wake you ma'am, are you Rummy's wife? Hell of a guy, ain't he? Yeah, well uh . . . I practically just

got him killed, but um, now he's in the backseat of my car bleeding profusely from the face. Mind

if I drop by?

34 During this frenzied train of thought, Jimmy grabbed a bottle of water,

opened it, and began guzzling it. Water poured down his chin and onto his

shirt—one drop in particular rolled down his chest like a shiver up his spine.

"Yer gonna have to pay for that, son," Grandma said as she exhaled little

bursts of smoke in between her words. He peered over at her as his breath heaved

with watery gasps.

"Oh I'll pay for it, ma'am," Jimmy said, wiping his chin with the sleeve of his

shirt. "In fact, I think I'll take two more of these tasty bevies with me," he said

with just the slightest hint of hysteria in his voice.

"Is that ev'rything?"

"Yes it is, ma'am," Jimmy said, as he gazed at the many grooves and creases of

her face. Her skin was pulled rather tight to her skull until you got to her neck. It was at this point where it began to sag and hang like a turkey's watde. Time was written across her face in cursive.

"That'll be four dollars even," she gobbled, her dewlap waggling in an artificial breeze.

"Can I get quarters back please?" Jimmy asked, handing her a five. She placed it in the register and scooped out Jimmy's change.

"Oh dear . . . son . . . hey, turn aroun' boy, quick!" Jimmy looked up at

Grandma's startled face and then followed the motions of her liver-spotted hand, which was pointing anxiously behind him. A man with a lifeless right arm was

struggling his way out of the backseat of Jimmy's car. It was fucking Rummy.

35 "Is he OK?" Jimmy heard Grandma puff as he tore open the kiosk door. He rushed over to Rummy with clenched jaw and fists. Rummy was out of the car, breathing heavy, his head resting on the sullied asphalt.

"All right, get the fuck back in the car!" Jimmy growled as he threw the bottles of water into the backseat.

"Are you the cops?" Rummy coughed out, his head disappearing into the shoulders of his faded suit.

"Of course I'm the fucking cops, now let's get you back in this car," Jimmy said, and then nearly howled in pain, as he noticed a large bump jutting out the top of Rummy's shoulder by his clavicle. It looked like his shoulder had split in two.

Poor bastard, Jimmy cringed, heaving him up by the waist and shoving him back in the car. Jimmy could've probably picked up ten Rummy's at that moment.

Little pebbles stuck to Rummy's forehead from the asphalt. Jimmy was going to brush them off, but decided against it. He slammed the door and turned around.

Grandma was standing at the entrance to her catacomb watching intently. Jimmy gave her a stern wave and a thumbs up.

"Ev'rytbing all right?" she hollered.

36 "Yeah, everything's fine! Thanks!" Jimmy yelled, jumping in the car. Grandma narrowed her brow, and crossed her arms. Jimmy wanted to punch her in the dewlap.

Get the fuck back in your kiosk, you old whorebag!'Jimmy screamed in his mind.

"What the hell were you tryin' to do? Are you all right?" Jimmy asked, as he patiendy drove away, watchful of old hawk eyes. "How's your face? How's your arm?"

Rummy was working himself into a sitting position. Jimmy had a mental flash of his split shoulder and shuddered. After a pause, Rummy finally said, "Well, it's a good thing I'm as drunk as I am, because my goddamn shoulder is dislocated. I think I'm gonna puke." Rummy coughed and wiped the pebbles off his brow.

"Don't you dare puke in the back seat. You can have one of those bottles of water," Jimmy said, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. Rummy looked pretty shaken up.

"What's gonna happen to me? Am I under arrest?"

"OK, listen. You sure you're OK?"

"Yeah."

"Good, because I gotta buncha shit I need to tell you and we're gonna have to act fast."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well. . . I'm not a cop," Jimmy blurted, pulling over to the side of the road.

He turned and gazed at Rummy, relieved to see his face wasn't as mangled as he

37 originally thought it was. He had a bloody nose and a small gash on his forehead, but that looked to be about it.

"Wait. . . what?!" Rummy said in disbelief, fear and pain turning to anger in his eyes. "Why the hell were you following me halfway across the city?"

"I dunno. To make sure you got home safely I guess, I mean, you were loaded, and I was—"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Rummy screamed. "Jesus Christ, you were on my ass for a half an hour! I got scared, that's why I sped off and that's why—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" Jimmy yelled back, turning around in his seat, trying to stay in charge of the situation.

"Holy shit, you're nothin' but a fucking kid!" Rummy leaned over so he could get a good look at Jimmy. "I oughta kick the piss outta you. Where the fuck's my car?" he bellowed, holding out his injured arm.

"Jammed inside a pop-up trailer!" Jimmy cried. "Listen, I feel like shit all right?

I feel like it's my fault and I wanna help you Alex, OK?" he said, quickly wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

At the sound of his name, Rummy paused, catching his rage. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, nodded slightly and said, "You don't fucking follow people around, it's not normal behaviour—"

"It is when that person is tossing mini-shooters out the window of his goddamn car every other fuckin' minute!" Jimmy screamed. "So please listen to me for a second," Jimmy said after a few breaths, a slight waver in his voice.

38 Rummy grimaced and motioned for Jimmy to continue. "When you smashed your car I was sure you were fuckin' dead. I started freaking out. I ran over to the car and you fell out of it, and then before I even knew what the fuck I was doing,

I was dragging you across the street and shoving you into my car—"

Rummy groaned in remembrance.

"And right after that, all these motherfuckers started coming outta their houses, and I was sure we were gonna be caught. . . but then a buncha people all agreed that they saw a guy running from the scene after it happened. I couldn't fucking believe it. So I hopped in the car and calmly drove through the crowd with you in this very backseat. The cops showed up two minutes later."

Rummy breathed heavily through his nose.

"Now this'll probably sound crazy, but if we can get you home real fast we might be able to fix everything. We gotta get you cleaned up and into bed. Make it seem like you've been home all night. You watched a movie with the kids, had sex with the wife, and have been sleeping peacefully in your bed since eleven fucking thirty! Some little punks musta stole your car right outta the driveway, took it for a joyride, and smashed it into a pop-up trailer on Kimberley Avenue. Are you a good guy? Been in trouble with the law? Any previous DUI's?"

"No, no, nothing worse than a speeding ticket."

"Well, we gotta get you home now before the cops call."

"I guess it could work . . . but goddammit this is a sticky situation—"

"Trust me . . . it'll fucking work, but we gotta move."

39 "First things first then, we have to relocate this shoulder before it swells up

anymore. Otherwise it'll be a hard thing to explain if the cops do show up,"

Rummy said with a painful sigh.

"How're we gonna do that?"

"You can help me—"

"Are you kidding me?"

"This isn't the first time this has happened," Rummy said, "By the looks and

feels of it, it's an anterior dislocation, and with a litde help I can get it back into

position. But we gotta do it now before it swells up anymore."

Jimmy paled at the thought of 'relocating' a shoulder, and he thought of Mel

Gibson in Lethal Weapon 2, slamming his shoulder against a wall to get it back into its proper position. Fuckin' Mel Gibson, back before he went all holy-roller on us. Ahh, I guess that movie's all right. Danny Glover taking a shit in a toilet with a bomb in it, now that's

entertainment! Jimmy hysterically mused.

"All right fine, let's fucking do it then," Jimmy replied with more than mild

displeasure.

"Basically, the shoulder is made up of two bones . . . the ball and the socket, and what we gotta do is get the ball back in the socket," Rummy said with a

40 groan. "Well actually, it's made up of three bones, but for our purposes here, all you need to care about is the ball and the socket."

They were out of the car and Rummy was kneeling on someone's front lawn, favouring his injured arm, and gazing up at Jimmy's terrified face. Jimmy looked left and right—the street was as sound asleep as the people who lived on it.

"First time I dislocated my shoulder was in Banff on a ski trip with my wife.

This is the third goddamn time it's happened in about six years," Rummy said.

"And now you know how to slam it back in? Ya know, like Mel Gibson in

Lethal Weapon?'

"That's a goddamn movie, kid," Rummy said with a hint of a chuckle. 'You can't relocate a shoulder like that, it's complete bullshit. You can't pop it back in one second and punch someone out the next, it's not possible—"

"OK, so what the hell do you want me to do then?" Jimmy all but screamed, throwing Rummy's suit jacket on the grass. He looked at Rummy's eyes. A father's eyes. A husband's eyes. A man's eyes. For a second, Jimmy lost sense of everything and felt like he was standing at the edge of a giant pit.

Jump in, Jimmy, the water's just fine.

"All right just relax," Rummy whispered, "this is what's gonna happen. I'm gonna pull my arm tight against my chest, keeping it at a ninety-degree angle at the elbow. Then I'm gonna slowly rotate my forearm outwards like this, until I'm about ready to scream like a girl. All you gotta do is grab my upper arm and

41 carefully pull it up and away from my body. You got that? Up and out, all right?

Up and out."

"Up and out, got it," Jimmy whimpered.

"Now, you're gonna keep my arm in that position while I rotate my forearm inwards and outwards with the hopes of the ball finding the socket. If it hasn't swollen too much and we do it right it should slide back into place," Rummy said with clenched teeth. "You ready?"

Jimmy nodded, and swatted at a mosquito trying to fly into his ear. Now, if you were to ask Jimmy to recall this situation in his head, he can only do so with difficulty. It's as if he has hung a little curtain in front of this memory with the hopes of keeping it shrouded in his mind. Sure, he remembers latching on to

Rummy's ruined upper arm, and pulling the fucking thing way up and out, but then the visual part of the memory is gone. The rest is all audio. Surround sound too. Try if you will, to hear a cacophony of unsettling sounds. Jagged nails on blackboards. Teeth gnawing on silverware. Dental equipment. Alarm clocks. Flat lines. Glass smashing. Metal scraping. Bone grinding against bone. Flesh ripping and tearing. All set against the backdrop of Rummy's hellish shrieks. Was Jimmy screaming too? Let's just pretend he wasn't.

After what surely must have been forever, Jimmy felt Rummy's shoulder shift slightly and heard: "We got it." He let go of Rummy's arm with great relief and shuddered. He felt incredibly tired.

"Way to go to . . . hey, kid! You all right?"

42 Jimmy opened his eyes. God, did Rummy ever look rough!

Time was really starting to swirl around their heads now. Jimmy helped

Rummy to his feet. He picked up Rummy's suit jacket and they walked towards the car.

"We did it," Jimmy quietly said to himself, although it came out sounding more like a question than an affirmation.

"We sure did, but goddammit did it ever hurt," Rummy replied with heavy breath.

"But now it's all right?"

"Hell no. I'll have to keep the fucker in a sling for a month so it stays in place, and ice the shit out of it, but it's in place, and at least I'll be able to breathe again."

Jimmy opened the passenger door and Rummy carefully clambered in. Jimmy looked at this man, he looked at his crumpled suit and the litde bald spot on his head, and he just wanted to bawl. He wished he could just rest his head in his

(ex)girlfriend's lap and howl and blubber for hours. She would gently rub her fingers through his hair and tell him it was OK and that she loved him. She'd cradle him in her arms like the Virgin Mary of Michelangelo's Pieta, and whisper all sorts of sweet somethings in his ear. She'd kiss away his tears, and slowly he'd doze off into pleasant repose, as she stroked his face and tickled the back of his neck. God, did Jimmy ever want that. He walked around the car, attempting to get ahold of himself, and hopped in. He threw caution to the wind and raced down the preternaturally quiet street.

43 "OK, now we're gonna hafta call your house," Jimmy said in a voice that didn't

sound like his own, "and hope to fuck they haven't called yet. Tell whoever

answers that if anyone calls for you, you're asleep, and that they will try to wake

you up . . . hopefully we'll fucking be there before then."

"Do you have a cell? Mine's in my car," Rummy exclaimed, patting his

pockets.

"No I don't, but there's a phone booth over there," Jimmy said pointing up

ahead at a Mac's convenience store. They pulled into the parking lot and ran over

to the phone. Jimmy handed Rummy a quarter and he began to dial the number.

"What if the cops are already there?" Rummy asked frantically, the phone held

tightly in his hand.

"Then we're fucked, and you'll probably watch me explode right here," Jimmy

cried, stamping the ground with his heel. Rummy dialled the remaining numbers.

Everything was hushed. Even the crickets were silent. All that was heard was the low electric drone of the solitary streetlight illuminating the parking lot. Jimmy was pinching his thigh through his jeans in consternation. Ceaseless cocoons began to tear open in his stomach, hatching savage little butterflies that attempted to fly out his mouth. Sweat dotted his brow like a bad case of acne.

Oh, rest that head in your girlfriend's lap little pup!

"Hello, Jess?" Rummy literally spat this out.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. Where's your mother?"

44 "Uh ... in bed. Dad, it's three in the morning."

"Yeah, I know. Has anyone called?"

"Well, I just got home about fifteen minutes ago, but since then no one has

called. Why? What's going on Dad?"

"I can't explain now. Listen, take the phone off the hook until I get home."

"Sure Dad, but what's going on?"

"I'll be home in ten minutes. Keep the phone off the hook and don't wake

your mother. You got that, Jess?"

"Yeah, I guess—"

"Good. Love ya, babe." Rummy hung up the phone. It slipped from its cradle

and fell, hanging from its cord. It reminded Jimmy of Rummy's arm and he

shuddered.

"All right, let's motor," Rummy said, a new fire in his eyes. He was relieved

Jessica had answered the phone rather than his wife.

"I just thought of something," Jimmy said. 'Your keys are in the ignition—"

"Well, I guess I suddenly have a bad habit of leaving my keys in the car," he replied. Jimmy looked over at him. Although he was clearly still in a lot of pain,

Jimmy saw determination knitted across his brow.

We can do this, Jimmy thought to himself, as he drove with haste down the sleeping suburban streets of East Windsor towards Rummy's house onjarvis.

Jimmy felt completely detached from himself. Unsure of who or what he was, yet as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he smiled.

45 Jimmy grabbed the pack of Rothman's off the dash.

"Cigarette?" he asked Rummy with the shadow of a smirk on his lips.

"Aren't those mine?" Rummy asked with a shadow of his own.

"Nah, I found 'em in the backseat," Jimmy said, as he lit both and handed one to Rummy.

"Thanks, kid," Rummy replied quiedy, inhaling deep.

"Who the hell taught you how to put your arm back in like that?"

"Joe Pesci."

Jimmy burst out laughing. Rummy joined in.

"That's not even funny!" Jimmy said, laughing even harder.

"Hey, what's your goddamn name, kid?"

"Jimmy mafuckin' Jenkins, sir."

46 Ill

THE dynamic duo known as Jimmy and Rummy arrived at Rummy's house on

Jarvis Avenue exactly thirty-three minutes after Rummy's fateful trailer bender.

Jimmy jammed the car in park on the side of the road, and with Rummy leaning

on him for support they quickly walked up the driveway to the front door.

Rummy had wiped most of the blood off his face on the drive home using a

bottle of water and the inside of his suit jacket. Nevertheless, he still looked like a

train-wreck. As soon as they reached the front porch, the door was flung open

with a swish of long golden brown hair.

"Oh my God! Dad, are you OK? What happened?!"

Oh my God is right! Jimmy screamed as his mind went on the tilt-a-whirl. Jessica juckin' Matvey!

Last winter during the height of exams, Jimmy was in the library systematically

attempting to cram multiple things in his head at the same time. His exam

schedule was horrible that term. Instead of being comfortably spread out over the

space of two weeks, his were all packed tight in a three-day package. Jimmy kinda

liked the stress, though. It made him feel all wild and crazy. No sleep, gallons of

coffee, countless cigarettes, and more information than he knew what to do with.

His head would wind up so waterlogged with facts and figures, names and terms,

47 thoughts and assumptions, he'd be top heavy. But things were going pretty good.

He was hidden in a carrel on the fourth floor of the library and tearing through articles dealing with the detrimental effects of advertising—how it has seeped into every nook and cranny of our lives, how it promotes rampant individualism, undermines the ideology of democracy, reinforces stereotypes, and deceives us by constantly distracting us. The topic engrossed and incensed him. He was sure to do well on the exam. Next was nineteenth-century American Lit. Jimmy's course load was heavy that semester, and there were a few things he hadn't read yet for the course. He began to read Sidney Lanier's poem "The Symphony". It had good rhythm, and Jimmy found himself enjoying it. He began to silently mouth the words to keep the rhythm:

I doubt no doubts: I strive, and shrive my clay,

And fight my fight in the patient modern way

For true love and for thee—ah me! and pray

To be thy knight until my dying day,

Fair lady . . .

At this, he heard a noise and pulled his face out of the textbook. A girl with long blonde hair had just seated herself in the cubbyhole across from Jimmy's.

She began pulling a bunch of textbooks out of a bright green backpack. And goddamn, she was beautiful! Lanier's verses reverberated in Jimmy's head as he

48 gazed at this absolutely compelling woman. She looked fairly young, probably first

year. She pulled her hair back and put it in a loose ponytail. Jimmy sighed. She

glanced over at him. He gave her a bashful litde smile, and then immediately

planted his face back in his text. He tried to return his attention to Lanier, but

found he no longer gave a shit about him.

This girl! Good Lord, she's a hottie! I'd let her kick me in the balls if she wanted!

Without delay, Jimmy idealized her in his mind. Clearly, she was everything,

and had everything Jimmy ever wanted in a woman. His heart was pattering faster

than a shy boy's about to slow dance with a girl for the first time. He snuck

another quick glance at her.

Jimmy decided that as soon as he finished Lanier's poem he'd have to go take

a break, and concentrated on the last two stanzas. He made it to the end and

slowly read the last line: "Music is Love in search of a word."

Beautiful, Jimmy thought, looking up to see the girl putting on a pair of

headphones. The coincidental symbolism of it all sent Jimmy reeling. He looked

down to see she had kicked off her shoes—she was wearing a pink sock on her

left foot and a light blue one on her right. Jimmy thought nothing had ever looked

more fantastic than those two mismatched feet, silently tapping on the tiled floor.

She leaned back in her chair, and met Jimmy's stare with cool blue eyes. He

smiled, his pen absently falling from his hand, and she smiled back—her teeth a litde crooked, but still lovely. A million thoughts, some unfit to describe here, inundated Jimmy's already full mind. He was absolutely besotted with her!

49 But suddenly, the moment was torn like a page from a book, with the arrival

of a third party.

"Hey Jimmy, there you are!" a voice said, much too loudly to be considered

appropriate within the walls of the hushed library. "I knew you'd be in here

somewhere."

"Hey Gav. What's goin' on?" Jimmy asked, as they instinctively slapped five.

"Not much. Just takin' a little study break. You got smokes?"

Jimmy nodded.

"You wanna go have one?"

"Yeah, sure," Jimmy replied, as Gavin looked over at the subject of Jimmy's sudden infatuation.

"Oh hey, Jess," Gavin said. She pulled off her headphones and let them hang around her neck.

"Hi, Gavin." Her voice felt like warm caresses on Jimmy's face.

"You all ready for the big exam tomorrow?"

"No," she said mildly, "I've got two exams tomorrow, and I'm kinda stressin' out. I'll be pulling an all-nighter for sure—"

"Aww . . . you'll do fine. You're a keener, just like Jimmy here {hepoints at a flushed Jimmy), always goes to class, keeps up with his reading, hands stuff in on

50 time, visits his professors in their offices." At this, Gavin simulated the act of fellatio with his fist and his mouth. Jimmy continued to blush and Jessica quiedy laughed. Jimmy could tell she was just laughing to be nice to Gavin, and their eyes locked again. Time disappeared like a pink sunset against a light blue sky.

"Whatever it takes to get a good grade, eh Jimmy?" Jimmy wasn't paying attention. "It's just too bad he doesn't have any female professors this semester."

Still nothing. Gavin slapped him on the back. "C'mon bro, let's go have that cigarette."

"Yeah all right," Jimmy said, as if awaking from a dream. He stood up.

"If you wanna cheat off me, I'll be sitting in the back row," Gavin told Jessica.

She laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Gavin."

"Good luck," Jimmy whispered to her with a grin, as he followed Gavin through the rows of musty books towards the stairs. As soon as they were far enough away, Jimmy blurted out: "Gav, who is that girl?"

"That is Jessica fuckin' Matvey. She's in the first-year philosophy class that I'm taking with your . . . {slight pause here for dramatic effect) girlfriend." At the mention of his girlfriend, the sunset in Jimmy's head faded to black. "I saw her a litde while ago, she was lookin' for you."

"Where was she?" Jimmy asked, as they pushed open the big glass doors of the library.

51 "She was at The Archive, drinking coffee and wildly highlighting some article," he said, chuckling. "She seemed pretty stressed. Said she forgot a book or

something."

"Hmmm," Jimmy responded, as he handed Gavin a cigarette. It was cold out.

Jimmy looked at the sky and wished for snow. Prayed for a giant blizzard.

C'mon Ma Nature, show us jour stuff, babe!

"Hey, we should grab a beer at the pub," Gavin said through a cloud of smoke.

"Are you kidding me?"

"C'mon buddy, one pint. . . it's a proven stress reliever."

"I'll just go jerk off in the bathroom."

"Have a beer and then spin one off, you'll be as clear-headed as a ten year old."

Jimmy laughed. This was why he loved Gavin. He was ridiculous. And always excited with life. Gavin was one of Jimmy's oldest friends. He never stressed out and always tried to turn most situations into fun ones.

"As soon as the library closes, I'm going to the student centre, and I'm gonna keep studying there until my brain feels like it's about to implode."

"Fuckin' keeners," Gavin said, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Gav, I got two exams tomorrow, one the next, and two more the fuckin' next," Jimmy reminded him, waving at two girls walking up the steps to the library.

52 "What's that redhead's name?"

"Katie."

"She was in one of my Comm classes last year—she is smokin' hot, Jimmy! I used to leave class with blue balls just from staring at the back of her head!

Dammit, now I'm gonna have to go and drip one out too!" Gavin said, staring at the girls through the windows of the library. "Her friend's pretty cute too. I'd tell herz sexy bedtime story—"

"Shut up!" Jimmy said, laughing.

"What? This is how I procrastinate, Jimmy. Being a perv and fantasizing about girls."

Jimmy's own thoughts found their way back to Jessica Matvey. He flicked his cigarette and it collided with the pavement. Fiery little sparks shot up in the air and extinguished in the cool breeze.

"All right, I'm going back in, I'm freezing. Good luck tomorrow," Jimmy said, as their two arms habitually swung in the air and met at the palm. SMACK.

"No sweat, it's first year philosophy," Gavin said, pulling a tuque over his messy blond head. "I got it covered, Jim—the allegory of the cave, the cogito,

God is dead, existence precedes essence, don't drink the hemlock, blah fucking blah—you sure you don't wanna have that pint?" Gav tried again. Jimmy shook his head. "It was worth a try." Gavin jumped down the four steps to the library's entrance. "See ya, Jimmy. And don't worry, you'll do fine," he said, his hands

53 shoved deep in the pockets of his Levi's. "Thus spake Gavathustra!" he shouted

wildly, breaking into a run towards the student centre.

Silly bastard, Jimmy thought, as he made his way back towards his cubbyhole

and Jessica Matvey.

As Jimmy approached his makeshift den, he saw the all too familiar figure of

his girlfriend sitting in his seat. She was inattentively flipping through his

American Lit text. She turned upon seeing him and quickly rose out of the chair.

"Hey Jim, I've been looking for your hiding spot for like a half an hour."

She embraced him warmly and kissed his neck. Jimmy glanced at Jessica. She

was feigning absolute focus on her studies. His heart seized up just a touch, as he

gazed at a thick strand of her hair, hanging just above her right shoulder.

"What's up, babe?" Jimmy asked, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Nothin', just stressing out and really wanted to see you," she whispered, gently

pinching his stomach. It was funny, exams always made her horny. They turned her into a goddamn minx. She continued to nibble on Jimmy's neck. At any other

moment, Jimmy would've gladly reciprocated her tickles, but he couldn't help but think of Jessica. As though perceiving his thoughts, Jess took off her headphones,

slipped on her shoes, grabbed her purse, and walked towards the bathroom.

"Hey, that girl's in my philosophy class."

54 "Is she?" Jimmy asked, barely audible, his eyes following her as she walked through the stacks of books.

"Yeah, she always dresses real nice. I love her style, seems pretty smart too."

"Hmm," Jimmy responded, as his girlfriend pushed her body against his.

"Listen Jim, I forgot a book that I need to read for my exam tomorrow. Do you wanna go study at home for the rest of the night?" He could feel her breasts and the beating of her heart against his chest.

"Maybe . . . if you twist my arm," Jimmy said, gazing into her heated eyes. She slipped her arm in between his legs and twisted something else.

"Not that arm!" Jimmy said with a giggle, and began quickly stuffing his notes into his backpack. She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the maze of books toward the stairs. Jimmy briefly looked back at Jessica's desk, but told himself to forget about her, as he and his girlfriend walked arm in arm out the library doors, into the brisk night air, and headed for the parking lot.

"Dad, what the ^//happened?" Jessica repeated, as she looked at her father's haggard face and then recognized Jimmy's. "Jimmy?" she said in disbelief.

"Hey Jess," Jimmy replied.

"You two know each other?" Rummy asked. They both nodded slighdy. "Ha, small world, eh?" Rummy said, as if it wasn't surprising at all.

55 "Yeah, we go to school together," they said in unison.

"Ha!" Rummy said again.

Jimmy wasn't the only one who on occasion thought about their stare-down in the library, and as Jess looked into Jimmy's bloodshot eyes it all came back to her.

Even though she also shrugged it off as if it was nothing, just a fun little eye game, she couldn't help but feel, deep down, that it was actually something.

So, we got lost in each other's eyes, big deal. So what if it made me feel all tingly. So what if

1 just so happened to be reading Browning's "Two in the Campagna"for my Victorian final.

Oh, how romantic. Then his girlfriend showed up, and of course, she was pretty. Someone told me they broke up a few months back, though—

"Jess, are you gonna let us in or should we go around back?" Rummy wryly asked, looking first at the statue of his daughter and then at the stationary Jimmy.

She blinked, shook her head, and moved out of the way. Rummy and Jimmy entered the house.

"God Dad, you reek like booze."

"Is the phone still off the hook?" Rummy asked, ignoring her comment.

"Yeah."

"Go put it back on."

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. Please go put the phone back on the hook."

Jessica ran down the hall and put the phone back on its cradle.

All right Jimmy back to action! Tullyour puppy dog head out of the goddamn clouds!

56 "OK, Jess, grab the portable phone and then go wake your Mom. Once you wake her, meet me and Jimmy in the bathroom, because I gotta get cleaned up immediately. If the phone rings before you get in the bathroom, answer it like you're expecting a call from one of your friends. You got it?"

"Sure Dad, but—"

"Just do what I say."

She nodded, and darted up the stairs. Rummy led Jimmy down the hall into a big bathroom with wood trim and several mirrors. A claw-foot tub stood coldly on the tiled floor. Jimmy turned on the shower to heat up the water.

"Sorry Jimmy, but you're gonna have to help me out of this shirt," Rummy said, pulling off his already loosened tie.

"Yeah, sure," Jimmy said, quickly unbuttoning Rummy's bloodstained collared shirt.

Holy shit, he's a hairy one!Jimmy thought, as he carefully slid the shirt off

Rummy's shoulders. The excessive body hair seemed pretty trivial though, as soon as Jimmy saw Rummy's shoulder.

"Goddamn!" Jimmy couldn't help but say.

"Looks pretty rough doesn't it?" Rummy said with a groan. It was already starting to bruise. A dark shade of purple surrounded by angry brown. Jimmy thought he could see bruises forming in the shape of fingerprints on Rummy's upper arm. He shuddered.

57 "OK thanks, I think I got it from here," Rummy said, unzipping his pants and loosening his belt. "Pop open that cabinet and grab me some Advil, would ya?"

Rummy asked, pointing to a door with a full-length mirror on it. "Better yet, there should be some T-3's in there somewhere."

Jimmy walked over to it and glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

I look like Vmfuckin' dead, Jimmy said, opening the door and locating the

Tylenol. He popped open the botde and tapped three pills into his palm and handed them to Rummy.

"Thanks Jimmy," Rummy said. He was stripped down to his underwear. He grabbed a bathrobe off the back of the door and draped it over his shoulders.

"OK, next thing I want you to do is take this suit and throw it in the garbage. The kitchen is down the hall to your right. There's garbage bags under the sink. Shove the whole damn suit in a bag and toss it in the garbage pail outside on the back porch. Also, there should be some ice packs in the freezer, grab them and bring

'em in here—"

"Got it," Jimmy said, gathering the suit in his arms. Rummy turned on the sink, popped the Tylenol, and took a sip, examining his face in the mirror. Jimmy left the bathroom and made his way towards the kitchen. It was huge, with large windows looking out on a big wooden deck and a pool. Jimmy thought of Jessica tanning herself in the privacy of her own backyard and sighed. He walked to the sink and began to open the cupboar—

"ALEX!! What the hell is going on?!"

58 Jimmy grabbed his chest in horror. I guess Jess woke her Mom up, Jimmy said to himself, his heart racing.

"What happened to your face Alex? Oh my God, Ally . . . baby, what happened? Are you all right?"

Jimmy wondered why in the hell Rummy, who seemed like a pretty decent guy, had been driving his car all piss-loaded in the first place?

He doesn 't really seem like the type of guy.

Jimmy grabbed a green garbage bag and was about to stuff the suit inside when the phone rang.

King . . . Utter silence and stifled breath.

Ring. . . Shower turns off and small whimper from the bathroom.

King—

"Jimmy, I told yon I was going to bed," Jessica said, almost too loudly, into the phone. Jimmy flinched upon hearing his name. He dropped the suit and quickly walked towards the bathroom.

"Um . . . he's sleeping right now, can I take a message?"

Jimmy entered the bathroom. Rummy's wife looked at him, surprised. Jimmy nodded to her, but she just kept staring. Her hair was strewn about her head as if she'd been in an accident herself. She was wearing a satin robe and Jimmy could

59 see where Jessica got her endearing looks. It sure as hell wasn't from hairy, litde

Rummy.

"No, this is his daughter—well, yes officer, if it's an emergency I'll go wake him up, one second, please ..."

Upon hearing the word "officer", Rummy's wife quiedy gasped. Jessica placed her thumb on the mute button and held the phone out in front of her as if it was a poisonous snake. Rummy sat down on the toilet.

"OK, no one say a word ... I'll explain everything in a minute, honey,"

Rummy whispered, looking at his wife. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held out his hand for the phone. Jessica slowly handed it to him. Jimmy was pinching his thigh and biting his tongue. Water dripped from the showerhead.

"Yeah ..." Rummy hoarsely said into the phone, feigning sleep.

"Alexander Matvey?"

"That's me," Rummy said, petrified. He kept his composure. "What's the problem?"

"Sorry to wake you, Mr. Matvey. This is Officer Blanchard from the Collision

Centre at the Police Department. I have some unfortunate news about your car."

"My car? What d'you mean?"

"About an hour ago, your 1998 Chrysler Sebring was found smashed into a trailer on Kimberley Avenue, sir."

"Wait. . . what? Are you kiddin' me? It should be outside on the street!"

Rummy said, standing up and knocking over a magazine rack next to the toilet.

60 He walked over to the window and forcefully opened the mini-blinds. Jimmy guessed he was doing it for emphasis. Jimmy looked at the two women but couldn't handle the expression on their faces.

"My car is gone! Jesus Christ! Who the hell?" Rummy cried, laying it on. He cursed and swore and paced the bathroom floor. "You're telling me it's smashed up?"

"Yes sir—"

"I just paid the damn thing off. Goddammit! This is unbelievable! Did you catch the son of a bitch who stole it?"

"Unfortunately no sir, however, there are several witnesses who claim they saw a male youth, maybe two, fleeing the scene after it happened."

"Any leads?"

"Not yet sir. Do you have any sons?"

"Yes, one, but he's in Europe."

"I see."

Rummy heard the officer typing on a keyboard. "So what's the chance of you catching these punks?" he asked quickly.

"Not likely at this time, Mr. Matvey. We believe your keys were left in the ignition, sir. You said you had the car parked on the street, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Have there been any disturbances in the area that you know of?"

"No, not that I know of."

61 "Well, there are signs of forced entry, Mr. Matvey. If the car was parked on the street, the perpetrator must have seen the keys, and then he either jimmied it open with a coat hanger or smashed the window . . . simple as that."

"I can't believe this!" Rummy said heatedly. "What is wrong with kids these days?" he asked. He was more than extremely glad he had thrown the empty little botdes of booze out the window, because his fingerprints were all over them.

"We've recovered your cell phone and briefcase, sir. There was also a set of golf clubs in the trunk. It's all here at the station. You'll have to come down here in the morning to fill out an accident report, and then you can claim your belongings. You should also give a call to your insurance company, so they can assess the damage."

"Is it a write off?" Rummy asked.

"There is significant damage to the front end, sir."

"Hmmm. I cannot believe this," Rummy said, sounding at a loss.

"Yes, it is an unfortunate circumstance."

"You're tellin' me."

"Do you have any other questions, Mr. Matvey?"

"No, not right now."

"Well, please take note that we close at two tomorrow because of the holiday.

We're on Jefferson just south of—"

"I know where you're at. I'll be there first thing in the morning."

"Perfect. Good night sir, and I apologize for the inconvenience."

62 "Yeah . . . good night." Rummy clicked the off button with his thumb, placed the phone next to the sink, and gaped at Jimmy with a sigh of indescribable relief.

"Well Jimmy, you crazy son of a bitch, it looks like we did it!" Rummy said with his good arm in the air.

"Alex, what the hell is going on?" Hannah asked. "What happened to the car?

What's wrong with your arm?"

"Let me get in the bath and I'll tell you everything, Hannah." Rummy turned on the tap to beginning filling the tub. "Do you know where my sling is?"

Hannah nodded, staring at Rummy with her arms crossed in front of her. She was about to say more, but Rummy cut her off. "Please, go find it and let me get in the bath. Gimme five minutes and I'll explain, OK? Everything is all right."

"I'll go grab the ice packs for you," Jimmy said.

"And who the hellh that kid?"

"That my dear, is Jimmy mafuckin'Jenkins."

Jimmy opened the door to the freezer, searching for the ice packs. He noticed an open carton of Rothman's in the side of the door. He pulled out a pack and stuffed it in his back pocket. He found two soft ice packs behind a bag of frozen broccoli. He took them out and tossed them on the counter. He picked Rummy's crumpled suit up off the floor and stuffed it in the garbage bag. He slid open the

63 patio door and went outside. He walked over to the garbage pail, jammed the suit

inside and closed the lid. A solitary robin sang its ode to the morning from a

nearby tree.

"Go back to bed," Jimmy mumbled to the robin. Everything outside looked

blurred along the edges. He tore open the pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and

lit it with Rummy's lighter. He took a drag and exhaled through trembling lips. A

mosquito landed on his neck and took a litde nip of blood before he could smack

it off.

"Litde fucker!" Jimmy cried, vehemendy slapping his neck. And that was about

all the poor kid could take. He fell to his knees, grasped the handle of the garbage

pail, and was racked with a paroxysm of sobs. He couldn't tell if they were tears of

relief or not, he just hung onto the garbage pail and let the tears fall. . .

Inside, surrounded by the last of the night's shadows, Jessica watched all of

this through the large patio window. Reflections of the water from the pool

danced across Jimmy's back, as he calmed himself. Jessica's initial reaction was to

run to him, hold him, kiss him, soothe him . . . but she knew she couldn't. So she

stood, a silhouette in the gloom, and watched as if entranced.

"Jess, your Dad's in the tub," her mother said after a few minutes. She took

one last look at Jimmy and went back to the bathroom. Rummy added bubbles to the bath, and was just a head and knees.

"Where's Jimmy?" he asked with a groan.

"Um . . . outside having a smoke," Jessica said, sitting down on the toilet.

64 "Well he knows what happened, so I guess I'll start without him," Rummy said

hesitandy. He cleared his throat. "Now listen, this is very important. What's said

in this room stays in this room," he said, looking at Jessica. "In fact, when I'm

done, we're gonna flush each and every word down the toilet," he said in an

attempt to lighten the mood. His daughter snickered through her nose. His wife

glared.

"Tell me what the hell happened, Alex—"

"All right. Things got a litde out of control—"

"It sounds and smells to me Alex, like you got drunk and drove your car! How

could you be so moronic?" Hannah screamed. "What the hell's been wrong with

you lately?"

"Will you please let me finish, Hannah?" Rummy soberly asked, staring at his

knees. "I guess I had a few more sips than I thought—"

Hannah opened her mouth to interrupt, but closed it, as a puffy-eyed Jimmy

came in the doorway. He stood there and leaned against the doorjamb. He had

forgotten all about the ice packs. He glanced at Jessica, and she gave him a thin

smile, trying to send consoling thoughts with her eyes.

"But, like I was saying," Rummy quiedy continued, "I guess I had a few more

than I should've. But I was sure I could make it home . . . ya know, I'd just drive

real carefully." Hannah made a tssk sound with her lips. "But obviously, I was wrong . . . because I lost control of the car, and smashed it into a trailer on

Kimberley Avenue—"

65 The eyes of the women doubled in size.

"What?" Hannah said in a whisper.

"I pushed my way out of the car, and then Jimmy here, came out of nowhere,

picked me up, and carried me to his car."

"Yeah but this whole thing was—"

"If it wasn't for Jimmy," Rummy continued, shooting Jimmy a look that said,

Hey, shut the fuck up, "I'd be in jail right now. This damn kid saved my life."

Both women looked at Jimmy in amazement. He couldn't speak.

"He thought my car was gonna explode, so he pulled me away and put me in

his backseat for safety. And somehow nobody saw him do it, and then a bunch of

people claimed they saw a guy fleeing the scene on foot after it happened. The

cops have no idea I was the one driving the car. They think it was stolen from

outside the house."

Jimmy listened to Rummy's 'version' of what happened in shock.

He must be a goddamn lawyer, Jimmy thought, as he looked down at Jessica's feet.

Each toenail was painted a different shade of red.

"I dislocated my shoulder though," Rummy said, rising out of the bath,

showing his wife and daughter his discoloured shoulder.

"Oh my God!" Jessica squealed, averting her eyes.

"Again? God Ally, are you all right?" Hannah asked in a softened voice as she inspected his wounded upper arm.

66 "Yeah I'm OK, Jimmy helped me get it back in the socket before it really started to swell up, so I was lucky." Again, both women stared at Jimmy in amazement. Jimmy shuddered, his eyes glued to Rummy's purpled shoulder.

"Now, I know everything sounds bad, but it'd be a helluva lot worse if I was telling you this story from a payphone in jail. It was an incredible stroke of dumb luck, and I thank God for it. And hopefully this whole thing is just gonna quietly blow over."

Nicefuckin' closer, Rummy!'Jimmy thought. Yeah, this guy's probably a defence lawyer or something. He should run for May or with rhetoric like that!

Hannah sat on the edge of the tub and began stroking her husband's thinning hair.

"Well, I guess the main thing is that you're all right and safe," Hannah said, giving him a pliable look with her eyes. She was, at least momentarily, pudding in

Rummy's hands.

"I made a really stupid decision and I feel like a complete idiot. Let's just be thankful Jimmy showed up when he did, otherwise ..."

All three Matveys looked at Jimmy. Jimmy was furious that Rummy was playing it up so much. Hannah got up and embraced Jimmy, kissing him on both cheeks.

"Thank you Jimmy," she said in between kisses.

Next in line was Jessica. She gendy wrapped her arms around his neck and for a second they touched foreheads. Jimmy could've died right there. In a movie,

67 they surely would've kissed, and sappy viewers would sigh and feel warm and

fuzzy all over. It took Jimmy everything he had left in him (which wasn't much)

not to fall on the floor in some sort of fit. He managed to keep his hands

wrapped around her slender waist, as she whispered, "Thank you" in his ear. Her

bottom lip ever so slightly touched his earlobe. This time, Jimmy could've died

Shakespearean style. She moved her right hand up his neck and through his hair,

cupping the back of his head. "It'll be OK, Jimmy," she said and pulled away.

Jimmy Jenkins stood in a daze, looking at the Matveys. Blushing. His upper

body swayed on his legs as if he was drunk.

"Hey, don't you have a son?" Jimmy blurted randomly, remembering the old

family photo from Rummy's wallet. He attempted to pull the helium balloon that was his head back down in between his shoulders.

"Yeah, he's gone backpacking through Europe," Rummy said.

"Oh Alex, I got an e-mail from Scotty tonight," Hannah said, turning to her husband. "He's in Brussels, and everything's set for Paris. He says he loves it

there—"

"What he means is that he loves the women there, eh Jimmy?" Rummy said with a light laugh.

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders stupidly. Hannah gave Rummy a look that said,

Oh Alex you're so silly, followed by another one Jimmy wished he didn't see. It was time for him to get the hell out of there.

68 "And just a few more days now, until we get to see him," Hannah said, looking

at Jessica with a smile. Jess silently nodded.

"Well, I should get out of this tub, and try to get a few hours sleep," Rummy

said with a groan, splashing some water on his face.

"And I should be going . . . "Jimmy said mosdy to himself.

"Hang on for a sec there, Jimmy," Rummy said, as he pulled the plug to the tub. "I wanna talk to you before you go."

"All right. Your wallet's still in my car."

"Well, let me get out of the tub and I'll walk you out," Rummy said turning on the shower and pulling the curtain closed. Jimmy and Jessica left the bathroom and stood in the hallway staring at each other.

"So what'd you do tonight?" Jimmy asked after a minute of silence.

"Nothing much."

"I wish I could say the same," he replied. Rummy and Hannah came out of the bathroom. Rummy placed his good arm on Jimmy's shoulder.

"OK Jimmy, let's go."

After a quick and unsatisfactory goodbye to Jessica and her mother, Jimmy and Rummy were standing next to Jimmy's car, with the soft light of dawn on their shoulders. Rummy's front lawn was covered in dew, and the birds were

69 singing loudly now, like drunks at an Irish pub. The canvas of the sky was painted in pastels of pink and blue.

"Thanks Jimmy. I think tonight was one of the craziest nights of my life," he said, glancing up at the sky. "This whole ordeal put a bunch of things into perspective for me."

"But why'd you cover for me? Why'd you turn me into a goddamn hero? This whole thing was my fucking fault..."

"Yeah, but now that it looks like,we're in the clear, which I still can barely fathom, and I'm gonna be all right, I'm kinda glad it happened—"

"You sure that's not the T-3's talking?"

"I needed something like this, Jimmy. This was just the sort of punch in the face I'd been looking for. It changes everything."

Jimmy didn't quite follow, but felt he didn't need to. They stood in silence for a few moments, watching a bunch of sparrows attack a bird feeder that hung from a neighbour's tree across the street. Rummy nursed his arm, holding it carefully out in front of him.

"Make sure you wear a baseball cap or something, when you go down to the station," Jimmy said glancing at the cut on Rummy's forehead. Rummy nodded, still lost in his own thoughts. "Hey, what do you do anyways?" Jimmy asked.

"Me? I'm a real-estate agent."

Of course he is!

"Well, you have a nice house," Jimmy said with a smile.

70 "Thanks."

"Can I ask you a question, Alex?" The name sounded strange on Jimmy's lips.

"Shoot."

"Well, now that I've kinda gotten to know you . . . you just don't seem like the

type of guy who would drive his car all sauced up like that." Jimmy crinkled his brow. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is why?"

Rummy frowned and cleared his throat. "OK, I'll tell you, but this one stays between me and you. Capiche?"

"Sure."

Rummy took a considerable breath. "At the end of every other month, the boss takes all his 'big-sellers' out for dinner. Good food, wine, ya know, the works. It's his way of saying thanks, and he thinks it boosts morale. Anyway, he took us to that new restaurant in the casino, Le Piment Rouge, you heard of it?"

Jimmy nodded. "Well, after the meal, everyone wanted to gamble. Usually I could give two shits about gambling. I'm the type of guy who'll spend ten bucks on the slots and be ready to get the hell out of there. But I had this feeling. A hunch, ya know? May and June were good months for me—I closed deal on three very nice houses, and had some extra cash. A couple of the guys were trying their luck at blackjack, so I decided what the hell might as well, and joined them at the table.

And for a while Jimmy, I was on fire. I was the guy to watch ... I was the man. It was a rush. I was smokin' a cigar, I had a woman on my left and two on my right, and couldn't be beat. The girls were feeding me martinis and shoving their tits

71 against me, whispering 'hit me' in my ears. I realize now, it just to distract me. But at that point, I was up a nice chunk of change . . . and with everyone rooting me on, there was no way I could quit." Rummy paused and sighed. "Do ya know how to play, Jim?"

"Yeah, for the most part..."

"Well, the dealer had dealt two cards, and I had a five and a six. He had a deuce and a goddamn three of spades. So I said to myself, What the hell,you're on a roll, make it a double-down''' Rummy stopped to spit on the wet grass. "So I tell him, let's double-down, which means the bet is doubled, but you only get one more card. And I had quite a few chips on the table. So I'm staring at the dealer, givin' him a look that just screams, Fuckjou buddy. Being totally cocky, ya know? Like my shit don't stink or something," Rummy said with a cutting laugh. "And then he tosses me a fucking Ace. He flips himself a nine, and had me beat. Prick even chuckled afterwards. Well, that's when everything fell apart. I had to surrender a couple hands after that, and completely lost my flow. I was pretty pissed up by then too." He stopped to look at Jimmy. He looked ready to pass out. "But anyway, to make a long story short, I shoulda fucking stopped while I was still ahead, because within a half an hour, I lost everything I made and was two grand in the hole."

"What? Whoa."

"Yeah, no shit. . . woe is me," Rummy said with another harsh laugh. "The girls left me after awhile, and so did my buddies. I got frustrated, then angry. I

72 started making a scene . . . security officers came by and escorted me to the cash to pay my tab. I paid it but was acting all belligerent. Just shootin' my mouth off at the security like it was their fault. They told me to leave or they'd call the cops.

On my way out, some kid who worked there was walking towards the hotel with a box of those mini-shooters in his arms and I knocked him over. He fell on top of the box and the bottles fuckin' flew everywhere." Rummy grimaced. "I bent down and started jamming as many of the little bottles I could fit into my pockets, like a goddamn wild man . . . and then I ran the hell on outta there. You know the rest, I just hope none of my co-workers were still around to see it." He paused, staring at his feet. "Jesus Christ," Rummy muttered, playing the scene over in his head. "I don't even remember the walk to my car."

"Can you believe it?" Rummy asked after a deep sigh, staring into Jimmy's eyes. "I shoved some poor kid and felt justified doing it. I think I even told him to fuck off." Jimmy could feel the man's shame—it stung him like a mosquito.

"It's pretty crazy," was all Jimmy could say.

Rummy nodded. "Listen Jimmy, you look like you're about ready to fall over.

You need to get your ass into bed, and so do I for that matter. Let me get your number, and I'll call you in the afternoon. Maybe we can get together for a drink,"

Rummy said, trying to lighten the mood.

Jimmy chuckled in spite of himself. "How 'bout a coffee?" He opened the car door, grabbed Rummy's wallet and his backpack to find a pen. He wrote his number on a piece of paper, and handed it to Rummy, along with his wallet.

73 "Thanks Jimmy," Rummy said putting out his good arm. They shook hands and carefully embraced.

"See ya, get some rest," Jimmy said, walking around to the driver's side door.

With a yawn and a sigh, Jimmy jammed the key in the ignition and drove off, speeding down the street, in a mad attempt to beat the rising sun home.

74 IV

AND Jimmy Jenkins slept. He stumbled in his house more like a Grendel than a

Beowulf. He was angry, hungry, and exhausted. He immediately walked up the stairs and into his room, closing the door behind him. He shut the windows in the hopes of muffling the murmur of morning. He could hear the sound of a garbage truck somewhere down the street. He drew the blinds to create an artificial darkness. Threads of light were sewn around the edges of the window.

He turned towards his bed, tossed himself on it, and was asleep within minutes. And for a litde while, Jimmy slept like the dead. Then he slept like a rock. And later, he slept like a log. But then because of a noise from outside, his eyes started to flutter, which in turn, sent his mind sleepwalking . . .

His girlfriend was sitting on a toilet and smoking a cigarette in a bathroom that felt like the bathroom in their apartment, but looked like Rummy's. Jimmy realized they were in the middle of an argument, and suddenly, all the emotions and feelings came back to him. This was it. They were breaking up. Jimmy could feel all the pain and hopelessness of the situation as if it was actually happening.

He heard himself thinking, We can make this better, I can make this better. We can get back to where we were. . . it's not all lost.

Their relationship slowly started to disintegrate after the Christmas holidays, and although they could both sense it, they never talked about it. Instead, they let it brew in their heads like the blackest pot of coffee. Their intense love for each

75 other began to change into a sort of dull loathing. However, whenever this thought popped into either of their minds, they'd both actively drive it out and consider it ridiculous.

"I love her!" Jimmy would scream, but he knew things just weren't the same.

"But I love him!" she'd say with a sigh, wondering if she should try saying it in the past tense.

In those last few drawn out months, miscommunication and petty arguments were the name of the game. She became cold and he very heated. They both found excuses to stay at school or work, feigning hectic course loads and work schedules. It was hard for them to believe that something so momentous had lost all its momentum.

How? When? Why? Questions pondered by the both of them, as they lay awake next to each other—barely touching—and pretended to sleep. Some days they could fake it fairly well, walking arm in arm out of their apartment and down

Pelissier to the Starbucks on University for a latte, smiling, laughing, yet both knowing all too well that it was just a matter of time before it would be over. Part of the problem was they felt inextricably attached to each other. Linked up. His life was her life, her life his. BUT {and it is necessary to capitalize this hackneyed conjunction), whenever Jimmy pictured his life after he graduated—she wasn't in it.

Sometimes there was a shadow of her, perhaps standing in the corner of his future, but most of the time, faceless women stood in her stead. He knew that if she left Windsor he wouldn't follow, he couldn't. Jimmy felt that altering the

76 course of his life for someone else was ridiculous when the course of that life had really just begun . . .

Maybe Jimmy was just being selfish, or maybe he was just plain scared, or maybe that's what he forced himself to believe so he could justify the slow and prolonged death of their relationship . . . who knows. And now here they were, finally about to pull the plug on the respirator and Jimmy found himself utterly horrified.

"I mean, I love you, Jim . . . you know that, but our relationship isn't healthy anymore. It's causing me more stress than anything else, and I—"

"So what're you saying? You wanna breakup?" Like duh, Jimmy.

"I don't know what I want." She took a long pull on her cigarette and dropped it in the toilet. "I mean I do . . . but I don't—"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that I've been doing a lot of thinking about this and it's been making me real upset, and I don't want to be upset right now. I really don't have time to be worrying about this—"

"You don't have time to be worrying about this? So basically, what you're saying is you don't give a shit about me, and don't wanna waste any of your precious time on me!"

"That's not what I'm saying at all—"

"You could fucking care less, right?"

She gave Jimmy an incredulous look.

77 "Is there someone else?"

"No . . . Jesus Christ Jimmy, stop being ridiculous, you know there's no—"

"Fuck!!"

"If you're going to keep interrupting me, then maybe you should just go ... "

"Fine, I'll start packing my shit," Jimmy brusquely said, and began to walk out the bathroom door, but of course stopped and turned around. His girlfriend was still sitting on the toilet. There was a broken look on her face. Jimmy leaned against the doorjamb and stared at her.

"So what do we do then?" he asked rather harshly.

"I don't know," she whispered after a pause. She grabbed her cigarettes and lit another one. Jimmy wasn't smoking in his dream. At this point in his life, Jimmy hadn't had a cigarette in months, so maybe that's why. Jimmy stared at her seated on the toilet, and remembered how cute and shy she was the first time she went pee in front of him . . .

He was brushing his teeth, when she timidly came in and sat down on the toilet.

"Sorry, I really have to go," she said, her face and neck turning red.

"As long as it's just a number one then we're fine," Jimmy said through a mouthful of toothpaste, as he affectionately looked at her underwear hanging around her ankles. This memory slapped him in the face, and Jimmy started to realize what was really happening. His skin started to feel tingly. His eyes started to get murky.

78 "So are we . . . over?" Jimmy gradually asked the ceiling, feeling a lump the size

of an orange in his throat.

"I don't wanna be Jimmy . . . but I think we have to be."

"So that means I have to move out?"

She nodded.

"How you gonna make rent?"

"I guess I'll have to pick up a few more shifts."

Jimmy continued to look up at the ceiling and saw the end credits of a movie

scrolling past his field of vision. FIN. He heard his girlfriend begin to cry and the

lump in his throat grew to the size of a cantaloupe. She held her head in her

hands, hiding her face with her long brown hair.

God, I love her! Maybe now that we've cleared the air we can fix everything start over, fall

in love all over again!'Jimmy irrationally screamed to himself.

He pressed rewind in his mind and went back to the beginning.

So intense and amazing! So fucking passionate! With a little work we can bring it back.

For sure! Together we can do anything! The lump was now as big as a watermelon. Yeah,

sure, maybe we could. But it would be short-lived. Sooner or later we'd fall back into the same

rut, and the same bullshit would start all over again. And we'd wind up worse off than we are

now. Fuck!!

The watermelon exploded in his throat and his eyes spat the seeds.

79 "I guess I'll go," Jimmy said, more to himself than his girlfriend. He was about

to leave the bathroom when Jessica Matvey walked in, wearing only a bathrobe.

She walked over to the shower and turned it on.

"Hey Jimmy, you all right?" she asked with a concerned smile. He looked at

Jessica and then at his girlfriend. Jess slowly walked towards him and wrapped her

arms around his waist. She pressed her forehead against his, wiped a tear from his

cheek, and was about to whisper something in his ear when—

Jimmy opened his eyes. Outside some asshole was cutting his lawn. Jimmy's

dream dissipated like smoke in the air, except the very end of it.

"Mmmph . . . Jessica," he mumbled, as he rolled over and drifted back to

sleep—her lovely image etching itself into the creases of his mind.

By now, I'm sure you've painted a lovely portrait of Jessica Matvey in your mind as well. If you're none too artistic, then surely, you have at least one

snapshot of her in the darkroom of your head. If not, please allow me to develop one for you ... I promise not to overexpose it.

Picture her as Jimmy dreams about her: in colour, sitting with her laptop in her room by the bay window that looks down on the backyard. The view a rich green from the trees. The early afternoon sunlight creating a warm glow.

80 If Jessica were to look up from the computer and into your eyes you'd stop and stare back. Why? Because there's something arresting in those eyes. But it's not easy to pinpoint, because before you can even begin to start pinpointing, you find yourself lost in the deep azure of them. Lost and wondering what's going on behind that stare—both warm and icy at once.

And her hair is so long and thick and blonde. Straight but not pin, Jessica's hair drapes itself around her face like a well-fitted dress. It dances down her back and nuzzles her shoulders. No doubt, it would make a splendid summer blanket for Jimmy to wrap himself in. Jess rarely wears any make-up, but still looks stunning. Her cheeks have a natural blush as if she's always just come in from the cold. Jessica really is just plain beautiful, there's no other way to describe it. Her face is photogenic and alluring. She has the kind of look that stops men in their tracks and pisses women off. Jess has an innate confidence, probably impressed upon her as a child as she was constantly told, What a pretty girl you are, what a lovely little girl you are, what a looker you're gonna be—oh my, will you ever gonna break some hearts, so she never had to question it. Jessica knows she's pretty. She knows she's hot.

But she doesn't make a big deal out of it.

Jess was more of a tomboy growing up. She played Softball and volleyball in the summer and liked to hang out with her brother Scotty and his friends, rather than girls her own age. They would ride their bikes down The Ganatchio Trail, and put nickels and pennies on the train tracks behind Tecumseh Mall and wait for the CN freights to come by every afternoon. To compensate for her tomboy

81 tendencies, her Mom enrolled her in dance classes—ballet and jazz since she was ten. Jess even wanted to make something out of it and moved to Montreal last year to study Contemporary Dance at Concordia. She made it through the first year, but wasn't ready for the competitiveness of the program, and living in residence, and the loneliness of the city, especially when she barely spoke a word of French. To be honest, Jess just wasn't ready for such a big move straight out of high school, she probably still wasn't now. So she didn't go back to Concordia in the fall, deciding to study English instead at the University of Windsor, and continue taking lessons with Ming Chan, her long-time instructor at the Detroit-

Windsor Dance Academy . . .

But let's not push the processing, that's enough exposure for now, because she's just turned off her laptop and gotten up from the window. She's over by her closet now, gazing inside with tilted neck. Her demeanour is somewhat carefree and unassuming, there's a sweetness to her, a purity even, which might make her seem innocent, but Jessica is far from naive—she just tries to emit a nice vibe to others.

She's pulled a pair of black jeans and a bright green top from the depths of her closet. Will she ever look cute in green! Oh, she's taking off her shirt—

To the utmost chagrin of all admirers of physical allure, I'm afraid we'll have to stop here, at least for now. I mean, Jimmy was already convinced that Jessica

Matvey was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, but he in no way thought of her as just a piece of ass. And even though Jimmy's probably only said

82 about sixteen words to her in his entire life, when he saw her last night, he felt an elastic in his brain being pulled to its limit and snapping. It stung in a good way, though. And you could say, it was this feeling of deep familiarity, mixed with pure wonder that sent his heart a-twittering. Shit, it really was the goddamn look in her eyes. A look that told Jimmy a thousand secrets he'd been waiting to hear his entire life.

Yep, there's really no way around it, Jimmy's absolutely smitten.

And Jimmy remained horizontal. He smeared himself in his bed like a smudge of ink on a page. He wished he could sleep forever, with measured breath and dormant mind. He'd slow his pulse and turn off his bowels and hibernate in his bed, with big blankets covering his tired body like winter fur. Jimmy wished he caught mono kissing some girl, so he could be confined to his bed for a month.

The first day he quit smoking, he stayed in bed late into the afternoon, forcing himself to sleep, so he wouldn't have to deal with anything. And all day Sunday,

Jimmy again sojourned in this horizontal position like a corpse in a morgue waiting to be identified. Here he was safe so here he would stay. If he could just keep himself asleep, he'd be fine. He wouldn't smoke, he wouldn't think, he wouldn't feel. . . he'd just rest and slowly sleep it all off. Sleep it all off as if life was a painful hangover. Perpetual rest and calm. As Jimmy's mind floated slowly

83 out of its slumber, this was his prayer . . . perpetual rest and calm . . . then he'd

roll over and try to kill another hour.

It was almost four in the afternoon. Jimmy kicked the phone off the hook

hours ago, and was now sleeping on his back. Whenever Jimmy slept on his back

he had nightmares. With goblins sitting on his chest and horses trying to jump

through the window, he dreamt of head-on collisions, shattered limbs, and

bloodied corpses.

By quarter to five, Jimmy would be awake and sitting on his back porch,

scoffing at the newspaper, while sipping coffee and firing back cigarettes—but for

the next half an hour or so, he'll be tormented by his subconscious as punishment

for staying in bed for so long. It's a good things dreams are just that. . . dreams.

Or are they? Waking from a sleep of sundry dreams always felt strange to Jimmy.

He'd feel a certain closeness towards people or places or objects without really knowing why. It was if he could feel the presence of whoever he had spent time dreaming about—vestiges of their smells in his kitchen, traces of their voices in his own. And as his mind slowly pulled off all the blankets of slumber, Jimmy would go about his day, anxiously awaiting for these false memories to materialize in front of him, yet not quite knowing or understanding the essence of this expectancy.

Jimmy's eyes started to dance in their sockets again, and he saw a mise-en- scene that would've made even Eisenstein envious. First came Rummy's swollen, purpled shoulder. It looked leprous in its discolouration. Jimmy gasped. Next,

84 Jimmy watched a young baby slip out of its mother's arms and fall headlong on

asphalt with a sickening THUD. Then he saw Rummy smashing through the

windshield of his car and soaring thirty feet in the air. His head was split open and

precious brain blood poured out everywhere, splashing on the ground like giant

drops of rain. He saw bloodstains in the backseat of his car, evidence of some

unspeakable crime. Then he was running in frantic fear from a faceless foe.

Prindess fingers reached for his jacket as he scurried in the impenetrable darkness

like a frightened coyote. Hands were on him now, pulling at his jacket and hair.

Jimmy tried to scream, as he was forcefully thrown to the cold ground. He was

flipped on his back and someone or something jumped on him, pinning his arms

to the ground with its knees.

Jimmy struggled in vain.

WAKE UP! Jimmy screamed—he could feel himself waking up, just not fast

enough. The faceless monster now had a thick hand around his throat. Jimmy felt

his tongue lolling around in his mouth as he tried to breathe. His enemy's other

hand was visible in the gloom just above his head. It was a soft, white hand. At

any other time, Jimmy might have even called it delicate, but not now, because

there was a large blunt rock in it.

Wake the fuck up!! Jimmy screamed, as he watched the hand disappear in the

darkness and come flying back again, smashing into his mouth. His front teeth

shattered like glass, he felt their jagged litde bits slicing his swollen tongue. He

85 cried out in anguish as the hand disappeared into the darkness once again, and just as it was about to bash into his—

Jimmy woke with his hand on his mouth. "Jesus Christ..." he muttered. His heart was really thumping—it felt impossibly heavy in his chest.

"That was absolutely ridiculous," Jimmy mumbled, attempting to push the vivid images out of his mind. After a few moments, he stretched and yawned, and slowly made his way out of bed and into the shower.

Jimmy listened to the coffee percolate as he stared out the kitchen window and gazed at the afternoon shadows. He could hear children screaming from a nearby backyard as they ran through a sprinkler. Jimmy listened to their innocent laughter and longed to join them.

Summer was so sacred when I was a kid! Jimmy thought to himself. Last summer

Jimmy didn't even get a tan.

"You look like a ghoul," he remembers his Dad telling him one day late last summer. Jimmy had promised himself that this summer would be different. He wouldn't neglect or waste it this year. But wasn't he doing it already?

Jimmy's family were avid campers and left for their first camping trip of the season a few days ago. Jimmy had the time off work, but the prospect of having the house all to himself for two weeks sounded much more appealing than a

86 'family' trip, so Jimmy decided to stay home. Since he'd moved back home the solace of an empty house was all he wanted. Yet now, as he absently stared out the window, he realized he'd rather be sitting in front of the fire, drinking a beer with his Dad. To sit in the sun in an old lawn chair all day reading a good book— now that would be ideal! His family had been going to Grand Bend since Jimmy was a kid, and he had tons of wonderful memories of the many trips he'd taken there. First pen-pals, first kisses, first time getting drunk—sneakily lifting beer out of people's coolers as they snored in their sleeping bags. First time skinny- dipping, first time smoking cigarettes, first time smoking weed . . . you name it, this place was the epitome of Jimmy's youth. He wondered what his family was doing right now.

Probably barbecuin' some burgers after a sunny day at the beach, Jimmy thought to himself with a pang.

He saw his Mom coming out of the trailer with all the fixins for the burgers and his heart seized up. Nostalgia shoved him in the chest. He wished his parents were asleep in their room, so he could climb in their bed and sleep with them. He pictured himself crawling in between them, like he did as a kid, and finally feeling safe and calm. There he could sleep free of worry, and free of thought, because his parents would take care of him. His Dad wouldn't even question it, as Jimmy slipped under the covers and his Mom kissed his twenty-three-year-old head goodnight. Even though it'd be cramped in their double bed, Jimmy's Dad would just roll over on his side and go back to sleep so Jimmy could be safe.

87 Jimmy would be the meat and his parents would be the bread of this tasty

Jenkins sandwich . . .

"What a fucking sap!"Jimmy said aloud with a deprecating laugh. What he

really wanted to do was call his (ex)girlfriend and tell her everything, but he

fought the urge. The coffee was ready. Jimmy poured a large rnug full, grabbed his

cigarettes and the newspaper, and sat on the porch with his shirt off, hoping to

soak up at least a bit of the afternoon sun.

Jessica Matvey took off her sunglasses, and squinting her eyes scanned the

booths for the particular face she was looking for. She saw a couple of older

faces, a few younger faces, a pretty face, a bearded face . . . yet not her specific

face. She sighed and walked through the smoky old coffee shop to an empty booth in the back. She was glad it wasn't too busy. She opened her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Hello, my dear Jessica," said a kind voice thick with Slavic accent.

"Oh, hi Mr. Maksimich," Jessica said, glancing up at a face that looked almost exactly like the particular face she was looking for.

"Alex be here in just one minute, darling," he said with a smile, as he poured her a cup of coffee and tossed some creamers onto the table. They slid down the white Formica like clumsy skiers. "He called me not two minutes ago ... he said

88 for you to chill because he's coming," Maksimich said with a warm-hearted chuckle. Mr. Maksimich loved to incorporate slang into his speech and did so often. Jessica chuckled with him.

"Well, I guess I'll just chill out and wait for him then, thanks Mr. Maksimich."

"Coffee's on the house for you, darling," he said with a flash of teeth, and then politely turned around and was gone. Jessica pushed the creamers aside and took a sip of her coffee. She had recendy started drinking it black, and the first sip was always a little bitter. She swallowed, crinkled her nose, and lit a cigarette. She gazed over at Mr. Maksimich jovially chatting with two regulars at the bar.

He looks so much like his Dad, Jessica thought to herself. She watched the busy cook behind Mr. Maksimich slice a tomato while cursing under his breath. The kitchen was completely open-concept, so the cook had to keep a calm demeanour, but Jess could tell he wanted to break something. She glanced over at the two couches at the far end of the restaurant, and waved at two girls she recognized from school. They were absently flipping through local magazines, most likely trying to find something to do this evening.

This place is so weird, Jessica thought as she gazed at the yellowed walls, speckled with framed newspaper and magazine articles, proudly displaying the coffee shop's history and reputation.

Two years ago, Max's Cafe was just that—a long standing, no frills, Mom and

Pop type of diner. But Alex, young entrepreneur that he is, saw the place for what it really was (a great space in the perfect location), and against his parents' wishes,

89 attempted to turn it into a 'hang-out' for university students. After some work, he successfully got a liquor license, and hosted a couple pretty bad poetry nights.

Undeterred, he put in a stereo system, and built a stage by the front window so local bands and DJ's could play. He got rid of some of the tables and brought in two old couches and coffee tables, so students could lounge comfortably while they drank coffee and caught up on their reading. He let local artists exhibit their work on the far wall next to the stage. He put some 'trendy' items (as he called them) on the menu, like hummus and quesadillas, and began to have his friends spin records on weeknights. The lights were dimmed and drink specials were advertised around campus and all over downtown.

And what d'ya know? The kids started coming. With candles burning on the tables, and pints of beer in hand, they could listen to good music and order a greasy hamburger at the same time. And the weird thing was, the old clientele didn't mind the change, in fact, they approved of it. Old regulars could now be seen, splitting pitchers of beer with groups of students, and getting into heated debates about politics, music, and even sex.

Jessica thought it surreal once, when she walked in and saw Alex's friend Stew, showing two men, both over sixty, how to match a beat on the turntables. She thought it surrealer still, when not a week later, the two men showed up with a box of old jazz records, and with Stew's assistance mixed and matched jazz greats like Charlie Parker, Billie Holiday, and Grant Green all night long. At the end of the night, they closed the set with "One More For My Baby", by Old Blue Eyes

90 and the drunken crowd ate it up. And so began the popular Blue Note Wednesdays at Max's—a night of good jazz and cheap drinks.

Music truly was Alex's gig. He called himself a 'music-whore', but others would probably call him a 'scenester' or a 'hipster'. Surely you know the type.

Tight jeans with big cuffs . . . maybe a pair of Chuck Taylor's or slip-on Vans . . . a bright coloured, ill-fitting T-shirt, either bought at a second-hand store or with the name of some band on it. Umm, what else? Short messy brown hair on his head, at least one tattoo somewhere on his body, and one piercing on his face . . . and what the hell, let's give him a pair of thick-framed glasses too. Perfect! Add a pair of iPod headphones constandy in his ears, and you've got Alex Maksimich in a nutshell.

Jessica saw the front door open and Alex sauntered in. He spotted her, gave her a quick wave, and stopped at the bar where he began heatedly talking to his

Dad. Jess realized with growing dismay, that the tightness in her stomach, which usually occurred when she saw him, was nowhere to be found. Her heart wasn't pounding, she didn't feel giddy, there was no tingly sensation between her legs . . . nothing.

So she knew before Alex even sat down that this wasn't going to go over well.

As she watched him talk, his arms gesticulating wildly in front of his face and his eyes blinking erratically, she was surprised to feel something very close to contempt. It gave her goose bumps.

91 What the hell's wrong with me? she asked herself, as she fidgeted in her purse for her cigarettes. Only yesterday, I was totally into him. He's cute and smart and can be pretty funny . . . but he's not—

"Hey Jess, sorry I'm late," Alex said, leaning over the table and giving her a simple kiss on the cheek.

He kisses me like we've been together for years. . . and we've only had sex once!Jessica screamed in her mind.

"Hi Alex," she said.

"I called your phone but there was no answer."

"Yeah, it's charging at home."

"I figured as much. Wasn't that an amazing show last night?" he asked, as he sat down across from her.

Why does he always sit across from me? Why the hell won't he sit next to me? Jessica decided to ask herself. Couples who 'vejust started having sex are supposed to be all over each other! Secretly tickling each other under the table, ya know, hands on thighs. . . hot breath, saliva filled kisses, long drawn out staring contests with burning eyes, followed by phrases like,

God, you look hot today! or I know it sounds cheesy but I really missed you. . . or better yet,

Damn Jess, I wanna have wild biting animal sex with—

"Jess?"

She crimsoned. "Yeah, of course. I had an awesome time, Alex."

She dashed her cigarette in the ashtray, as if putting it out would extinguish her thoughts. Last night they went to The Magic Stick in Detroit to see an

92 experimental pop band from Chicago that Alex had a hard-on for. Jessica had

already forgotten their name. It was a good concert for people watching though,

which is what Jess did for most of the show because she thought the band was

kinda boring. They just stood there playing their music all serious-like with old

nature films running on the wall behind them. No vocals, no dancing, no rocking

out, no working the crowd, no eye contact. Just the music.

But there were plenty of weirdos for Jess to study—lots of tattoos, piercings,

crazy haircuts, goth girls with striped knee-high socks, blunt bangs and pale faces,

indie boys with slim leg Levi's, sweeping hair-do's, and silly facial hair, and scads

of the tanned and noisy Abercrombie and Fitch types from the Detroit suburbs

that were always causing trouble at the dance bars in Windsor on the weekends.

Wow, how did I suddenly manage to absolutely kill Alex in my head? she wondered,

pulling out another cigarette and tapping it on the table.

"You're going to have another cigarette?" Alex asked her. He didn't smoke or

drink and found vices ridiculous. He told Jess once he saw booze only as a way to make money. She had actually talked him into having a Rolling Rock at the concert last night, hoping it would loosen him up a bit, but instead, it seemed to make him even more sober. What she had really wanted to do with him was get all rosy with a few bottles of wine, and then perhaps show him where she's ticklish. Concerts are fun too, though.

"Yes I am, because that last one just wasn't quite enough," Jess replied, trying to smile.

93 "You smoke too much."

She lit the cigarette and blew the smoke just above his forehead. He coughed

and fanned the air around him with his hand. Jessica shrugged her shoulders, took

another drag, and then unconsciously ashed it on the floor. Alex shook his head

in disapproval.

Who areyou? My father?'Jess asked without saying it out loud. Oh my God! A.m I

dating the twenty-jour year old version of my father? I mean, he already has the same name for

Chrissake, Jessica thought with a frown.

"But yeah, that was one of the best live shows I've seen in awhile," Alex said,

judging by her look that he should change the subject. "The drummer was

incredible, eh?"

You call yourself the 'music-whore', but you can't even play the guitar, Jessica thought

angrily. Everything about him was distasteful to her, and she was trying to figure

out why. I know he means well, but something's not right. . . something's missing.

"The drummer?" she asked. "Yeah he was good. I liked the noise-maker guy

though, with all of his toys—"

"For sure! I've never seen anyone play the melodica before. That was definitely

cool."

Jessica played with her cigarette in the ashtray, rolling it slowly along its ridged

edges.

"So are you doin' anything tonight, Jess? Stew and Randy are playing at The

Pterodactyl. You wanna come?"

94 "No, I can't Alex, I told my Dad I'd hang out with him tonight. He feels we need to spend more quality time together before I leave," she said, watching her little fib float in the air with the smoke from her cigarette.

"That's fine . . . but you're still gonna come here on Monday with me for the

Bloemfontein show, right?"

She cringed slightly. She wanted to end it right now. Just tell him: You know whatsllex, for some reason, I totally killedyou in my head, and I don't think it's gonna work out anymore. Maybe if you slipped your tongue in my mouth when we kissed, and were sitting next to me with your arm around my waist, I wouldn't feel this way, but. . .

She thought back to Wednesday night in Alex's car. The way he lifted up her dress and pawed at her. The way he just stuck it in and moved it around until he came. Which didn't take long. And how he was so awkward and unresponsive after. It wasn't what she expected at all.

Jessica stared at him from across the table and forced a smile. "Yeah, I'll be here," she said, and cleared her throat.

"Cool... so what are you and your Dad gonna do, watch a movie or something?"

No, actually that was a lie. I'm kinda hoping someone might come over to talk with my

Dad tonight. . . and that someone is all I can think about!Jessica told him with her eyes.

Her face flushed bright red, but Alex seemed oblivious.

"Yeah, we'll probably watch some cheesy movie with gratuitous sex and violence," she said.

95 "Cool."

"Yep, pretty cool..."

Gee% can he not feel the awkwardness? Can he not sense my feelings? They're written all over my face. Do I have to sing it for him to get it? She stared at the table and again her mind ran to Jimmy. She remembered the light smell of sweat and despair on him as she whispered in his ear, she remembered him hanging onto the garbage pail outside her backyard as he was racked with sobs, and she felt like crying herself.

Thankfully, her reverie was interrupted by Mr. Maksimich, who gracefully sidled up to the table, and began refilling their coffee cups.

"Are you all right, darling?" Alex's father asked, as he tossed more creamers onto the table. Jessica blinked and looked up at him.

"Me? Oh sure, I'm fine Mr. Maksimich, just a little tired."

He studied her with an understanding smile. Confusion and discontent were engraved in the faint lines on her forehead. He looked at Alex, and tried to tell him something with his eyes, but again, Alex was unmindful of it all, perhaps listening to some song that was stuck in his head. Jessica frowned.

His Dad can sense it. . . why can't he? she wondered, as Mr. Maksimich placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Well darling, you certainly do not need your beauty sleep," he said with a grin.

"When I was your age, I too, was always tired on a Sunday . . . too much vodka and dancing on the weekends," he said with a warm-hearted chuckle. He glanced down at her and was about to say more, but was summoned by the cook, who

96 yelled for him from across the bar. He quickly walked over to see what was the matter.

"The cook looks like he's about ready to quit," Jessica said.

"Eugene? Nah ... he lives for the stress, he feeds off it. This job is his whole life," Alex said rather smugly, or so Jessica thought.

How the hell would you know? Jessica nearly yelled. It rested on her tongue and she tried to swallow it. It got caught somewhere in her throat and she coughed it back out. She looked down at the table, her mouth not quite closed, and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

Jessica crinkled her brow, and said: "If there were frog legs on the menu would you order them, Alex?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" he asked somewhat harshly.

"A perfecdy valid one," she returned coldly. Suddenly, Jessica felt guilty, as if she'd had sex with someone else, minutes before she arrived. She sipped her coffee and tried to gaze at Alex the way she would have yesterday. It looked forced, like she was playing a role in a film she never wanted to be in.

"Well, sure ... I guess if there were frog legs on the menu, I'd probably order them from time to time," Alex said in a subdued voice. "Would you?"

"No, I'd just stick with the chicken sandwich."

"What, are you hungry or something?"

"No Alex, I'm not hungry, it's just. . . listen, I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be back in a minute, OK?"

97 Jessica stood up and turning on her heel began quickly walking down the aisle towards the ladies room. All right, this is it, this is where I'm supposed to faint, she said to herself, momentarily stopping at the bar, expecting a terrible lightheadedness to wash over her. Of course, nothing happened, and with another sigh, Jessica pushed open the bathroom door and went inside.

Six minutes later, Jessica was walking back towards the table with a resolute look on her face. When she had locked the door to the stall and hovered over the toilet seat, Jimmy's face had come flashing back to her.

I barely even know him. What if he's not as special as I'm making him out to be? What if my preconceived conception of him is complete bullshit? What if he's an asshole? She smiled to herself as she stared at the chipped green paint on the door of the stall, because somewhere deep inside of her, she knew it wasn't true. No, he's not an asshole... I can tell, and he's pretty cute, even when he's all freaked out. It's his eyes I think. Mmmm. Plus, he practically saved my Dad's life! She nearly giggled. She stood and flushed the toilet.

All right enough. Forget about him for now, and think about the other one . . . dammit, it has to be over with Alex. . . he's a nice guy, but I should end it right now, I'm gonna be gone all summer anyways. . . it only makes sense.

98 She left the stall, and turned on the sink, peering at herself in the mirror. The

determination in her eyes made her look almost empowered, or older, as she dried

her hands with a paper towel and strolled out of the bathroom.

Jess walked sternly back towards the booth and sat back down across from

Alex. She stared into his almost clueless eyes, and a strange feeling came over her.

Here he was, Alex Maksimich. A guy she had flirted with, acted all cool in front

of, and wanted to get with. A guy she had shown, part o£ her self to. Nearly three

months spent trying to be interested in all the things he was interested in, nearly

three months convincing herself she was falling in love with him. Jessica looked

across the table at him as if he was a stranger, and perhaps he kind of was. Alex

had only shown a part of himself as well. The cool guy. Mr. Hip, and Mr. Social.

But Mr. Real, and Mr. Charming—those guys never came to pick her up.

He's only dating me because he thinks he looks good with me on his arm. I'm just part of his public image, a showpiece—the hot blonde chick who wears bright dresses and fancy shoes. Good for business, right? You don't care about me. Proved that on Wednesday night, didn 'tyou?

Asshole! You wanna be the cultured, successful businessman. You're all show, Alex.

Jessica watched him take off his glasses, breathe on the lenses, and begin

cleaning them on a napkin. After he was done, he carefully inspected them and

placed them back on his face.

I hate those stupid fucking glasses, Jessica thought.

"Have you ever thought about getting contacts?" she asked.

"Nah . . . the thought of putting plastic in me eyes churns my stomach."

99 "Churns?"

"Yeah, churns."

"Don't you mean turns?"

"No."

"The thought of putting plastic in my eyes churns my stomach? No, it's definitely turns—"

"Well, whatever," he said indifferendy. "Stew just called while you were in the bathroom," he said, glancing at his cell phone. "He's coming here to pick up his gear for tonight, and I'm gonna help him set up at the Dactyl. I can give you a ride home after that if you want..."

"How long till he gets here?" Jessica asked, her resoluteness flicked away like an ash from a cigarette. All she could think about was the way Alex had just said the word "want". Sometimes he used a certain tone with her that she wasn't sure how to read. She wasn't sure if he was trying to be perfecdy detached, or if he had finally wised up to her vibe, and was trying to be a perfect asshole.

"Uh, he said he'd be here in about twenty minutes or so—"

"I'm gettin' a beer then," Jessica said, standing up and walking over to the bar.

She didn't need eyes in the back of her head to know that Alex was shaking his in disapproval. She made a face, silendy called herself an idiot, and then asked Alex's father for a Keith's. He handed it to her, insisted it was on the house, but offered no advice with his eyes. She stood there for a second anyway, pleading to him with her own cute blue ones. The very same ones that had Jimmy all a-flutter, as

100 he sat pallidly shirtless on the back porch, attempting to divert his thoughts with

the newspaper.

Clearly, it wasn't working for him. As Jimmy sat on the porch, drinking coffee

like water and burning cigarettes like wood, he couldn't tear his mind away from

Rummy or that daughter of his. As he read about random murders in Detroit and

the ongoing problems in the Middle East, not to mention the journalistic spin

bullshit that comes with it, all Jimmy could think of was Rummy's goddamn face.

As he read about the gluttonous lives of celebrities and summer blockbusters with

no plots and zero character development, all he could think of was his own life.

He wanted a camera to slowly zoom in onto an extreme close-up of his face,

so he could just start fucking screaming and cursing and yelling. It would be the

film's closing shot, an ardent and prolonged close-up of Jimmy shrieking, the

camera zooming right into his mouth and a slow methodical fade to black.

He threw the paper down on the porch and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Jessica fuckin' Matvey," he whispered, just to hear the name.

Aww, she probably has a boyfriend, Jimmy thought to himself. Girls that're that gorgeous always have boyfriends. He compulsively lit another cigarette, thinking this

one would surely put him at ease. It made him cough instead, hut the look in her eyes

101 last night, my God, it was enough to ruin me right there! When she touched me and I smelt her

hair, I wanted to fucking fall down and die! He bit his bottom lip.

"But what if I'm totally idealizing her in my head?" Jimmy was talking aloud

now, perhaps to the mourning doves that were cooing in the chestnut tree,

perhaps to the tree itself. "I mean, I barely even know her . . . what if she's just

one of those super hot but totally flakey girls, who'd drive me to drink every time

we go out, because conversation is completely fucking useless? What if she's not

what I'm making her out to be at all? What if I'm just kidding myself again?"

Jimmy was getting all worked up. He saw an image of her standing barefoot in

the bathroom, holding the portable phone out in front of her as if it was alive and

trying to bite her. The worry on her face making her look even hotter, as she

stood on her tiptoes and handed the phone to Rummy. Suddenly, a thought hit

Jimmy like a bullet, and the doves darted out of the tree in a flurry of feathers.

"I am kidding myself, because when Jessica finds out that I didn't save her

Dad's life, but actually, almost got him fucking killed, it'll be all over! There you

go buddy, you're totally fucking screwed."

Jimmy flicked his cigarette butt on the grass and leant down to grab the paper.

He saw the Funny Pages wrapped inside an advertisement and decided to give

them a whirl.

How dare they hide the best part of the paper in a flyer for S obeys! Bastards. Let's see what

we got here, ah yes, Garfield's still treating Jon like shit. Not funny. Marmaduke is still an

absolutely terrible comic. Moving on. Oooh, sweet Blondie's still looking all hot for Dogwood.

102 His daughter's pretty cute too. Lucky fucker. Where the hell's Calvin and Hobbes whenjou need 'em? Where's The F'ar Side?'Allright, continuing to the backpage. Here we go . . . a full spread of Classic Peanuts. Good 01' Charlie Brown being made a fool of by Lug, once again, running towards her as she holds the football ready for him to boot, and we all know what happens—that bitch Lug plays Charlie for a chump. A.nd everyone laughs at him: Linus,

Schroeder, Pig-Pen, Peppermint Patty, her dyke friend Marcie. . . even Snoopy, even his own dog laughs at him. Poor 01' Charlie Brown.

Jimmy stood up, crumpling the paper in his hands. He growled. He stretched.

He went back inside.

Jimmy realized there was now only one thing he could do, and that was get completely fucking obliterated—Rummy style. He opened his parents' liquor cabinet and eyed its contents. Peach schnapps, Kahlua, scotch, and a couple botties of red wine.

"Wine it is then," Jimmy Jenkins said to the kitchen, and began searching for the corkscrew.

Jessica drank her beer quickly and silendy, sitting in the booth and flipping through a magazine. She wasn't reading it—she was just trying to ignore Alex.

When she had returned with her beer, Alex was on the phone again, talking to

Randy about how awesome the show was last night.

103 He was there, he knows how awesome it was, he experienced its awesomeness, Jess said to herself. On any other day, this wouldn't have bothered her, but today it was infuriating. As she thumbed through the magazine, she knew she was being a bit irrational but she didn't care. Alex got off the phone and tried to ask her something, but she just kept flippin' away.

So he sat there almost pouting in his seat, continually looking at his watch and at the door. He pulled out his keys and began tapping them on the table. Jessica stared at him until he stopped. Finally, Stewart arrived and they got up to leave.

"Good bye, Jessica darling," Mr. Maksimich said, as they began walking towards the door. She blew him a kiss. He caught it and gently placed it in his shirt pocket. She smiled, and he waved her over. "I keep this one, because it could be the last, yes?" he said quietly, patting his pocket. She only looked at him and smiled. "Take care, darling," he said with a wink, and then glided down the bar to pour a beer for a customer.

Stew grabbed his mixer and a turntable, and they stepped out into the late afternoon sun. They walked towards Alex's car, and Stew hopped in the front seat.

The girlfriend always gets shotgun, it's an unwritten rule!Jess screamed in her mind, seriously considering this slight the last straw. She almost laughed at how ridiculous she was being, but couldn't because she was so pissed. She got in the backseat and slammed the door. Alex flashed her a look and turned off Randolph onto Wyandotte Street.

104 "How's it going, Jess?" Stew asked, turning around to put the mixer and record player in the backseat.

"Don't bother trying to talk to her, she's preoccupied ... or maybe a better word would be completely fucking self-absorbed." This poured out of Alex's mouth complete with ice and twist of lemon.

"Dude, that was like three words—"

"Shut up," Alex huffed.

That was the end right there. The band's last song, so to speak . . . and they sure as hell wouldn't be coming out for an encore. This was the third time Alex had insulted her in front of one of his friends, and it was three times too many.

Does he have to have one of his hoys around to he man enough to say something rude to me?!

If he had any idea what happened last night, if he knew that my Dad almost died last night. . . ahh, screw him, he wouldn 't even care anyways!

"Stop the car Alex," Jessica calmly said.

"What?"

"Stop the car please."

"Why?"

"Alex, please stop the fucking car now."

He flashed her a nasty look from the rear-view mirror, but pulled over to the curb. He jammed the car in park and turned around with a scowl.

"I'm sorry Alex," she said, trying to keep her composure, "but this isn't going to work out. I told you the last time you belitded me in front of one of your

105 friends that I didn't appreciate it, and if you had any respect for me at all or knew anything that was actually going on in my life, you sure as hell wouldn't have done it again—"

"Hey, you're the one that was being a bitch all day."

Jessica turned to Stew, who was watching all of this with a confused look on his face.

"Have a good show tonight, Stew," she said, feeling her eyes begin to water.

Without a glance at Alex, she got out of the car, slammed the door, and began walking down the street. She heard Alex saying something from the road but could make no sense of it.

She felt as if she'd just huffed nitrous oxide, and was in the grips of a panic attack, one in which you suffer a transitory moment of complete unknowing— who you are, what you are, why you are, when you are ... it all momentarily loses its essence and meaning, and you cannot help but feel empty, disoriented, alone.

Intense vertigo without the height.

Jimmy Jenkins had a similar feeling like this once while staring at himself in the mirror. After a long gaze, the silly bastard forgot who he was, and where he came from. He mouthed his name aloud, but it didn't quite sound right. He did not look like himself. But the weird thing was, he didn't feel like anyone else, he felt like no one else, he felt like nothing. He felt like air. It was if he was in a state of perpetual forgetfulness, his identity being shed like dead skin, but it didn't feel scary, it just felt strange. He was probably stoned.

106 But let's leave Jimmy out of this for now, because Jessica was walking down the sidewalk, fumbling for her sunglasses in her purse, and trying to dam the tears that were welling in her eyes. She was actually pretty surprised to see Alex speed down the street. She was surprised, yet relieved, because she knew she wouldn't be able to handle another word from his sour mouth. She walked for a block, fighting off her emotions with a big mental stick. She came to a bus bench and decided to sit down for just a second. As soon as her ass touched the warm bench, she remembered who she was, the levee broke, and she started to cry. She sat hunched over, her head in between her lap and her hair strewn about her legs.

Tears rolled down her face and dripped into the cracks on the sidewalk. Jess sobbed not because she was sad, but because she was overjoyed. This was a moment she knew she'd never forget. . . one in which judgement and perspective are abruptly skewed, and preconceived notions are smashed.

Jessica cried for herself. She cried because she could not laugh. She cried because she was amazed. She cried because her name was Jessica Matvey. She cried because she had just gotten to know Jessica Matvey a litde bit better—a part of herself, which had until then, rested in shadows. And it was strong. It had weight.

After a turn, her sobs became wet giggles. She looked up, brushing her hair out of her face, and half expected a crowd of people to be standing around watching her. She wiped her eyes and stood up. She sniffled, smiled to herself, and continued walking down the street. After about a block, she approached two

107 young girls playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. Jess jumped right in, kicking her legs in the air and laughing. The girls clapped and cheered for her, and she continued on her way.

"Thanks, girls!" she yelled with a wave. Wow, it's summer!Jessica thought to herself, and I have nothin' to do, except start packing for France . . .

Everything now looked beautiful to her, filled to the brim with energy and life.

A couple pushing a baby in a stroller walked by, and she smiled at them and said,

"Lovely day isn't it?" The couple nodded in agreement. Jessica felt like she was twelve years old again, on her way to a boy-girl party, where once the parents dispersed, they would play Spin the Bottle, and Truth, Dare, Double Dare, in an air conditioned basement. Scared, yet so excited for the chance of a chaste kiss in the wine cellar.

At last, Jess experienced the tightness in her stomach she'd been yearning for.

It made her so giddy she nearly pirouetted across the intersection. She pictured people jumping out of their cars at the red light, and gracefully spinning around in the street with her. Jessica's whirling would be so irresistible, no one would be able to help it, they'd feel inclined to join her. Time and traffic would come to a standstill at this particular intersection, as an estranged collective of drivers, passengers, and pedestrians danced and spun around in the street.

Jessica heard herself laughing, but was lost in the image of hundreds of people pirouetting in the street. Feeling like a cinderblock had been lifted off her chest,

Jess leisurely waited on the corner of Wyandotte and Crawford for a taxi, with an

108 endearing, yet kinda silly smile on her face. But of course, this didn't matter,

Jessica Matvey still looked absolutely lovely.

Jimmy Jenkins had a problem with wine. He always drank it too damn fast.

He'd be fine if he was enjoying a nice botde of red with a meal, but without, he

just didn't know how to pace himself. Naturally, you can imagine what happened.

His cheeks flushed, his eyes blurred, and the tornado hit.

His friend Chris had once explained the 'tornado' effect to him as follows:

you're sitting on the patio at one of your favourite pubs with some friends,

chatting over pints of Stella. You're laughing, chuckling, revelling in the moment, when you realize you had downed that pint in about four big gulps. You hadn't

really planned on getting drunk, ya know, just go out and have a couple pops with

some friends on a summer night. But somewhere in between the third and fourth

gulp, the tornado hit. Suddenly, you feel like you can (and will) drink a dozen pints, and before you know it, the next round is on you. Shordy after that, you're

at the bar doing shots with people you don't even know. Everyone is your greatest friend, as long as there's a drink in your hand. The fire in your belly feels like no amount of booze can quench it, so you continue slurping back drinks like

a thirsty mule. This is the 'tornado', and before I even finished describing it,

109 Jimmy had taken two big swigs from the bottle of scotch, and was out the door

and down the street, on his way to the bus stop on Wyandotte.

Jimmy was determined to get drunk, Rummy-style, just without the driving

home part. He couldn't bring himself to even think about his car, because he

knew the backseat was a goddamn mess. Dried blood, baking all day in the sun.

Jimmy cringed at the mere thought of it.

Man, I shoulda called Rummy . . .just to see how he was doing, Jimmy thought, but

then he saw the bus coming, and ran across the street, waving at the bus driver to

stop.

"Stop!" Jimmy yelled, as a car honked, scolding him for running across the

street. The bus driver made eye contact with him, but kept on driving. "Oh, you

cocksucker!!" Jimmy screamed, angrily running after the bus. It kept going, and so

did Jimmy, his fist in the air. The bus came to a stop at a red light about a half a

block away. This was his chance. Jimmy kicked it into high gear, his shoes

slapping the pavement like a belt on an ass. "C'mon," Jimmy panted as he reached

the door and hit it with his fist. The bus driver turned and looked at him.

"Open the door," Jimmy gasped. The driver blankly stared, and pointed across

the intersection at the next bus stop. The light turned green and the bus started to move.

"What the fuck?\" Jimmy screamed, darting across the street and running

frantically to the next stop. The bus was waiting for him there. He clambered in,

furious.

110 "What the hell was that?" he asked the bus driver through gasps of air.

"Sorry pal, can't pick you up unless you're at a bus stop."

"Are you kidding me? You looked me right in the eye and then kept right on going!" Jimmy was livid.

"Can't pick you up unless you're at a bus stop—"

"That's a crock of shit," Jimmy panted.

"It's city by-law," he stated plainly. "The fare is two and a quarter."

"I know how much the fare is," Jimmy growled, breathing heavily in the bus driver's face.

"So then pay the far and take a seat."

By now, Jimmy wanted to get the hell off the bus, but it was Sunday, and he'd have to wait forty-five minutes for the next one.

"Aww fuck," Jimmy mumbled, dropping his change into the fare box.

"One more word like that you fucking little drunk, and I will stop this bus, kick you off it, and then kick your fucking ass, do you hear me? Take a seat."

The bus driver said these words so quietly Jimmy thought he imagined them.

The look in the driver's eyes, however, told Jimmy to just let this one go, just bite his tongue, and take a seat. So he did. But he was pissed off and suddenly sober.

This just made the little twister in Jimmy's belly pick up more speed. He slumped in his seat and closed his eyes, picturing his hands wrapped around the bus driver's neck. He saw himself dropping his fare, quarter by nickel, into the driver's fat mouth, as he tightened his grip around the bastard's neck.

Ill Did he call me pal? What a fuckin' douche bag, Jimmy blackly thought. He tried to relax but couldn't. Our poor fledgling bird/litde wolf was frustrated, and can you really blame him?

A half an hour or so later, at about the same time Rummy was telling Jessica, to her disappointment, that Jimmy's phone had been off the hook all day, Jimmy was flashing a rather rancorous parting glance at the bus driver, and stepping off the bus on the corner of Wyandotte and Ouellette. People were everywhere, taking advantage of the nice weather and the long weekend. Cars filled with kids idled in the intersection. Bass rumbled from one of them, shaking its entire frame.

Damn right, Jimmy said to himself with a smile. It's Saturday night all over again, andI'm gonna get all cra^y!'He reached in his back pocket for his cigarettes and realized they were gone. Shit, they must have fell out when I was chasing the bus, he said, grinning at a group of girls walking by. A few of them were smoking.

"Evening ladies," Jimmy gallantly said, taking a step towards them. "I was wondering if one of you would be kind enough to lend me a cigarette?"

"Sure, I guess so," a tall girl with brown hair and too much makeup said as the group stopped. She had her cell phone in her hand, and was staring down at it with a look of concern. "Gimme a second," she said, texting someone with pink and manicured thumbnails.

112 "Take all the time you need," Jimmy replied with a smile. He looked them all up and down. They were young and bubbly and obviously American.

"Are you girls off to the bars?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, we're going to Woody's," a girl with red streaks in her hair said, "two for one drinks for us, because it's ladies night," she said, staring at Jimmy with bright eyes.

"It most certainly is," Jimmy replied, beaming at the group, as the tall brunette handed Jimmy not one, but two cigarettes. "Thanks so much, sweetie. Mighty kind of you," Jimmy said, placing one in his mouth, and the other in his breast pocket. The girl with the bright eyes pulled out a lighter, and lit Jimmy's cigarette.

"The name's Jimmy, by the way. It's been a pleasure making your acquaintances. Please, enjoy Canada ladies, and have a fun time at Woody's," he said with a slight bow, winking at the tall brunette. One of them giggled, and they left him on the corner. Jimmy laughed aloud and grinned at their asses.

Who said chivalry was dead?

His mind then automatically began to wander towards images of naked girls gyrating on his bed. The sun was setting and the warm night air blew all sorts of wonderful smells at Jimmy. He just wanted to push everything out of his head for a wee bit longer.

'Till tomorrow.

And Tonight?

113 Blotto .. .

Savage Drunkeness.

Empty House . . .

Naked Girls?

C'mon brother, make it happen!

Read each of these abrupt sentences with the following directorial notes:

A stern look on Jimmy's face, followed by a nod and a slight pause.

A gaze upwards with tilted head, as if the question warrants serious thought.

Eyes back on the sights around him, small grin forming on face.

Big drag of cigarette followed by almost imperceptible laugh to self.

Eyes open wide.

One eyebrow raises.

Quick silent pep talk.

Eye contact with random girl walking with boyfriend on the sidewalk.

A brief look up with a passing wink at the fingernail of a moon, and then

Jimmy was walking down the six stairs that led to The Pterodactyl's sunken patio.

The place was still quiet. It was still early. No matter for Jimmy though, because

his friend Blondie was bartending. Jimmy knew it wouldn't be busy yet, so he

could pull up a stool and sit at the bar, where he would order a pint of Stella and

114 attempt to smoke his face off—or at least have a cigarette burning in his hand the entire time he was in there.

So take a deep breath now.

Jimmy slid through the partially opened patio door and saw Blondie pouring a pint of Guinness behind the bar. Blondie looked up, and noticing Jimmy, burst into a grin.

"Jenkins, you jackass . . . your phone's been off the hook all day," he said, leaning over the bar so their hands could do some kind of ridiculous handshake.

Blondie was tall and lanky, his hair a sweeping mess across his forehead. His face was angular with facial hair that only grew on his chin and upper lip.

His real name was Daniel Blondin, but somewhere in a high school hallway, several years ago, it had been changed to Blondie. As a freshman striving to be

'cool', it initially bothered him, but now if someone besides his Mom calls him

Dan, it takes a few seconds to register.

And the best part about it: he had a thick head of hair, black as pitch.

"What's goin' on, Blondie?" Jimmy asked, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the bar.

"Oh not too much."

"How'syour little blondie doing? I haven't seen her in awhile."

"Mmm, she's fine," Blondie said, disinterestedly. "She's taking intersession classes to upgrade a couple of bad marks she got in first year—"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that."

115 "Well, it kinda fuckin' sucks, because she's still in school mode, and when she starts talking about her classes, which is all the time by the way, I have a hard time pretending I care. I mean shit, it's summer . .. the only time of the year I'm allowed to talk outta my ass about meaningless bullshit! I care naught about the socio-economic effect neo-liberalism has had on the public sphere. Fuck all that

Poli-Sci garbage, I'm a science geek for Chrissake."

Jimmy laughed. "Well, you've got the right person sitting at the bar to talk bullshit with."

"No doubt. Which reminds me, you haven't heard about Gav then?"

"No, why what happened?"

Blondie cleared his throat. "Oh man, this it too good. " Blondie was fighting off a grin. Jimmy motioned for him to continue. "Well, it seems that last night our good friend Gavin went home with ..."

"With who?"

"With Wendy—" He waited for Jimmy's reaction.

"Wendy Clayton?" Jimmy asked. Blondie nodded and started laughing. "Are you kidding me?" Blondie shook his head and laughed louder. "Oh my God! Did he have sex with her?"

"He says no, but still. . . the fact that he even touched that monster—"

"Was he drunk?"

"Stupid question."

116 "Oh my!" Jimmy said, slapping the bar. "That is fucking hilarious! There's no way we can let him live this one down. Think about it dude, he went out with

Maria for two years! Quite possibly the hottest girl in this shit-box of a town and now—"

(Blondie singing): "Oh sweet Maria ..."

"Fuck, she was hot!" Jimmy harmonized.

They stopped talking, closed their eyes, and sighed in remembrance. They both had long-standing crushes on Maria. She had been consistently intriguing to say the very least.

"And now, Gav goes from refined Spanish loveliness, to creature from the deep—"

They exploded in laughter.

"Fall from grace!"

"Jimmy, you've seen her, you know her ..."

They laughed even louder.

"Hey, some girls are bigger than others ..."

"And some girls mothers are bigger than other girls mothers," Blondie sang with a laugh.

"Can you imagine her on top of you, with those big fuckin' tree trunk arms? I bet you she has chest hair!"

This set off another explosion.

"Oh God! She'd be all sweaty and—"

117 "Stop!"

"Jimmy, the girl probably sweats in a snowstorm!" Blondie cackled wildly,

slapping his palm on the bar. "Seriously, I don't think I'd be able to get it up for

her. My cock would probably try to crawl up and hide inside my stomach—"

"Oh, that's horrible."

"Well, we're horrible people."

"Does Nate know? Does Mike?"

"Of course. Everyone knows. I've been giggling about it to myself all day."

"Holy shit! Think about her man-voice . . . Give it to me Gavin! Oh give it to me, jou scrawny bastard! Haha! I bet she's a wild one, that Wendy!" Jimmy laughed until

his stomach hurt. "Thanks Blondie, I needed that," he said, wiping tears from his

eyes.

"Hey, thank Gav."

This was exacdy what Jimmy needed—to talk like a goddamn reprobate—

because for the first time today, he felt all right. He looked around the bar. It was

nice and dark. An older couple was sitting at a table, nuzzling over glasses of

wine. Farther back, there were two guys playing pool, and by the DJ booth, a

couple of guys were looking at records and setting up turntables.

"What's going on here tonight?" Jimmy asked.

"You know Stew and Randy right?"

"Yeah kinda."

"They play at Max's every Thursday, but tonight they're playing here."

118 "Do you think it'll get busy?"

"I hope so . .. I'd like to make some cash tonight—"

"Is that Alex Maksimich?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Not really," Jimmy said. "He was in Ellis's 'Social Justice in Literature' course

I took last year. He was really vocal in class, a relendess opinion-dropper. It was fucking annoying. And it was a big class too, like sixty kids—"

"Speaking of Alex Maksimich, this is his beer. I guess I should bring it to him."

Blondie grabbed the pint of Guinness and walked it over to Alex. Now you're probably saying to yourself, I thought he didn't drink . . . well, usually he doesn't, but tonight he was feeling a touch of the tornado as well. Feeling the need to revisit some old demons. Booze had gotten him into trouble in high school, and that was just one of the reasons why he now drank sparingly.

"Hey, what the hell happened to you last night?" Blondie asked upon returning. "One second I saw you talking to Chris and Erica by the pool tables, and the next you were gone." Jimmy looked down at the bar for a second, pulled the cigarette from his breast pocket and put it in his mouth. "What the hell are you doing?" Blondie asked. "Why are you smoking?"

"Pour me two shots of Jager and a pint of Stella, and I'll tell you," Jimmy said, flagrantly striking a match. Blondie stared at him incredulously, as he grabbed an

119 ashtray and slid it down the bar in front of him. Jimmy lit his cigarette, exhaled with a sigh and said, "You're not gonna believe this, but..."

"That is fucking cra^y," a wide-eyed Blondie replied about twenty minutes later.

"Don't move, I'll be right back, I gotta check on these tables." Blondie scurried from behind the bar and went to see if anybody needed anything. Jimmy looked at the clock behind the bar—it was only nine-thirty. The place usually didn't start filling up until ten-thirty or eleven. The waitresses didn't start their shifts until ten, so the place would still be quiet for a while. Jimmy drank the rest of his pint, as

Blondie returned and poured two glasses of red wine.

Blondie shook his head in disbelief. "So you didn't talk to him today?"

"No, I couldn't deal with it."

"And it was Jessica Matvey's dad, that's so random," Blondie said in a whisper.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Well, I don't wanna burst your bubble Jimmy, but I'm pretty sure she's dating opinion-dropper over there."

"Maksimich? Oh Christ, it figures ..." Jimmy said, looking over at the DJ booth. His eyes doubled in size. "Shit! Do you think that means she'll show up here tonight?" he asked, starting to panic.

"I dunno, maybe."

120 "Oh fuck, I gotta get outta here then—"

"Relax, Jimmy."

"No, if I see her tonight, I'll lose it, I swear to God." Jimmy glanced at the patio door, convinced she would walk in at any second.

Blondie grabbed two shot glasses and filled them with Jagermeister. "Relax,"

Blondie said, pushing one of the glasses towards him. Jimmy grabbed it and they both fired them back.

"Uggh," Jimmy said, slamming the tiny glass on the bar and shaking his head.

"Seriously though, Blondie, I gotta get the hell outta here."

"Listen to yourself, Jenkins, you're being ridiculous. Mike and Nate are coming here, and Gav's supposed to show up . . . unless he's going for round two with

Wendy." Jimmy forced a smile. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"No, I won't—"

"All right, hold on for one second," Blondie said, leaving the bar to deliver the glasses of wine. He set them on the couple's table with a smile, and walked over to the DJ booth. Jimmy held his breath. He noticed there wasn't a cigarette in his hand, so he reached over the bar, grabbed Blondie's pack, pulled one out, and lit it. He looked back and forth from the patio door to the DJ booth, hauling on the cigarette and blowing the smoke from his mouth as if he was angry it was in there.

He felt like a cornered coyote. Maksimich walked off towards the bathroom.

Blondie began chatting with Stew and Randy, and finally he returned.

121 "She's not coming," Blondie said, grabbing Jimmy's cigarette out of the

ashtray and taking a drag.

"How do you know?"

"I just asked Alex."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"So you'd stop fuckin' flippin' out!" Blondie handed him back the cigarette.

"And by the sounds of it, Jimmy ... I uh, don't think they're together anymore,"

he said quietly.

"What?! What the hell did you say to him?"

"Will you fuckin' relax? Listen, I casually asked him if Jessica was coming here

tonight, and he said NO ... all right? When he asked why, I said because she had

borrowed a textbook from Meaghan and she needed it back."

"Is that a lie?"

"Of course it's a lie, I don't even think they know each other—"

"Why the hell would you lie?"

"Shut up and listen. When I said the word 'girlfriend', Maksimich cringed, and

walked off to the bathroom in a huff. Then his buddy Stew told me that he and

Jessica broke up today, and that it was a bad scene."

It took a few seconds for Jimmy to mull this over in his head. "Are you

serious?"

"Yeah, so fuckin' chill out and have another drink."

122 Jimmy sat there for a few seconds in shock. She broke up with him today! He

couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with last night, and for a

second he was elated, until he remembered Rummy's blood in the backseat of his

car and his elation turned to deflation.

Fuck! Jimmy screamed about thirteen times in his head.

"So, what'll it be?" Blondie asked, snapping Jimmy out of his interior cuss-fest.

"Hmm . . . well fuck it, let's go gin. Make it a double Tanqueray and tonic in a

tall glass, and give me a pack of smokes too."

All right, that's it. No more thinking. . .just drinking, Jimraj demanded of himself,

as Blondie placed the drink in front of him, and went fishing for the cigarettes, which were kept in the fridge.

"Let's drink to uncertainty and I'll pick up the tab," Jimmy said, as Blondie tossed him the pack of smokes.

"Cheers to that, Jimmy."

123 V

JIMMY Jenkins was a stumbling mess. Jimmy Jenkins was a mumbling mess.

Suffice to say, our good friend Jimmy was drunk. He stood unsteadily outside The

Pterodactyl and wondered how he was going to get home. All the bars along the busy downtown stretch were emptying out. People poured onto the streets like pints of beer from a fresh keg. They splashed onto the street like spilt drinks.

They clamoured like broken bottles. Tumult everywhere. The doors of bars opened like mouths, and drunken kids were vomited out.

Gaggles of girls and groups of guys stumbled and danced past, as they searched for food, drugs, sex, and after-parties. For many, this would be a wonderful night, perhaps filled with passion, perhaps filled with glee—but this would not be the case for Jimmy Jenkins.

Pensively, Jimmy pulled a bent cigarette from behind his ear and lit it with a cough. Yes, the tornado had indeed hit, and Jimmy sure as hell drank himself to distraction, but like someone who has to work early the next morning, he'd been unable to fully enjoy himself.

God, this cigarette tastes like cancer!Jimmy thought, but instead of throwing it on the ground and stomping on it, he just kept right on firin' it back. He was waiting for Gavin, who was still inside, making out with some girl, and quite possibly, grabbing her ass.

124 Earlier, Gavin had pulled Jimmy into the bathroom, where they smoked a joint

in a stall marked Out of Order. The bathroom was a complete mess. There was

about an inch of "water" on the floor, not a paper towel in sight, and some

drunken asshole had threw up in one of the urinals.

"This place is bumpin' tonight, eh?" Gavin commented, as he passed the joint

to Jimmy and fell into a fairly phlegmy coughing fit.

"You all right?" Jimmy asked, watching him spit into the toilet.

"I'm fine . . . smoke went down the wrong pipe," Gavin wheezed, as he

grabbed his beer from the back of the toilet and took a sip.

"Which one exacdy is the wrong pipe?"

"I dunno, the one that makes you cough I guess."

"How many pipes we got?"

"I dunno Jimmy . . . two?" Gavin asked this in a manner that suggested he

could really care less.

"I always find it funny when people say that, like when someone takes a sip of water or something and starts choking on it, afterwards they're always like, Geez,

musta went down the wrong tube." Jimmy laughed. "What tube? Your

esophagus? Your trachea? Your throat?"

At this, someone walked in the bathroom and they both shut up.

"Wooee, it sure smells good in here," a voice said from outside the stall.

"Yeah, the smell of shit and puke is just delightful!" Gavin said with a snicker.

125 "Ugh, that's fuckin' disgusting," the voice said, no doubt noticing the mess in the urinal. "Hey, ya mind givin' me a litde puff of that?" the voice asked, as he flushed.

"Sure, just as soon as you wash the cock off your hands!"

Laughter from all at this one.

"Gavin?"

"Maybe, who are you?"

"It's Nate, you jackass!"

"When did you get here?"

"Just now."

Gavin opened the stall door and Nate was at the sink, checking himself out in the cracked mirror. He was tall with long brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Sideburns curled on either side of his face. Everyone called him the last of the longhairs. "I shoulda figured it was you ... it didn't sound like you, though," he said, squeezing in the stall.

"What's up, Nate?" Jimmy asked, handing him the joint.

"Not much, Jammer," he said, turning towards Gavin with a grin. "So buddy, where's Wendy?"

"Oh just shut up and smoke the joint—"

Nate and Jimmy laughed. "You telling me you didn't invite her out tonight?"

"No, I did not—"

126 "But you are gonna meet her later for a little rendezvous, right?" he asked, blowing a thick cloud of smoke at the ceiling. He chuckled and patted Gavin on the back. "It's all right bro, it happens to everyone. You wore a condom, I hope?"

"All right, you're cut off," Gavin said, grabbing the joint from him and pushing open the door to the stall.

"I was just kidding ..."

Gavin stood stolid, saying nothing in reply.

"You do realize you're gonna have to get used to this, right? You're in for some serious heckling, my friend," Nate said with a laugh. "I mean, you haven't even seen Mike or Chris yet, and we've been waiting for this all day." He left the stall laughing loudly. "Come find us at the bar, Gav, I'm sure one of us will buy you a drink."

The bathroom door swung open, momentarily letting in a swirl of bass and voices.

"Shit," Gavin groaned. Jimmy decided to be nice and gave him a cigarette.

"Thanks. Hey, are you good on this?"

Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, I think it's really gonna fuck me up, though."

"Ahh, you'll be fine."

"I dunno, I started drinking around six-thirty ..."

Instantly, Jimmy paranoiacally deduced that because of all the outside sources—i.e. drunk, smoking again, dull hunger, purpled shoulders, vixen daughters, and overanalyzed moments—the fact that he had just smoked weed in

127 the Pterodactyl bathroom like a tacdess drunk would surely be the cause of a

briefly overwhelming experience of heart-pattering panic and ambiguous hilarity.

And look, it's starting already!

"So it'll just level you out a bit."

"Or turn me into a whirling madman—"

"Either way you'll be fine," Gavin concluded, as Jimmy grabbed their drinks

from the back of the toilet.

His mind began to leisurely wander towards another toilet, and a certain bewitching girl with golden hair seated on it, but he quickly cut the scene out of his head like an old-school film editor—hunched over his bench in shadows, with piles of curling film snaked around his feet on the cutting room floor.

Jimmy pushed open the bathroom door. Smoke and sound tickled their faces.

Gav giggled wildly and Jimmy took a deep breath. His eyes swept the length of the bar, collecting shiny litde bits of smiles and hair and botdes raised to lips in the red light of the dark bar. Everything seemed completely different. Gavin giggled wildly again. On the pan back, Jimmy saw girls drinking, girls smoking— girls laughing, girls pouting.

"Look at all the ladies in here!" Jimmy yelled over the music.

"Damn right, Jimmy! Oh my! Now there's an ass I would hang on to for dear life!" Gavin said, nudging Jimmy with his elbow, and tilting his head towards a posterior so sculpted and curving it was nearly contrapposto.

"Wow," was all Jimmy could say.

128 "How'd she pack it in those jeans so tight?!" Gavin screamed. He licked his

lips. "She's mine, Jenkins," he shouted, downing the rest of his beer in a gulp.

"Why? So you can make up for yesterday?"

"Hey, I expect that kinda shit from Nate and Mike, but not from you—"

"I'm no better than them—"

"Apparently not. . . but that ass is! Sweet Jesus! Wish me luck." Gavin winked

at Jimmy, and then followed her through the crowded bar.

"Godspeedyou ..." Jimmy muttered, lifting his drink in the air. Just as he was

bringing it down, another hand holding a pint appeared through the smoke above

Jimmy's head and clinked his glass. He waited for the crowd to move so he could

see whom the hand belonged to.

"Cheers, my friend," said a rather stumbly Alex Maksimich.

What in the hell? Jimmy nearly said out loud, as the hamster in his head jumped

onto its litde wheel and started running wildly. Jimmy's palpitating heart began

punching at his breastplate with the hopes of breaking through. His eyes darted

every which way in search of an escape. His mouth went canyon dry.

Of course, this bastard corners me when I'm freshly baked and in the midst of a panic

attack! the skittish litde wolf whined, while politely nodding at Maksimich.

"It's Jimmy, right?"

129 "You bet," Jimmy replied, taking a big sip of his gin. He kept his face in his drink, waiting for something terrible to happen. Awkwardly, Jimmy glanced into

Alex's eyes. They looked worn and glazed. Shit, the poor bastard's a wreck, Jimmy thought. Does he know about last night? I hope to sweet fuck he doesn 't! Shit! Why didn 't I call Rummy today? What kind of a prick am I anyways? Why the hell am I all fucking high and baked and drunk and retarded? Why do I always fucking—

"You were in Dr. Ellis's class," Alex began.

Suddenly, there were two hamsters in Jimmy's brain—and these nocturnal littie scoundrels -were both scampering on squeaking wheels, only in opposite directions. Like two little furry cogs, they worked together to effectively pull up information for Jimmy to rapidly ruminate on. Like two little buck-toothed librarians they sorted through pages and pages of material as efficiendy as any

Internet search engine. Together, they defdy assisted Jimmy in hastily thinking about several things at once—or maybe it was just the weed. At any rate, realizing that Maksimich knew nothing of last night, and was just buzzed and feeling gregarious, was very comforting for Jimmy. It meant he could endure whatever it was they were talking about, because he didn't really have to listen to it. He could stand, politely nod, smile when appropriate, and think his own thoughts. And so he did—the scurrying hamsters compliantly aiding the young wolf.

But yeah, Jimmy did find it rather odd that of all days for Alex Maksimich to decide to have a 'social chat' with him, the bastard picked today. If last night never happened, Maksimich would've never come up to me, Jimmy thought, as he gazed at the

130 red lights reflecting off Alex's thick glasses—they looked like lasers. People through

no will of their goddamn own are subconsciously drawn to each other. It's so fucked up, but so

true.

"Well, I ended up getting a pretty good mark in that class, and Dr. Ellis and I

have kinda become friends ..." Jimmy heard himself saying, but he wasn't there,

he was off, deep in his thoughts.

Look at him, crawling on the cutting room floor and combing through strands

of film like hair. Carefully, he untangles a long curl of film and lifts it to the light.

Yes! There she is! Twenty-four gorgeous frames of her per second! Immortalized on the celluloid in his head! With her cute little red and pink toenails, her ice blue eyes, her pouty lips, her absolutely fantastic—

"Hey, aren't you dating Jessica Matvey?"

Jimmy nearly slapped his hand over his mouth upon realizing what he had said.

Abrupdy, Alex stopped talking about whatever the hell he was talking about.

Jimmy watched as Maksimich's face crumpled in on itself.

Did I really say what I think I just heard mysef say? jimmy asked himself—the film slipping from his hand and falling soundlessly back to the floor.

"Well, yeah, I was ..." Alex said with downcast eyes.

Jimmy compulsively lit a cigarette. "Oh, I'm sorry," he managed to mumble. "I had no idea."

131 "Hey, don't worry about it, bro. She was a head case, had to get rid of her,"

Alex said, affecting coolness.

Bad form, Jenkins! He saw Blondie pushing through the crowd with a case of

Heineken.

"Hey Jimmy," Blondie interrupted, his timing impeccable, "there's a drink for you at the bar. C'mon let's go!" he shouted, squeezing his way through the congestion around the bar.

"Well, nice talking to ya, take it easy," Jimmy said, unable to look Alex in the eyes. "I'll see you at Max's this summer."

Walking towards the bar proved quite a difficult venture for Jimmy, with both feet in his fucking mouth. He bit down on his cigarette, cringed, and shook his head. Discomfiture would be the precise feeling. Jimmy didn't see Maksimich again for the rest of the night, but his face would continually pop into Jimmy's mind.

To sum: Jimmy felt like a heel.

But only for a second. As he approached the bar and accepted yet another shot of Jagermeister ... as he tipped it back and fired it in his gullet... as he laughed and cheered ... as his vision blurred ... he managed to convince himself that it was Alex's fault for coming up to him in the first place, it was Maksimich's fault for feeling Jimmy's vibe.

132 Jimmy turned from the bar expecting to see Nate, who only a second ago, had

been standing behind him. But instead, there she was, Jessica fuckin' Matvey. He

blinked rapidly in surprise and suddenly he was falling.

Holy shit, he was tumblin'. . . ho-lee shit, he was about to fall flat on his face

right in front of Jessica Matvey. Whatever he was drinking fell out of his hands

and landed on the ground. Jimmy watched his ice cubes slide across the bar floor,

littered with squished straws and cigarette butts. Jimmy watched it all as he silently

toppled. At about the halfway point, he began to flail his arms. He realized how

ridiculous this must look. Not only was he about to fall flat on his face, but he

was also flapping his arms about like a goddamn monkey! And all of this, all of

this, in front of her—this realization caused Jimmy's heart to seize, and his eyes to

roll way back inside of his head, and he immediately went to sleep.

Play dead, Jimmy! Good boy, good doggie! Woof.

"I guess you didn't need that last drink," Blondie said, easing Jimmy into a chair in the back office. The muted bass pounded in sync with Jimmy's pulse through the thin drywall.

"I smoked a joint with Gav and that's when everything got fucked up," Jimmy muttered, as one of the servers came in and brought him a glass of water. Jimmy

133 took a sip and put a hand to his head. He cleared his throat. "So, to clarify then, I just fell flat on my face in front of the bar, correct?"

"Correct," Blondie replied, turning to hide his grin.

"And nobody caught me?"

"Affirmative."

"But, a lot of people saw it—"

Blondie exploded with laughter. "It was fuckin' hilarious, Jimmy! I looked up from the bar and all I saw was you whipping your arms around like a wild man, trying to keep your balance and then—" Blondie smacked his hands together and cackled.

"I'm glad you found it funny, you cocksuck!" Jimmy cried, as Blondie continued to laugh.

"What happened, Jenkins? Ya trip over your nutsack? Ya got hang-bag?"

Blondie howled. Jimmy crimsoned. Blondie held his stomach and roared. "Aww, don't get sore. It all happened in like two seconds, most people didn't even see a thing," Blondie said, wiping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Except for the one person in the entire fucking—" Jimmy stopped there with a groan.

"What?"

"I passed out in front of Jessica Matvey, Blondie!"

"No you didn't," he replied, still giggling.

"Yes I fucking did."

134 "I didn't see her."

"Well she was there . . . and while she was, she got to watch me fall on the ground right the fuck in front of her."

"I ran over the instant it happened—"

"Well you weren't lookin' at the crowd ..."

"I think you've had one too many pops."

"I hope you're right, my friend."

"Are you tight?"

"Oh, I think I'm a little bit tight all right."

"I think the whole Maksimich thing set you off," Blondie said, still unable to completely get rid of his grin. "But you're OK? Everything's cool?" Jimmy nodded sullenly. "Good, cause I gotta get back out there," Blondie said, tilting his head towards the door.

"Is it all right if sit in here for a few minutes?"

"Go for it."

Jimmy sipped his water and lit a cigarette. He sighed. He looked around at all the posters on the walls. Advertisements for just about every live show The

Pterodactyl ever had, and promotional posters for beer covered the walls. Old photos were tacked here and there with bright neon-coloured pins. Taped to the door hung the weekly schedule and a list of duties for the staff to do when it wasn't busy. Jimmy stood up and thought he felt pretty much sober.

135 "And let's try to keep it that way," he mumbled, walking around the office and taking a closer look at some of the photos. "This week has just been too goddamn much," he said, his mind drifting to reverie. "Did I see her? Yeah, that was her all right," Jimmy convinced himself, as he stared at a photo of Jessica Matvey on the wall. He blinked and she was still there.

—but now that it looks like we're in the clear, and I'll he all right, I'm kind of glad it happened—

"What the hell did he mean by that?" Jimmy wondered, thinking back to

Rummy and his blackjack story. "I really should've called him today," Jimmy muttered, remembering the look Rummy had in his eyes after he had finished telling him the story. He pictured Rummy shoving the kid with the box of mini- shooters in his arms. Jimmy kind of felt like shoving someone himself. He crushed his cigarette into an over-flowing ashtray on the desk and Maksimich's face popped into his head—it all coming full circle.

"Jesus Christ!" Jimmy moaned, with enough fear and trembling in his voice to make you think he was about to fall on his knees and offer his services to Him.

And again, he thought of Jessica. Her face a sort of sanctuary for him. Yet, a kinda strange one, considering he was using her as a distraction to stop thinking about a) her father, and b) her ex-boyfriend—an ex-boyfriend who may have indirectly been given the 'ex' part because of Jimmy—a father who smashed his car into a pop-up trailer and almost died because of Jimmy—a girl so utterly intriguing Jimmy saw apparitions of her in smoky bars—with enough chimerical

136 clarity to make his knees buckle as if they'd been hit with a baseball bat—and with enough vividness to actually make him fucking pass out.

Jimmy pictured his tumble. He replayed it in slow motion. He gave his head a good shake, and when he was done there was a grin on it.

Well, at least I'm keepin' it interesting, Jimmy thought. Eventually, the grin turned to a smile and Jimmy started to chuckle. He pictured himself "whipping his arms around like a wild man" and he started to howl. It felt good, so Jimmy kept laughing. He realized he was laughing at himself but he didn't care one lick, because Jimmy was the funniest guy Jimmy knew. And really, why shouldn't he be?

Jimmy was still outside, now eating a slice of pizza, patiently waiting for Gavin.

He was sitting on the steps, wishing everyone a wonderful evening as they left.

"Hey Jenkins, careful you don't trip on your way up the stairs."

"Haha! You're hilarious buddy," he replied.

Jimmy thought of his bed. The possibility of waking up in the hush of early morning, surrounded in snug blankets and spooning a soft, naked girl—kissing her neck, smelling her hair, hugging her tight, even though his right arm was all pins and needles—was no longer an option. At some point in the evening Jimmy had given it up.

137 But oh! to wake entwined in limbs and blankets. Jimmy's hands exploring the

soft curve of her breasts, as an almost silent sigh slips through her sleep-swollen

lips. Half asleep, his hands would continue to explore, moving across her

stomach, his baby finger momentarily getting caught on a ring in her bellybutton.

Mmmm . . . Jimmy would sigh, as his hand stroked the V of her bent legs, and

he slowly fell back to sleep.

OK, so waking next to a random girl would be too much, BUT waking up next to a girl I

know well. . .Jimmy had a sudden urge to call his (ex)girlfriend. I'll tell her we don't

have to have sex at all,ya know, just two people enjoying each other's softness and breath as we platonically sleep next to each other! Yes! And then I can tell her about all the shit that's

happened, as we comfortably drift off to sleep in each other's arms! Perfect! Just two friends

enjoying each other's closeness and—

Blondie slid through the half-open patio door. A cigarette hung from his

bottom lip.

"Gotta light?" he asked, sitting down next to Jimmy. Jimmy pulled a pack of

matches from his breast pocket and handed them to Blondie.

"Where the hell's Gavin?" Jimmy asked, watching Blondie light his cigarette.

"Still tryin' to work his magic in there."

"Is it working?"

"I think so. That chick Sara he's been talkin' to all night is really hot—"

"She sure is."

"So are you gonna talk to him tomorrow?"

138 "Yeah."

"Good, I think you should," Blondie said, passing Jimmy the cigarette. "At least just to see how he is. I mean, what if something happened today when he went down to the station? What if the whole wimess thing is sketchy? What if someone saw you do it?"

"Enough. I'm going to call him."

"Good," Blondie said, snatching the cigarette out of Jimmy's hand and jumping up from the step.

"Hey, tomorrow's your birthday," Jimmy said.

"Right you are, the big two-four."

"Actually, it's your birthday now . . . happy birthday, man."

"Thanks."

"What are we gonna do, then?"

"I'm going to dinner with Meaghan and my folks, but that'll be done by nine."

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"I'll call you around nine."

"Cool, see ya," Blondie said, and then he was gone, through the sliding door, and back behind the bar—a cigarette dangling from bottom lip, as he lifted dirty glasses in the air, pulled out their straws, dumped the remains in the sink, and placed each one in the washer.

139 But Jimmy was still thinking about the whole waking up next to a girlthing. You

see, Jimmy had become quite accustomed to sleeping with his girlfriend. Addicted

really. Mainly because it was just so goddamn comfortable. Even the night they

broke up, they still went to bed like normal. Knowing it would be their last night

together, they both lay awake long into the night just listening.

Jimmy remembers waking the next morning to a brilliant sun. They had

forgotten to close the blinds and the windows faced east. As Jimmy opened his

eyes he experienced that wonderfully pure waking moment before realization

occurs. Here he was, pinned underneath his girlfriend, her head resting heavily on

his chest. She was even drooling on him. He gently stroked her head and—

It all came back to him. And God was it ever bright in there!

"Oh yeah," Jimmy whispered to himself, as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

"Oh. jeab," he whispered again with more emphasis, pulling a lock of her hair over

his eyes. But the sun was determined and persistent.

Isn't it supposed to be raining? Jimmy wondered, as he carefully pushed his

(ex)girlfriend off him and got up to close the blinds. But shutting them could not

conceal the sun's brilliance. It was scintillating. He looked down and saw her little puddle of drool quickly drying on his chest. He rubbed it in as if it was suntan lotion. Jimmy stared at her, his head tilted. She was nothing more than a cascade

of brown hair and a left foot poking out from under the covers. He sighed heavily, and began putting on his clothes, which were in a scatter on the floor.

Jimmy looked around. These walls. That ceiling. This bed. His brow furrowed.

140 Soon enough some other guy will wake up in the early morning and have to shut the blinds,

he thought, pulling on a sock.

This desk that I helped put together. These books. Those dirty clothes in the

hamper. The way those black pantyhose are just lying on the ground. That piece-

of-shit incense holder I bought her for a twoonie.

That picture of us from last summer in the frame on her dresser. . . can another photo just

as easily replace it? Jimmy was fully dressed. The sun shone on his back as he stood

and rubbed the five o'clock shadow on his chin. That warm bedspread. Those

comfy pillows. This goddamn girl!

Jimmy felt his bottom lip begin to quiver, as he knelt by the bed and grabbed

his keys. He gazed at her in the bright light of morning. Things made sense but

they sure as hell didn't make sense. He brushed some hair off her cheek and

planted a wet kiss on it. She mumbled something unintelligible.

"Me too," Jimmy whispered, breathing in a last whiff of her hair. He stood up

and saw her foot still sticking out of the covers. On tiptoe, he scampered to the

other side of the bed, grasped the protruding foot in his hands and kissed the top

of it. With that, he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a sigh.

She had some of the cutest feet I have ever seen, Jimmy recalled, biting his bottom lip,

and shaking his head. He looked up and saw Gavin leaning over the bar, finally

saying goodbye to Blondie.

"But so does Jessica Matvey!" Jimmy whispered to himself, his eyes opening wide, as the good hamsters quickly pulled up—first, her stocking feet tapping on

141 the library floor in pink and blue, and second, her bare feet tapping on the bathroom floor, with nails painted various shades of rouge.

"Nice work, boys!" Jimmy whispered to the critters.

He remembered Jessica embracing him the night before . . . the way she quickly ran her hand through his hair and whispered everything would be OK. A shiver ran down Jimmy's spine. Jessica was another reason Jimmy had resolved earlier to forget about sex for the evening. Let's face it, it was never gonna happen in the first place. Well, maybe it could have, Jimmy just never let the tornado whisk him away, except when he fell down . . . but he fell down because of her—

Jimmy had actually chatted with quite a few girls tonight, even kissed a few of them on the cheek, but like when he was talking to Maksimich, he just couldn't stay focused. He smiled and flirted when appropriate, but he couldn't stop thinking about how he'd much rather be talking to either a) his (ex)girlfriend, or b) sweet sweet Jessica Matvey, but c) alas!

Jimmy stood up as Gavin and the girl with the incredible ass slipped through the patio door. Jimmy watched Blondie in the background making lewd gestures directed towards the newfangled couple.

"Jimmy, this is the lovely Sara . . . Sara, this is the incomparable Jimmy."

"Pleasure to meet you," Jimmy said looking into her slightly glazed eyes.

142 She smiled and winked at him. "I'm sure it is," she replied with a laugh. "So

Gavin baby, where are we going?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"We're gonna catch a cab to Jimmy's house and have some more drinks,"

Gavin said, his face flushing. Jimmy shot Gavin a look that said, I'm fucking going to bed! and Gavin shot back with, Dude, look at how hot she is! Blondie was still making lewd gestures from inside the bar.

A car honked on the street. "Oh, there's our cab now . . . c'mon let's go!"

Gavin said, turning to wave bye to Blondie. Blondie grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Holding Sara's hand, Gavin led her up the stairs towards the awaiting taxi. He and Jimmy were still shooting looks back and forth at each other. With a silent groan, Jimmy waved goodbye to Blondie and turned to follow the two asses up the stairs . . . but he was only looking at one of them. Wow.

Gavin opened the car door for Sara, gave her a kiss as she sat down, and gently shut the door for her. He then quickly spun on his heel towards Jimmy, and heatedly whispered: "OK listen Jimmy, I can't xake. her back to my place, because it's Chris's one year anniversary with stupid ass Erica, and I promised him I wouldn't come home tonight. And I figured . . . since your folks were gone away—"

"You could turn my house into a brothel?"

Gavin sighed and put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. "Jimmy, she is so goddamn hot." It was all he could really say.

143 Conversely, there were a million things Jimmy could've said in reply, but instead he bit his tongue, inwardly cursed, and mumbled: "Fine, whatever."

Gavin's eyes lit up and he ran around to the other side of the car. Jimmy hopped in shotgun.

"Evening sir, how are you?" Jimmy asked the driver, and then gave him his address, slumping into the plush seat as he did so. He shut his eyes. The radio was quietly humming some jazz, which created the perfect ambience for Gavin and

Sara in the backseat. Jimmy heard Sara giggle. She sounded cute. He listened to the car's wheels as they rolled over the warm asphalt. He hung his arm out the open window, while the soft breeze parted his hair. The cab's dispatcher beeped a few times, and the cabbie muttered something under his breath. Sara laughed again, and Jimmy found it charming. Keeping his eyes closed, Jimmy tried to guesstimate how far they had driven. When he opened them, he realized he drove way too fast in his head. He glanced at the cabbie, the man looked tired and unhappy. Jimmy closed his eyes again and—

"That'll be ten twenty-five," he heard the cabbie mutter. He opened his eyes.

They were in his driveway. Gavin handed the driver a ten and a handful of change and they all got out of the taxi.

"Have a good night," Jimmy said as he shut the door. He turned towards his house, trying to remember where he hid his keys. He didn't like to carry things in his pockets if he didn't have to.

144 It feels like I hid those keys days ago, Jimmy thought, remembering how drunk he'd been when he left the house this evening. He scooped up the keys from the flowerbed and met the fondling couple on the porch. Sara was still giggling.

"I like your laugh . . . it's very cute," Jimmy told her as he pushed open the front door, the keys jangling in the lock.

"Thanks," she replied with a smile.

"After you," Jimmy said, motioning for her to enter with a sweep of his hand.

Again she winked at him, and again he took a peek at her incredible ass.

"Where's your bathroom, Jim?" she asked, slipping off her strappy sandals.

"Down the hall and to your right. . . you'll see it," Jimmy said, blocking Gavin who tried to follow her through the front door. As Sara turned the corner, Jimmy turned to Gavin. Jimmy looked at the drunken bliss, dancing like tiny sparks in

Gavin's eyes, and he laughed out loud.

"What?"

"I'm just laughing."

"For what?"

"No real reason . . . Sara is smokin' hot by the way."

Gavin closed his eyes, nodded his head, and sighed in response.

"So, you know where my booze is, but go easy on it. You can have my room and I'll sleep down here."

"You gotta have a drink with us—"

145 "Nope. I've drank enough. I'm gonna water the flowers and them I'm going to

bed. Uh, there's some condoms in my dresser, top drawer, if you need 'em.

Enjoy." Jimmy said quiedy, smiling slightly as he moved out of the doorway so

Gav could walk through.

"Thanks, Jimmy," he said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Oh, if Sara has any cigarettes, can you please toss one out to me?"

"Can do," Gavin said, kicking off his shoes as he walked in the house.

Jimmy yawned and sat down on the steps, waiting for Gavin to return. A car

quietly drove by. He listened to the crickets and gazed at the stars shining dimly in

the city sky. Gavin returned, elbow deep in Sara's purse. After much burrowing,

he found the cigarettes and pulled out the pack. He handed one to Jimmy, and

whistling gaily, went back inside the house.

Jimmy Jenkins stood up, lit the cigarette and coughed. He looked at his car

asleep in the driveway and cringed, as he reminded himself yet again about the

bloodstains in the backseat.

He thought of Rummy and Jessica. Then he thought about the fact that there

was going to be a naked girl in his bed. And then he got angry . . . yes, as our little

pup walked down the front steps, round the house, through the gate and into the

backyard, there was a dull fury gleaming in his lupine eyes. As he grabbed the

hose, cranked it on and began soaking the flowers on the back porch, he had to wipe a bit of froth from the corners of his mouth with his shirt. Jimmy no longer

felt tired. It was three in the morning and he was all keyed up and ready to go. He

146 was a man of this world. He lived for himself and was ready to experience new things. Jimmy Jenkins version 2.0 had been downloaded and installed—ready for anything at any fucking time—yet here he was, at the end of a wild and tumultuous Sunday, at home alone.

Oh well, fuck jou, Jimmy muttered, turning off the hose and tossing it lifeless to the ground. He moped up the stairs to the back porch.

But also—somewhere deep in the back of his mind—Jimmy couldn't help but constructively think ... he had made it this far . . . he had made it to the present, yet now what? Now what?

147 VI

NUDGE.

"Hey Jimmy ..."

"... hmph ..."

"The phone's for you ..."

"Hmmph ..."

Nudge, nudge.

Jimmy . . . phone's for you—"

"Hmmmpphh ..."

Nudge, push, shove.

"Jimmy, wake up!"

Eyes half open. "What d'you want?"

"Phone's for you."

"Who is it?"

(Aside) "Uh, whom may I ask is speaking?" (pause) "It's some guy named

Alex—"

Eyes wide open. "Maksimich?"

"I don't fucking know!"

"What time is it?" Jimmy asked, attempting to sit up.

148 "It's almost one in the afternoon, take the damn phone," Gavin said, throwing it in his lap. Jimmy scratched his head and stared at the phone. Nothing was making any sense. A hundred thoughts and a thousand dreams swirled around his head. He realized he had a splitter of a headache. A dry cough was caught in the back of his throat. Tentatively, he put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Jimmy, you all right? It's Alex—"

Ahh, ojcourse, it's 'Kummy . . .

"Yeah, hey Alex, I'm fine, I just woke up is all—"

"You sound like someone punched you in the throat."

"No doubt," Jimmy said, slowly getting up off the couch and walking towards the kitchen. "Listen, can I call you back after I get a few pots of coffee in me?"

"As long as you do call me back."

"Yeah, I promise."

"Well, I'll be here."

"Is everything OK?"

"For the most part."

"Good, good, OK, I'll talk to you in a bit," Jimmy said, pouring himself a glass of water.

"Ciao."

Jimmy dropped the phone on the counter and migrated from kitchen to bathroom. He located the Advil and tossed a couple on his nearly desiccated

149 tongue. He then drank freely, dribbling down his chin and chest. He had sleep

lines all over his face. They looked like road maps in the mirror.

Jimmy had no sleep in his eyes—rather, it clung to his back like a heavy

knapsack. He tried to shake it off, but he was also wearing sleep as a dunce cap.

This slowed him down dramatically. Jimmy had been deep in the land of alcohol-

induced slumber. A fog this thick could only be lifted with rain ... so Jimmy

turned on the shower.

About three hours later, leaving Gavin and Sara feeding each other fruit and

drinking daiquiris on his back porch, Jimmy was on the road. The day was as

bright as a summer's day can be. It was effulgent. Jimmy was feeling much better.

His mind had taken on a more practical perspective than the one it used

yesterday. The tornado had passed. He sat relaxed in his seat with one hand on

the wheel. The windows were rolled down but he could still smell the Mr. Clean

from the backseat. Jimmy glanced in the rear view mirror while making a right

onto Rummy's street.

Parking in the same spot as the day before, Jimmy got out of the car slowly. It looked planned, as if perhaps he'd rehearsed it all before, as if perhaps he believed

a set of eyes like cameras were watching from a window above. Silly bastard. One

150 can only hope he'll trip on his way up the porch—he doesn't though, he pulls the whole thing off without a hitch and looks pretty good doing it.

Inside the house, on hearing the car door slam, Jessica shut her laptop and quickly left her room. She decided the best thing to do was meet him dead on.

Cut him off right at the pass. That way they'd both have no time to think. She hit the stairs, her hair dancing behind her. She glided down the steps in bare feet, jumped the bottom three and nearly crashed into the front door.

No sooner had Jimmy hit the doorbell with his index, did the door open to

Jessica, who seemed almost out of breath. The sudden surprise of seeing her at the door nearly knocked the wind out of Jimmy's stride. Wow! She looked nothing like he remembered. Bright blue stare, flushed cheeks, smiling teeth and tongue. This girl was radiant. Jimmy closed his eyes and opened them. She was still there. He smiled his goofy grin.

The brightness of the afternoon momentarily cast Jessica blind—Jimmy was nothing more than a silhouette enveloped in sunlight. She squinted her eyes.

An interesting sort of chiaroscuro thing happening here with Jimmy in the light, she thought, shielding her eyes with her hand until they adjusted to the afternoon sun.

Her cheeks were aglow and she couldn't stop smiling. All this and she hadn't even seen Jimmy's face yet.

Finally, they locked sights. Jessica opened her eyes and Jimmy opened his and they smiled at each other—the pupils dilating in both their eyes.

"Hi."

151 "Hey."

They managed to say that much and resumed staring. But it wasn't awkward.

Jessica leaned in the doorway and Jimmy stood on the porch and for the second

time in as many days, they got lost in each other's eyes. This time there seemed to

be a strong physical pull. Like they wanted to attack each other. Two little wolf

pups wanting to play fight. Jessica took a step outside and joined Jimmy on the

porch.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, how are you?"

"I'm good."

"I'm glad."

"My Dad's in his office."

"Your Dad has an office?"

"Mmhmm. It's through the kitchen in the back."

"Is it nice?"

"What do you mean by nice?"

"I dunno . . . like is there lots of things made of oak in there? Will I be sitting in a leather chair? Does he have fancy pens? And if so, are they made of oak?"

"I couldn't tell you, I've never been in there before. I guess you'll just have to wait and see," she said with a smile.

"Sounds exciting," Jimmy said. "You smell lovely by the way—"

"Oh, thank you."

152 "You didn't happen to go to The Pterodactyl last night did you?"

"No, why?"

"Oh, I thought I mighta saw you there, but I guess I had one too many Shirley

Temples."

Jess smiled. They continued to stare at each other and Jimmy started laughing.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I'm not really sure, but it isn't a bad thing." Jimmy's face was practically purple, and yet, he'd never felt more comfortable. "Listen, are you gonna be home for a bit?" Jimmy asked.

"Maybe. Why?"

"Urn, because after I'm done talking to your Dad, I'd really like to continue staring at you, if that is, you don't mind." Jimmy put his head down and held his breath.

"Come find me," she said, walking through the front door.

Jimmy lifted his head with a grin and followed her inside. She stopped at the stairs, and turning to him said, "Through the kitchen, to your right," and then she winked. The whole scene seemed so utterly perfect to Jimmy that he stood there in stunned silence. Jess laughed and ran up the stairs. Even better. Jimmy inhaled deeply as her shampoo smell followed her up the stairs. After a few seconds, he floated down the familiar hallway towards the kitchen.

Jess heard herself giggle and feeling overwhelmed, she turned and ran up the stairs. Her whole body was burning with thrill. "Wow," she whispered to herself,

153 wondering if he was still watching. She was impressed with how well things had gone. And seeing Jimmy again, he was somehow different, somehow new. It was all very exciting. Jessica ran to her room and shut the door. She leaned against it for a second, looking up at the ceiling with a smile. And like the day itself, Jessica was beaming.

• • •

FOR jimv

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times—but right now it didn't seem like it could possibly get any worse. Leanne Jacobs was in a bit of a pickle.

She was attempting to make herself as small and immaterial as possible.

Leanne was nothing. Leanne was a non, a null, a nil, a negative entity. She had her spine wedged in the corner and her knees pressed tight to her chest. She was trying to become one with the clothes and shoes and jackets. She hid her frown behind a sweater. Her head pounded.

It smelt stale with time in that corner. Smelt like a memory from Leanne's childhood.

It smells like the basement in Grandpa's house on Aberdeen, she thought.

Musty.

154 Carefully, she held the sweater over her mouth. Leanne was in a bit of a dilemma. She had a sob caught in her throat for several reasons. Firsdy, she was hiding in a closet. A stuffy closet filled with dress shirts, winter jackets, a pair of skis, old notebooks from school, maybe some nudie mags too, who knows.

Unfortunately for Leanne, this closet was not her own, but rather, her ex- boyfriend Jason's. And at the moment, Jason happened to be standing just outside of it, evidently in an embrace with some other girl.

To sum: Leanne was hiding in her ex-boyfriend's closet, while he was entertaining potential new girlfriends just outside of it. The situation was horrible, and it only gets worse, when you consider the fact that Leanne was also bleeding profusely from her mouth.

Now, Leanne's not the type of girl who can readily be found in predicaments like this one. Rest assured, there is a rational, albeit slighdy strange reason why

Leanne was bleeding from the mouth and hiding in her ex-boyfriend closet while he was feeling up some other girl.

When Leanne heard the door to the apartment open, she initially wasn't alarmed. She thought it would be Jason's roommate Dave, but then she heard his laugh. High-pitched, slightly nasal. Leanne thought Jason was at work, therefore, she could sneak into his apartment—with the spare key she still possessed—and grab the book she needed for the essay she was in the middle of writing. Sounds painless, simple, like a walk in the park. Leanne had even called from a payphone on her way out of the Metro at Place des Arts just to be sure. Jason always

155 worked on Thursday night, but apparently not this Thursday, no, instead of working, he was out, getting drunk and picking up random girls.

Leanne had been standing in the middle of his room, smelling all the familiar smells, and listening to the hardwood floor creak and the heat turn on. That's when she noticed a cardboard box by the door. Curious, she peeked inside at its contents. It was her stuff. Books, records, stray clothes, her ballet shoes, photos, a pair of sunglasses, a handful of memories.

Here it was, the inevitable break-up box. Leanne sighed. She sat down on the floor and began sifting through the contents. She found the book she was looking for and placed it next to her. She pulled out a stack of photographs and flipped through them. She wondered why Jason had decided to give her these pictures.

Did he want to completely erase their time together? Forget that 'they' existed?

As Leanne held the sweater over her mouth and silently groaned, she cursed herself for getting momentarily caught in the past, because if she would have just grabbed the book and got the hell out of there, instead of sitting on the floor and getting all sappy and nostalgic, she wouldn't be in the particular situation she was in now. Jason laughed from outside the closet. It sounded derisive, as if it was directed towards her. She closed her eyes, told herself she would not cry, and tried to think about her essay.

156 Jimmy lightly knocked on the door to Rummy's office.

"Be right there," a muffled voice said from behind the door. Rummy opened the door, came out and immediately shut it behind him. Jimmy tried to catch a glimpse inside. Rummy had his cell phone pressed against his ear and was talking rapidly. Business. He motioned to Jimmy that he would only be a second. His right arm was in a sling, but Jimmy thought he looked pretty good. Still talking— with the phone sandwiched between shoulder and ear—Rummy opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Heineken, placing them in Jimmy's hands.

They were ice cold. From the drawer, he pulled out an oversized bottle opener and clicked off the caps. One of them landed on Jimmy's foot. Rummy grabbed the bottle from Jimmy's left hand, and after some brief parting words, clicked off his phone and placed it on the counter. He looked at Jimmy with wide eyes and a grin.

"Considering our recent situation, I guess I probably shouldn't have opened these," Rummy said, clinking his beer with Jimmy's, "but I am now officially on vacation for a few days, and it's time to relax in the sun, have a cold one and enjoy the holiday."

Jimmy nodded stupidly. His brain was still high in the clouds with Jessica. He bent over and picked the bottle cap off his shoe and stuck it in his pocket.

"How's it goin', Jimmy? I see you shaved," Rummy said. "You look good, you look younger." Jimmy absently stroked his face. He followed Rummy through the screen door onto the sun-drenched patio.

157 "Great weather the last few days, eh?" Rummy asked, as he led Jimmy towards a plastic green patio table with a big lavender umbrella jutting out of its centre.

Jimmy cast a glance at the garbage pail and wondered if the tattered suit was still inside. The sun refracted off the water in the pool. Chickadees chirped from a nearby tree.

"Yep . . . summer is finally here," Jimmy said somewhat mindlessly, as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. The sun felt good on his skin. He took a sip of his beer. He could hear some kids playing in the next yard over.

"Did you see the loaner car in the driveway?"

"Actually no, I didn't even notice it."

"A brand-spanking new Volkswagen Jetta."

"Nice."

"Yeah, it's a smooth ride. Drives better than the damn Sebring ever did ..."

Jimmy stared at Rummy lounging in his chair. Daytime Rummy was much different than Nighttime Rummy. Here was a man with a life, a family, a career. A man who would probably spend a leisurely afternoon watching golf or maybe fixing the lawn mower if it was broken—a good man, like his own father. Jimmy shivered in the sun. He felt obliged to say something.

"How's your arm?"

"It'll be fine," Rummy replied, shrugging his good shoulder.

"Well I must say, you look a helluva lot better than the first time we met."

"Ha, thanks."

158 Jimmy nodded and took another sip of his beer. "Listen, I'm sorry I didn't call

you yesterday—"

"Don't worry about it," Rummy said with a wave of his hand. He smiled at

Jimmy and took a sip of his beer. "So you went on a bit of a bender last night, did

ya?"

"Actually, yeah I did."

"I figured as much. Especially when I heard your voice this morning." He

chuckled.

"It didn't really help much, though," Jimmy said, scratching his head.

"Seems to be the case, doesn't it?" Rummy asked with a knowing stare. They

sat in silence for a turn, listening to the squeal of tires somewhere down the street.

Rummy pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tossed them at Jimmy.

"No thanks, I nearly smoked my face off last night."

Rummy smiled and grabbed one for himself. He lit it, took a drag and exhaled deeply. After a couple pulls he said, "So, it looks like everything's going to be all right—"

"Really? How was going down to the station?"

"Well," Rummy said, clearing his throat, "the problem with a shoulder dislocation is that the next day it hurts like a son of a bitch, because it gets all inflamed. When I woke up after just a couple hours of sleep, I was in a lot of pain.

I swear I could feel my heart beating in my goddamn shoulder. So, by the time we got to the station I was pretty goofed on painkillers . . . but everything went well."

159 Rummy blew smoke at a fly that had momentarily landed on his arm. The thick smell of nicotine equally disgusted and delighted Jimmy.

"As soon as we got there, an officer took us out back to have a look at the car.

Jesus Christ, Jimmy! The damn thing was a wreck. Hannah almost fainted," he said, pausing to look into Jimmy's eyes. "I managed to keep up the I'm pissed off that someone stole my car act, but it wasn't easy, especially after seeing the front end of that car. Shit, I got out of it pretty goddamn lucky." He stopped and shook his head. Jimmy watched him fiddle with his cigarette. They both took healthy sips of their beer.

"Once we got inside, I had to fill out an accident report and an affidavit of theft so my insurance company could start processing the claim. Lots of paperwork. Dan Lancaster, the guy who owns the trailer, had already been there with a witness who claimed she saw a white youth fleeing the scene immediately after it happened."

"Fuck me," Jimmy exclaimed.

"Fuck me is right," Rummy replied through a cloud of smoke, as he tossed his cigarette into a rusty coffee can on the table. "I can't stop thinking about it.

Someone up there's looking out for me, I guess ..."

"That is so crazy," Jimmy whispered. They both shook their heads in amazement.

160 "Oh and get this," Rummy said with a laugh, "after all the paperwork was finished, two officers sat me down and proceeded to give me an informative lecture on the layered approach to protecting your vehicle."

"What the hell's that?"

"Well, I think they thought I was a bit of an idiot, considering I left my keys in the ignition, right? So they felt it was their duty to inform me on various ways in which I could protect my car from ever being stolen again. Step One: Take the keys out of the ignition. Very Good. Step Two: Lock the door. Another no- brainer. Step Three: Perhaps consider installing an alarm or purchasing a steering wheel lock . . . and on and on." Rummy chuckled.

"Wow, they really did think you were a bit of a moron—"

"Yeah, and I'm sure being jacked on codeine didn't help much either."

"Did they ask where you were that evening?"

"Yeah, I told them I was at the Casino for dinner, and was driven home by a colleague before midnight. They didn't question it."

"Did you talk to Lancaster?"

"Yeah, we spoke on the phone yesterday, exchanged information, all that crap.

But because it's no-fault, it looks like my insurance is going to cover most, if not all, of the damages."

"Well that's good news," Jimmy said, before taking the last sip of his beer. He was relieved about everything, but still felt a bit reprehensible. "Was Lancaster pissed?"

161 "Well yeah, he was upset, but he felt bad for me too. He went on a rant about kids these days and how they're all misguided little shits, and how if he could get his hands on the kid who did it, he'd strangle him 'till his eyes popped out of his head . . . those were his exact words," Rummy said.

"You shoulda seen him that night on the street. . . he was about ready to pop."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," Jimmy said with a laugh to himself, picturing Lancaster in his underwear, punching the air with his fists. "He was screamin' and cussin', it was intense—"

"Good thing he didn't catch the punk kid who stole my car then, eh?" They both chuckled to themselves.

"Wow. Well, I'm glad it looks like this is going to blow over—"

"You and me both, Jimmy," Rummy said, finishing his beer. "You want another?"

"I probably shouldn't, I'm driving—"

"Yeah, but not for awhile."

"What do you mean?"

"Well Jimmy, we're havin' a barbecue and you're staying for dinner."

162 Leanne Jacobs kept herself hidden. She was one with the closet. But of course, now she really had to go pee. She thought of waterfalls and bubbling brooks. She thought of coffee shops and keg parties. Anything to keep her mind off the coppery tasting blood that was trickling down her throat and onto her chin.

Ugh, it tastes like liquid pennies! Leanne thought, fighting off an urge to gag.

She just prayed her tongue wasn't too messed up.

Not until she heard Jason's laugh did she start to freak out. But even then she still didn't think it was him. Then she heard a girl laugh. Leanne's brow furrowed as she tried to figure out who exactly had just walked in the apartment door. She looked down at the break-up box.

Oh my God! He's giving me back all this stuff because he's already found a new girl and doesn't want her to see any of it! Leanne screamed in her head.

This was the precise moment she began to panic. The little hairs on the back of her neck were up, and so was her heartbeat. She glanced at the bed, but knew already she couldn't get under. Jason laughed again, louder this time. Leanne looked over at the closet, realizing it was her only refuge. She shoved the box back in the corner, ducked down, scooped the book off the floor, and made a mad dash for the closet, jumping in like a startled squirrel.

That's when Leanne saw a tremendous flash of light, unlike any she'd ever seen before. The book fell to her lap as she put a hand to her mouth and the other to her head. For a moment, she couldn't hear or feel—and all she could see was muddy green through her twittering eyelids.

163 Like opening your eyes underwater in a lake, Leanne thought to herself, seconds before the stinging pain set in.

She pulled the door shut and pushed herself into the farthest recesses of the closet, fighting a terrible urge to scream. In the carelessness and rapidity of the moment, Leanne failed to notice a fairly low hanging shelf, and she smashed her head on it as she dove in the closet. Hence, the intense flash of light. Next came a chomping sound and a sharp pain in her mouth. The impact of her head colliding with the shelf caused Leanne to bite down on her tongue like a steak cooked medium rare. It wasn't until she noticed the blood oozing out of her mouth that she realized she bit clean through.

Leanne was sure she'd made so much noise jumping in the closet that Jason would come rushing in to find her. But instead, he sauntered in with some whore, completely oblivious, and now they were kissing. The girl kept making all these

'mmmm' type sounds after every kiss. Leanne wondered who the hell she was. A waitress from work? Some girl from one of his classes? She couldn't see them, but boy could she hear them. Leanne could not believe this was happening. And her essay! She'd been on a roll—her argument was tight and she had it all backed up with quotes and criticism. But she was missing one important reference, and it was in a book she'd left at Jason's apartment. . .

So, in comes the plan. A quick sneak in with her spare key, the snatching of the book, followed by a swift escape down the back stairwell instead of the elevator. Sounds painless, sounds simple, like a walk in the park, right?

164 "What time are we supposed to meet them?" Leanne heard the girl ask Jason.

"There gonna meet us here in a half an hour or so."

"Should we have a drink then?"

"Sure."

"Is there any of that vodka left?"

"Jepense que oui"

At this, the kissing sounds started again and Leanne nearly bawled. She tried to think about the closing statement of her essay, but her thoughts were scattered.

Just a half an hour. Thirty minutes. The A side of a record. One lousy sitcom! She went back to thinking about her bladder and waterfalls and bubbling brooks.

God, did she ever have to pee!

All these drenched thoughts about full bladders and trickling waterfalls and fast moving rivers sent Leanne's mind on a clumsy waltz through the ballroom of her thoughts. One and two and step, three, four . . . now turn, very nice . . . one and two and step, three, four . . . now turn . . .

It was mid April. Exam week. Either a Wednesday or Thursday night. This was back when Leanne still lived on campus up at Douglas Hall. She'd been trying to study in her room, but there were parties going on all around her. The majority

165 of first-year students were already done their exams, and were moving out the following week. Many of them going back 'home' for the summer. And because of this, just about everyone was getting drunk and high and running around the dorm screaming like savages.

Leanne heard stories about the whole floor erupting into a week-long

'bacchanal' (a word she really liked by the way), but she didn't expect it to be this crazy—this was even worse than the frosh week in September. Suddenly free from books and exams and papers and professors, these kids discovered a newfound glee. Realizing that classes were over and summers would divide, inhibitions were cast aside faster than Geology textbooks. Scores of semester-long crushes were exposed—not to mention, quite a few jiggling and dangly bits.

Alcohol, of course, played a factor in just about everything.

Tequila!

This last week of the school year was a big reason why most students returned in the fall.

Leanne heard a group of guys cheering from the common room. They were watching the Habs game while playing Hearts and doing shots of tequila. The few kids still sober were tearing down their rooms, packing up their belongings, and trying to sell what they didn't want to bring home or put in storage. Someone kept running down the hall yelling, "Colour TV for sale! Twenty-five bucks!

Gorgeous TV for sale, just twenty fucking dollars!" Occasionally, someone would

166 burst through Leanne's door and ask where her roommate Krista was—so she locked it, but then they pounded on it instead.

"Krista! Krista!"

"Effin' animals," Leanne exclaimed under her breath, as the group of guys in the common room began howling like stray dogs. She rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. This was not going to work. She realized she'd been reading the same sentence over and over for the last five minutes. She had to get out of there.

She stood up and began gathering all her notes and books and shoved them in her tote bag.

Where should I go? she wondered. The library closed in an hour. Maybe the coffee shop will be quiet, she hoped, thinking about a Second Cup a few blocks away on Milton.

I could use some caffeine anyways, she said to herself.

So it was settled. She opened the door to her room and looked out at the clutter in the hall. Empty boxes, books, chairs, and a broken coffee table lined the hallway. A group of girls were sitting on the ground by the payphones smoking cigarettes. They flicked their ashes into empty pop cans and one of them laughed loudly. It seemed like suddenly you were allowed to do whatever the hell you wanted—no longer did anyone care about the Hall rules or the Floor Fellows or getting into trouble, because the semester was over and first year was done.

Leanne flung her bag over her shoulder, pulled the door shut, and walked towards the stairs. A couple of kids were sitting on the top steps, drinking big

167 bottles of ~La Fin Du Monde. One of them asked if she'd like a sip. She politely declined and continued on her way.

When she got outside it was lightly raining. When did this start? Leanne wondered, briskly walking down the steps onto the wet sidewalk. Big old trees lined the road and kept her dry all the way down University. Still she wished she'd brought an umbrella, because it was open air the rest of the way.

April showers bring May flowers, Leanne hummed to herself. Suddenly she had to pee. Hurriedly, she walked the remaining blocks down Milton to the

Second Cup.

As she approached the cafe she tried to see if it was busy inside, but the front window was fogged up from the rain. She pulled open the door and went in, wiping a wet cheek with the back of her hand. She was happy to see only a few customers. Three guys sat by the front window. Two of them were engrossed in a game of chess, and the other was staring at his laptop. Farther back, a group of girls were studying for an exam, their notes scattered about on the tables around them. An older man stood by the counter, chatting with the server. Dub reggae was quietly playing in the background.

Yeah this'll do, Leanne thought, as she combed a wet strand of hair off her forehead with her fingers.

Leanne walked towards a set of stairs at the back of the cafe. The ladies room was at the bottom of the stairs next to two payphones and a bulletin board covered with A LOUER notices and flyers for upcoming events around campus

168 and downtown. Leanne glanced at them briefly, as she tried to open the bathroom door. It was locked.

"Occupee!" a very high-pitched voice said through the door. Leanne tapped her feet together. She really had to go! She heard the toilet flush and a few seconds later the door opened. To Leanne's surprise, a guy she recognized stepped out, with a grin on his face. She stared at him, a bit thrown.

"Oh sorry, the men's room is out of order—"

"It's fine," she stammered, "I just thought you were a girl, I mean, you sounded like one from inside."

"Yeah, sorry, I was being a goof. I've drank way too many coffees—"

"Well, you have quite the falsetto," she said with a smile, opening the bathroom door and going inside.

"Why thank you," he replied in the high-pitched voice, as she clicked the door shut. She laughed at how ridiculous he sounded. She glanced at her smiling face in the mirror and noticed her cheeks were flushed.

Geez, I look like an animal! Leanne thought, gazing at the fly-aways shooting every which way off the top of her damp head. She hadn't even brushed her teeth before she left. She pulled out a brush from her bag and combed her hair while hovering a scant inch above the toilet seat to do her business. Leanne was queen of the hover. She finished with a quick wipe and a flush of the toilet. She washed her hands, gave her hair a final brush, and pushed open the bathroom door.

169 She was surprised to see Falsetto standing there. They stared at each other for a few seconds in the dim light.

"I forgot to wash my hands," he said holding his palms out. His right hand had a big ink splotch in the middle of it. With his left, he pointed to the pocket of his jeans—it too had a similar splotch soaking through the denim.

Leanne laughed. "Ooh, that's a shame—"

"No shit, that pen cost me five dollars!" he said, looking at her with a smirk.

His eyes were the colour of coffee. "You're in Steadman's psych class, aren't you?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Yeah I am."

"I remember seeing you there."

"So you're in that class too?"

"Yeah, I'm about to start studying for the exam right now."

"I thought you looked familiar, but I don't remember seeing you in class."

"That's because I went about four times all semester."

"Then how are you going to study?"

"I printed out all the notes from Steadman's website."

"But you never went to class—"

"It doesn't matter. All the notes are on the website . . . and all she did every class was put the exact same ones on an overhead and read them out loud while the class copied them down."

"But there's going to be questions on the videos that we watched in class ..."

170 "And I'm glad there is, because the ever-keen Dr. Steadman has provided a

brief summary of each video in the supplementary study notes section of her

website." He laughed. It was a bit high-pitched, but Leanne thought it sounded

cute. She smiled at him.

"Well, it sounds like you've got everything under control," she said.

"I have two exams tomorrow, and that one is the least of my worries," he

replied. "My name's Jason, by the way—"

"Oh yeah ... hi, I'm Leanne."

"A pleasure," he said with a bow. "I'll shake your hand after I've washed

mine," he added, moving past her towards the ladies room. They gendy brushed

shoulders. Leanne watched the door close behind him, and she ran up the stairs-

a smile on her lips.

As Leanne paid the server for her cappuccino, Jason returned from the washroom and walked up to her.

"So are you looking for a study buddy?" he asked.

"I dunno, I've got a lot of reading to do, " she said, turning from him to

collect her change off the counter.

"No you don't," he said to the back of her head. She wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

171 "Uh,yeah I do," she said a little sassily, turning around and looking up into his eyes.

He's pretty cute in the light, she thought to herself, as they stood and checked each other out.

Jason smiled. "Be my study buddy for one hour. If you're not satisfied with the rate of progress at the end of the hour, we will part our separate studying ways.

Deal?" he asked, sticking out his hand for her to shake. She stared at it and he laughed. "I'm sitting over here," he said, tilting his head towards a table next to the bar.

Leanne didn't really want to study with him. She liked to study alone.

I'll just be wasting even more time, she thought to herself. But for some reason, she followed him. Maybe it was his cute laugh, maybe it was his coffee bean eyes, maybe it was the weather, who knows . . .

She sat down across from him and began pulling her notes out of her bag. She took a sip of her cappuccino and cringed. It was bitter and bland. Jason watched her with an amused look on his face. She pulled out several different coloured pens and a big yellow highlighter.

"May I borrow one of those pens?" he asked.

"I guess," she said with a tiny smile, handing him a blue one.

He thanked her kindly, and asked if she was ready to get down to brass tacks.

She sipped her cappuccino and nodded emphatically. "All right then, let's begin," he said, flipping through a few pages of his notes. "Now, the beautiful thing

172 about this exam, Leanne, is that most of it's multiple choice. Therefore, the name

of our fun little studying game is gonna be 'recall'. We're not gonna waste any

time trying to memorize terms and theories, because all we need is a general idea

of what they are. We don't need to know the answers, because they're already

going to be on the page for us. We just have to make sure we can recall them. So,

all we really need to know are the general links between who, what, when and

where, and we're fucking set."

"What about the short-answer questions?"

"Well," he said, pulling out a few pages from his scatter of notes and handing

them to her, "that old crow Steadman has provided some sample questions on

her website. Make sure you can answer all of them, because I will guarantee you

these very questions will be on the exam, mot pout mot!'' Leanne stared at his

printed notes. She couldn't believe it was laid out so simply on the website.

"I thought that was just her home page," Leanne said.

"See, it's never to late to learn," he said with a smile. She flipped through his

notes and chuckled at him. "Urn . . . you're very cute by the way," Jason added,

quickly averting his eyes. Instead, he gazed at her pronounced collarbone,

branching its way towards her shoulders, visible in the open V of her T-shirt. Her

skin was a lush olive colour. Jason couldn't hide his blush.

"Why thank you," she said, trying to mock his earlier falsetto. They laughed.

Jason looked up and gazed into her eyes. He noticed she had long lashes. They

curled around her green eyes like tiny wings. Butterfly kisses, Jason thought to

173 himself with a smile. Absendy, Leanne grabbed her thick dark hair and swept it around her neck, combing her fingers through it, as it rested lazily on her shoulder.

"You do realize I'm gonna kick your sorry ass on this exam—"

"I wouldn't be so cocky there, buddy."

"First-year exams are a cinch—"

"I never said they weren't."

"You wanna put some money on it then?"

"No, I don't have any."

"OK, how about this . . . whoever gets a lower mark has to buy me a fancy new pen?"

"Don't you mean we?"

"That's what I said ... "

Laughter. Smiles. Studying. And so on. This was the first time they met. They would wave at each other from across the crowded auditorium the next morning before the exam, but Leanne wouldn't see Jason again until the following

September—and by then, things would be much different.

174 VII

JIMMY Jenkins sat in the sunshine. He finished his second Heineken and smiled to himself, wondering what his family was doing right now.

They're probably at the beach, hanging out on the sandbar in the lake to keep cool, Jimmy thought, picturing it in his head.

It's very pebbly by the lake's shore, but as soon as you walk a stone's throw out into the water there's a drop of about ten feet or so. One moment the water's at your waist and the next it's over your head. But if you swim out another twenty metres past the drop-off, there's a long sandbar. Ankle-deep water and soft sand stretching nearly a mile down the beach. On a calm day it's the perfect place to squat in the sun. Everyone swims the distance with a chair above their heads, and sits out in the shallow water all day. Jimmy's uncle Paul would swim with the big beach umbrella over his head, singing the whole way. Two unlucky people

(usually Jimmy and his cousin Stevie) would have the job of bringing the cooler.

This became slighdy difficult once the water was over their heads, especially if they didn't have an air mattress. One of them would have to swim underneath it, holding up the bottom, while the other tried to keep it from toppling over, and slowly pulled it forwards. And you can be sure, Jimmy's mom packed that cooler tight with snacks and drinks, sunglasses and lotion, books, ice packs, towels, a

175 Frisbee, a pair of binoculars, even her knitting bag was probably in there. All things necessary for a lazy day on the sandbar.

That'd be perfect right now, Jimmy thought to himself, absently staring at a butterfly hanging from a dandelion. It slowly opened and closed it wings—they were transparent in the afternoon light.

Squinting, Jimmy got up and began walking towards a wooden gate at the side of the house. He stuck his hand into the pocket of his jeans, searching for his keys. He heard their familiar jingle, chiming like a pocketful of change. He clicked open the gate as Rummy slid open the patio door.

"Where you going?" Rummy asked, leaning over the wooden rail of the deck.

He had two more beers in his hand, and there was a soft ice pack draped over his shoulder.

"Just gonna grab my sunglasses outta the car, I'll be back in a sec," Jimmy replied, pushing open the gate, and walking alongside the house to his car on the street.

Drinking cold beer in the warm sun had put Jimmy completely at ease. His fondness for Rummy had only continued to grow, as they lounged around the green patio table like two old friends shootin' the shit. As the beer bottles accumulated, their tongues began to loosen. It would've happened without the drinks, but Jimmy believed that Rummy thought it would remove the potential awkwardness right off the bat. And as he opened the door to his car, he silently thanked him for it.

176 "Well, you seem like a pretty smart kid," Rummy had said, after Jimmy told

him about school and his job and plans for the future. "I hope everything works

out for you."

"Thanks," Jimmy replied quietly.

"Ya know," Rummy said, leaning back in his chair, "I think you and Jessica

would get along real well—"

Jimmy's face involuntarily crimsoned upon hearing her name.

"You guys seem to have a lot of similar interests ..."

Jimmy took a sip of his beer and Rummy chuckled.

"Ain't that somethin? She's already cast her spell on you, hasn't she?"

Jimmy deterred eye contact with another sip of his beer. Rummy laughed

aloud.

"She's starting to look just like her mother did when I met her. A spitting

image, with all that goddamn blonde hair. She really is a beautiful girl. My little

Jessinka."

Jimmy put his hand to his mouth, closed his eyes, and nodded in agreement.

Rummy laughed again and swigged his beer. "Come to think of it, she asked

about you today—"

Jimmy wanted him to stop, because it all sounded too good to be true, but he

listened with relish. And then he listened with ketchup and mustard too. As

Rummy talked on, lighting a cigarette and blowing a wisp of smoke in the air,

177 Jimmy thought he could see a look of gratitude shimmering faintly in the corners of his eyes.

No man has ever looked at me like this before. No man has looked upon me with eyes like these, Jimmy thought to himself, eyeing the cigarette in Rummy's hand.

"I think she might have the hots for you too," Rummy said almost excitedly, flicking ash into the air. "Aww . . . but she's dating some kid, I can never remember his name. I always call him wiener-boy." Jimmy laughed outright, nearly spitting beer from his mouth. He slapped his knee with his palm. "He's always calling me 'sir' for Chrissake! Goofy lookin' kid, wears these big Buddy

Holly glasses."

Well she ain 't dating wiener-boy no more, he thought, his heart dancing in his chest.

Jimmy had a strange feeling this man would do anything for him. It made him shiver the giggles right out of his system.

"I'll put in a good word for ya," Rummy said with a smile, enjoying the fact that he was getting Jimmy worked up. "Hell, she already thinks you're a goddamn hero, what more do ya need?"

"See, but that's exacdy what I don't want—"

"What the hell are you talkin' about, kid? That's your in right there ..."

Jimmy shook his head. "No, that's my out. I don't want her to think I'm a goddamn hero," Jimmy said, talking low but with great emphasis. "I almost got you fucking killed, Alex." Again the name sounded foreign to Jimmy's ears. He grabbed a cigarette from Rummy's pack and lit it with a sigh.

178 Rummy leaned over the table and Jimmy glanced at the scrape on his forehead and thinning hair on his crown. Rummy stared into Jimmy's eyes and said, "No,

Jimmy, I almost got mjsefkiRed. I'm the one who was drunk, and I'm the one who smashed my car and destroyed another man's trailer . . .you're the one who fucking saved my hide," Rummy said, tapping the table with his wedding ring. He waved his arm at a swarm of invisible bugs in front of his face. "You may not have saved my actual breathing life, but you sure as hell saved this one," Rummy said, pointing at his house. "My job," he said in a whisper, "and my goddamn dignity. And once this is all over . . . I'm gonna move on with the lessons I've learnt, and never look back—"

Jimmy crinkled his brow and shook his head. "If I hadn't followed you, none of this would've happened—"

"No, but something even worse could have," Rummy replied, looking away at the pool. Jimmy knew Rummy was picturing the mangled Sebring in his head.

"Jimmy, you pulled me across the street. You put me in your car," Rummy said.

Because I felt responsible for what happened!'Jimmy tried to say, but nothing came out. Rummy's eyes started to glisten like the water in the pool. Jimmy hauled on his cigarette and threw it in the coffee can.

"You never would've sped away, you would've made it home ..."

"How can we ever know that now?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Jimmy exclaimed, shaking his head. They sat there, hunched over the table, sipping their beers in silence for a few moments. "But

179 listen," Jimmy began, briefly looking over at the house, "about Jessica, I think she's amazing but—"

"Then ask her out—"

"I don't want her initial attraction to be based on a bullshit preconceived notion."

"It's not bullshit, Jimmy."

"Well, like I said . . . I'm smitten with her. But I don't want you to put in any good words for me. All right? Let me try to do it on my own."

"Whatever you want Jimmy," Rummy said with a wave of his hand. He leaned back in his chair.

"And if things work out, and we really truly hit it off," Jimmy said quieter than a mouse, "I'm gonna tell her what happened ..."

Rummy sat in silence for a few seconds, his eyes moving back and forth in his head. Jimmy listened to him breathe through his nose.

"Then so be it," Rummy said standing up from his chair. "It really won't change a thing, you'll see." He began walking towards the house. "I'll be back in a minute, I think my wife's home ..."

Grabbing his sunglasses, Jimmy shut and locked the door to his car. He was glad he and Rummy had been able to talk so candidly from the get-go. He understood Rummy's logic behind the situation, but everything felt backwards.

180 Things seemed to be working out almost too well. And Jimmy still felt responsible for what happened. He didn't think anything would ever change that.

—-you pulled me across the street. . .you put me in your car—

Yeah, but motivated by what?'Jimmy asked himself. "Guilt?" he wondered aloud, as he began walking in the shade of the house towards the backyard. Suddenly, he felt everyone's guilt, everyone's secret shame, and he shivered in the shade. It had all happened so fast, he really couldn't remember what had been going on in his head.

He pushed open the gate and looked over at the green patio table with the big lavender umbrella jutting out its centre. Rummy was gone. In his place, with one leg crossed over the other, sat Jessica. She grinned and gave him a litde wave.

Jimmy took a deep breath and walked over to her—his heart careening in his chest.

As Leanne Jacobs remained in the fetal position, nursing her swollen and bleeding tongue, her thoughts kept dancing. It seemed like the only reason they could, was because her physical body couldn't... so away they went, doing the hustle this time instead of the waltz. Her endorphins making her forget all her bodily worries—the throb in her skull, the push of her bladder, the twinge of her

181 tongue—these were now inconsequential, as the thoughts she'd been evading for

the last few weeks pushed and shoved their way to the surface.

Leanne was so busy with school and so determined to kick this semester right in the ass, she had willed these thoughts away. Shoved them in the closet of her mind, so to speak. She'd grieve when the semester was done. She'd bawl her eyes

out all Christmas holiday if she had to—but for the time being, leave it alone. And

she'd been getting along fairly well. . . well, until this. Leanne had not shed a single tear, although every so often, she'd let out an interminably long sigh that seemed to nearly drain the life right out of her. She just dreaded having to explain to her Mom why Jason wouldn't be coming home with her to Moncton for the holidays.

Jason and the girl were in the living room now, sitting on the worn couch, listening to an old Smokey Robinson record. Leanne pictured them sitting very close, as they sipped their drinks and giggled. Probably can't keep their hands off each other, Leanne thought with dismay. She heard Jason laugh loudly as if he'd just been tickled.

Her thoughts kept pushing up and up to the surface, gaining buoyancy, and she knew she could no longer fight them. She feebly attempted to block them with the thesis of her essay, but it was of no use. In a last-ditch effort, she tried to focus on her throbbing tongue, but it was too late, the thoughts and memories were already there, and with a silent moan, Leanne closed her eyes and gave in . . .

182 The next time Leanne saw Jason was in the third or fourth week of September.

Frosh week was over and classes were in full swing, but everyone was still adjusting to the new semester after a summer of idleness. It was evening. Leanne was walking north on McTavish towards Pine on her way home from the library.

The campus was quiet. It had rained wet and dreary all day, but had since stopped and was now windy and cool.

It totally feels like fall, Leanne thought to herself, as she hopped over a litde puddle on the sidewalk.

Wet leaves covered the ground. Having fallen prematurely because of the rain, they were still green, rather than amber and gold. Leanne walked on, stepping over puddles and feeling like a fool for wearing flip-flops. Her litde piggies were freezing. She paused to shake a pebble from out between her toes, and looked up at the Gothic-like spire on top of Morrice Hall—its open windows with lancet arches, pointing to the sky. It was one of her favourite buildings on campus.

Thick creeping ivy covered most of its facade, and there were ornate litde rosettes atop each pair of windows, which Leanne—an aspiring art admirer—liked a lot.

The whole thing was made of solid rock, and it even had flying buttresses. Inside, the floors were warped and creaked with every step, and two big spiral staircases curled upwards on either side of the foyer. Leanne often wondered how many crazy things had been said in that building over the years. How many exams

183 written? How many insightful questions asked? How many little quiet moments of

realization?

Ghosts definitely haunted the place.

Leanne looked up at the thick clouds moving quickly across the sky. The

moon peeked out from behind a cloud, glowing and pregnant, yet not quite fully

ripe. A few more days still. She could see the cross on top of Mount Royal

glowing in the distance. Leanne took a deep breath of the cool air and kept walking. Up ahead, a group of students were coming out of the Leacock Building,

probably having just finished their night class. Compared to Morrice Hall,

Leacock looked like a neglected neighbourhood community centre. The students

scattered in various directions, their voices blown this way and that in the wind.

Leanne zipped up her hoodie and curled her wet toes from the breeze. The

students had dispersed, except for one, who was slowly moving down the handicap ramp in a wheelchair. Upon reaching the bottom, his chair got stuck on the curb, and as Leanne approached, he was struggling to get it back into motion.

"Can I give you a hand?" she asked, trying to look at the guy's face, but he was wearing a dark baseball cap, its beak pulled down concealing his eyes.

"Uh, sure ... if you can give this tire a little boost that'd be great," he said quietly. Leanne crouched down and grabbed the tire, hoisting it up just enough to get over the curb.

"Thanks a lot," he said, as Leanne stared at his prickly chin. It was the only part of his face not cloaked in the baseball cap's shadow. He had his backpack in

184 his lap, and his right foot seemed to be in some sort of a brace. He grabbed the

chair's tires and began quickly pushing himself away. Leanne stood and watched

him go. She knitted her brow. A gust of wind twirled between the buildings,

upsetting old rain from the leaves of the big maples adorning the sidewalk. Fat

drops pitter-pattered on Leanne's head and feet. She shivered and then realized

who was in the wheelchair.

Oh my God! That was Jason! Holy shit!

She stood there for a few more seconds, her sodden feet unable to move, her

arms tingling, her mind a squall. Was that him? she wondered, suddenly doubting

her inkling. She knew she asked the question only because she didn't want it to be

him. Her nostrils quivered. Although she would never admit it, Leanne had been

silently searching for him around campus, wondering where they would again

meet. Knowing it was bound to happen at some point, her mind had come up with more than one silly scenario, but never was it like this . . .

Did he know it was me?

What happened to him?

Is he OK?

His foot was in a brace.

Of course he knew it was me.

My toes are freezing.

She ran after him, her flip-flops smacking the wet sidewalk like a hand on a

face.

185 "Hey! Hold on!" He didn't stop. "Hey! Jason!" On hearing his name, his shoulders tensed and he began slowly turning his chair around. She stopped in front of him, shaking water from her toes. "Hey ... hi, it's Leanne, from last semester."

"I know." Barely audible.

Leanne stood, staring into the darkness of his face. She thought she could see his lip trembling. She kept staring, unable to say anything.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, um ..." she giggled nervously, "I was just wondering how you did on that psych exam—"

"I did fine, now if you'll excuse me."

His sullen tone nearly frightened her. He began turning around to leave.

Leanne clenched her teeth and shook her head.

I'm an idiot! she screamed to herself.

"Jason!"

He stopped.

"Are you all right?" she asked, a falter in her throat.

He put his head down and kept moving.

Months later, while lying next to Leanne in bed, Jason told her everything he wished to say that night. How she looked different, but her eyes still gleamed the same. How her dark hair had grown, how he gazed at her tanned face, and at her

186 cute little feet, and how seeing those feet had struck him dumb and made him angry. He told her how terrible he felt for snapping at her, and how sick he was of people treating him like an invalid. He told her how he'd been trying to avoid campus, because he didn't want anyone to see him until he was out of the goddamn wheelchair. He told her how almost too often his thoughts had drifted to her during the summer. How instead of fading they just seemed to get brighter and brighter. All these thoughts about a girl he knew for one night. One fleeting night. At that moment, Leanne realized she was in love with him. Her heart pounded and she broke into a cold sweat, goose bumps rippling up her arms.

Their lips met and the rest of the world momentarily faded away. Leaving just them. The sensation of falling falling falling . . . their fervid lips and flesh melding together to create some sort of anthropomorphic love creature. Their combined energy swivelling above their heads, until they were both giddy.

But unfortunately for the time being, Leanne was standing in the cool air, on the verge of tears, anxiously looking for something in her purse, and watching

Jason leave. She found whatever it was she was looking for and began running after him again, shouting his name. He stopped but didn't turn around.

"Listen ... if there's anything I can do to help you ... I mean, we're friends right? And I just—"

"I am not a fucking cripple!" he yelled, his back turned. "You can help me by leaving me the hell alone ..."

187 So she let him go—his shoulders hunched, the chair's tires leaving an imperceptible trail behind on the wet pavement.

Clenched in Leanne's hand was a fancy new pen.

Whenever they bumped into each other in her imagination, no matter where it happened to be, Leanne always pulled out a pen and gave it to Jason with a rather flirtatious smile. He'd thank her kindly, and of course, flagrantly brandish one of his own from his back pocket for her.

Leanne had actually purchased a pen at the bookstore last week, anticipating the occasion. It was all so very cute. And trite! Leanne screamed to herself, stuffing the pen back in her purse. Again the wind upset old rain from the canopying trees. Cold drops hit Leanne directly in the face. Gratefully, they masked the tears that were already coursing down her florid cheeks.

It's true Jason wasn't a cripple, however, he was in rehabilitation, and at the time, couldn't walk on his legs for more than a few minutes at a stretch. But he was healing. Getting stronger everyday. He could feel life burning in his right leg and foot and was determined to fully recover. Soon he would just be on crutches.

The wheelchair was a very humbling experience, and now back in Montreal, Jason felt nothing but humiliation. The constant beady-eyed stares. The whispers. The sighs of pity and scorn. The fact that he could barely even stand up.

188 But when I do . . . Jason mused, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He was fed up. Tired of all this. When was the last time I spent a summer weeping like a goddamn girl? Jason wondered, as he pushed himself down Milton towards his apartment building. His biceps flexed and trembled. He lived just outside the

McGill ghetto in a building on Pare and fortunately it had an elevator. He pulled open the front door, held it open with one arm, and rolled his way inside with the other. The door shut behind him, and he moved towards the elevator, pressing the UP button with his index finger. He pushed himself inside, turned around, and pressed number four. Jason stared at his blurred image in the dull silver of the elevator doors—his calloused palms gripped tighdy on the wet wheels of his chair. He wiggled the three and a half remaining toes on his right foot. His calf burned. The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open with a screeching of metal. Jason cringed at the sound. He left the elevator, and gave his chair a few good pushes, which sent him racing down the hall. The floor was a bit slanted and he could coast all the way to the end with just a few spins of the wheel.

He came to his door and turned the knob. It was unlocked. He rolled inside and was greeted by his roommate, Dave.

"What's goin' on, bud?"

"Not much," Jason replied quiedy. Dave dashed to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out two bottles of Heineken. Jason stared at Dave's nimble legs.

"How was your class?"

189 "Oh, it was all right, better than last week . . . but I still haven't bought the

textbook," Jason said, taking off his hat and throwing it like a Frisbee across the

room.

"Who's the prof again?"

"Dupuis."

"Oh right," Dave recalled, handing Jason a beer. He followed him into the

living room. They had moved the couch up against the wall, so Jason would have

a place to 'sit' in his chair. Jason took his backpack from his lap and dropped it on

the floor next to him. Dave patted him on the shoulder as he squeezed by, and

slumped in the couch, crossing his legs out in front of him.

"I just got off the phone with your Mom," Dave said after a sip of beer. "She

called to see if you were still happy with the new doctor, and wanted to know how

the physio was going. I think I told her enough to appease her, so you don't have

to call her back tonight."

"Good, thanks," Jason mumbled, sipping his beer.

"We talked for awhile. I can't believe Theresa's in high school—"

"She's in Grade Eleven now."

"I know," Dave said. "It's almost unbelievable. Aging makes no fucking sense whatsoever."

"What d'ya mean?"

"I dunno," Dave said, rubbing his goatee, "I guess it all comes down to time in

the end. I mean, with time you age and change and grow, and it's the same for

190 everyone else, but your memory tries to capture time in its head, right? And it tries to create these picture perfect moments for you to remember . . . but, because of time, you have to keep updating these memories because everything around you is constantly changing. So then, the old memories dull where new ones preside—"

"I don't get it," Jay said.

"All right, lemme give you an example. In my head, your sister Theresa is ten years old. I have vivid memories of her at that age, at your old cottage in Parry

Sound, running around on the beach with some of your cousins. That is your sister to me. The memory I keep. Your mom telling me that she's sixteen years old, in high school, and about to get her driver's license, totally destroys my image. Now it has to be updated. You see? But which one is the cause? Time or age?"

Jay shook his head.

"So now, the original memory I have of her is tossed in the background, where it will slowly begin to fade . . . and then when she turns twenty or some crazy shit like that, I'll have to update it again. Causing the earliest memory to grow dimmer and dimmer until it has completely lost its resonance and means nothing ..."

Jason thought of Leanne. The original image he had of her had just been updated tonight. And he'd been an absolute prick. He frowned. "But what if you want the memory or picture to constantly be updated?"

Dave shrugged his shoulders, lost in thought.

191 "If the original memory means enough to you, you can always keep it. Even if you have to constantly update it," Jason reflected, his mind wandering.

They sat pensive and still for a minute, their minds on solitary trains. "Well enough of that nonsense," Dave abruptly said, knocking everything off track. "So is she a little party animal or what?"

"Who?" Jason asked, confused.

"Theresa ... is she into booze and sex yet?"

"Fuck, I hope not. She has a boyfriend though—"

"I bet she's a deviant."

"Easy—"

"Think about what we were doing at sixteen."

"I can't. All the memories have faded."

"Fuck off," Dave said with a laugh. He sipped his Heineken and looked down at Jason's foot. He stared at it almost anxiously. "So, today's the big day, eh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"It's been a week since you got the rest of your stitches out."

Jason sighed. "So what?"

"You promised you'd show me your foot a week after all the stitches were out," he said. "They're out. . . and seven days have passed, so let's have a look see."

192 Jason stared at Dave's face. Suddenly, Dave looked like a kid who enjoyed

lighting stray cats on fire. A kid who caught spiders and pulled their legs off. A

kid addicted to horror movies.

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"Just like I said it. . . "

"You promised me, Jay."

"I don't fucking care."

"Aww, you're such fuckin' bullshit man—"

"You look like a guy running towards a bad car accident, hoping he can catch a

glimpse of a corpse! You're a sick fuck ..."

"Pffft. You're all twisted in your head, man—"

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not—"

"All right then, you're not," Dave said with a sigh. He grabbed his beer and

poured what was left of it down his throat. He burped and got up to grab another,

shaking his head at Jason as he passed him. He opened the fridge and from

behind the door said, "I'm not some asshole person gawking at you on the street,

Jay. I'm not gonna fucking make fun of you. Jesus Christ, man." He grabbed

another beer, shut the fridge with a thud, and sat back down on the couch. They

193 stared at each other from across the living room. Dave watched the muscles twitch in Jason's jaw.

"Seriously Jay, it's gonna be all right..."

"I'm just so fuckin' tired of it," Jason replied, his head bowed. "I cannot wait until I'm out of this chair, man . . . it's bullshit and I'm sick of it!" he cried through gritted teeth, punching his knee with his fist.

"I know you are," Dave said quietly, and not at once. "I can't wait for you to be out of that piece of shit chair either . . . but seriously Jay, you could be milking it for sympathy sex every night!" Dave said, staring at him with an affable grin.

"Two more weeks, right? And you'll be on crutches. Girls love a guy on crutches!

You are Jason fucking Morley, man . . . don't forget it. You'll get through this."

Jason finished his beer and placed it on the coffee table. He couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened with Leanne. He thought about how angry he'd been for the past three months. Pouting his lips, crossing his eyebrows, and scoffing at everyone around him. Even his friends. Even his parents. He pictured

Leanne, lifting his tire over the curb. Her toes clenched—a small wet leaf stuck to the top of her right foot, looking almost like a tattoo . . .

Jason sighed heavily. He realized his bladder was about ready to explode.

"You know what I can't wait to do the most out of everything?" Jason asked, snapping Dave out of his own thoughts.

"What's that?"

194 "To go outside, stand next to a tree, whip my cock out, and piss all over the

place."

Dave laughed loudly. He stood up and walked over to the record player. He

crouched down and began sifting through a milk crate filled with albums on the

floor.

Jason closed his eyes, listening to the sound of people laughing as they walked

by on the street below. He took a deep breath. "Fine, you wanna see it, Dave?

You wanna see my mutant foot?"

"Don't call it that, Jay."

"What the hell else can you call a foot with three and a half toes and a piece of

my leg sewn on top of it?"

"I dunno . . . just not that."

"Well you can have your look see, just as soon as I take a piss—"

"Aren't you wearing diapers?" Dave asked with his back turned. He couldn't

help but laugh. After a few seconds so did Jason.

"You're an asshole," Jason said with his first real smile all day.

OK, so this is how it happened. For the first summer in three years, Jason went home to Oshawa. He figured he might as well spend some time with his

family, because after graduation next year he planned to leave. To be off. Flying

195 far far away. Across the Adantic. Jason loved his life and his family and his friends, but he felt he needed to be distanced by a river or a lake or an ocean or two, some place where he'd be able to be himself, and not the himself he's been thus far—one that didn't feel restricted, or hampered down even, by everything around him.

Montreal is about as European as you can get in North America, but Jason felt a great disconnect at times because he wasn't a French Canadian born in Quebec, and he found a lot of older Quebeckers stubborn and rude.

Tabarnac, parle^moi enfranfais ou nepark^pas d'tout, ostie d'trou d'cul!

Jason spoke enough French to get by, but he was an Anglophone through and through—a kid from the GTA, born and raised in the 'Shwa. Yes, he loved the relaxed culture, and the Metro, and the girls with their je ne sais quoi, but he knew

Montreal wouldn't be his home forever.

And ever since moving from Oshawa three years ago to go to McGill, Jay knew he'd never live in his hometown again either. He needed the celerity of a big city and all its perks. More music, more movies, more people, more speed. Much more to see. Much more to do. The availability of anything his heart desired, and public transportation that actually worked. Sure, he could've moved to Toronto, but it was too close to home, too natural a progression from Oshawa. With

Montreal, he got the French lifestyle, and with it more independence and anonymity.

196 Jason walked down Saint Catherine on his way to work, locking eyes with passerby only to never see them again. With these same eyes, Jason told women of all ages that he loved them as he caught their glance while riding the Metro.

Jason studied people like a subject. He watched them like a film. And Jason knew there was plenty of people and possibility everywhere. When school was done, he wanted to springboard somewhere else for an entirely new adventure. Maybe somewhere temperate like Italy or Spain, to take a break from Canadian winters.

So the sooner he started banking cash the better. If Jason went home this summer he had a guaranteed job at Ledic's Automotive Technologies. It was just one of the many gloomy factories that made up the majority of the economy in his hometown. Ledic's manufactured many different products, but at the Oshawa plant they made exhaust manifolds for the three big American car companies.

The thought of working on the line like an automaton made Jason shiver. The thought that he would be working days, afternoons, and midnights in two-week rotations made him groan. But, the thought of making nearly twenty bucks an hour turned the calculator on in his head, and made plans for travel after school all the more possible. And so, just days after Jason met Leanne at the Second

Cup, he took the train home, and set up camp in his old room, which was unchanged, except for a treadmill in the middle of it.

I will work, I will save, I will sleep, and try to exercise on my days off. I will rehash old flings and attempt to have a few new ones. I will enjoy the comforts of home one last time, never having to worry about buying toilet paper to wipe my

197 ass with, or a loaf of bread to eat. I will let my Mom do my laundry for me, but

cut the lawn for Dad once a week. I will read as many trashy novels as I can, and

try to relax, relax, relax . . .

But again, the thought of working in a factory in the sweat of night made

Jason clench his teeth. Keep the money on your mind Jay, he'd say to himself. It's

simply a matter of eventuality. The eventuality of working all summer in a muggy

plant filled with screeching metal and burning plastic is the assurance of better

things after it.

Right now I work in a factory. I am the epitome of blue collar. Even the ring

around my collar is bleu bleu bleu. I am one of the herd. Just tryin' to get by, but

unlike most of the people in it, I don't have to do it forever.

I'm one of the fortunate ones.

Jason was assigned to 'Moulding' in section 707. There he worked with a team

of six others. These people fascinated and distressed him at the same time. There was Lucky, an incredible chain-smoker who had been there for twenty years and would probably be there for twenty more.

Peter, a young father who constandy griped about his wife and two daughters and some big debt he had. When he wasn't whining about his encumbrances, he talked about baseball. Facts and stats, teams and players, ERA's, RBI's, home runs, batting averages. Sports seemed to be the man's only refuge. He wore an old

Toronto Blue Jays cap that had faded grey over time—Jason watched its slow deterioration as it sat high atop Peter's head.

198 There was Drew Varga, a long-haired tank of a man, who drove a truck with

the license plate 'Fear Me' and sold weed to co-workers on breaks. He told Jason

to stick with him, because he'd take good care of him, as if they were in prison or

something. Occasionally, Varga would sing "Welcome to the Machine" by Pink

Floyd at the top of his lungs, almost in harmony with all the mechanical sounds

around him. Jason was more of a Zeppelin fan himself, but he knew the words

and would sing along with Varga to make him happy.

And you didn't like school, and you know you're nobody's foooooool

So welcome to the machiiiiiine . . .

There was Tina, a cranky woman no more than five feet tall. She bitched and complained about everything as if her life depended on it, constandy threatening to go to the Union office about one thing or another. In the two months that

Jason worked there, he'd feel the blackest hatred for this stubborn lady who was constandy on his back for the litdest things, apparendy just because her son hadn't been hired on for the summer. And finally, there was Costi and Yozef, two cousins from Romania. They looked like brothers, both about six feet tall, with tired eyes, and unshaveable three o'clock shadows. They were treated with complete disdain by Lucky, Varga, and Tina, who called them commies to their faces and morons behind their backs. Jason had trouble keeping his mouth shut on one occasion, when Tina and Lucky were talking about them in the smoking

199 section during lunch with some of their cronies, saying they were no better than the niggers or fucking Arabs that worked there.

"For Chrissake!" Jason muttered with his head down, scowling at the newspaper he was trying to read on the table.

."You got somethin' to say, Jay?" Lucky asked, stubbing out one cigarette and immediately lighting another. "Is there something you'd like to say on behalf of your dumb fucking foreigner friends?" Laughter and coughs filled the smoky air around him. "You're wastin' your breath talking to those lazy fucks, Jay . . . they can barely speak English, always talking in their goddamn gibberish."

"It's called Romanian," Jason said.

"I don't give a flying fuck what it's called. We're in Canada, they can speak

English or go back to wherever the hell they came from."

Because Jason was a 'normal white kid', they believed he would always be on their side, but in truth, it was the normal white people that Jason held in the most contempt. Ignorant and foul-mouthed people living for work, thinking they were working to live. Their random scowling faces, haggard and grey under fluorescent lights. His heart went out to Costi and Yozef who had both lived lives he could only imagine. And it would be Costi and Yozef who would come to his aid during the accident, and it would be they too who would visit him in the hospital, bringing him books and soothing him with their simple yet expressive vocabulary.

Costi was twenty-five and had a fiancee in Bucharest. He was trying to save up enough money to be able to fly her to Canada by Christmas so they could be

200 married. Yozef had done the same thing three years earlier, leaving his wife

Nicoleta, and infant kids in Brasov, a city not far from the capital, until he had enough money to send for them. On breaks, Yozef and Costi taught Jason about

Romania's history and politics. About the Ceausescus, and the Revolution in

1989, and the Gestapo-like Securitate. They were both convinced communism would never die there. These were things Jason only had vague ideas of before.

His biggest worry as a child was whether he'd get the Nintendo games he wanted for Christmas, not fear of his father being taken away in the night by the secret police. Jason respected these men and was amazed at their physical and mental endurance. They worked as hard as they could, jumping at any overtime offered.

They'd -work every day for a month if given the chance. They did their jobs well and never once complained.

But the drudgery and monotony of life in this city within a city—it caused a slight hunch in posture and dark circles under the eyes . . .

It really was like a little city inside. There were sidewalks, stop signs, and traffic. Some workers rode bikes with two wheels on the back, others zipped by in little go-karts, and important people were paraded around in fancy golf buggies.

The line workers were the pedestrians, their feet heavy in steel-toe boots.

Jason fell into the routine fairly quickly, starting on the afternoon shift for two weeks, which was conducive to his lifestyle. This meant going out for pints when his shift was done at eleven, sleeping in late the next day, and then blink back to

201 work. Switching to midnights messed with his system, but it was the day shift that hurt the most.

Starting work at six in the morning depressed him. Exploding out of bed to attack his alarm clock at five a.m. put his emotions on autopilot for the first few hours he was up. It was as if his subconscious was still in charge. His body moved but his mind was still dozing. Some mornings he'd be wiping tears off his tired cheeks as he punched in, but by first break have no idea what they had been for.

On humid days the air was thick inside the plant. Tiny particles of plastic floated through the air. Looking up at the bright industrial lights hanging from the ceiling one could actually see the haze. When Jason blew his nose, he'd find litde black flecks mixed in with his snot. He could only imagine the effects of working in a place like this every day for twenty years . . .

There were five jobs to do in 707, which his team rotated every hour. It started at the very back of the plant with a job called 'cores'. Two steel skeletons that looked like giant rib bones would slide along on a conveyor belt still hot from being melted, pressed, and cooked in an industrial oven. The worker's job was to scrape the excess metal off the big rib bones with a putty knife that had sandpaper on it. These metal cores made up the interior mould for the manifolds.

Once scraped clean, the worker pressed a button and the cores were sent to awaiting robots. Jason thought they looked like giant praying mantises. He watched these metallic orange insects pick up the cores in their claw-like mouths with perfect precision, and place them in a rectangular hydraulic clamp that had a

202 mould for the exterior of the manifold. Hot black plastic poured in through a tube, filling the cavity, and the whole thing was cooked under extreme pressure.

This process was called plastic injection moulding.

When finished, the robots plucked the fresh manifolds out of the clamp, and carried them off for a Lutron bath. Lutron is a crazy chemical compound that breaks down the metal core inside the mould but leaves the plastic intact. Lutron scared Jason. He assumed that constant exposure to it would surely cause impotence or cancer.

Jason found the whole operation similar to the are perdue process that sculptors used when casting in bronze. First make a figure out of wax, cover it with clay, and heat it until the wax melts and the clay hardens, leaving a clay model to pour the molten metal into. But instead of melting wax, Lutron melted steel, which was then recycled and made into another metal core. The bastardization of an old artistic practice twisted around for modern use in capitalist mass production.

From there, the manifolds were put in the washer, seemingly rinsed of Lutron, dried, and tossed on another conveyor, where they were picked up by more giant praying mantises. These ones poked and drilled holes in the manifolds where they were programmed to and shaved off plastic left behind from the mould. Although the robots were precise, they still left excess plastic behind, and this is, finally, where the workers came in—mere extensions of the machine, left with the job the robots weren't yet capable of doing.

203 The manifolds came down the line in 707, and whoever was working at the first station—let's say Varga—would grab one at a time, and using a tool called a whirly-bird, trim off the excess plastic missed by the robots. The extra plastic was called 'flash'. When Varga was done, he'd slide the manifold to Yozef at the next station. Yozef had an electric grinder, and shaved off any sharp corners left behind from the mould. Yozef then passed it to Tina at the inspection station.

She examined it, making sure there was no flash inside and that it was fit for the assembly line. She'd write her employee number on the bottom of it with a china marker, and pass it to Peter, who would recheck it, and sign his number on the bottom. That way if there was a problem with any of the manifolds, they could always go back to the person who inspected it. Jason usually scribbled his number as illegibly as he could, until Tina threatened to go to the Union office if he didn't start writing it clearly.

After Peter re-examined it, he loaded it into a crate. Once the crate was full and properly labelled, a forklift driver carried them away to be finished on the assembly line. During all this, the remaining two team members worked on separate cores at the back of the plant, scraping excess metal from the heavy cores, and thinking random thoughts.

They all worked as fast as they could, because they had to keep their numbers up. If everything was running properly, they could pack twenty crates full in an eight-hour shift. Each crate held twenty-eight manifolds, and there were two

204 other sections, 703, and 705, that did the exact same jobs, so the whole thing

became a kind of competition between each team.

"We did twenty-three boxes yesterday."

"Yeah, but you only did ten the day before."

"That's cuz our cores were down. Has your team ever done more than twenty

boxes in a shift? I didn't fuckin' think so ... "

"Last time I checked our weekly average was higher than yours—"

"Bullshit."

"Go check the numbers board, you'll see."

Lucky was team captain. He was bathroom break guy, which meant he was

usually hanging out in the smoking section playing cribbage, or hiding in a storage

closet somewhere. Every closet or litde hidden corner of the plant had a cot or a big chair in it. Places for people to catch a few winks, sneak a smoke, or flip through the nudie mags lying around. Some of the hideouts even had radios and

TV's, so they could watch the hockey game or the news.

It was a crazy world, where the only thing that mattered was the paycheque at the end of the week. Keep 'em comin'. The more the better. The faster the week goes by the faster you'll fuckin' get paid.

The accident happened on the midnight shift at about four-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday. The pain was so intense Jason didn't even feel it. Milky drops of light clouded his vision, and his voice collapsed in his throat. He stared

205 at his foot, crushed under a hundred pound metal core, and wondered which litde piggy went to market and which litde piggy stayed home.

Jason regained control of his voice after about ten seconds or so, and let out a ragged, guttural howl. He glared at the stationary orange insects, as they patiendy waited for the core than happened to be on top of his foot. Then he saw Costi running towards him. Yozef came next, screaming for help in Romanian. Costi jumped on the platform and lifted the core off Jason's foot. Beads of sweat as big as pearls clung to his forehead. Costi watched Jason's eyes roll back bloodshot in his head and then the kid was out, chin to his chest, as if he was just taking a litde nap.

Then Jason dreamed for a long time. He relived his whole day in his mind.

Waking at five in the afternoon, eating cereal while his Mom was making dinner, shaving, showering, getting ready for a date he had in the evening with Karen, a girl he knew from high school and been out with a few times already. Jason liked her, and there was a lot of sexual chemistry between them, but he knew that was all it was. He wanted his dick and his mind to have an erection, but it looked like only his loins would burn for this girl. He was disappointed. Perhaps this is why, when he relived the date in his brain, he was out for dinner with Leanne instead.

Leanne was wearing a light white dress, her chestnut hair tickling her bare shoulders, her skin tanned, her eyes bright. They were laughing about something, and Leanne reached for his hand, gentiy resting hers on top of his. Her palm

206 sweaty. She kept it there as they looked into each other's eyes, comfortably at a loss for words. Jason slowly lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. She blushed and smiled cheek to cheek. The waiter snapped them out of the moment as he came by to fill their glasses of wine. They clinked them together. A simple cheers that resounded with emotion in Jason's mind . . .

What happened after dinner for real, with Karen, was some very heavy petting in Jason's father's car, parked in an empty church parking lot on Simcoe Street.

With the passenger seat as far back as possible, Jason and Karen's lips met, their hands searching for each other's desire. With wine flushing their cheeks and fervour burning their skin, pants were unzipped, shirts were hiked up, and underwear pulled down. Karen stroked him and Jay caressed her. Shirts were unbuttoned, straps undone, and bodies explored with teeth and nails—their breath fogging the windows like summer rain.

"Do you have a condom?" Karen asked in a heated whisper.

"I try not to ever leave home without one," Jason said in between kisses.

"Do we still have time?"

"Oh yeah, we got plenty ..."

Then Jason was racing down King Street. As they arrived outside Karen's apartment building on Westmount, she pulled a key off her keychain and placed it in his hand.

"Come wake me in the morning," she said, kissing his neck and cheek. She got out of the car and ran across the street, the white strap of her bra dangling from

207 her purse. Jay gave her a honk and hightailed it down the street, turning down

Stevenson Road, hoping he'd make it to Ledic's on time. He had planned to go home, because he hadn't brought his lunchbox or his boots, but there was no time now. He had an extra pair of safety glasses in the backseat somewhere and hopefully no one would notice he wasn't wearing his work boots. As he pulled into the parking lot, he already couldn't wait for his shift to be done.

What a babe, Jason mused, grabbing the safety glasses and an old newspaper he hadn't read yet from the backseat. He could smell Karen's soft scent on him, as he punched in at eleven o'clock on the dot and quickly walked to his station, whistling the whole way. The shift started like any other, Jason getting lost deep in his thoughts while his body did the work for him. And tonight his thoughts were good ones. Lusty ones but good ones. He was with Karen the entire shift, re- exploring her body in his mind, preparing himself for a wonderful morning with her. He saw himself quietly sneaking into her apartment, having a quick shower to clean the sweat and grime from his skin, and then slipping under the covers with her. Feeling her warmth, as his hands and lips pulled her out of slumber slowly, delicately, allowing her to dream awhile first. He pictured her wrapped in a thin blanket, wearing nothing but the hint of a smile on her lips. He would touch her gently at first, tentatively, for fear of waking her. Perhaps a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck, the trace of a finger tickling her stomach, a kitten-like stroke up her legs . . .

208 Jason numbed himself to complete distraction with the excitement of having a sexy, sleeping girl waiting just for him. There was only about a half an hour to go until last break at five o'clock and Jason was working on cores. Two by two, the heavy metal skeletons came by and Jay would scrape the metal off as fast as he could and send them to the robots. The metal cores were placed on separate stands on a large flatbed by the robots, and then slid towards him on a conveyor.

The core stations were raised a few feet off the ground and there was a stool to sit on while waiting in between each pair. Once they arrived in front of Jason, a hydraulic clamp raised them up so he could scrape the excess metal from their bottoms. When he was done he pressed a big green button, and the clamp would lower the cores back to rest on their stands, and they'd slide down the conveyer for plastic injection.

Occasionally the clamps misaligned when they placed the cores back on the flatbed, which stopped the whole line from running. Every core station had a cell technician who tried to keep the thing functioning at all times, so each time the clamp misaligned on the way back down, Jason had to go find Ludwik, the cell tech for 707.

"Rurwa mac" Ludwik muttered in Polish, running a dirty glove through his thick mustache. He climbed up on Jason's platform, placed a foot on the flatbed for leverage, and manually grabbed the core, lifting it slightly so he could slide it into its proper position on the stand. It looked easy enough, so the third time it happened Jason decided to try it on his own. He was surprised at how heavy the

209 things actually were, and had to use all his strength to lift the thing up an inch. He managed to do so and began sliding it over, but felt his fingers getting pinched underneath it. He pulled his hand out, and tried to push the core over the remaining inches with his other arm, but then the thing started to completely slip off the stand. Stupidly, Jason lunged for it to try and stop it from falling. Realizing there was no way he could support its weight, he moved his hands out of the way, but his foot was still up on the flatbed. The core toppled over and landed on his foot. Jason heard a terrible crunching sound.

He actually looked kind of funny, standing with one leg up on the flatbed and one leg down on the platform, his hands to his hips, and face turning purple as blood rushed like a wave to his head.

Jason wouldn't make it to Karen's that cool summer morning or any other.

And she would visit him only once, about a week later, unable to look him in the eyes, apparendy there only to retrieve her spare key. And Jason would hate her for it. He'd hate her because if they hadn't had sex in his Dad's car he would've had time to go home and get his boots. Jason would hate Karen and everyone else as he lay on his back in a room that smelt like medicine and sterilized death.

Jason laid in the hospital bed and stared at the ceiling tiles with tears of absolute fury burning his cheeks, his leg and foot buried in casts and bandages, suspended in the air and resting gendy on a harness. Impatience burned his forehead like a fever. Repugnance creased his lips in a frown.

210 But the good news is you will walk again . . . and you can thank the Lord for that. . .

The sentence of the summer for Jason.

But he didn't want to walk again he wanted to walk now. He burdened his mind with thoughts of why? Why? WHY? He afflicted his mind with, If only I woulda done this or If I woulda just fucking done that, to the point of hysteria.

Jay's foot had been crushed so badly by the core that at first the doctors didn't know how to proceed. The phalanges of his third and fourth toes were completely shattered and had to be amputated. There was also some serious damage to the big tendons on top of his foot, the ones called the extensor digitorum longus tendons. Plastic surgeons and Podiatric specialists were consulted, and they determined that a special skin grafting procedure called skin- flapping could be used to save Jason's foot.

Skin-flapping is an intense medical procedure where surgeons take skin, fat, blood vessels, and even muscle, from a healthy part of the body and using microvascular surgery graft it onto the injured site. The doctors decided to take the 'flap' from the meaty part of Jason's calf and graft it onto his foot, which would hopefully restore the tendons and re-strengthen the foot. Jason's sleep- deprived parents agreed it was the best option, and Jason had surgery two days after the accident. It was a success and the doctors said he'd regain complete functionability within the span of a year, if he underwent extensive rehabilitation and took great care of his foot and leg. And so this is how Jason spent his summer. With a piece of his leg grafted, stitched, sewn, and slowly healing on top

211 of his foot. Over a month spent lying in a hospital bed, and another tossing and

turning in his own. He started physio in July, and against his parents' wishes went

back to school in September. They wanted him to take a semester off, but Jason

wouldn't have it. So they found him a doctor in Montreal and he continued his

rehabilitation there.

And now, Jay found himself just a couple weeks away from being out of the

wheelchair and onto more sympathetic crutches. He was anxious for this, and

impatience itched inside his leg and foot with a healing fury. He took secret solace

in the fact that he would walk again, would wear shoes on both feet again, would

be normal again.

As he got in bed, shortly after showing Dave his 'mutant' foot for the first

time, he smiled to himself, thinking about the joke he used to lighten the mood.

"Man, my leg is fucking itchy!" he said, bending to scratch his foot and sighing

with melodramatic relief.

Jason thought about Leanne and cursed himself for being such an asshole, and

decided he'd have to try and make it up to her somehow. His breathing slackened

as his subconscious began to take over for the rest of the evening. Jason pictured

himself with Leanne, walking her home from the library. The image of them walking arm in arm, taking big solid strides down Sherbrooke Street, carried his mind into the comforts of sleep . . . and for the first night in months Jason slept like a baby.

212 VIII

JIMMY Jenkins stared at Jessica Matvey in the soft afternoon shadows and

couldn't hide his grin. The first thing he said was: "I thought I was supposed to

come and find you—"

Jessica feigned indifference with a smirk and told him she had gotten bored waiting. Jimmy enjoyed her sassiness. She had changed into a thin red skirt that hung about an inch below her knees, and a light blue shirt that hugged her body as tighdy as Jimmy wanted to. He glanced at her long legs. Her feet were bare.

Her toenails were no longer just red and pink—she had painted her baby toes a light blue. Jimmy smiled down at them in awe. A gold charm bracelet dangled on her right ankle.

It was impossible for Jimmy to take her all in on first glance, because it seemed she was glowing. He knew it was just a trick of the sun reflecting off her flaxen hair, but it was almost overwhelming for the first few minutes he sat down next to her. Jessica's overall image was elusive and he had to grasp it in bits and pieces, but he knew once he got it all, it would be incised into his memory forever . . .

Light freckles dotting her bare shoulders, legs a golden brown from the sun, eyes shimmering like the water in the pool, hair so blonde and long it seemed to never end, and Jimmy was such a sucker for long hair.

213 Jess had a calming and lovely disposition. But it wasn't just her physical image

that was making Jimmy want to fall out of his plastic chair, it was a feeling of

being pulled towards her without actually moving. There seemed to be a sense of

urgency between them. Jimmy thought he was pretty good at reading vibes, and

Jessica's seemed to be backed by a full piece band—someone tickling a xylophone

with thick mallets . . . bass lulling, drums accenting . . . the lick of a guitar, the

tinkle of a piano, sweet Lord, they were playin' Jimmy's song! This sensation

made him want to pass out on the ground in front of her, like he thought he did

last night. But he recovered from it in style, with just a light blush colouring his

cheeks, which Jessica thought made him look really cute. In his flurry, Jimmy was

spouting ridiculous nonsense he'd never be able to remember later, all he knew was that it was making Jessica laugh—and her laugh was so warm and infectious, it had a sing-songy quality that Jimmy found incredibly endearing.

They were smiling and gazing at each other in earnest, when Rummy and

Hannah came out to join them. Jessica's Mom greeted Jimmy with a kiss on the

cheek.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Matvey," Jimmy said, as she and Rummy sat down with them around the table.

"Call me Hannah," she said with a smile.

He told her it would be his pleasure to do so, and glanced at Jessica. She

smiled back at him.

214 You are so gorgeous/ Jimmy screamed to Jess his head. She pulled a cigarette from

her Dad's pack and asked Jimmy for a lighter. He lit the cigarette for her, and she

casually touched his leg while saying thanks. Jimmy started to feel dizzy. He

remembered the first time he saw her in the library and how after just a few

seconds of eye contact he wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her every

thought he'd ever had and every secret he'd ever kept.

Rummy patted him on the back, bringing him back to reality. "Well Jimmy,

considering I'm Dr. One-Arm, I'm putting you on barbecue duty. You think you

can handle it?"

"I can flip a burger with the best of 'em—"

"Good, that's what I like to hear," Rummy said with a laugh, as he and his wife

looked at him from across the table.

"You have a very familiar face, Jimmy," Hannah said, staring intendy at him.

He blushed under her scrutiny. "Are your parents from around here?"

"Yes they are—"

"What's your mother's maiden name?" she asked, apparendy very interested in

the life of the young man who had saved her husband's, and unknowingly in the process, helped reaffirm many things for her. Things she had taken for granted.

Big things too—like her love for her husband, the concept of mortality, and faith in the common man. She'd been wondering just what type of a person Jimmy was, and now that he was sitting across from her, she intended to find out.

215 The same age as my Scotty! Hannah marvelled, wondering if her own son would have done the same thing in the situation. She quickly drove the answer out of her head, and asked Jimmy another question.

They chatted around the table like old friends, Jimmy revealing his goofy charm and Rummy his dry wit. Jessica and Jimmy continued their staring contest, sending each other secret messages with their eyes. The afternoon was wonderful.

And so are the Matveys, Jimmy thought to himself, watching Hannah kiss

Rummy—her lipstick leaving behind a smudge on his cheek. She wiped it off for him with a wet thumb, calling him her "litde Ally". Jimmy watched Rummy turn to putty under his wife's touches. He looked at Jessica with a smile. Their chairs had been slowly moving closer and closer to each other, and were now almost touching. Her nearness made Jimmy delirious, she smelt like vanilla and Herbal

Essences.

Every so often, one of them would adjust their chair, pretending to move closer to the table, and each time they would find themselves a little closer to each other. With apprehension and a flutter in his chest, Jimmy decided to move the final inches, and knocked the lighter off the table. He bent down to pick it up, sliding his chair over as he did so. He felt his chair touch hers and then scooped up the lighter, placing it back on the table.

Jess would be the one to act next, her palms drenched in sweat. Her Mom was telling Jimmy about the first time Rummy had dislocated his shoulder, trying to snowboard when they were in Banff, supposed to be enjoying a second

216 honeymoon. Wiping her hand on her skirt, Jessica boldly reached for Jimmy's

hand underneath the table. She found it resting on his leg, and placed hers on top,

gendy rubbing her fingers against his.

Her touch sent a shock through Jimmy's system and he laughed at whatever

Hannah had just said, not knowing if it was funny or not. He briefly closed his

eyes and sighed through his nose. He flipped his hand palm up, and Jessica began

exploring it with her fingers. Their fingers intertwined, and Jimmy tickled Jessica's

wrist with his thumb. Although their hands were clasped together like two

sweating lovers, they were both hesitant to look at each other. Jimmy knew that if

he looked at Jess he would either a) pass out, b) attack her with his lips, or c) say

something incredibly foolish. He was nearly nauseous with bliss.

Jessica could only hear the beating of her heart. Her body was so tingly, she

thought she could feel the hair growing back into every single pore of her freshly

shaven legs. Her breathing was rapid.

"Are you all right, Jimmy?" Rummy asked, looking concerned. "You look like

you're about to pass out—"

"Oh . . . yeah, I'm fine. I was just um, lost in my thoughts for a second there,"

Jimmy stammered, wiping his brow with his free hand. Jessica didn't want to let go, but knew she had to. She gave Jimmy's hand a squeeze and slipped her hand

from his. Immediately, the colour began to return to Jimmy's face. She reached

for her Dad's cigarettes and held one out to Jimmy. She noticed her hands were trembling slighdy.

217 "You wanna split this with me?" she asked.

"Hells yeah," Jimmy panted, taking the cigarette from her outstretched hand.

Finally, they glanced at each other, their emotions emblazoned on their cheeks.

"Parfait!" she said with an exaggerated French accent. Jimmy chuckled. Rummy

and Hannah looked at the two of them with confused smiles. It was obvious

something had just happened between them, but they didn't know what.

Jimmy didn't know what the hell had happened either—all he knew was that

he'd probably never be able to express the emotion he was feeling. At least not in

words. And that was the most amazing part about it. Something had just been

silently forged between them. It was conspicuously floating in the air above their

heads. Something intent with promise. Something utterly real. Jimmy gave his

head a shake.

And I have so much to tell you ... he mused, staring at Jessica's bottom lip as she

tilted her head skyward and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. Jimmy's heartbeat

was returning back to normal. He felt calm and relaxed. He felt safe and sound.

He felt like this was where he was supposed to be. He and Jessica continued

staring at each other—the backyard shadows growing longer all around them.

Jimmy reached for her hand under the table and grasped it, intertwining his

fingers with hers.

Their hands hugged and their palms kissed.

Jimmy gave her a look that said, Don't worry, I can handle it this time, and she

smiled back at him, as his thumb tenderly tickled her thin wrist.

218 Leanne Jacobs silently shifted her position in the corner of Jason's closet. Her feet and legs had fallen asleep beneath her. Her stomach was quivering with anxiety. Her entire body was trembling. Her tongue had stopped bleeding, but the sweater she used to catch the blood was soaked through.

I hope Jay didn't like this sweater, she thought to herself, letting out a pained sigh.

Leanne was pissed off, upset, and sad. Pissed off that she was in this situation, upset about her essay, and sad because of all the thoughts coming back to her. A terrible place to finally grieve over your ex-boyfriend, Leanne said to herself, thinking about how fitting this situation was for her essay.

Professor Davison, I have taken my academic research to a whole new level! I have successfully played the role of confined woman, hiding for my life and bleeding from the tongue in a dark and spooky closet. In the next room over the

Gothic hero/villain preys on an unsuspecting victim . . . she is wooed by his good looks and flattering words, unaware that he is about to suck her blood!

Professor Davison, I've been locked up in the east turret by the monomaniacal

Montoni, and I think he's left me to die . . . can I have an extension?

219 Doctor Davison, Rochester thinks I'm crazy just because I wanna fucking kill

him. He's locked me in the attic and placed me under guard by some old hag

named Poole! So, I think I'm going to need an extension on my paper.

Leanne tittered in spite of herself, thinking about all the cheesy horror movies

she'd watched in the last two weeks. Her essay was about the role of the woman

in the Gothic novel, and how the conventions of the genre have persisted in

literature and are now readily seen in film. Her essay planned to map the

progression of the Female Gothic novel starting with texts from the Romantic

and Victorian periods and then the early 20th century, in the end, making the claim

that the new medium for the Female Gothic is that of film. Using classic horror movies like Halloween, Psycho, and The Stepford Wives, she systematically pointed out the recurring conventions of the genre. She was using many texts to support her claim, including Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries o/Udolpho, Matthew Lewis's The

Monk, Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca, and Stephen

King's Carrie. The book in her lap was titled The Madwoman in the Attic. It was a critical text that took a feminist approach to looking at women in literary history.

Leanne wanted to prove that even though these novels conveyed images of women as submissive, they were still progressive stories revealing the heroine's fortitude and resistance to loss.

220 Too bad it's not called Madwoman in the Closet, Leanne said to herself. All of these texts had a woman confined within their pages, and as Leanne gingerly touched her tongue with her finger and carefully explored the clotting wound, she had a feeling that everything was going to be all right. Nothing was going quite as planned, but at least it was interesting. In these books, the heroine found herself in a crazy situation, most times supernatural, where she was forced to come to terms with something, but in the process gained strength and experience.

Leanne's thoughts flipped through the countless pages in her mind, and she felt her tongue pulsating. The girl in the next room giggled loudly and someone was clapping their hands to the music. What are they dancing now? Leanne wondered, as her brain stopped on a page with Jason's name on it. The memory came flooding back and Leanne grimaced. Her thoughts continued skimming through the pages, stopping here and there when she spotted Jason's name.

Because she was on a roll, her brain whipped out the photo album and began showing her Polaroids of her and Jason—laughing, smiling, frowning, crying.

Stuck in the closet, she was powerless to hinder them.

JASON!! she wanted to scream. But instead, she let her mind turn on the TV, shove an old tape in the VCR, grab the remote, and press play.

221 On their first real date, Leanne took Jason dancing at a crowded bar on Saint

Laurent. That pitch-perfect evening, the silly and confident Jason she had met at the Second Cup came back. Leanne had been noticing this over the last month or so—signs of the old carefree Jason occasionally poking out from beneath his black demeanour. She'd been making it her secret goal to find that old Jason and make him stay. And that night, overjoyed by the fact that he was dancing, Jason finally allowed himself to be swept away in the moment. They danced fast, they danced slow and relaxed by the alcohol, they danced close.

Leanne and Jason had been spending quite a bit of time with each other over the past few months, and every day Jason got a little bit better. As his crutches were tossed on the ground in favour of an old cane, she watched the twinkle come back to his eye. As he tentatively skipped down the street one damp night on their way home from the library, she watched his childlike smile with inward longing. She wanted to jump his bones right there. Up to that point, their relationship had been flirtatiously platonic ... if that makes any sense. But Leanne had decided to take things slow and not tell him how she felt until the old Jason was back to stay. And on the dance floor, as Jason whispered amusing comments in her ear and held her tight against him, she knew he was back.

A far stretch from the morose guy in a wheelchair, who told her to leave him the fuck alone, and then a week later, found her on campus sitting on a bench outside the Arts Building before class, and apologizing to her in a mutter, asked if she'd like to hang out sometime. The incident had left quite a sting in Leanne's

222 mind and she hesitated to answer. She was no longer sure if she wanted anything to do with this guy, he wasn't the same, he seemed greatly changed . . . but then, for just a second she caught a glimpse of the Jason she had met at the Second

Cup, as he awkwardly pulled a big pen from his backpack, and held it out to her with a blush and a smile . . .

"I heard you liked to draw," Jason said, "and these are the best pens for cross- hatching, pointillism and shading . . . it's got an extra fine tip."

"Who told you I liked to draw?"

"A litde birdie named Krista—"

"My old roommate?"

"Yeah, I've been trying to find you for the last few days. Listen, I want to apologize for being such a dick to you that night—"

"Then do it," she said.

"I'm sorry. It just hasn't been an easy time for me lately."

Leanne looked down at his foot, and then at him. Those big puppy-dog coffee-bean eyes. She took the pen from his outstretched hand. "Well, thanks for the pen, Jason."

"You're welcome."

A crowd of people began stumbling out of the Arts Building. Leanne glanced at her watch. "Looks like I gotta go," she said, rolling the pen in her hand. She thought about just leaving it at that. Say: Nice seeing you again, Jason, and then

223 get up and go to class and forget about him. But instead, she flipped open her notebook, tore out a page, and wrote down her number.

"Not bad," she said, commenting on the pen. Jason smiled. She folded the paper and handed it to him. "Gimme a call then," she said, standing up and placing her notebook under her arm. She wasn't really sure about this, but thought the least she could do was try and be his friend because it seemed like he needed one.

And now three months later, here they were, finally out on a proper date . . .

"You make me incredibly happy," Jason said, as they danced together in tight circles on the crowded dance floor.

Leanne's eyes widened, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms around his waist. She couldn't speak.

"Did you hear me?" Jason asked after a few seconds.

"Yes—"

"And?"

She pulled her head from his shoulder and looked at him for a few seconds, a smile curving her lips. "Well, you're lucky I'm a nice girl..."

"Why?" he asked, and then she kissed him. Softly, tenderly. She pulled away.

"Because most girls wouldn't have the patience to put up with you."

Jason smiled at her, his eyes half closed. He lightly licked his lips. "Hey, I'm easy. In fact, I'm even breezy—"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

224 Jason laughed loudly and they kissed again. Longer this time. The second kiss

proving to be much more exciting than the first. He ran a hand through her thick

hair.

"What it means Leanne, you gorgeous little freak," he said with a chuckle, still

stroking her hair, "is thank you for putting up with my bullshit, and I hope you're

ready for a whole lot more—"

"I am not a freak!"

"I never called you one."

"You just did, you jackass—"

"Correction, I said you were a 'gorgeous litde freak'. . . there's a difference,"

he said, his eyes beaming. He tickled her chin. "So, what d'ya say? You ready for a

whole lot more?"

"Of your bullshit?"

"If that's what you wanna call it."

"Well, you'll have to buy me a pair of boots so I can walk through it all, but

yes Jason, you horrible son of a bitch, I'm ready," Leanne said, laughing in spite

of herself.

They hugged each other tightly, their cheeks touching. Jason ran his hands up

and down Leanne's back. She closed her eyes and sighed. They stood still,

embracing each other and breathing rapidly. At last, their feelings were exposed.

They both shivered in anticipation. Leanne pulled her head from Jason's shoulder,

225 and their lips met, and then so did their tongues, and later on that evening, so would their bodies.

Leanne knew exacdy what she had to do to completely win Jason over. They were in his room. Candles flickered on the dresser. Lips puckered on the bed below. Leanne was sitting on Jason's stomach, her hair in front of her face. She had undone the buttons on his shirt and was pulling it off. Jason was laughing.

Because he had had to push himself around in a wheelchair, his upper body was firm and toned. This excited Leanne. She ran her nails down his chest. She kissed his stomach. She kissed his neck and mouth. Jason bit her bottom lip. She giggled and pulled away. Smiling at him, she took off her top. Jason gazed at her stomach with delight. She was wearing a black lace bra, which she quickly unclasped, pulled off her shoulders and threw across the room. She then fell on top of him, kissing his lips and rubbing their naked upper bodies together. Jason scratched her bare shoulders and held her tight. Leanne sat up and flipped her hair out of her face, allowing Jason to get a good look at her. He caressed her breasts. She put her hands behind her and began unbuckling his belt.

Leanne knew this was where she'd have to start being a bit cautious. She slid down his belly, and sitting on his thighs, started to undo his pants. Once

226 unzipped, she slid off the end of the bed and carefully pulled his pants off his legs.

She dropped them on the floor in a heap, and walked over to the side of the bed, wearing just her skirt. The candlelight flickered in her eyes.

"My zipper's caught, do you think you can get it for me?" she coyly asked, sticking her ass in Jason's face.

"Well, lemme see here ..." he said, running a hand down her back, and without difficulty, unzipped her skirt. Jason watched it gracefully fall to the floor around Leanne's toes. She kicked it out from underneath her and it went sailing across the room.

"Why thank you," she said with a giggle. Jason laughed with. She jumped back on the bed and resumed straddling his stomach. They embraced and smelt each other's scents. It was all so good. Their lips like magnets setting off little sensation explosions each time they met. Leanne was lost in it. She pulled herself away and stared at Jason, her pupils so dilated she looked drugged.

He gazed at her pouting lips and pronounced collarbone. She bent down and kissed both of his eyes. No one had ever done that before and Jason would never forget it. Their magnetized lips connected once again. The current pulsed with their electric chemistry.

Leanne sat back up, her hands on Jason's chest, staring at him for a moment.

"Since you were so good at helping me out of my skirt, maybe you can help me out of these as well," she said with a smile, pulling at the elastic of her panties.

227 Jason slid his hands down her back, cupping her ass. "You're so sofffft," he whispered with a nearly ecstatic grin. He took a deep breath. Slowly, he pulled off her underwear . . .

Now, Leanne knew all about Jason's foot, but he had never let her see it. She had listened with horror when he told her about the accident. And even though she watched him get stronger everyday, he was very guarded when it came to talking about anything other than his physio. Talking about his 'mutant' foot, as

Jason so bitterly called it, was basically vetoed. It made him tense and moody.

And Leanne knew she had to find a way to get the whole 'foot complex' done and dealt with, so they could really move forward. She had to show Jason she didn't care one lick what his foot looked like. That it wasn't a big deal. She wanted him to know it was something they were going to get through together. Something she would help him with. Plus, they were about to have sex for the first time and

Leanne didn't want Jason, or herself for that matter, to be thinking about anything but the lovin'. . .

But where were we? Ah yes, the couple were kissing and giggling. Leanne began slowly slinking down Jason's body, stopping here and there to kiss exciting areas. He smelt musky and it was driving her wild. She kissed his bellybutton, running her fingers underneath the elastic of his boxer shorts. He shivered.

Slowly, she pulled them off, eyeing his goods. It was the first time Leanne had

228 seen them, and she wasn't disappointed. The goods look quite good indeed!

Leanne said to herself with an inward giggle. She acknowledged it with a kiss and

a few strokes, and pulled the boxers down Jason's thighs and off his ankles.

Now comes the tricky part, Leanne said to herself, her heart pounding. She

pulled off his left sock and kissed the top of his foot. Jason started to tense up.

Soothingly, quietly, she whispered that it was OK. She tickled his legs with her

nails, running her fingers through his leg hair. Her fingers explored the rough skin

on his right calf. Gradually, Jason began to relax.

With apprehension, she began to carefully pull off his sock chanting, "It's OK

baby, it's OK . . . "Jason didn't stop her. She pulled the sock off his foot and

dropped it on the floor.

There it was. Jason's 'mutant' foot. With bated breath, Leanne ran her fingers

over the top of it. Jason shuddered.

"It's OK Jay, it's OK baby," she whispered, caressing his foot. It isn't hideous

or ugly at all, Leanne thought, slipping her fingers in between his toes. She tickled

the bottom of his foot. She rubbed his fourth toe, now smaller than his baby.

Jason shivered again, but seemed more relaxed. She took his foot in both hands

and kissed the top of it and then each toe. She let it go and climbed back on top

of him, sitting on his thighs. Jason's eyes were glimmering.

To reiterate, and perhaps brand this image into your mind: kneeling at the end

of the bed, Leanne selflessly took Jason's foot in her hand, and cradling it like a

newborn babe, gendy kissed the top of it and then each toe. Jason let out a sigh of

229 relief, knowing that this girl was special, and knowing he'd never felt this way

before. Softly, she let go of his foot, and climbed back on the bed. Jason's eyes

were shimmering. She slid towards him, her hair draping his face, their noses

touching.

"You are so amazing," Jason whispered, the trigger she was waiting for, and

passionately, she fell on him, kissing, scratching, biting, loving . . .

That was the moment right there! Leanne said to herself, hunched in Jason's

closet. That was when Jason got over it! And that was when he totally fell for me!

When he knew I was the real deal. And he knew we would have something

meaningful together! Fuck!!

But was it just because he was vulnerable? the poor girl asked herself. If the

accident never happened would we have still gotten together? Would we have still

fallen in love? Or would it have just been a fling?

No, no, it was meant to happen . . . we were meant to happen.

But if the old saying 'everything happens for a reason' is true, that would mean

Jason had to mangle his foot in order for us to get together. If the accident never

happened, Jason's perspective wouldn't have changed. He'd still be the old

smooth talkin' social sleuth—out to flirt, entice, and get with the ladies. Out for

nothing serious, except fun and experience.

But Jason needed to have a real relationship, he needed to be true to someone,

he needed someone to love! My God! He exhales passion with every breath—he

230 exudes it with each smile. And he wants others to smile with, to laugh and joke around with. Jason wants to share whatever the hell it is he thinks he has to give to everyone. Even strangers for Chrissake!

But what if there was one exclusive person you liked to share with above all the rest, Jay? One simple little person you could tell everything to—one cute little girl to take on the world with. To fall asleep with—to wake entangled with.

Dream with, cry with. Wouldn't that be nice? Huh Jay, what'ya think? Wouldn't that be special? Isn't that what everyone fucking needs?

These were Leanne's thoughts.

But, he is a restless person, you noticed that fairly early on, Leanne reminded herself. He doesn't necessarily get bored, he just thrives on the prospect of the new, the unknown, the next. . .

Well, if anything, Jason had gained experience, which was why he was in it in the first place, no? Leanne crinkled her brow and sighed. Yeah, he took that experience and has already moved on with it. . . and here I am, the eternal sap, unable to deal with my life unless I have no other fucking choice!

And obviously I'm nowhere near being over him, Leanne said, feeling a lump swell in her throat. Her bottom lip began to blubber uncontrollably and she fought to restrain herself. I will NOT cry, she breathed through clenched teeth.

She wouldn't. At least not yet. She bit down on her bottom lip, stared at her knees, and willed the tears away. Jason laughed from the kitchen and Leanne heard the rustle of fabric sweep into the room.

231 She stopped breathing. Leanne was a statue. Leanne was an old sweater.

The fabric whished again, closer, more pronounced.

"Hey Jay, what's all this stuff?" the girl said rather loudly. Leanne flinched ever so slight.

"What'd you say, babe?" Jason asked from the doorway. Ice cubes jingled in a glass. "Oh, that's all of Leanne's stuff."

Leanne could hear the girl sifting through her things.

My things! My memories! Leanne had half a mind to jump out of the closet, tackle the bitch to the floor, and scratch her eyes out.

"Ah I see," the girl said, "you've been kind enough to put together the old break-up box."

232 IX

AN air-conditioner buzzed like a harmonica from the neighbour's window above,

and crickets hummed like tiny synthesizers from the flowerbed below.

Eve had descended on top of Day, tickling away his sunlight with her touches.

Day's lustrous painting had been taken off the easel, and replaced with a

sprawling portrait of Eve. Day was now no more than a swash of pink in watercolours on the western horizon. Eve was being finished in impasto, as fat

stars began to pulse and twinkle across the sky—her measured breath visible in

the small clouds that floated by.

Eve was roused and ready for another beautiful night.

An occasional car moseyed by on the quiet street.

Gazing at a streetlight, Jimmy thought he could see a fruit bat zipping through the illumined air—snatching up bugs as it swooped almost faster than his eye could see.

Aerial acrobats!'Jimmy marvelled to himself with a near childlike sort of wonder.

Jimmy Jenkins was feeling happy. He was sitting next to Jessica Matvey on the steps of her front porch, their legs gently touching. Rummy and Hannah had retired for the evening about a half hour earlier, like young lovers unable to wait to get behind closed doors to embrace. Jimmy saw it in their eyes, and he supposed the mood was floating in the air. He was thinking about how wonderful the afternoon and early evening had been.

233 It was as if the beer Jimmy had drunk was actually bottled water from the

river Lethe. Eat, drink, and be merry, that's it, that's all! Forget me not, but forget

me for now. Forget all, except the happiness you feel. Swim in it, float in it, put

your legs up and relax in it! Go with this feeling that momentarily consumes you.

Get so deep in it you can't come up for air. And whatever you do, don't you dare

ignore it, Jimmy. Let this emotion sweep you away . . . hell, let it sweep you right

under the goddamn rug! There's really no sense in holding back, so without

further ado, go you bastard, GO!

And so Jimmy went.

Big swing and a high pop-fly way back into left field. . . this one's going going. . . it's outta

here, folks! This one's GONE!!

Jimmy wasn't about to deny himself anything. Peeking over at Jessica during

dinner to give her a furtive wink, while laughing with Rummy over some story

he'd just told, was about as good and real as it could possibly get.

Occasionally, Jimmy would catch Rummy's knowing stare from across the

table—the knowledge that they had been through something incredible together,

and the awareness that Jimmy was practically dizzy for his daughter—and all

Jimmy could do was smile. Cooking burgers over an open flame, and watching

Jessica perform a favourite family impression of a typewriter while she chomped

on a cob of corn was just perfect.

234 But when Jessica looked at him with cheeks burning bright... a little dab of

butter dripping from her nose, her crooked teeth spotted with golden niblets of

corn and flecks of pepper . . . that was the goddamn kicker!

With her parents in stitches—Rummy slapping his palm on his knee, Hannah with her head tilted to the sky, nearly choking on her cackles—Jessica was free to

send her complete charm directly at Jimmy. She wiped her nose with a napkin,

and fixed Jimmy with a stare both innocent and sensual, and Jimmy shook his head, laughing, absolutely dazzled, and totally turned on.

As they sat on the porch, Jimmy was relaxed, yet in definite raptures. He hadn't felt this agreeable in a while. He felt like running around the block a few times. Or hopping on a bike and just riding the hell out of it. Maybe, because for once, Jimmy's heart was racing even faster than his swift swift thoughts.

Oh yes! Definite raptures for this boy.

And Jessica! Can this be possible? Jimmy asked himself with a smile about to explode into a giant grin on his face. I am sitting next to Jessica Matvey right now. Our legs are touching. Our heartbeats are in sync. I can smell her with every breath. We 've ga^ed at each other all day. Her sweat has dried on my palm—

Jessica turned towards Jimmy and smiled. She too felt indescribably well. As if words could in no way convey what was happening between them. Staring was more than enough. It caused a tightness in her belly. Jessica placed her head on

Jimmy's shoulder and Jimmy wrapped his arm around her slender waist.

235 They sat like this for quite some time. While Jimmy's hand cautiously slipped under Jessica's shirt, tickling her back, so he could feel her skin, lines of poetry came flooding to his mind. I know it sounds cheesy, but it's true. A pint of poetry came pouring into Jimmy's head, leaving a thick froth at the top, filled with random verses.

Last semester, Jimmy had to take a first-year 'Poetry in Performance' class to fulfill one of his remaining requirements to graduate. He had skipped a few of the mandatory classes in first and second year to take Film courses instead, so now he had no choice but to get them over with. The two classes he neglected to take were a linguistics course and a poetry class. For linguistics, he took a disastrous

'History of the English Language' class, which might have been good, if it wasn't so damn boring. For the poetry course, he tried to get into Contemporary

Canadian, but the class was full, so he found himself stuck with 'Poetry in

Performance' instead. The thought of having to perform poems with, and in front of, a bunch of first-years made Jimmy cringe.

But it ended up the class was a breeze. Exams were as simple as reciting poems. Kinda like drama class, but just a bit more geeky. For the final, the class had to recite a lengthier poem, and Jimmy, always ambitious, chose Fitzgerald's translation of "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam". Considering the final was worth thirty-five percent of his grade, Jimmy decided he might as well get into it, and he practiced the damn poem for a month. He was actually pretty surprised when he realized he had memorized all 101 verses. Slowly but surely—by rote—Jimmy

236 memorized the entire thing straight to heart. It took nearly fifteen minutes to recite.

Driving home late at night, Jimmy practiced the poem in his car, using whatever music he was listening to as the beat, and basically rap out the lines.

Picture yourself, waiting at a red light and noticing the driver in the car next to you seems quite absorbed in whatever the hell he's listening to, because he's bouncing in his seat, and singing the words wholeheartedly. He peers over, realizes he's been seen, but just gives a litde wave and a shoulder shrug, and keeps right on singing. As the light turns green, he speeds away, while you pull into a driveway, back out and turn around, because you realize you're going the wrong way.

What, are you drunk? For God's sake, please try to drive carefully.

The day of the exam Jimmy got dressed up, he even put on a tie. He wore a black sports jacket, dress pants, an old pair of Chuck Taylor's, and a freshly shaven face. He arranged with his professor to go last. When it was finally his turn, he passed around litde plastic glasses to the fifteen or so people in the class, and brandished a botde of wine from his backpack. A couple professors from the department had snuck in the door about a half an hour earlier and were sitting in the back. They were hecklers. Smirking at each other as students fumble over their lines, and actually hooting when two girls gave a rather heated performance of an excerpt from Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market".

237 Jimmy went to the front of the class, placed the botde of wine on the desk, nodded to the audience, eagerly cleared his throat, and began: "Wake! For the

Sun, who scattered into flight..." and he pulled a corkscrew from his back pocket and slowly began opening the botde of wine. In the sixth verse there is a line that reads, "David's lips are locked . . . with Wine! Wine! Wine! Red Wine!" and this is when Jimmy popped the cork out of the botde. He began to walk through the classroom, filling their glasses, while carrying on with the poem. He had complete attention of the audience. People were nodding and grinning. His voice boomed in the hush of the room. At the thirtieth verse, he raised his glass in the air and saying: "Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine / Must drown the memory of that insolence!" drank it down in a gulp. The audience followed his lead.

After a brief pause, he continued, walking towards his desk. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out another bottle of wine. The class laughed and cheered.

He opened this one, slowly walked around the room filling all the cups again, and miraculously making it to the ninety-third verse with just a few minor mistakes, he lifted his glass. With his arm raised high above his head, Jimmy declared:

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done me credit in this World much wrong,

Have drowned my glory in a shallow Cup,

And sold my reputation for a Song

238 And Jimmy fired back his glass.

He figured since the poem was basically a wine-warmed soliloquy to carpe diem, he could get away with giving the class a couple sips of wine. And it turned out he could. His performance was well received. He finished the poem, turning down his empty glass and staring dramatically at the ceiling. He was welcomed to a loud round of applause. His prof commended him on going the extra mile, doing far more than what was required, and Jimmy laughed at how ridiculous school could be sometimes. His prof asked if he would recite the poem again to some of the faculty so she could get it on film. Jimmy told her he'd love to, but that the words were only temporarily stored, and unfortunately he now had to delete them so he could fill it with the lexicon of Old English, if thy dig it. . .

But the poem never did leave Jimmy's head. That bastard Omar decided to stay. And the verse that was resonating in Jimmy's mind as he held Jessica in his arms was this:

Would you that spangle of Existence spend

About THE SECRET—quick about it, Friend!

A Hair perhaps divides the False and True—

And upon what, prithee, my life depend?

239 A hair indeed. . . Jimmy mumbled to himself, tentatively running his hand

through the long blonde hair spilling down Jessica's back. I have to tell her everything

now, Jimmy thought, tensing up.

Jessica snapped out of her own reverie. "What's the matter?" she asked, lazily

lifting her head from Jimmy's shoulder to look at him.

"I dunno. I'm feeling overwhelmed, I guess ..."

Jessica placed her hand on Jimmy's chest. "Your heart is beating really fast."

"I know."

Jess smiled, took Jimmy's hand from her lap, and placed it to her breast. "So is

mine," she whispered, looking into his eyes. They touched foreheads.

"I feel this incredible pull..." Jimmy began, staring at his hand trembling on

Jessica's heart. "It's so strong it doesn't even feel real," he mumbled, as she wrapped her arms around him. "I feel like I need to tell you a million things as

fast as I possibly can," Jimmy wrapped his arms around her. They rubbed cheeks.

Their breathing was staggered. "I think you are absolutely amazing, and . . . Jess

I—"

Before Jimmy could finish, his lips found hers. And they kissed.

"Mmmm, again ..." Jessica ardently whispered, her eyes still closed.

Smack went their lips. Longer this time. More jolting. More riveting. More electric. More consuming. And release . . .

Jimmy was drunk on Jessica's lips. Jessica was high on Jimmy's. They gazed at each other for a moment. Eyes flickering. Jimmy held his breath. Their eyes shut,

240 and Jimmy knew their lips were going to meet again, he felt Jessica's breath on his

face and—

Wow! Did they ever kiss! They became completely absorbed in their tactile

pursuits.

The only sounds: the crickets, an air-conditioner, four lips smacking, and a

young couple purring like litde kitties.

Jimmy ran his hands through Jessica's hair. It was satin. He rubbed his hands

down her bare legs. They were silk. She grabbed the hair on the back of his head

and tugged. He pulled her as close as he could. They scratched, breathed, and bit

each other.

"God, you are so HOT!" Jimmy couldn't help but whisper.

After a spell, Jessica pulled away giggling. Her head was tingling. It felt like her

hair was standing straight up in the air. Jimmy touched her neck, and put a hand

on her face, gazing at her. Jessica felt his caress. Palms warm. Embracing him

tight, she put her head on his shoulder. Her heart was racing. Jimmy pulled a

strand of hair from her neck and kissed her nape. And he kissed it again. And

again. He took a deep breath, adjusted the stiffness in his pants, and rubbed

Jessica's back.

After a moment of summoning up the courage, Jimmy said, "Jess, I need to

tell you something ..."

"I need to tell you something too," she whispered from his shoulder.

"Do you wanna go first?"

241 "No, you go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

"Mmmhmm," Jessica said, and they kissed again.

"OK," Jimmy said, pulling away. He stroked her head. "Well, it's about what happened with your Dad on Saturday night—"

Unfortunately, that's as far as Jimmy would get. As if out of nowhere, a car pulled into the driveway, its headlights momentarily blinding the canoodling couple.

"Oh shit," Jessica muttered.

The car doors opened, and two silhouettes climbed out. Jessica pulled her legs off Jimmy's lap.

"Isn't this a pretty picture," the driver said, as he slammed the door. Frowning,

Jimmy realized who it was—Alex Maksimich. He quickly walked towards them, followed by his friend Stew. He looked heated and drunk.

"Well, well. . . Jimmy Jenkins, two nights in a row, what a pleasant surprise,"

Alex growled, his eyes burning behind his thick glasses, as he fired fixed stares at both of them.

"Alex, are you drunk?" Jessica bitterly asked, as he and Stew approached.

"You bet I am," Alex said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. "I was just at your house Jenkins . . . you're missing a helluva party," he said, staggering a little on his feet.

Party? Jimmy wondered with a start, his heart beating fast.

242 "Alex, what the hell are you doing?" Jessica asked, standing up. She turned her glare on Stew. "You let him drive drunk?"

"I had to," was Stew's reply.

"Are you both completely fucking retarded?!" Jessica screamed. "You are unbelievable, Alex! Absolutely unbelievable!"

Alex ignored her. He continued staring at Jimmy with a sliver of a sly smirk on his face. Jimmy stood up and stared back at him. He was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"What are you talking about?" Jimmy asked Alex.

"Just like I said, Jenkins—"

Jimmy glowered at Alex. Quickly, the hamsters in his head began showing him flash cards.

Gavin and Sara sitting on his back porch, drinking daiquiris.

Blondie blowing out birthday candles.

A light bulb afloat and aglow above Gavin's head.

Big house and no parents.

A perfect place to have a party for Blondie's goddamn birthday. Jimmy had forgotten all about Gavin and Sara . . . hell, he'd even forgot about Blondie's birthday.

Fucking Gavin!Jimmy yelled in his head, making a face, as Maksimich stood smug, yet wobbly.

"Figure it out?" Maksimich asked.

243 "Who invitedyouT

"I heard about it through the grapevine, thought I'd check it out before I went

over to Max's," he replied. "You can imagine my surprise when I heard your big- mouth friend Gavin telling Blondie that you were at Jessica Matvey's house and

didn't even know about the party yet," Alex said, turning to give Jessica an irascible look. "What d'ya take me for Jenkins, a fucking moron?!"

"You're drunk—"Jessica said.

"Shut up. What the fuck's going on here?!" Maksimich shouted. Jimmy watched hiis hands turn to fists at his sides. He noticed a tattoo of a blue star on his wrist.

"Jimmy is a friend of my Dad's—"

Maksimich scoffed. "Right," he said, spitting on the grass.

Jimmy stared at Alex and saw he was stiff as a board. Ready to pounce. Jimmy wanted to stop that from happening. He could kind of see how bad it looked from Maksimich's perspective.

"Look, I know you're pissed, but this isn't what you think it is, all right?"

"That's none of his goddamn business," Jessica interrupted. "We are not together anymore, Alex!" she said, glaring at him. "We are over. So please leave.

Now."

Jimmy stared at Jessica. Her nostrils flared. Jimmy could tell she was doing her best to stay composed, but she was grinding her teeth and standing on her tiptoes.

She too was stiff as a board. She too looked ready to leap. Jimmy shouldn't have

244 stopped looking at Maksimich though, because suddenly, he saw a flash of light, groaned, heard Jessica scream, and fell to the ground, cupping his groin.

Oh my! That motherfucker kicked me in the balls. That low-cock-sucking-son-of-a-bitch kicked me in the goddamn balls!!'Jimmy screamed, as short stabbing pains pierced him in the stomach. His vision went white with spots. His breath came in tiny gasps.

His entire midsection flared. He lay his head on the grass as a blind rage overtook him.

/ will not hit him ... I will not hit him . . . I will not hit him ... an unblinking Jimmy tried to tell himself, his flushed face smeared in the grass.

The whole time, Jessica was spitting a string of curses at Alex. She tried to slap him but Stew held her back. Slowly, Jimmy pulled himself up off the grass, breathing deeply, desperately trying to quell the impulse to attack. Jess ran to him, squatted next to him, rubbed his back.

"How long have you and Jenkins been screwing around behind my back?!

Huh?" Maksimich yelled. Jessica shot him an incredulous look, shaking her head.

"Dammit Alex, I never cheated on you," she cried, still rubbing Jimmy's back.

"Are you OK, Jimmy?" she whispered heatedly. He looked up at her, grimaced, and nodded.

Maksimich appeared to be weighing things over in his mind. How to proceed if what Jessica said was true. How he could exploit this situation to its best advantage.

245 "Aw, she ain't nothin' but cock tease, Jenkins," Alex said with a laugh, staring at Jessica. "Nothin' but a cock teasin' little slut—"

Jessica's hand paused in mid-stroke down Jimmy's back. He felt her energy distend all around him.

"How dare you?!" Jess screamed. Jimmy watched the muscles twitch in her jaw.

She shot up and charged at Alex. Stew caught her by the waist and held on tight, as she scratched and clawed at him. "Let me go, Stew!" she cried. Jessica was utterly affronted. Once again, humiliated by Alex's sour mouth.

How dare he twist things around like that'? Jessica raved, grinding her teeth and attempting to free herself from Stew's grasp.

"You're wasting your time, Jimbo," Maksimich said, his hands still balled into fists at his side. Jimmy glared at him.

Jessica was near tears.

"You're being strung around," Alex said with a disdainful laugh, pausing to look at Jessica. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and bet she hasn't told you she's spending the summer in France?"

Jimmy looked at Jessica. She wilted in Stew's grasp.

Alex took in an exultant breath. "See what I'm sayin', Jenkins? You gotta realize you're nothin' but a game to her. You're just something for her to do, until she fuckin' leaves," Alex said, triumphantly spitting on the lawn.

246 "Shut the fuck up," Jimmy said, digging his hands into the thick grass. He looked over at Jessica. She was hanging over Stew's arms like a wet towel on a clothesline. She looked defeated. "Is it true, Jess?" Jimmy asked.

She whimpered in response.

"When?"

"Not tomorrow but the next," she said, her hair hiding her face.

"For how long?"

"Two months," Jessica cried, falling out of Stew's arms onto the grass. "I was going to tell you—"

"Yeah, after she was already gone," Alex piped in.

"I told you to shut the fuck up," Jimmy said, standing up and taking a step towards him. Maksimich took a step back. "You're a whiny little prick, ya know that? And so help me, I will gnaw on your fucking face if you say one more thing—"

Alex opened his mouth, but hesitated. Maybe it was Jimmy's tone that kept him quiet or maybe he thought things had already gone better than he could have possibly hoped.

Jimmy's green eyes glared lupine. He clenched his fists and bounced them on his hips. Jessica was sobbing on the grass.

"Give Stew your keys, and get out of my face."

Alex stood, sulking for a second. "They're in the ignition," he muttered.

"Then go drive your friend home, Stew."

247 "C'mon, let's go," Stew said, turning towards the car. Maksimich stood and

smirked at Jimmy in the twilight. After a few seconds, he turned and began

walking towards his car. Jimmy ran to Jessica, squatted next to her and stroked

her back.

"Oh, just one more thing, Jimbo," Alex yelled, standing behind the open

passenger door. "Your party's a bust and the cops are probably there right now.

See ya around," he said, pulling his cell phone from his pants pocket and putting

it to his ear. The blue light from the phone illuminated his face. He looked

animated. He was grinning. His teeth looked too big for his mouth. He slouched

into shotgun and Stew pulled out of the driveway and sped off, tires squealing on

the warm asphalt.

Jimmy's hand paused mid-stroke down Jessica's back. He stopped breathing. A

vein pulsed on his forehead. Jessica sobbed. She felt beyond contempt.

"You better go," she cried, still hiding her face in her hair.

"No, I don't wanna leave you," Jimmy exclaimed, staring down at her feet in

the damp grass. She was curling her toes.

"You have to go." Jess couldn't bear to look at him. She felt reprehensible for

everything. She was mortified with what had just happened. At a loss as to what

she could possibly say. She stood up, pulling Jimmy with her. She took a few steps

away from him, sniffled, and averting her gaze said, "Please, I'm sorry . . . just go-"

248 She turned and began quickly walking across the lawn towards the back of the house.

Jimmy stood there, watching her leave. His wits about to pop.

"Jess!" he yelled, as he heard the gate to the backyard click open. "I'll be back as soon as I check on my house!"

No response.

The only sounds: the grating buz2 of an air-conditioner, the infernal racket of those goddamn crickets, and the throb of Jimmy's twisted heart hammering in his head and pumping clean through his toes.

He looked at the shining sickle of a moon and shook his fist at it. His jaw trembled and he let out a pained sigh. He became hyperconscious of each breath he drew. The vein continued twittering on his forehead. He turned around and practically ran towards his car. He unlocked the door, jumped inside, jammed the key in the ignition and drove away.

Jimmy Jenkins drove exacdy one block and pulled over to the side of the road.

He slammed the car in park with a jerk and gripping the wheel, he put his head to the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs—his vocal cords wrenching and pulling. He gulped in a fresh breath and let it all out again in a painful holler. He punched the steering wheel violently with his fists. He wanted his knuckles to burst—wanted blood to explode from his fists, stain the dashboard, sully the seats. His nostrils flared for the smell of fresh blood. Yes, poor Jimmy was hysterical.

249 Lines from "The Rubaiyat" began to swirl in his head, and feeling overcome,

Jimmy stopped punching the steering wheel. Red-faced, he sat in his seat and

began to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth very slowly.

Jimmy felt a pain in his chest. He closed his eyes. Jessica was everywhere.

Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire

To grasp the sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits—and then

Remold it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Oh, shut the fuck up Omar, you cocksucking piece of shit!

Suddenly, there was a tap on the window. Jimmy yelped in surprise and clenched his fists, as he peered out the window, expecting to see Maksimich pointing a gun at his head. Instead, a ruddy and panting Blondie peered in at him, seated on top of what looked like Jimmy's bike. Jimmy kicked open the car door.

"Are you all right, Jimmy?" Blondie gasped through staggered gulps of air.

"What the hell are you doing, Blondie?"

"Trying to stop Maksimich—"

Jimmy almost laughed. "You're a bit late for that."

"Yeah, fuck, sorry ... I got lost, turned down the wrong street somewhere

[cough spit). I'm fuckin' hammered, Jim."

250 "I can tell," Jimmy said, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Uh, Happy

Birthday, by the way."

"Thanks," Blondie said, patting Jimmy on the shoulder. "But dude, what the hell happened?" he asked with a slur, his eyes blinking wildly as his lungs cried for air. "Randy came up to me and told me that Maksimich was all loaded and on his way to Jessica Matvey's house to kick your ass . . . {pant cough) it sounded so fucked up and ridiculous I knew it had to be true."

"Well, he missed my ass but sure caught me in the balls," Jimmy said dryly.

Blondie's eyes opened wide. "He kicked you in the danglers?"

Jimmy nodded.

"What a bitch-ass," Blondie said with a grimace, turning to spit on the street.

"Did you have it out with that shit-fuck or what?"

Jimmy stared at Blondie with an appreciative grin. He imagined him showing up at Jessica's, falling off the bike onto the lawn, and calling Maksimich a shit- fuck. Blondie was totally wasted. He didn't get like this often. Maybe three, four times a year. And he was in rare form. Which meant it was going to be one hell of a long night. Blondie was hanging onto the car door for balance and still panting like a dog.

"How was the bike ride?"

"I feel like I'm gonna puke and pass out."

Jimmy leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and popped the trunk.

251 "Don't you dare puke in my car," he said, getting out to put his bike in the

trunk. "Hey, did the cops show up before you left?"

"No, why?"

"Because Maksimich said he called the cops."

"I doubt it dude, he was prolly fuckin' with you."

"I never thought of that," Jimmy said, cursing Alex repeatedly in his mind. He

secured the trunk with a bungee cord, and they got inside the car. With garbled

speech and random laughs, Blondie filled in the blanks on the party happening at

Jimmy's house, as the latter raced down the street, knowing this time he was sure

to beat the rising sun home.

Jimmy and Blondie arrived to a crowd of drunken people smoking on his front porch. They cheered as Jimmy and the Birthday Boy stumbled towards the house.

Jimmy was furious he hadn't called bullshit on Maksimich's lies.

His one desire: to run to the phone and call Jessica directly.

"Yo Jenkins, you throw such a good party you don't even hafta be here!"

someone shouted from the porch. Everyone agreed with a laugh and another cheers that sounded like "Hear Ye! Hear Ye!"

Jimmy walked up the steps and was immediately handed a beer and a cigarette from Gavin. Jimmy glared at him, and placed the smoke behind his ear.

252 "You son of a bitch," he muttered. Gavin clinked his bottle with Jimmy's and

took a big sip.

"So did you send that fucker Maksimich to the hospital or what?" a voice said

from behind Jimmy. It was Nate.

"Who told you about that?" Jimmy asked, staring into Nate's brown eyes.

Jimmy's own were wild.

"I was with Blondie when he took off on your bike. Drunken bastard could

barely stay on the seat," Nate said with a laugh.

"Nothing happened, so forget about it," Jimmy said. "Hey, do you have your

cell phone on you?"

"Yeah."

"Can I borrow it for a second?"

"Sure," he said, digging into his pants pocket. Thick, dubby techno throbbed

through an open window. Jimmy peered in to see a surprising amount of people

dancing in his living room. Nate passed him the phone. Jimmy quickly dialled

Jessica's number and placed the phone to his ear.

Busy signal.

"Goddammit," Jimmy cursed, snapping the phone shut. He handed it back.

"Thanks bro," he said, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and putting it in

his mouth. A flame materialized in front of his face from a lighter held by Gavin.

"Jimmy, your party is a rocker . . . and don't worry, everything is under

control," he said, lighting Jimmy's cigarette. "I thought you were gonna be home

253 hours ago. Look, if you want me to say sorry I will, but please cheer up, chug that beer, and go inside and say hello to all your guests."

Jimmy took a sip of his beer and hauled on his cigarette.

"All right, I'm sorry, OK?" Gavin said emphatically, and then smiled. Jimmy was so angry he decided the only thing he could do, besides punch Gavin in the face, was smile back. "Jimmy, there are a pile of loose women in that house and they're all yours—"

"Is Sara in there?"

"Hey, you stay away from her," Gav said with a laugh. He patted Jimmy on the back. Jimmy walked around the porch, smoked his smoke, and said hi to all his friends.

Gavin and Jimmy went inside, kicking through a mountain of footwear.

Cheers and salutations resounded. Jimmy looked around and waved. There was so much going on in his mind he had no idea what to do with himself.

Blondie was back inside and dancing with his girlfriend on an armchair. He spotted Jimmy and waved at him to join them. A laptop and turntable were set up at the foot of the stairs, blocking the way, and Jimmy's friend Rich was flipping through a milk crate full of records. Good call on blocking the way upstairs, Jimmy thought, to Gavin's benefit. Rich pointed at Jimmy and mouthed the words: "This one's for you," and placed a record on the turntable. Fat bass poured through the speakers and the dancing drunkards howled—their arms flailing about their heads—their legs bending and kicking beneath them—their heads careening

254 towards the ceiling—as the spirits and whatever the hell else they might've

smoked, popped, or stuffed up their noses, made music their Muse.

It seemed as though everyone was laughing. Everyone was cheering.

"Jimmmay!" Blondie bellowed, hanging on to his girlfriend to keep from

falling off the armchair. God, he was drunk. Jimmy went over.

"Hey Meaghan, your boyfriend is a sauce-pail," Jimmy yelled, jumping up on

the chair so he could give her a hug. They kissed each other on the cheeks.

Meaghan was petite with shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. Jimmy liked

her.

"Hiya Jimmy, long time no see—"

"I know, it's been awhile . . . how's school going?"

"Oh, it's fine I guess, but going to school in the summer is no fun. It messes up my perception of the seasons, and throws my equilibrium completely off track, if that makes any sense," she said, as Blondie clumsily hugged Jimmy and howled.

"Makes perfect sense," Jimmy said with a smile. He patted Blondie on the back and jumped off the chair because he was falling off it. "I'll talk to you in a bit," he yelled over the music, turning to look at the savages on the dance floor.

He was quickly engulfed in the crowd, as people came up to say hello or hand him a bottle or give him a hug or shake his hand. He wanted to fall on the ground and die—with arms outspread of course.

Reflexively, for lack of anything better he could think of doing, besides dying, the young wolf slammed back whatever he was handed. Letting the liquor seep

255 into the cracks of his mind and sear away his thoughts. (His thoughts by the way were

threefold. In his present state, which was reaching delirium, the cheeky hamsters decided to paint

a giant triptych for Jimmy. The left panel: Rummy lying prostrate on the ground next to his

ruined car, his arm bent angrily across his back. The right panel: Maksimich standing on the front lawn, a smirk on his face, hands balled into fists at his side. The centre panel: Jessica

sitting cross-legged in the backyard, smiling with niblets of corn stuck to her teeth)

Jimmy was in the dining room now. Someone had been clever enough to make

Jello-shots and he swallowed half a dozen of them in a blink. The table was

covered with a multitude of snacks and treats—bottles of liquor and wine, plastic

glasses, a bowl of melting ice, slices of lemon and lime, spinach dip, an empty

bowl of guacamole, pumpernickel bread, chips, brownies, 2L bottles of tonic and

Sprite. The lights were dimmed, and Jimmy noticed a candle flickering in the

bathroom. His parents' room across from the bathroom was shut tight.

Jimmy suddenly heard his Dad voice in the back of his mind.

Everything in moderation, son. It was one of his classic lines. A common adage,

but sound advice nonetheless. Enjoy but not excessively.

Sorry Pops, can't listen to you tonight.

Don't burn your bridges, boy.

I've been burning 'em all my life, Pops.

Always be a gentleman, Jim.

You know I try.

And kill 'em with kindness, Jimmy, kill 'em with kindness.

256 Too late for that, Pops. Too fucking late for that.

Everyone was in festive spirits. Streamers and balloons were everywhere.

Jimmy made his way to the kitchen. A group of people were sitting around the

small breakfast table, drinking wine and chatting. One of them was Jimmy's

professor, Dr. Ellis.

"Master Jenkins, so nice of you to show up to your own party," he said,

grabbing an open bottle of wine and filling an empty glass.

"Hello Stephen, how are you?" Jimmy asked, patting him on the back and

picking up the glass of wine with a salutatory nod.

"Feeling rather lubricated," Stephen replied with the hint of a British accent, as

he began introducing Jimmy to the others around the table—all grad students

from the English department. Jimmy recognized them from school but had never

seen them out before.

He tried to picture his Mom and Dad sitting with them as they chatted about

the question of power in the works of Michel Foucault. Or sex in the poetry of

John Donne. Or Lesbian Feminism. He watched his Mom's forehead crease. He

heard his Dad chuckle under his breath.

"How'd you hear about this party, Stephen?"

"Your friend Gavin is very thorough," he said with a laugh.

"Well, I'm glad you all could make it, because apparently, I throw a hell of a

bender."

257 The faculty laughed. A loud cheer sounded from the back room. A group of

guys were watching a Tigers game and chugging king cans of Lakeport. A couple

were making out on the love seat in the corner. Jimmy saw silhouettes of people

out on the back porch. His house was packed to the brims.

It's fine though, Gav's got it all under control, Jimmy told himself. In a few minutes I'll

sneak out the back and go. Everyone's so fucking hammered no will even notice.

Jimmy spotted the portable phone on the counter amidst a row of empty cups

and beer bottles. He excused himself for a moment, picked it up, and dialled

Jessica's number. He cradled the phone to his ear, sipping his wine.

Busy signal.

Jimmy clicked the phone off and put it back on the counter. He heard the

back door open and a group of people walked through the kitchen. Jimmy

nodded to a few of them. Seconds later, a finger poked him in the side. He turned

around.

"Hey Jim," his (ex)girlfriend said, her eyes sparkling bright, as she wrapped her

arms around him.

"Hey A ," Jimmy said, nearly choking on his wine. She continued to hold

him, so Jimmy hugged her back. He smelt her hair. Peaches and cigarettes. He felt

his knees buckling. Slowly, she let him go.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she said, smiling at him. Her brown hair was

pulled back in a tight ponytail, her lips full, her outfit more than flattering.

Jimmy stood, his mouth not quite closed, and gazed at her.

258 "What's the matter?" she asked, her eyes peering into his, trying to gauge his thoughts.

Jimmy shut his eyes to stop her search and took a deep breath. His cheeks flushed. "You just surprised me is all... " he said, opening his eyes and sipping his wine.

"I have that effect on people," she said lightly. "Urn . . . can we talk?"

With his hand in hers, Jimmy was pulled through the kitchen, the dining room, and the dance floor. Like a pawn, he was dragged through the chessboard of his house, being stopped not by a bishop or a rook, but by a DJ.

"Hey Jim, thanks for letting me play tonight," Rich said with a grin, pulling his headphones from his ears.

"My pleasure," Jimmy yelled over top of the music, with a near hysteric little chuckle.

"Hey A , what's up?" Rich shouted. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in response.

"Sorry, I think we're gonna squeeze our way upstairs for a minute," Jimmy said.

"Squeeze on by, my friends," Rich said, putting his headphones back on.

259 Jimmy felt as if he was being lugged up the stairs. Although he was walking up his stairs, towards his bedroom, he felt completely lost. And completely not in control. Jimmy was numb. He still had the glass of wine in his free hand. He wondered how many drops had fallen on the floor on his way to the stairs.

Follow the trail of crimson to the crime scene.

They arrived at the door to his room. It was closed. Jimmy heard a girl laugh from inside. He recognized it, and began pounding on the door.

"I'm opening this door in ten seconds . . . nine, eight, seven . . . sex!"

The door opened to a frazzled Gavin and a giggling Sara.

"Out," Jimmy said. "Use Kaitlin's room you love mongers."

"Hey Jimmy."

"Hi Sara, you look lovely as always," Jimmy said, shaking his head at Gavin, who was fiddling with his belt buckle.

"Good timing," Gavin said to Jimmy, looking over his shoulder. "How's it going, A ," Gav said. He hated her.

"Hi Gavin, how's it goin'?"

"Not too shabby. Great party, eh?"

"Yeah, it is a good party."

"Well, glad you could make it," he replied, coming out of Jimmy's room. He shot Jimmy a look that said, What's going on here, buddy? and the two girls politely said hi to each other.

260 "I'll catch up with you in a little bit," Jimmy said to Gavin, and he and his

(ex)girlfriend went into his room. She pulled the door shut behind her.

"What a process," she said, leaning against the closed door and staring at

Jimmy. Jimmy was looking at his tousled bed. "Is that Gav's new girl?"

"They met yesterday," Jimmy said, amazed with how time was fucking with his head.

A laughed. "Sounds like Gavin," she said, moving some books off

Jimmy's old couch so she could sit down. She sat, crossing her legs out in front of her. Jimmy stood still, gazing at her bare feet. He tried to stop his eyes from gliding up her legs, her thighs so white. They were untannable. He bit down on his bottom lip. He looked at her face.

"Nice place you got here," she said, smiling. She patted the cushion. Jimmy walked over and sat down next to her. His posture was stiff. He sipped his wine and put it on the table in front of him.

"So ..." she said.

"So ..." he said back.

Jimmy felt her energy next to him. Emotions were punching him in the face and chest. She had a look of hesitant delight on her face. The look on Jimmy's would be impossible to describe.

Again, he glanced at his rumpled bed, perhaps remembering moments when he and she were the ones doing the rumpling, or perhaps thinking about how he'd have to wash those sheets before he even thought about sleeping in them again.

261 The thud of bass pulsed through the floor.

Jimmy's heart hammered in sync with the 4/4.

"I really miss you Jimmy," A blurted out, and immediately her hands were on him. They touched his face, rubbed his thighs. Jimmy was simply lost in her smell. The familiarity of it all. They embraced and kissed. She kissed him fully, whispering things to him at an incredible speed. And Jimmy could feel the want on her lips. God, she was passionate! She dug her fingers into his back, she bit his bottom lip. Jimmy bit back, ran his fingers up her legs, and pulled her close.

How many nights had Jimmy lay awake in his bed over the last three months, weeping and pining for this very moment? More than he'd like to say. And now here she was, looking so goddamn hot, and unexpectedly back in his arms, her kisses the very definition of fervour!

"God, I've missed you," she exclaimed, kissing his cheek and climbing on top of him. Something fell over on the table. She kissed his neck and sat on his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. He hiked up her skirt, grabbed her ass, and kissed her desperately.

"I want you," she breathed. She stuck her hand in between his legs and Jimmy cupped her breasts. She squealed. He gripped her shoulder blades and covered her neck in kisses.

But slowly, Jimmy began to realize what was actually happening.

Gradually, he began to get ahold of his senses.

262 As if awakening from a deep sleep, Jimmy began to get a hold of himself. He felt A 's kisses and her passion, and he'd be damned if he said they didn't feel fanfuckingtastic . . . BUT (and again, rather late in the game, it is necessary to capitalize and italicize this tired conjunction), A was not Jessica Matvey.

Remember: Not even an hour ago, Jimmy's lips had been on Jessica's, and it was going to take a hell of a lot longer than that to get rid of the Matvey tingle. If the evening with Jessica hadn't happened, you can bet your ass this would've been quite a steamy litde scene indeed.

But instead: "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, way, way, way, way, way ..." Jimmy began to chant, pulling his lips from A 's, and grabbing hold of her face. She opened her eyes.

"What?" she exclaimed in a heated whisper, her hands on his chest.

Jimmy compulsively shook his head. "This can't happen ..."

"What are you talking about?"

"We can't do this—"

"Sure we can."

"OK... then I can't do this."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't just start being your boyfriend again."

"Who said anything about a boyfriend?" she said, moving in to kiss him.

Jimmy turned his head. "Oh," he sighed. "I get it... "

263 She began kissing his neck. Jimmy glanced at the ceiling and made an awful face. He lifted A off him and slid away from her on the couch. She reached for him, a perplexed look on her face.

"You just want a litde quick one then, eh?"

"No, Jimmy . . . it's more that that—"

"How?" he asked, staring at her enflamed cheeks.

"I dunno."

Jimmy sat quietly for a moment, looking at the overturned bottle of Crown

Royal on the table. He wiped the corner of his lips with his hand and said: "Look, it was real nice seeing you, A , but this cannot happen, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be a. jerk about it," she said, standing up and hiking down her skirt.

"I'm not."

"What the hell's wrong with you, Jimmy?"

"Many things," he replied.

"I can see that," she said sourly.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, you already said that."

Jimmy closed his eyes. Jessica was everywhere. He opened them and glanced at the phone on his desk. He had an almost confused look on his face. He was numb, distracted, close to tears, and knew he was probably being a fool when he brusquely said:

264 "Listen, I gotta make a phone call."

A stood there stunned.

Jimmy just kept staring at the phone.

"I won't keep you then," she finally said, completely enraged. She turned, tore open the door, called Jimmy a "fucking asshole", and shut it with a resounding slam. Jimmy sighed and went to the phone. He dialled Jessica's number with a pulsing thumb.

Busy signal.

"Goddammit!!" Jimmy cried, slamming the phone on its cradle. "What the hell, Jess?" he muttered a few seconds later, his shoulders so slumped they were nearly touching his waist. He had that wild unblinking look in his eyes again. He was exasperated, yet on the verge of cackling crazily. He grabbed his glass of wine and swallowed its remains. It's safe to say that at that moment, Jimmy was so bungled in his mind, he felt like a stranger to himself. A Jekyll to his Jenkins perhaps, in those few terrible seconds of awareness, before Hyde's dark hold grabbed and held on tight. He fell back onto the couch, sagging into the worn pillows. Everything seemed to be in fast-forward, and Jimmy was scrambling around, frantically looking under chairs and cushions for the remote control so he could press pause, at least for a second—just long enough for him to catch his damn breath . . .

A knock sounded on the door and it opened a crack. Gavin's head appeared.

"Hey, you all right?" he asked from the door.

265 Jimmy faindy nodded.

"You told her where to go, didn't ya?"

Jimmy's head made a nearly unnoticeable kind of half nod.

"Good for you!" Gavin exclaimed, coming into the room. "You don't need that bitch, you're so done with her—"

"Don't call her a bitch, man."

"I can't think of anything else to call her."

"How about A ?"

"Nah, bitch is much better," Gavin replied with a laugh. "I can't believe she showed up here. I sure as hell didn't invite her." He sat next to Jimmy on the couch, and put his arm around him, stretching his legs out on the table. Jimmy gazed at a frayed hole on the cuff of Gavin's jeans. "I'm proud of you, Jimmy," he said.

This line was almost enough to provoke a laugh from the depths of Jimmy's curdling stomach.

"I'm serious man, you stood up for what you stand for ..."

"And what might that be?" Jimmy whispered defeatedly, his eyes closed.

"Not being fucked around by the same girl twice."

Jimmy met Gavin's stare. He ran his hands through his hair, flipping it off his forehead. Gavin frowned, realizing he was going to have to divulge information about his own emotions.

266 "Fuck Jimmy," he began, leaning over to grab the bottle of whisky off the table. He unscrewed the cap, took a swig, cringed, and handed it to Jimmy. "You know what I went through with Maria, man. Always breaking up and getting back together and trying things again and 'working things out'. It was a buncha absolute bullshit. More heartache than anything ..."

"But Maria was so goddamn hot and Spanish it doesn't even matter," Jimmy said with a little smile.

"Looks don't mean shit after awhile, you know that—"

"But they sure do help," Jimmy said, swallowing a mouthful of Crown Royal.

He handed it to Gavin who took another sip.

"Which reminds me," Gavin said, his eyes opening wide, "what happened with you and Jessica Matvey? You were at her house all fuckin' day. That girl's a stunner, Jimmy!" A thought ran through Gavin's mind that was apparently so exciting he had to stand up. "Ho-lee shit! That's why you turned the old bitch down, isn't it? You got all freaky with Jessica fuckin' Matvey!" Gavin howled.

"Oh sweet Jesus!" he exclaimed, gawking at Jimmy.

There was no way Jimmy could hide the look on his face. It didn't really convey anything, but it sure as hell convinced Gavin.

"Oh my fuck! This is amazing! This is fantastic! You touched that beautiful creature! My hat goes off to you my friend, you are truly a champion of men! Let's go have a smoke and you can tell me every last fuckin' detail."

267 Gavin passed Jimmy the Crown Royal. Jimmy glanced at the clock by his bed.

It was almost midnight. He realized there was no escaping this madness. Jimmy knew he couldn't tell Gavin about Jessica without telling him what happened with

Alex Maksimich.

"I went there to talk with her Dad," he said, standing up off the couch. He was obviously blushing.

"Sure ya did. You dirty dog," he replied.

"All right, all right, enough. We kissed and that's it, OK?"

Gavin nodded and patted him on the back. Jimmy swigged the Crown Royal.

"You are my new hero. I want you to have babies with her, Jimmy. And I want you to film their conceptions."

"Shut the hell up!" Jimmy said. He capped the whisky and tossed it on the couch. "Can we please just go have that smoke?"

"You bet. Let's go."

They began walking towards the door.

"After you, my liege," Gavin said with a bow.

"Quit it you jackass," Jimmy said with a dry chuckle, glancing at the phone on the way to the door. "Hey, where's Sara?" he asked, rubbing his hands together.

"You stay away from her," Gavin said, pulling the door shut behind him.

"She's pretty damn hot too—"

"Stay away from her."

"And you stay the hell outta my room—"

268 "Fair enough," Gavin said, as Jimmy took a deep breath, attempting to collect

his wits, so he could try and enjoy the rest of the night.

He walked down the stairs towards the throbbing party—a cramp in his guts, a

pang in his chest, a tempest in his mind.

Jimmy would never be able to tell you he had a good time that night, but he

did make the best of it. Yes, his thoughts constandy returned to Jessica. Certainly,

her name was on the tip of his tongue every time he opened it. And aye, with

practically pleated forehead, Jimmy replayed the events over and over like a

terrible movie in the back of his mind. But Jimmy decided it was probably a bad

idea to go back to Jessica's house considering a) there was a rager going on at his,

b) her phone was off the hook, and c) he was already five sheets to the fucking wind. Jimmy resolved he'd go to her as soon as he woke in the morning and

straighten everything out—but in the meantime, to get this night over and done with, he'd have to drink heavily and talk basely.

"Gav's new girl is amazingly hot, isn't she?"

"Yeah, did you see her ass?"

"It's nice, eh?"

"Her ass is so nice it has nipples on it."

Explosion of laughter.

269 "Is Wendy here?"

"Yeah, I saw her by the snacks."

"I saw here there too. She lifted up the table with her massive arms and just

poured everything into her fat mouth."

Another detonation.

"Hey, Gav can't help it. He's a man who loves all women."

"Even the corpulent?"

"Yes, he loves the rotund. He thinks they're jolly."

"What about the horribly obese?"

"He adores them. He finds their extra chins endearing."

"Do you think it's because his mother's a beefy one?"

"Yes, she is a bit of a heifer isn't she?"

Another eruption of guffaws.

"I wouldn't touch her—"

"Neither has his Dad in quite awhile, I'm sure."

"Not even when he's drunk?"

"That's why he quit drinking—"

And so on and so forth. You know how boys can be.

But before we go any further, perhaps you can make a quick note on how well the kid's been handling things. Like the poor coyote, Jimmy's been flushed from his land by the wants of men. But like a cunning wolf of the steppes, Jimmy

270 adapts quickly to his surroundings. It's simply a matter of survival. Jimmy scoffs

at feathers these days. He'd walk by his former self—moulting on the sidewalk—

and not even tip his hat. He'd give himself the old snub, he would. But yes, of

course, Jimmy constandy wanted to lie down and die and cry a litde, but dear

reader and kind friend, he'll try his best not to ... at least not here, at least not yet.

The witching hour had come and gone. Jimmy was bewitched by booze and

dancing in the living room. A group of people had left to go swimming at

Centennial pool in a nearby public park. Jimmy didn't go with, but late night dips in Centennial pool was a summer tradition he'd been honouring since he was a young teen. He even had his first French kiss there many summers ago—sneaking

out of his house and meeting his girlfriend Stephanie, for a late night swim. He remembers feeling so rebellious and cool, as they hopped the fence onto the deck.

Stephanie stripping down to bra and panties to Jimmy's pubescent delight, as they

silendy slipped into the heated water. He remembers how strange it was to feel someone else's tongue in his mouth for the first time. How tantalizing it felt to feel wet girl skin, as they smooched and splashed in the shallow end.

Summer is sacred, Jimmy said to himself, thinking how nice it would be to spend this one with Jessica Matvey. He staggered on his feet. He stopped and opened his eyes. Sara was dancing in front of him. She turned and looked at him.

"Whoa, you all right, Jimmy?" she asked, touching his shoulder.

"Will you come and sit with me for a sec?"

271 "Sure let's go," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the throng of flailing limbs.

They went into the kitchen. It was empty. Dr. Ellis et al. were gone. Jimmy grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. He drank it down.

"Wow, well, I'm definitely drunk," Jimmy said, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Sip?" he asked, holding out his glass. She shook her head. Jimmy looked at the large accumulation of bottles, cups, and trash on the counter. "How come you didn't go swimming with Gav?" Jimmy asked, fixing his stare on Sara.

"I wasn't about to go skinny dipping with a bunch of drunk guys," she replied.

"Surely, you're not shy—"

"Not at all... I just wasn't into it."

"Do you know how to swim?"

"Of course," she said with a laugh. "I was a lifeguard every year for like five summers."

"Where?"

"Mosdy at Adie Knox, and the Y."

"Interesting," Jimmy said, staring at her.

"What?" she asked, blushing a litde under his ga2e.

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and smirked at her with his eyes.

"Do you wanna go outside and have a cigarette?" he asked.

"Sure," she said.

272 "You'll have to hook me up," Jimmy replied. They went out on the back porch and sat on white patio chairs. Empty beer bottles wobbled on the table. Sara pushed her hair behind her ears, clicked open her purse and began searching for her cigarettes. She pulled out two, handed one to Jimmy and placed the other to her lips.

"Thanks," Jimmy said, staring up at the night sky. It was cloudless. Jimmy lit his smoke and looked at Sara. "So, do you like Gavin?" he asked playfully.

"Well yeah," she said, leaning across the table, pushing the empty beer botdes to the other side. Jimmy had to force his eyes to not look down the front of her shirt. "We had an amazing day today."

"What d'you like about him?"

"I dunno. He's funny and cute and charming in a goofy sort of way—"

"Yes, he does have a boyish charm about him doesn't he?"

"Mmmhmm," she said with a smile.

"Well, what I'm trying to figure out Sara, is whether or not you're going to be around for awhile, because I like you, you seem like a nice girl."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure. And it's pretty obvious that Gavin's crazy about you too. You can see it in his eyes. It looks like tiny litde fireworks exploding in his pupils. It's the tell-tale sign."

Sara laughed. "Sounds colourful, I'll watch for it."

273 Jimmy meditatively took a few drags, and looked at Sara. Silently sizing her up.

"OK Sara," Jimmy began, "considering the fact that I think you're a nice girl, and that you find Gavin so endearing, as well as the fact that I'm completely fucking hammered right now, I'd like to ask you for some advice from a woman's perspective. You interested?"

"Sure Jim, what's on your mind?" she asked, tapping her cigarette into one of the empty beer bottles on the table. The ash made the tiniest )i.t^epjfft sound as it hit the remaining sip at the bottom.

Clearing his throat, Jimmy began.

The party had thinned by the time Jimmy was finished. The dancing was over.

The music now the ambience instead of the impetus. The swimmers had returned, using every single towel Jimmy had in the house. Blondie and Meaghan had been shoved in a taxi and safely driven home. Poor Blondie won't remember much in the morning, but like Jimmy, he'll feel it crunching in the middle of his forehead.

Remaining guests were dropping like flies on available couches and chairs.

Others were still lounging around and chatting. Gavin was sitting on the back porch with Jimmy and Sara, his wet hair sticking up in the air, the smell of chlorine all around him. He listened intently as Jimmy wrapped up his tale. Jimmy had begun with Rummy and ended with Jessica.

274 Sara was visibly moved.

"You have to go see her tomorrow . . . she wants to see you, I'm sure of it.

She's just embarrassed, I would be too."

"No wonder you've been so goddamn jittery," Gavin exclaimed. Jimmy raised

his eyebrows and nodded. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Didn't have the chance until now, I guess." Jimmy looked across the table at

Sara. "You really think she was gonna tell me she was leaving?"

"Yes, of course, and she would have, right after you told her what happened

with her Dad," Sara said.

Or would she have been so pissed off after I told her what happened, that it would'vejust

ended right there? Jimmy wondered with a grimace.

"It wasn't your fault," Sara said, trying to reassure him, watching him run a

hand through his hair.

"And what about Maksimich?" Gavin asked.

"Fuck a Maksimich," Jimmy replied with a scowl. "I plan on never thinking

about him again for the rest of my life."

"We should go firebomb his goddamn bar—"

"Yeah, that'll help," Jimmy said. Gavin chuckled. Maksimich's words pricked

Jimmy's mind. The wolfs hackles raised at the mere thought of him.

"You know what your problem is, Jimmy? You're too goddamn nice. You've

got way too much respect for people. You shoulda kicked the piss outta him."

"That's what he wanted me to do. I wasn't going to hit him in front of Jess."

275 "Well, you should have. You're always being the good guy Jimmy, always calm and non-confrontational. Fuck that shit. . . you shoulda taught litde Miss

Maksimich a lesson, and it sounds to me like he's in dire need of one."

"Believe me I wanted to ... I probably would have if—"

"If what?"

"It doesn't matter, forget about it. Listen, I don't wanna talk about that prick anymore," Jimmy said to Gavin, looking away towards the chestnut tree. He pictured punching Maksimich in his smug face. Winding up and socking him in the teeth. Feeling it in his knuckles. Then he pictured Jessica running to him in the damp grass, crouching next to him, her soft hand rubbing his back. That touch, her touch, had quelled Jimmy's savage impulse to leap on Maksimich and gnaw on his face.

You're just something for her to do until she fuckin' leaves . . . Maksimich spat inside of

Jimmy's mind.

But what if the son of a bitch was right? Jimmy wondered, against his better judgement not to. What if Jessica was just playing with me?

"You honestly think she would have told me?" he skittishly asked Sara again.

"Well, from what you've said about her . . . yeah, I think so."

Jimmy stirred the boiling soup in his mind.

"What does your gut say?" Sara asked him.

"It's been screaming all night."

"Then go see her."

276 "Everything just happened so fast. . . the timing was all wrong—"

"The timing is right now," Gavin said with a smile.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno, it's a line from a Full White Drag song ... it sounded appropriate.

But seriously Jimmy, screw time, it doesn't mean a thing—"

"But it does."

"Only because you're letting it," Sara said. "Why does time have to determine your emotions or feelings?" she asked him, turning towards Gavin. "Look at us,"

she said, kissing Gavin on the cheek, "we've known each other for all of one day,

and I'm going to be around for awhile, Jimmy."

Sara rubbed her hands through Gavin's wet hair. She giggled. They kissed.

Jimmy gazed at the chestnut tree engrossed in his thoughts. I guess they're right,

time doesn't matter. Time don't mean shit. You don't need time to think things over or figure things out. You should just fucking know. Plain and simple. You either feel it or you don't.

Screw trying to manifest feelings over time. It's bullshit. If they're not there to begin with, then smile and nod and carry the fuck on! Quit wasting time trying to span time, you stupid sallow son of a bitch! Jimmy yelled to himself, as he looked at the kissing couple across the table.

Do I feel it then? Jimmy asked, as his stomach clenched and churned. You bet I do! And there's no sense trying to deny it. Jessica Matvey! Sweet girl you have me in your trances!

"What are you grinning at?" Gavin asked.

277 Jimmy started from his reverie. "Oh nothin," he replied with a smirk. "Listen, you guys have been a wonderful audience, but the curtain's closed, and this play is finally over. You can sleep in my room, and I'll crash on the couch. There's still an empty one in the back room," Jimmy said, peering in the window.

"Are you sure?" Gavin asked.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Go you litde love mongers, I'll see you in the morn."

"Thanks Jim," Sara said, standing up and stretching. Jimmy couldn't help but admire her form. She was so lissom.

"No, thank you Sara," Jimmy said, as she and Gav made their way towards the back door.

"Anytime," Sara said, followed by her cute laugh, as she glanced at Jimmy from over Gavin's shoulder. She slid her hand in the back pocket of his jeans, as he opened the door.

"Great party, Jenkins," he said with a chuckle.

After a minute, Jimmy pushed himself up from the table with a yawn. The beer bottles wobbled and clanked on the table. He made his way to the door, opened it, walked in the house, and flopped on the love seat in the back room. Nate was passed out on the other couch, his long legs hanging off the end. A girl Jimmy didn't recognize was curled up like a kitty in the Lazy Boy in front of the TV.

Every so often she let out a little sigh. Lying on his back, Jimmy gazed at the ceiling for a long time. Fragments of conversations replayed randomly in his

278 mind. Jimmy thought about his day from the very start to the very end. Which

finds him back on the couch—in essence back at the beginning.

If only I could start this day over. . . spend it with her again, convince her, prove to her

somehow that I'm fucking cra^y about her! Jimmy said to himself, with a rather severe pain in the pit of his stomach.

Unblinkingly, he continued to stare at the ceiling.

Slowly, while gazing at an old water stain and breathing deeply, Jimmy gathered up his incorporeal love for everything in the world, and he flung it at

Jessica Matvey. He was able to do this so easily, because she was everywhere—

Jimmy felt her next to him on the couch, smelt her in the light breeze coming through the window, heard her laugh in the lull of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and saw her silhouette in the shadows stretching across the room.

Jimmy could still feel the Matvey tingle, resonating in his tired bones. He pictured Jessica in his mind. Every slightest detail. The faint birthmark he noticed on the nape of her neck as he pulled away her hair to kiss her. Her small breasts and hard nipples pushing through her bra. Her long legs. The blue electricity in her eyes. The lilting sound of her voice. The sting of her lips like none he'd ever fucking kissed before! Jimmy started getting aroused but stopped himself, because what he was experiencing was more than lust, more than randiness, it was—well, let's just say it was un-fucking-precedented.

But I have tomorrow!Jimmy thought. Fuckin' right! I will see you tomorrow! Oh sweet

Jessica, you bet 1 will! A.nd together we'll figure everything out!

279 Jimmy wanted to laugh and cry.

He yielded to his night thoughts. Those magic kind of thoughts that seem so pure and possible while lying horizontal in the dark, but in the harsh light of day are shrugged off as ridiculous or too ambitious. The type of thoughts that are so exciting, they make taking on the whole world an everyday challenge for you, something that ultimately will happen, because if you try hard enough or work towards something for a long enough time, it's surely bound to happen, no? And you're surely bound to succeed, yes?

Oh, the soft, sweet lullaby of (ir)rational possibility . . .

As Jimmy gradually began to drift off, his eyes bowling balls in his head, that bastard Omar slipped in for one last verse. Jimmy silently mouthed the words as his eyes shut and he succumbed to the sweet sanctuary of slumber . . .

The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,

Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all your Tears wash a Word of it.

And what of Jessica Matvey?

280 After leaving Jimmy on the front lawn, she went in the house and the phone

rang.

"Hello?"

"Did I get rid of him?"

"Oh fuck you, Alex—"

"What? I'm just lookin' out for you—"

"Do «o/call here again."

"Are we still on for tomorrow?"

Jessica angrily hung up and left the phone off the hook. She looked quite

agitated. She went upstairs to her room and her cell phone began to vibrate on the

dresser. She saw his name on the caller ID and quickly turned the phone off.

"Leave me alone!" she cried.

After this, not much is known, because she shut the door on our prying yet concerned eyes. Nevertheless, the sound of sobs could be heard from inside. One can picture her perhaps, face down on her bed, hugging a pillow, as her body

shakes with emotion.

An hour went by and Jimmy hadn't returned. Jessica's door opened with a swinging sigh and she tiptoed down the stairs. She was wearing a white t-shirt and an old pair of red gym shorts. Her hair was wrapped in a loose bun on top of her head. She walked down the hall towards the kitchen, peering out at the dark backyard. She opened the fridge and stared absendy inside at its contents. Finally, she grabbed one of her Dad's beers, and brought it with her to the kitchen table.

281 She pulled out a chair, sat down, and twisted off the cap. Its ridges dug into her palm. She took a big sip and cringed. She ran her tongue over her teeth with a grimace.

Jess leaned across the table and grabbed a pen and a notepad off the far edge of the table. She placed the pad in front of her, chewed on the pen, and flicked it like a cigarette. She looked out at the backyard with a sigh. She took another sip of beer.

Jessica knew Jimmy wasn't coming back, and had convinced herself that

Maksimich's meddling had mucked everything up. Jess was sure all was lost because of that "prick-bastard" (to pull the harsh words from the many expletives floating around in her frustrated head) she had called a boyfriend.

To think I was in a relationship with him. To think I had sex with him. I don't think I even really knew who he was at all.

Jessica blenched, remembering Alex in the backseat of his car, the rough quickness of it all, as if she was just a substitute for his hand. She frowned, angry with herself for always falling for these emotionally detached guys.

She glanced at the clock on the stove and wondered if the cops showed up at

Jimmy's. She replayed the night over in her head. In the dim light of the kitchen, the look burning in Jessica's eyes made her appear much older. For just a brief second, one could see where the lines of age would be drawn on her face in the years to come. Rummy would have found the resemblance to her mother uncanny.

282 A.nd what was Jimmy going to tell me? Something about Dad's accident, but what? Dad has been drinking more than usual, lately. I wonder if I should talk to him about it? Oh c'mon,

Jimmy, please, just show up at the patio door!

Jess stared out the sliding screen doors trying to make Jimmy materialize.

You see, she had initially made plans with Alex for her last night in town. Her parents were leaving a day early to visit her Grandma in Dearborn and spend the night because she lived close to the Detroit Metro airport. And Jess had plans to spend the night with Alex—have a romantic little send-off and hopefully make up for their not so memorable first time in his car. Alex had even agreed to drive her to the airport in the morning. Obviously that plan got scrapped, but then Jess updated it this afternoon to include Jimmy Jenkins.

There was amazing chemistry between them and Jess wanted to keep exploring it as far as she could in the time she had. Spend a whole day and night alone with him . . . smell him, feel him, kiss him, get to know him . . . because she was totally charmed by him.

And I was about to tell you all this Jimmy, but then along came a Maksimich, and well, that's when everything got a little fucked up.

Earlier in the afternoon, she even went as far as to picture Jimmy dropping her off at the airport, tears welling in his bright eyes, as she kissed him on the lips and stuck a folded note in his sweaty palm. She saw Jimmy standing next to her Dad, his hands jammed in his jean pockets, still visible through the terminal window, as

283 she boarded the plane. She turned, blew them both a kiss, and walked on board the plane with a lovesick sigh . . .

"God, I'm more than just pathetic ... I am bathetic" Jessica mumbled aloud, looking at the clock. She stood up, went to the phone, took a deep breath, and dialled Jimmy's number. It rang and rang and rang and—

"Good evening, Jenkins residence ..."

"Urn, hi, Jimmy?"

"Pardon?!"

"Jimmy?"

"You wanna talk to Jimmy?!"

"Yes!"

"Hold on. (Aside) Hey! Has anyone seen Jimmy?"

"No!"

"I think he's outside!"

"He's on the dance floor, isn't he?"

"No, he's upstairs with A !"

"I thought she left?"

"I don't know, dude!"

"He's in the kitchen!"

"The phone's for him!"

"Just take a fucking message!"

"Who's calling?"

284 Jess hung up. She sighed and sat back down at the table. She attempted another sip of beer. She stared down at the notepad. She rested her head in her hand and sat very quietly for some time. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she scrawled the following note on the pad, in legible but tiny cursive:

Jessica pushed herself up from the table. She poured the beer in the sink, and placed the bottle on the counter. She grimaced at the patio door and tiptoed down the hall and up the stairs. She cast an elongated shadow on the wall as she walked into the light filtering from her bedroom. Peering into her room as she shuts the door, one could see matching suitcases on the floor by the bed. One

285 was zipped, and the other lay open. There were clothes strewn about the room, and a pile of neatly folded pants and skirts on the bed.

No other sounds were heard from her room for the rest of the night, but one can assume that Jessica Matvey's sleep was fitful and restless.

286 X

LEANNE Jacobs, if we could take a brief moment and remember her, was still scrunched in the closet, oozing blood from her mouth, and at her wit's end. She couldn't possibly bear the situation much longer. Jason and the girl were sitting on the hardwood floor, looking at the contents of the box. They were so close

Leanne could actually see Jason's back through the chink in the closet door. He was wearing a black collared shirt.

"Those two photos are from when we went to Algonquin," Jason explained.

"We were on a three day hike right in the middle of the park. Now that's camping," Jason said emphatically and paused, deliberating what to say next.

"That trip was an amazing experience for me, because, well, at first I was scared I wouldn't be able to handle it. I thought my leg would give out on me—or just cramp up and die. I mean, we weren't scaling mountains, but it was still pretty challenging. When I realized I was totally capable to hike in the woods, I finally felt fully alive again, I felt strong. It was a great feeling."

And I never loved you more than I did on that trip, Leanne said to the chink in the closet door.

"We canoed east across Dickson Lake to see the famous Red Pine trees, which are like 400 years old. They're massive! That black and white photo in the living room is a shot of one of those trees."

"I like that picture—"

287 "But this one here was taken the day after, near another river, I think it was called Crooked Lake or something. Anyways, we'd just been in this crazy summer squall. I swear I've never seen anything like it. All of a sudden, the wind started whipping through the tops of the trees, the sun disappeared and BANG, we were in the middle of a major storm. We didn't even see it coming!"

I thought it was a tornado! Leanne said, remembering the fierce sound of the wind.

"We had to grab the nearest tree and hang onto their trunks. I was holding on to this sickly little evergreen covered in sap. I remember looking at Leanne through the rain, praying she'd hold on, because I barely could. We were screaming things at each other, but they were swept away in the wind ..."

Like: Jason I love you! We'll be OK! Hang on, baby! Hang tight!

"The ground turned into instant muck under our feet. My pack felt like it weighed two hundred pounds on my back. I was wondering how I could possibly protect Leanne, convinced she was going to be tossed into the wind and we were goners, and then the sun came back out as quick as it went, the birds started chirping again all fuckin' happy and chipper and we were muddy, soaking wet, and a wee bit frazzled when I took that picture of her."

"And somehow she still managed to look great, even after a tornado," the girl said. Leanne noticed a resentful slant to her voice.

Tell her what happened after you took that picture, Jason! Tell her how you put your arms around me, kissed my dirty face, and told me you loved me—

288 "We walked to the lake, stripped off our clothes, and lay on a little dune,

gazing out at the river. The sun felt so good on our skin, it was like medicine. We

sat there eating trail mix and drinking water from our Nalgene bottles for hours.

We ended up pitching camp on a site just off the lake in a clearing made by

beavers. It was really cool, there were chewed off tree trunks everywhere. It must

have been a hot beaver hangout at one time. The only place to go for a good

chew," Jason said with his high-pitched laugh.

Leanne nearly laughed with.

"It rained a litde bit that night," Jason continued, lost in his memory, "I

remember it being a nice, warm rain. There's something so calming about the

sound of rain falling on top of a tent. I love it. When I finally did fall asleep I had

one of the stillest sleeps of my life," Jason said, sounding like he could talk about it all night.

Tell her how our sleeping bags were zipped together, Jay! And how we lay, together, feeling our warmth, feeling our length, our hair, laughing with our lips, touching with our hands . . . ours and only ours . . . tell her Jason, will you please just fucking tell her!

"Well, you're never gonna get me out in the woods with you—"

"Oh c'mon, I can make a camper out of you yet."

"No way."

"I think you'd look pretty hot in a pair of hiking boots and a forty pound backpack strapped to your back."

289 "Is that all I'd be wearing?" she asked playfully.

"As long as you don't mind a few mosquito bites," Jason said.

"How about some love bites instead?"

"That can be arranged," he said with a laugh. "Anywhere in particular?"

Then they were kissing again. After a few minutes of this, Leanne heard a

zipper and a giggle and a belt jingle.

No, this is NOT happening, Leanne told herself. This cannot be fucking

happening!

The goose egg on her head felt like it was growing. It would soon burst with a

terrible pop and blow her cover. Her bladder too was also about to explode with

hot tears. Leanne closed her eyes and sighed, still stalling the scattered showers

about to spill from her eyes. It wouldn't be long now. The storm had gathered.

Someone was doing dishes in the kitchen. Beer bottles clanked loudly as they were dropped in empty cases on the kitchen floor. Cups and spoons rattled together in the sink. Someone started whistling. It sounded shrill.

Jimmy groaned and opened his sleep-encrusted eyes. Another bright, sunny day. Garish rays of sunlight stabbed through the windows. Dust particles floated in the air. A dog yapped from a nearby backyard. Jimmy pushed himself into a

290 sitting position. Nate was gone. The girl in the Lazy Boy was gone. He stumbled into the kitchen.

"Morning Jim," Sara said, quickly turning from the sink to smile at him, so fresh-faced and lively in the morning. "Nice hair," she said with a smirk.

"Mmmhmm," Jimmy muttered, getting a whiff of lemon dish soap as he continued through the kitchen. Gavin was standing next to the dining room table with a garbage bag in his hand. His eyes were closed. Jimmy grunted at him. Gav opened his eyes, grunted in return, and slowly continued gathering the trash off the table. Jimmy went into the bathroom, and shut the door.

"Aahhh ..." he couldn't help but exclaim, as his bladder began to pour out several pints. His stomach gurgled. His bowels twittered. He coughed. At eye level on the wall above the toilet was an ornate little mirror.

"That mirror was your great-grandmother's," his Mom had explained when

Jimmy asked why it hung above the toilet.

"I know, and I think it's lovely, but why would I want to stare at myself while taking a piss?"

"If you don't like it then pee sitting down," she replied.

But Jimmy stared at himself now—looking deep into his bloodshot eyes, staring at the open pores on his nose, and the sharp whiskers already growing back on his chin.

"You don't look like me at all," the reflection said. Jimmy turned on the shower. The water hesitated for a moment and then shot out of the showerhead.

291 When it was nice and hot, Jimmy hopped in, embracing the water as it fell heavily

on his chest.

And yet again, we find Jimmy Jenkins in his car, windows down, driving to the

Matveys—the sun already burning a hole in the early afternoon sky. Jimmy looked

left and barely looked right, and with tires clinging to asphalt, he made a quick

turn onto Wyandotte Street. Cars honked, motors hummed, and tires squealed. A

haze of exhaust draped the street like a curtain. City buses plodded, delivery

trucks halted, and the smaller autos zigzagged around them. The roads were

plenty busy at one o'clock on the Tuesday after Canada Day weekend.

Well, Jimmy sure as hell had no plan. Not the slightest. Jimmy had no idea what he was going to say. But he was sure once he saw her face, everything would work out. And oh! if only Jimmy would be given this chance! Just imagine how

frightened and excited he must be, as he stops at the light on Lauzon and hangs his arm out the car window. An unshaven look of determination on his face. In just a few minutes he'd be face to face with Jessica Matvey—the sun shining on her golden hair and freckled shoulders, an awkward yet relieved smile on her lips.

The proverbial glass was still half full for Jimmy. He was the smiling optimist, comforted by possibility, reassured by past occurrence, and pushed forward by his churning stomach. And you gotta give the bastard credit for it.

292 He pulled up in front of the house and put the car in park. He got out of the

car, squinting his eyes, and peered at the house. He reached in the driver side

window, grabbed his sunglasses and a bottle of water. Jimmy walked up the porch

and rang the bell. He heard its dull knell through the front door. Jimmy stood still,

hands in pockets, picturing Jessica whipping the door open wide.

He listened for sounds of movement in the house. He turned around and

noticed the rental car wasn't in the driveway.

Yeah but Rummy's at work, Jimmy quickly assured himself. Maybe Jess and her Mom

are gone shopping or something.

He rang the bell again. Nothing.

Well, someone's gotta come home at some point, right? he said to himself, sitting down

on the steps. And I'll be right here when they do.

A gruelling hour passed. And then some. Jimmy was baking in the afternoon

sun. A cicada buzzed from a nearby tree. The bottle of water was empty. He had rolled up his pant legs and taken off his shoes and socks. His stomach was growling like the wolf he was growing up to be. To keep his mind off his hunger, he was playing the guess the colour of the next car that drives by game. It wasn't much fun, but it was better than nothin'.

Black.

293 A big red F-150 guzzles gas on its way by.

Red.

A black Neon speeds by, pop music in its wake.

Dammit! Blue.

An old green K-car slowly drives by, an old woman at the wheel.

Blue, green, same shit. Close enough.

Jimmy sighed and bit his fingernails.

Where the hell are they? he wondered, slapping at a fly that landed on his leg.

Grey.

The same black Neon races by, coming from the other way this time.

OK doesn 't count, grey again.

A grey minivan slows down in front of the house and pulls into the neighbour's driveway, its engine humming.

All right! I win!Jimmy cheered, as the van shut off and the doors opened. Two young girls both no older than ten, with thick curly blonde hair, jumped out of the side door, chasing each other around the van to the front porch. Jimmy envied their innocent laughter.

"Mommy! Mommy! Gimme the keys!" one of the girls shouted, as their mother stepped out of the van and glanced at Jimmy. He nodded. She was in her mid-thirties, with curly blonde hair of her own.

294 "Come and get them," she said, holding the keychain out in front of her. The younger daughter leapt off the porch, and one of her sandals went flying off her foot. She giggled and ran to her mother, snatching the keys out of her hand.

"Thanks, Mommy!"

"Grab your flip-flop!" Mommy yelled. "And get changed into your bathing suits, we have to leave for your lesson in half an hour!"

Mommy walked to the back of the van and lifted the hatch. Again she looked over at Jimmy.

"Good afternoon," Jimmy said.

"Hello," she said, picking up her parcels. "Um, are you looking for Jessica?"

Jimmy blushed upon hearing her name and stood up, "Well, yeah, her or her

Dad, I uh . . . need to talk to them," he stammered.

Mommy stood there for a moment, squinting at Jimmy from across the lawn.

"Well, I'm afraid you've missed them—"

"Mi-missed them, what do you mean?"

"They're staying at Jessica's grandma's in Dearborn for the night. They have an early—"

"What? When?" Jimmy choked out.

"Pretty early this morning . . . oh, I'd say around seven-thirty, maybe eight. My girls are in charge of watering the flowers for them and ..."

Jimmy was no longer paying attention to Mommy, because the knockout combo had been swung . . . the right pummeling him in the gut—ooof-—and the

295 left coming out of nowhere to clip him violendy on the chin—unngghhh—his neck snapping backwards as if attached to a spring, tongue lolling, eyes rolling, bright pain lighting through his mind, as he stumbled, tumbled, fell like a dead weight against the ropes and then to the mat, unable to move, unable to struggle, unable to feel, unable to even crawl toward his safe cushioned corner . . . ding ding ding. . .

"When are they expected back?" Jimmy asked, holding his stomach.

"Hannah's gone with Jessica to Paris, but Alex'll be back from Dearborn on

Thursday," she replied.

"Oh, OK, thanks very much," Jimmy croaked, a toad in his throat.

"You're welcome," she said, staring at Jimmy for a moment as if she wanted to say more.

Jimmy sat down on the porch, shoulders slumped. He was about to put his socks back on, but his feet were on fire. He balled the socks and squee2ed them tightly in his hand. His mind swirled as the hung over hamsters jumped on their wheels and went to work.

Not tomorrow but the next.

"Shall I tell Alex you were looking for him?"

Jimmy looked up, having already forgotten about Mommy. "Yeah sure," he said.

"What's your name?"

"Oh, it's uh, Jimmy Jenkins," he said, glad his eyes were hidden behind tinted plastic.

296 "Jimmy Jenkins?"

"You got it," Jimmy said a litde wildly, grabbing his shoes off the bottom step.

"Have a good day," Mommy said.

Small fragments of conversation were whipping through Jimmy's mind.

Rummy: I am now officially on vacation for a few days, and it's time to relax in the sun,

have a cold one and enjoy the holiday . . .

Hannah: Just a few more days before we get to see Scotty . . .

Jessica: Not tomorrow hut the next. . .

Sara: You have to see her tomorrow, she wants to see you, I'm sure of it. She's just

embarrassed. I would be too.

His own voice like a broken record: Not tomorrow but the next. Not tomorrow but

the goddamn NEXT! Not tomorrow but the fucking NEXT!!

Jimmy's eyes became the clouds for this perfect sunny day, as he walked

heavily barefoot towards his car. His hand twitched as he started the car and

drove away.

Goddammit! I knew I shoulda fucking came back here last night!Jimmy moaned with

regret. Maybe they had to leave early for some reason, he said to himself, grasping desperately at straws. Or maybe Rummy told her everything and she was so pissed she

decided to leave, or maybe she lied to me, maybe she fucking lied to me just to get rid of me. . .

For a second, Jimmy considered driving across the border and racing down I-

96 to Dearborn to find Grandma Matvey's. And then he thought of finding Alex

Maksimich and cracking him in the skull with a tire-iron.

297 Jimmy cursed loudly—his knuckles ghost-white on the wheel—his toes curled on the gas pedal—weaving aggressively through traffic—riding bumpers and coasting through yellow lights—squealing around corners—rolling through stop signs—speeding down residential streets—all of it an angry blur.

Jimmy pulled into his driveway. Shoved the car in park. Tore his sunglasses off his face. Viciously rolled up the windows. The veins distending in his forearm. He shoved open the door and got out. Slammed it shut, but not before looking at the backseat. A man's blood had spilled in that backseat. A man's blood had soaked right through. No amount of Mr. Clean could ever get rid of it.

With his tail between his legs, the young pup walked towards the backyard.

Swinging gendy in the breeze, a bunch of towels and his bed sheets hung from the clothesline. Three full garbage bags rested by the back door. Jimmy grasped the handle but it was locked. He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the door. He went inside. It smelt like Pine-Sol and Nag Champa. Five cases of beer and a bunch of empty bottles were stacked neady next to the fridge. The dishes were put away. The counter gleamed. Jimmy walked in the dining room. It was spodess and the incense was still burning in a holder on the dining room table.

Gavin and Sara must have just left. The floors were mopped. The carpets vacuumed. In spite of how he felt, Jimmy was impressed. A yellow post-it note was stuck to the table next to the incense in Gavin's jagged cursive:

298 "Right, like nothing ever happened," Jimmy jeered to himself, the toad ready

to leap out of his throat. The red light was flashing on the answering machine.

For a brief second his spirit soared. Jimmy ran to the phone and pressed the button.

It's gotta be her. . .

You have one new message, the machine said.

"Hiya Jimmy, it's Mom . . . I'm just calling to check in and see how you're doing. We haven't talked with you in awhile. I hope everything's all right. Hope you're taking care of yourself. Uncle Paul and Aunt Linda got here yesterday, so everyone's here now, over twenty of us all together, including the kids. Everyone's been asking about you. We had a nice big campfire last night, we made hobo-pies, and the guys played their ukuleles. Your Dad nearly uked till he puked {laughter).

So far we've been lucky, because the weather's been beautiful, and there's no rain in the forecast 'til Friday. Your Dad and I have already seen a dozen deer, and yesterday we saw a Great Blue Heron. We even got a picture of it on the new

299 camera. But listen Jim, we're on our way to the beach, and just stopped at the store to buy some ice for the cooler, so I thought I'd try you. Miss you. Dad says hi. K, love you Jimmy, bye."

Beep.

The sound of his Mom's voice, so loving and genuine, was all Jimmy could take. The moment he heard it, the clouds in his eyes turned grey, then black, and he dropped his head, held onto the back of a chair, and began to sob—his bony shoulders slouched and shaking.

His mother's voice, so caring, so normal. . . she could talk to him on end about anything, she'd never run out of things to say, and everything she did say was always voiced with such affection it nearly knocked Jimmy off his feet. Mothers can be so goddamn good at that.

Jimmy listened to her message and bawled. He sobbed the way one only can when alone—with aching vigour. He had such a pain in his stomach he thought he was going to vomit. His throat and nose filled with mucous. His bottom lip blubbered. His eyes spilled.

I shoulda went with them, I should be there right now. . . if I woulda went with them none of this bullshit woulda ever happened, and I'd be none the fucking wiser! Goddammit, when did

I suddenly become too old to go camping with my family? You can't outgrowjourfamily'! Fuck!!

"I should be there," Jimmy cried.

Jimmy's tears began to burn and his woe became wrath. His nostrils flared. His jaw locked. His facial hair felt like it was growing at an alarming rate on his

300 cheeks. Everything seemed to be moving towards him, as if he was a magnet and

the world was nails. The thick, cumulus clouds seemed to be coming right

through the windows. Jimmy looked up from the table and stared out the dining

room window, his vision clouded with tears. Suddenly, there was a flash of

lightning.

"Fucking fuck fuck fuck ... fucking fuckers, fucking shit, cocksuck, mother fucking FUCK1!'''Jimmy thundered through his clenched jaw.

Rumble thy bellyful; spit, fire; spout, rain! This was the breaking point. Where all

hope became lost. Where everything became wretched and worthless. Jimmy

cursed and spat at it all.

Cheeks flushed and blinded with tears, Jimmy turned from the dining room

table and trudged up the stairs, wanting to punch something. He stumbled into

his room, and gazed stupidly at his naked mattress and caseless pillows. He

knocked the phone off the hook. He dropped on the bed, licking salty tears from

his upper lip. He felt nothing but the pain in his stomach. His chi was burning

bright black in his belly. A poison he needed to shit out. He lay on his naked

mattress and concentrated on the pain. Jimmy felt nauseous and ravenous at the

same time. He ground his teeth and pulled his knees to his chin. He rubbed his

feet together, and jammed his hands under his head.

The phone began its atonal beeping, summoning Jimmy to put it back on its

cradle. He almost ignored it until it stopped. He jumped up, put it back on the

301 hook, and turned the ringer off. Just in case. His sinuses were clogged and his

temples pounded.

Perpetual rest and calm . . . that's what the doctor ordered, and Jimmy would heed

that fucker's advice . . .

Jimmy Jenkins was so upset he was actually beyond thought.

The hamsters in his head were belly up from exhaustion—their wheels bent

and broken from overuse.

"You are going to sleep now," Jimmy growled to himself. "And hopefully you

won't fucking wake up until you have bedsores. And then, when you finally do get

up, you're getting the hell outta here . . . you're going where you shoulda fuckin'

been in the first place."

Jimmy lay there rubbing his feet together and measuring his breath. The

poison in his belly continuing to churn and turn and burn. He pulled his legs even

closer to his chin, and numb with pain, dumb with pain, Jimmy slowly began to

drift off.

The knockout blow had been swung, the towel was thrown, and Jimmy

Jenkins was officially out for the count. Ding ding ding.

"What time is it?" Jason asked.

"I dunno," the girl whispered from the bed.

302 "Dave and Trish are gonna be here any minute."

"Then you should put your pants back on."

Jason laughed. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"Of course."

They kissed. The girl giggled.

"So, where do they wanna go?" she asked.

"The Green Room."

"All the way out there? I'm sick of that place."

"We'll have one drink and then go to Safir or somethin'."

"I'd rather go to Parking. It's Thursday."

"Well, we'll see."

"How's my hair?"

"Looks terrible."

"You're an ass—"

"I know."

"You need a mirror in here."

"Leanne used to say the same thing."

Fabric rusded. Jason's belt jingled. The girl cleared her throat.

"So, have you talked to her?"

"Well no, we haven't spoke since we broke up . . . except once at school, but we didn't say much."

Never had Leanne's heart felt so tight in her chest.

303 "But I do plan on calling her before the Christmas break."

"To give her back her stuff?"

"Yeah . . . and wish her a Merry Christmas, I guess."

The floor creaked.

"Are you gonna tell her about us?"

Leanne silently flinched.

"Yeah, of course."

"Everything about us?"

"Well, I dunno . . . what's everything?"

"Well, for starters the fact that we've been together for months now—"

"No, no ... I can't tell her that. There's no reason to tell her that—"

"She'll find out."

"How?"

"We both have friends that know about us, Jay. They all talk behind our backs.

And you know Dave doesn't like me."

"Dave likes you. Honestly he does. Dave's one of my best friends, he ain't gonna say shit."

"People talk, that's all I'm saying—"

"Listen, Rebecca, I can't tell Leanne. I won't."

The faceless girl finally had a name.

304 "Obviously, I'll tell her that you and I are together now, but there's no need to tell her anything else. You had nothing to do with the fact that we broke up anyways—"

"I didn't?"

"Well, maybe you helped push it along a little faster, but it was bound to happen, I mean, it was already starting to happen before me and you even met.

It's a moot point, all right? And it would hurt her way too much. I respect Leanne and still wanna be her friend . . . but I'm withjow now and have never been—"

Leanne sobbed loudly from inside the closet.

"What was that?" Rebecca asked.

"I dunno."

"It sounded like a cat."

"Only kitty I see around here is you."

"Seriously, Jay. It sounded like a cat in pain."

"I thought it sounded like a cat in heat."

"So you did hear something?"

"Kinda, but it was probably from the street, my window's open a crack.

Meows echo very well on this street," Jason said playfully.

"No. It sounded right near us."

"Cats are masters at throwing their voices. Maybe there's a hole in the wall, and it's my neighbour's cat spying on us—"

"Shut up," the girl said with a laugh. "It sounded like it came from this room."

305 "Maybe it's under the bed. Here kitty, kitty . . . maybe it's the ghost of Jacob

Marley's cat," Jason said, laughing.

"Well, I don't know what it was. C'mon let's go."

"Ony va" Jason said, and they stopped for one last kiss just inside the bedroom door.

Leanne choked back a cough. Oh my God, if I don't want to explode I'm gonna have to pee my pants. Seriously Lee, it's the only way, do it you fucking bitch, do it! she screamed, pinching her thigh with her hand—her whole body shaking, her throat clamping—as a terrible gurgling sound bubbled through her lips. She jammed the sweater over her mouth.

"There, I just heard something again."

Leanne hacked on a violent cough and sobbed.

"What in the hell?" Jason's voice had lost its playful tone.

Leanne saw a hand on the closet door. The jig was up! She was discovered!

She was caught! The Gothic Villain had found her at last! Leanne watched in horror as the door began to slide open. She tried to think of what she could possibly do, and at the last moment, she fell out of the closet, pretending to pass out like a young heroine is wont to do in such a situation. Leanne heard Rebecca scream and Jason gasp, as she came to rest on the floor, a book entangled in her legs, her face covered with the bloodied sweater.

306 At about the same moment Leanne was falling out of the closet, Dave was walking in the front door, followed by three friends. Dave had a bottle of vodka in his hand and a relaxed smile on his face. He was in fine spirits—until he heard a girl scream from Jason's room. He turned to look at the group following him through the door. They had all halted in the doorway, alarm brightening their faces. The girl screamed again. Dave's heart started racing, and quickly, he ran the length of the apartment to Jason's open bedroom door. Hesitandy, the friends followed.

"What in the hell?!" Dave yelled, taking a step back and nearly dropping the vodka as he saw a girl's body on the floor, Jason's white Argyle sweater stained with blood and on her face.

"What in the fuck did you do?!" Dave asked, gaping at Jason.

"Nothing, man!" Jason said over the wailing Rebecca. He was blinking rapidly as if he had eyelashes caught in his eyes. Rebecca was turned towards the bed, latching on to the duvet and pulling it towards her, her hands in litde fists.

Jason's eyes were so wide they looked magnified. He glanced at the crowd in the doorway.

"Beck, will you please chill the fuck out! Can someone get her the hell outta here?" Jason asked. Dave dropped the bottle of vodka on Jason's dresser. Jason took a step towards him, grabbed on to his upper arm and said, "Listen man, I

307 don't know what the fuck . . . she was hiding in the closet... all of the sudden she just fucking fell out of it... "

"Is it...?" Dave asked quietly, feeling Jason's panic pulsing through the fingers clamping his bicep.

"I want everyone out of this room now!" Jason yelled. "Trish, can you please look after Beck for a minute?" he cried. Trish was Dave's girlfriend. The other two behind her was his buddy Martin, and a girl he'd never seen before. Jason stared at their foreheads.

"Yeah, sure," Trish said, quickly stepping into the room and over to the bed.

She put her arm around Rebecca's shoulders and guided her to the door.

"Thank you," Jason groaned. "Fuck," he said, looking at Dave.

"Is it?" Dave asked again.

Of course it was. Dave knew it, he was just trying to convince himself it wasn't. Her thick brown hair splayed around her head, the leather bracelet on her arm, the curve of her back, the bend of her leg, her favourite pair of Levi's with the holes in the knees—now stained with spots of blood. Dave fought off a shudder. He loved Leanne. Like a sister. They were a team. Together, they had helped Jason through his rehabilitation. They got him back on his feet, mentally and physically. Dave glanced at Jason and back at Leanne.

Leanne lay on the floor telling herself to just act like Emily St. Aubert in

Udolpho—she was meek and feeble, acquiescent, promptly fainting whenever necessary—Dave was here now, Dave would take care of her . . .

308 "Everyone please get the fuck out! Except you Marty," Jason yelled, pointing

frantically at Martin in the doorway. Martin ran a hand through his hair, while

staring at Leanne on the floor. He worked at the CLSC on de Maisonneuve

downtown and was studying medicine at McGill. Martin stepped inside the room

and Jason shut the door on the three girls.

"C'est qui?" Martin asked, slipping into French as he began assessing the

situation. Dave pulled the Argyle sweater off her face.

"Oh my God!"

"Cdlisse!"

Upon seeing Leanne's face, Jason quickly turned away, biting down hard on

his teeth. He let out a mousey squeal, and began dancing back and forth on his

toes.

Jason was practically pulling out his hair. Panic all but overwhelmed him.

Martin crouched on the floor next to Leanne. He checked her pulse. He gendy

brushed her hair away from her face and cradled her head. Leanne kept her eyes

closed. Dave carefully stretched her out on her back. Martin noticed the goose

egg swelling on her crown.

"Jay, throw me a pillow."

Jason stood numb and stupid.

"Jay, toss me a goddamn pillow!"

Jason picked one from off his bed and flung it at Martin. He sheepishly glanced at Leanne on the floor. Tears began to bubble in his eyes. Cautiously,

309 Martin slipped the pillow under her head. Dave pulled the book from in between

her legs and tossed it on the bed. Jason stared down at it. Madwoman in the Attic.

He felt like he was floating. He felt completely detached from his body, as he

watched Dave and Martin crouched over top of Leanne. Martin began inspecting

her mouth. Jason saw pain inside that mouth. He let out another mousey squeal.

The bubbles in his eyes began to pop.

"Tabarnac!" Martin exclaimed, looking up at Jason and Dave. "She cut her

tongue pretty bad."

Jason started pacing back and forth next to the bed.

"You said she was in the closet?"

Jason nodded emphatically. Dave stood up and peered inside. He glanced at

the shelf in the closet and then at Jason.

Leanne opened an eye and saw Jason looming above her. Her hands turned into fists at her sides. She thought of Jamie Lee Curtis stabbing Michael Myers in the eye with a coat hanger. She thought of Bertha lunging at Rochester in her attic prison, choking and biting him, as he wresded her to the floor . . .

"I think I know what happened," Martin said, gazing at the shelf. "She has a big goose egg on her head Jay, and it looks like she bit down hard on her tongue—"

"Is she gonna be OK?" Jason all but screamed. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I think she smacked her head on that shelf when she jumped in the closet."

310 "She musta been in here when you got home," Dave said. "She's still got the key, right? Shit, how long have you been home for, man?"

"I dunno, an hour—"

"Fuck, we gotta take her to the hospital!" Dave said.

Leanne could take it no more. She opened her eyes, saw Jason standing next to her, screamed, and began kicking at him—her legs jerking out wildly, pelting him in the knees and calf with the soles of her running shoes. Biting pain tore up

Jason's leg. He clutched his leg and yelped.

Leanne was screaming, but it was unintelligible. Hands grabbed at her. They held her. Jay disgusted her, and her anger burned through her pain—she cursed and defiled him with her swollen tongue. He was hateful and a liar and could not be forgiven. Fucking bastard! Asshole prick!

She reached for him, her legs scissoring the air.

Where is that fucking bitch?! Leanne tried to scream, whipping her arms around her. Voices told her to relax. Relax. Veins stood out in her neck like wires. Blood dripped from her mouth. Her breathing was haggard and filled with sobs. She slowly stopped moving.

She looked up at Dave and Martin.

"Leanne, Leanne, please relax . . . OK, just relax, it's gonna be all right," Dave whispered, a look of panic in his eyes. He had never seen her so angry in his life.

And the blood on her face made it horrifying. She seemed possessed. Mad.

311 "Tell us where it hurts the most," Dave asked after she had calmed down. He slowly let go of her arms.

Leanne stared at Dave with tears streaming down her sullied face and words clogged in her throat. For just a moment, she lifted her hand with her index finger pointed to her heart, and then raised it to her mouth. Martin nodded.

Dave knew Leanne had no idea about Rebecca, and wondered what she'd heard while hiding in the closet. He shivered at the thought, gazing at the dark blood on her chin.

She musta chomped on her tongue, Dave thought with a frown. His heart went out to her. He could feel her anger and woe. You poor girl Leanne, Dave said to himself, glaring for a moment at Jason who had moved towards the door.

"How's your neck, Leanne? £a va?" Martin asked. She gave him a weary thumbs up.

"Jay, go get her some water, and tell Trish we're gonna need to take her car,"

Martin said, looking at Jason. Without a word, he opened the door and went out.

"Can you sit up?"

Dave supported her back and Leanne began slowly pushing herself up. She pointed at the door, mumbled something, and shook her head fiercely.

Keep that fucking bastard out of here, she tried to say, her stare burning right through Dave. He caught the drift.

Dave stood up and went out the door. He stopped Jason as he was coming back in.

312 "She doesn't want you in there."

Jason opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. Tears welled in his eyes. Dave had been expecting Jay to protest and was surprised to see him give up so easily. Again, Dave wondered what Leanne had overheard in the closet, and he glanced at Rebecca in disgust.

"Just give us a couple minutes, and then we'll take her to the hospital..."

Jason stood, pulling at his hair. The girls were seated, unblinkingly, on the edge of the couch.

Dave went back inside, shutting the door behind him. He crouched down, handing the water to Leanne.

"We have to get her washed up," Martin said. "She can't do anything with this water, except clean her mouth out. We should take her to the bathroom—"

Leanne shook her head.

"It'll be OK . . . we'll go right now, I'll keep everyone away."

"Do you think you can walk?" Martin asked. They lifted her up under the armpits and she stood on wobbly legs. She took a step and nodded her head. She noticed the book on the bed and gestured at it. Martin scooped it off the bed and stuck it under his arm. They walked out, supporting Leanne on either side. Jason jumped up from the couch. Dave put a hand out.

"We're just taking her to the bathroom," he said firmly. Leanne saw Jason out of the corner of her eye, but was too angry to look over. If she saw the girl, she knew she would lunge for her. She clamped her eyes shut and they walked quickly

313 down the hall to the bathroom, Leanne's feet barely touching the floor the entire

way. Martin and Dave eased her down on the toilet seat. Martin dropped the

book on the counter by the sink. He noticed a spot of blood on the cover.

Finally, I get to pee! Leanne said to herself, dizzy from standing. Her temples

pounded like a bass drum. She waved the two guys out of the room and began

undoing the button on her jeans.

As soon as the door shut, Dave whispered, "How the fuck do they fix a

tongue? Can you stitch a tongue?"

"Yeah, you can stitch a tongue—"

"God, it must hurt."

Martin nodded. "For wounds like that, they use these special absorbable

stitches that slowly dissolve in her mouth while it heals."

Dave cringed. They stood and waited for the toilet to flush. Nobody was

saying a word in the other room. Martin thought of something and his eyes

opened wide. He motioned to Dave he'd be right back and went into the kitchen.

Dave heard him opening cupboards. He remembered the bottle of Stolichnaya, and for a second he wanted to run into Jason's room and grab it, tear off the lid and guzzle it.

Martin returned with a bag of sugar and a spoon. "To get her blood sugar up," he explained. The toilet flushed. Leanne tried to say something from inside. They took it as their cue to go back in. Leanne was standing in front of the mirror,

314 looking at her face and frizzy hair. Tears dripped from her eyes. Dave sat her down on the edge of the bathtub, and Martin opened the medicine cabinet.

"There should be some Tylenol in there," Dave said, sitting next to Leanne.

He rubbed her back, feeling her bony spine. He looked at her mouth, tears smearing the dark blood on her chin.

"It'll be OK, Lee," was all Dave could think to say. So he said it over and over, as she washed her mouth out with water and spit it in toilet. She did this several times, and her tears never stopped, but she didn't make a sound. Dave looked at the blood mixing with the water in the toilet and felt faint.

Martin filled the glass again, dropped some Tylenols in it, and a few scoops of sugar. He asked Leanne to tilt her head to the light so he could see inside.

It's a pretty nice gash, Martin thought to himself, but at least it's still all there.

When the Tylenol had dissolved, Martin gave it a stir and handed it to Leanne.

She drank it in litde gulps, each sip numbing her tongue.

"So, you were in his room when he got home ..." Dave said quiedy.

Leanne nodded.

"You realized he wasn't alone, freaked out, and tried to hide in the closet—"

Leanne nodded again.

"But you smacked your head on the shelf on the way in, causing you to bite down on your tongue," Martin added.

Precisely, Leanne wanted to say, but all she could do was nod with tears running down her face. Dave watched a red tear drip off her chin and splash like a

315 fresh drop of blood on her knee, poking through the hole in her jeans. Martin

grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the tap. Carefully, he began cleaning the

blood off Leanne's face. Dave held her hand. He was breathing rapidly.

"Let me know if it hurts," Martin said quietly, wiping the cloth across Leanne's

chin. It was soft and warm on her face. Martin cleared his throat, and put on a

professional tone. His French accent became more prominent. "Well," he began,

"the bad news is you bit your tongue pretty badly, but the good news is you didn't

lose any of it. They'll patch it up nice and quick with a few stitches. You won't

feel a thing, because they'll freeze your tongue first. It'll be like a trip to the

dentist."

I hate the fucking dentist, Jamie cried to herself. Dave felt her pulse quicken in

her wrist. He couldn't stop staring at the bloody tear staining her knee. He felt like

he was going to cry himself.

"I'll be back in two seconds," Dave said, jumping up and practically running

out of the bathroom. He noticed his entire frame was shaking. He walked directly

into Jason's room, not even glancing at the silent group in the living room. He

snatched the vodka off the dresser, went back into the living room and over to

Trish. Dave looked at Rebecca's downcast head with a scowl.

"We're gonna have to take her to the emergency room," Dave said, untwisting

the cap off the vodka. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a big sip of it. An intense burning filled his belly. He took another slug, cringed, and put it on the

316 coffee table. Everyone silendy watched him. "Marty'll drive, hopefully it won't

take all night."

Trish pulled her keys from her purse and handed them to Dave. He put them

in his pocket, while leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. His throat was on

fire. "Thanks, babe," he said and turned around. Jason was standing by the

window. Dave walked over to him.

"I'll go with you guys."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, you tell me," Dave said, locking eyes with Jason.

Jason stood, his mouth not quite closed, his shoulders drooping. Dave was

convinced they had had sex in there, while Leanne hid in the closet and heard it

all. Dave thought of the broken look on Leanne's face and he grew angry. He

thought of the crazed look in her eyes when he pinned her arms to the ground

and he grew angrier still. He thought of that damn drop of blood on her knee and

then he was right fuckin' pissed.

And Jay, Jay doesn't give a fucking shit about anyone but his goddamn self,

Dave thought as he glared at him.

Dave remembered the first time he met Leanne. An old Kraftwerk record

spun on the turntable and Leanne was doing the robot in the kitchen when Dave walked in the apartment door. Jason was watching her and laughing. Jason was

317 actually laughing and smiling, and it wasn't forced. Dave hadn't heard Jay's high-

pitched laugh in quite some time.

"Nice moves," Dave said with a smile. "You must be Leanne."

"And you must be Dave. I feel like we should hug or something."

"Let's do it then."

They laughed and hugged.

"It's a pleasure to finally know you," Dave said.

"I'm making tea, you want some?" she asked.

And it was right then that Dave saw how good and real Leanne was, as she

squeezed honey into their tea with a smile. Dave knew she was one of the good

ones. It was her positive energy. She was steeped in it. And now, he pictured that

same girl, hiding in the closet and bleeding from the mouth, while Jay and

Rebecca fucked each other on the bed, and his anger turned to outrage.

"The shit finally hit the fan, eh?" Dave whispered heatedly, staring into Jason's

eyes. "I told you this would happen."

"Good for you."

"And really fucking bad for you."

"You're an asshole."

"At least I don't treat girls like shit—"

"Fuck you!" Jason screamed, piercing the silence in the apartment. Spitde from

his lips spattered Dave's cheek. Dave grabbed Jay's wrist and gave it a litde twist.

Jason moaned and dropped to one knee. Forcefully, Dave pulled him into the

318 kitchen. He could snap Jay's wrist like a twig and part of him really wanted to do

it.

"Listen Jay, I'm sorry all right?" Dave whispered, still applying pressure on his

hand. "But fuck man, she's super upset, OK? And she doesn't wanna see you.

You'd just make matters worse and they're fuckin' bad enough as it is . . . "

He let go of Jason's arm. Jason glared at him, holding his wrist. Dave stared

back, hoping Jay would throw a punch at him.

"Is she gonna be OK?" Jason asked in a defeated whisper after a moment of

silence.

"Yeah, Marty says she'll be all right, but she needs stitches."

Jason shivered and his bottom lip trembled. Dave felt a sort of bitter triumph

as he watched Jason break down. He felt bad for having this feeling, but he felt good too.

"So we're gonna go. You stay here and hold the fort. Have a drink." Dave

said, and with that, left Jason standing alone in the kitchen.

"£a va?" Martin asked, as Dave opened the bathroom door. Dave nodded and pulled the keys from his pocket, handing them to Martin. Leanne looked a litde better now that her face was washed of blood. But her eyes! They told Dave a tale or two.

"Are you ready to go, Leanne?" She sniffled, gave a nod, and Dave helped her to her feet. He put his arm around her waist, and flushed the toilet crimsoned with her blood. Martin grabbed Madwoman and stuck it under his arm.

319 And Leanne's tears continued to spill, as if she had quite a big reservoir of

them. Leanne silendy grieved, already beginning to construct a tight shell around

her heart, blocking the pain like a tourniquet blocks the flow of blood through an

artery.

Wordless, they walked down the hall of the apartment building to the elevator.

Not a sound was heard from behind the closed doors they passed. Not a giggle.

Not a sob. Not even the murmur of a television. Dave pressed the down button.

They entered and the thick doors creaked shut. Leanne stared at her blurry image

in the dull silver of the elevator doors as they moved downwards. To Leanne it

felt like it would never end. The elevator tunnelling far into the earth, plunging

them deeper and deeper . . . the doors opening to a darkness so thick and full it would draw Leanne right into it, and she would welcome it, step out into it,

embrace it. . .

The elevator came to a jerky halt and the doors opened to the lobby, littered with unwanted mail. Martin pushed open the front door and they stepped out

onto Avenue du Pare. The brisk air chilled Leanne. Through her tears she saw fat grey clouds moving steadily through the air. They looked like snow clouds. Cold

and ominous. Thick and anxious to start the season. Leanne shivered and felt

faint. The deep winter freeze would begin soon enough, first with her heart and then with the clouds. Leanne grew weaker.

"Leanne, you OK?" Dave's voice sounded from somewhere in the air next to her head.

320 Leanne continued to look up, now at the building she had just left. She gazed

at the window to Jason's room, saw him there, a silhouette hunched against the

windowpane. She tried to focus but everything grew fuzzy. She blinked and he

was gone.

Leanne's tongue felt numb and she wondered if she'd ever speak again. She

thought about her essay and exams and Christmas and her Mom. Thinking about

these things hurt. She envisioned with dread having to explain her stitched tongue

to everyone, over and over.

The night grew darker. Shadows clung to shadows in front of Leanne's eyes.

She could no longer feel her legs. She wondered if she was still moving them.

She felt her tongue flapping like a dying fish in her mouth. The wind tickled her spine. Her head felt weightless. She was pretty sure her knees were buckling.

And the night grew blacker still, as if the world was a film and someone put a hand in front of the projector.

Leanne Jacobs could no longer see. Leanne Jacobs could no longer feel. She was guided into the darkness—it wrapped around her eyes like a blindfold. She heard voices near but couldn't make them out. She was struggling for awareness, but it was becoming impossible.

It's safer in the dark, she said to herself. And then her head fell back on her shoulders, her tongue peeked out of her open mouth, and Leanne Jacobs surrendered to the rich darkness that penetrated her entire being.

321 Shadows clung to shadows in front ofheanne's eyes, Jimmy mumbled to himself, looking up from the page.

He flipped it over, staring at the first page. It was blank except for two words scrawled in the middle with a ballpoint pen: FOR JIMMY. Other than that there was nothing else. No tide. No author. No nothin'. A few days ago it appeared in

Jimmy's mailbox in a manila envelope. There was no postage, so it was dropped off by hand. Jimmy really had no idea where it came from, but he was glad it did.

He looked at his closet door and pictured Leanne falling out of it, the Argyle sweater hiding her face.

Who sent me this? Jimmy was curious to know. He stood up off the floor and stretched. He walked over to the window, and slid open the screen so he could stick his head out into the cool air. He took a deep breath and looked at the night sky. It was cloudy. Crickets chirped from the lawn, but summer was almost over.

Time flies, even when you're not having fun, Jimmy lamented as he pulled his head back inside the window.

School started in less than a week. The mere thought of it made Jimmy cringe, but he also couldn't help but be a little bit excited—the fresh start, the coming of autumn, his last year of university, the possibility thereafter—although he was sad to see the summer go, he was ready to stop being a fuckabout and fall back into the swang of thangs. Jimmy enjoyed this time of year. The cool nights of

322 September were Jimmy's kind of nights. They inspired him. They made him feel young. And each year always brought something new with it. This was Jimmy's new year. It didn't happen in the winter, it happened on the cusp of fall. Jimmy could already smell the leaves from the trees. He could already smell the musty books in the library. He wanted to chew on a pencil. He wanted to go buy some new pens. Again, he thought of Leanne and Jason, and stared at the wall for some time completely lost inside his brain.

As Jimmy sat on his bed, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair, and glanced at the manuscript lying on the floor. FOR JIMMY. It was quite a dedication. He studied the block letters and black ink almost obsessively, trying to recogni2e the hand that had written it.

A welcome feeling of nostalgia began to pump through Jimmy's veins.

Suddenly, Jimmy felt a proximity to the past, a nearness, a uniformity even, as if by simply sitting there and thinking about it, he was actually there.

And so there he was, a year ago, maybe two, seated on his bed, waving the summer good bye. Jimmy shivered as this bittersweet feeling tickled the back of his neck. He sighed as too many memories captivated him, pulling him deep inside himself.

He had a mad desire to run outside and look up at the sky from years before.

He wanted to run headlong into the street and relive moments from his past, when things were easier or simpler. He whiffed a familiar smell, heard a friendly voice, dreamlike, yet so subjectively potent.

323 But was it even real?

Jimmy had this feeling of being so close to the past, as if it was right next to him, as if he could reach out and touch it. Feel it. Soft like feathers. It was as if he was listening to a favourite song from years ago, and the strum of the guitar created a wall of white nostalgia. Visceral feedback hummed in his ears. Past and present were played out in the bass and the drums. God, he loved this song!

He had a hunch that nostalgia and growing up went hand in hand—the steady process of aging, maturing, and learning a litde more each day, triggered an attraction towards innocence, to halcyon days, to youth, because things just seemed generally happier back then. Better. Funner. More carefree.

Let's call it a strange sort of illusory homecoming for the mind.

That's why we listen to old albums and occasionally look at old keepsakes, these reminders of the past, like free tickets to a sentimental movie in our skulls.

But it's an idealized feeling, an exaggerated emotion, an impression, filtered through memory. It feels nice but it doesn't accomplish a goddamn thing, except skewwwwing our conception of the past. Of course, these things flfo/actually happen, but now they forever rest—slightly slanted and distorted to taste—in the nooks and crannies of our brains. Just beggin' to pop out the nook for some good old rehash ... if only for a minute, or a second, or a daydream, or a night dream, but you get what I mean. Right?

To be brief: it's all relative and it's all subjective.

So how in the hell do you explain that to anyone else?

324 Jimmy shivered, shrugged, and decidedly left the past behind him.

Shake it off buddy, shake it off.

He pictured Leanne and Jason on their first real date, dancing in tight circles on the crowded dance floor. Jason's arms around Leanne's waist, her head on his shoulder—the air sticky and thick with cigarette smoke around them. Their hearts palpitating as they kissed for the first time.

Jimmy thought about how nice it would be to have someone to share this last year of school with and he felt an emptiness in his belly.

He shut his eyes and frowned, forcing himself to remember his vow to stay away from girls. A vow he'd made and held since Canada Day weekend.

BUT GIRLS: Goddamn, they're wonderful creatures, and sweet Jesus on the cross did Jimmy ever love every last one of 'em, however, he had come to the stark decision over the summer that he needed some Jammer time ... to collect and recollect. He needed to think for himself and dream for himself and get to know himself, and in the process feel damn good about himself.

This was top priority, and Jimmy attempted to accomplish it all summer.

Jimmy leapt off his bed and began pacing the room, slowly back and forth. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at his feet. His heartbeat increased. He began to sweat a little.

He was obviously thinking about Jessica Matvey.

Silly bastard would never learn.

325 Jimmy wasn't entirely sure why he'd been hugging Jessica in his thoughts so tight lately. Maybe it was because Rummy called and invited him to a Tigers game on the weekend. Maybe it was because Jessica hadn't responded to his last e-mail, maybe because he knew she would be back from France in a week or so . . .

Oh c'mon, let's be honest here—Jimmy's 'vow' to stay away from girls was pretty easy to keep, considering the only girl he fancied was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. What's more, Jimmy'd been secretly hanging on to Jessica in his mind all summer long, trying to keep her close—sending her constant mind vibes and a few (of what he hoped to Christ were) perfectly casual e-mails . . . well, except for the last one.

Coming home drunk from the Pterodactyl last Friday, Jimmy hastily fired Jess off an e-mail, and may not have been as breezy as he hoped. In fact, he may have let his emotional guard down a litde, and gushing effusively told her he'd been unable to stop thinking about her all summer, and would continue doing so until the next one if he didn't get to see her the minute she got back from Nice . . .

Well, at least I was honest, Jimmy said to himself. He wiped his brow and stopped pacing. He left his room and went downstairs. He tiptoed through the house, clicked open the back door and slipped outside, jumping off the porch and onto the lawn.

Lying in the grass, in the middle of the night, with his hands behind his head, watching the clouds float by was where Jimmy did his best work. The soft earth

326 gripping his back, the grass tickling his bare legs, his mind like a bag of popcorn in a microwave. The wind gently blowing through the chestnut tree, the night bugs making improvisational ambient music, the motors of passing cars lulling, lulling, lull. . .

Quiet litde moments of inspiration, as he looked up at the clouds, the stars, the moon. And it was these moments, when Jimmy was completely inundated with thought, that he felt his finest. At these moments he was prone to fits of inspired giggles, and pumping his fist in the air, because by giving into his night thoughts everything seemed possible . . . and Jimmy would forsake them no longer.

Staring up at the sky, Jimmy felt buoyant, attached to the world but detached from himself.

Realizing he was just a shadow of who he will one day be . . .

To harshly sum: all Jimmy wants to do right now is focus on his future.

Everyone's a selfish bastard anyway, Jimmy reassured himself.

Jimmy, the young wolf pup wants to be alpha dog. He wants to be leader of the pack.

And so the bastard shall.

So come then, all of us, gather round . . . let's tilt our snouts to the August moon and give the kid an encouraging howl, let's give him an awooooooooooh, just so he knows were rooting for him . . .

327 IX

SO to return then, Jimmy Jenkins did in fact do what he said he was going to. He

awoke after a long feverish sleep on his naked sweat-stained mattress and

immediately left to join his family camping in Grand Bend. Jimmy didn't call a

soul. He simply got up, took a shower, grabbed his tent, sleeping bag, and camera

gear, locked up the house, tossed the garbage bags from the party to the curb,

jammed the key in the ignition, and he was off... by the seat of his pants,

smoking weed the entire drive up, the sun flashing through the windshield, speed

all around him, his left arm hanging out the window like the tongue of a thirsty

dog.

These roads he knew so well.

Slowing down as he drove through small towns with names like Puce, Cairo,

Watford, and Pettolia. Waving at any girl he saw on the sidewalk, wondering what

she could possibly do for fun on the weekend.

Sex, cheap wine, cow tipping, gas huffing maybe?

Enjoying the speed and the wind and the sound the cars made as they whooshed by him. Driving by farms, cemeteries, windmills, rows of corn, and

cows . . . moo . . . cows, the smell of their shit burning the inside of his nostrils.

Music blaring as he stopped at every Tim Horton's drive-thru. Oh southwestern

Ontario! with your long straight roads aglow in the afternoon light. Jimmy swilled

328 coffee, ate novelty donuts, and chain-smoked joints—his mind squinting in the

afternoon bla2es.

And Jimmy tried not to think about a single thing. He knew if he could that,

everything would be all right. So he concentrated on winding down instead. The

wind whipped through the open windows of the car, as Jimmy swept by

occasional houses and farms along the highway.

He glanced at one house, quaint and Victorian, and saw an old couple fanning

themselves on the front porch, probably drinking iced tea and listening to news

radio.

"It's a beautiful day, ain't it, Pa?"

"It sure is, Ma."

"What'ya want for dinner, Pa?"

"Whatever yer cookin, Ma." Jimmy imagined them say, as he zipped by their

house and a patch of woods and a little creek . . .

The next a more modern home, a bright blue above-ground pool in the back

and a wooden doghouse, kids playing in the front yard, an old tire as a swing hanging from a tree . . .

A stretch of corn, its lines straight and narrow and green . . .

A man on a tractor, the blaze of the sun, and around the bend the next house—big, redbrick, maples lining the yard, a dilapidated barn overgrown with moss beside it and a tall grey silo behind. Cars littered the long gravel driveway and a man in dirty overalls was standing next to an old Buick with an open hood.

329 And the road ahead still straight for what seemed like miles. Jimmy leaned back in his seat, and put the car on cruise control. The air already smelt cleaner.

Fresher. There was something very relaxing about a long drive on a fairly straight and quiet highway. It created a comfortable haze. And Jimmy Jenkins drove on.

Driving by historical landmarks and car dealerships, townships and counties, supermarkets and grade schools, apple orchards and blueberry fields. Jimmy drove through it all, the corners of his lips curving up instead of down.

The sun began to set. The sky around it purple and blue, orange and red.

Red sky in the morning sailors take warning

Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

Jimmy already knew tomorrow would be a beautiful day, and he winked at the sunset, he took a deep breath, he sighed. His left arm still dangling out the window of his car like an appendage in an El Greco painting.

The next day would be gorgeous indeed, and found Jimmy on the beach, proudly pallid, as his Dad and Uncle Paul donned him 'The Ghooool!' and his

Mom kept squirting sunblock on his back. Jimmy lay in the sand like a piece of bacon on a grill. He wanted to get all crispy. He was excited to be rid of his farmer's tan, and soaked in the sun's rays with every breath.

His family, familiar and comforting, sat scattered around him, some lounging, some reading—young cousins growing up in front of his eyes, as they splashed in

330 the water and dug holes in the sand. Lake Huron calm and green. Seagulls overhead, speckled white against azure.

Jimmy stuck his feet in the sand, and wiped the sweat from his brow, as his

Mom began to ask him question after question about anything and everything: was there any interesting mail, had he watered the garden, was he getting enough sleep, how come Gavin and Blondie didn't come with (they usually did), was his tent still waterproofed, did he call Grandma on her birthday three days ago, had he turned the air-conditioner on in the house, did he get gas on the drive up, had he gotten back together with A , had he been partying too much lately, and so on.

When he could take it no more, Jimmy sprang to his feet, wiped the sand from his swim trunks and said: "OK, I need a dip," and ran towards the water.

A swift, albeit wet escape.

He ran away laughing, his upper body glowing white against the sky, feet stomping on pebbles as he reached the shore—hitting the water and running faster still, knees up, arms flailing . . . head down, splash, submerge . . . strong strokes as he stayed under, veering to the right with the tide. The water cool on his back, his pelotas shrivelling like a couple of prunes. And up with a quick gasp for air. Jimmy slicked his hair off his forehead, and swam farther out into the green-blue water. He calmly treaded water, just a head and pale shoulders, and let the undertow push him down the beach . . .

331 And then he was sitting around the campfire, next to his Dad and his cousin

Stevie. He and his Dad sipping Coronas, Stevie a root beer. They were reminiscing about the beach bums they'd spotted today.

"The blonde girl in the pink bikini, she was my favourite," Stevie said, with a far away look in his eyes.

"The one who didn't like tan lines," Jimmy said.

"Ah yes, the one with the butt-floss," Jimmy's Dad said.

"What are you guys laughing about?" Jimmy's Mom asked, coming from the trailer with a bag of marshmallows in her hand.

"Butt-floss bikinis," his Dad replied.

"Those girls were practically naked—"

"We noticed," Jimmy said with a grin.

And the men all clinked their bottles together, as his Mom let out an exasperated sigh. And Jimmy's mind went back to the sun and sand and eye candy. To watch a girl pull off her top and wiggle out of her shorts to be wearing only a bikini and a tan underneath is the hot fudge of eye candy. And after she smears suntan lotion all over herself and maybe has her other bikini-clad friend rub it into her back {the whipped cream of eye candy), she'll lie on her stomach and undo the top strap, so there's no tan line on her back {the sugar-coated waffle cone of eye candy). And Jimmy, safe behind his sunglasses, could publicly witness it all—he could stare and dream and appreciate without looking like a pervert. It was fabulous.

332 This image was one that had been inciting small riots in Jimmy's mind since

his early youth. He sighed quite deeply, the fire warm on his legs, thinking about

beads of sweat dripping off tanned skin.

And then his Dad asked him about A , had something happened between

them? Did they maybe get back together?

Jimmy cleared his throat and answered with a quick: "Negative."

"So what's up with you two then?"

"Nothing. We're over."

"Over?"

"Yeah, Pops. We're done."

"Did you get in trouble at work then?"

"No," Jimmy said, trying to check the growing irritation in his voice. "I've been off since Friday. I'm on vacation until next week."

"How'd you manage that?"

"I got connections," Jimmy said mildly. "No, the video lab is closed because

Cal took his family to San Francisco. So everyone got a vacation out of it. And it looks like all I'll be doing all summer is transferring old videos and films to digital, and making back-up copies. It's a joke."

"Are you gonna make enough money?"

"I still get paid for 25 hours a week no matter what, so yeah, it's a pretty sweet deal."

333 "Well that's good," Jimmy's Dad said, taking a sip of his beer. He stared at

Jimmy for a second, then asked: "So, if you and A are done, is there a new girl?"

Jimmy clenched his jaw, and his upper lip rose above his teeth. Again, he replied with "Negative", but this time it took him a few seconds to reply. His Dad looked at him circumspecdy. He couldn't help but notice Jimmy's stiff body language. Jimmy slammed the rest of his beer, and quickly got up from his chair.

"You want another?" Jimmy asked. His Dad lifted his half-finished botde to the light from the fire and shook his head. Jimmy pushed his chair aside, and walked over to the picnic table to grab another.

Both parents immediately noticed that Jimmy seemed a bit tense and distracted. The curt answers, the aloofness, the stiff shoulders, were all easy indicators that something was up. Initially, they thought it had to do with A , but as Jimmy's Dad watched him grab another Corona out of the cooler, attempt to open it with a flick of the wrist, groan, rub his hand on the leg of his shorts, pull his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, fiddle with it for a second, pop the botde open, and drink nearly half of it in a gulp, he had a hunch there was more to it than that.

And Jimmy, who knew that they knew that something was up, was trying his damnedest to relax and breathe and block everything out. But he was divided.

Split. One Jimmy decisively told the other to forget, while the other painfully screamed: Remember! One Jimmy felt good—the other like he was being kicked

334 repeatedly in the groin. Confidence mixed with self-doubt. Oil mixed with

vinegar.

And because of this, certain questions set him off. Especially the ones about

A . She was so far removed from Jimmy's mind, the mention of her seemed

completely irrelevant and stupid to him.

Jimmy just wanted to have a good old time. And so he shall.

His aunt Barb approached, a glass of white wine in hand, and began asking

Jimmy questions about books. She was a thin woman with short grey hair. The

oldest sibling on his Dad's side, she was more bohemian than the rest of the

family, and didn't marry until she was in her mid-thirties, having spent much of

her life abroad. She was an avid reader, and was unhappy that the only books her

kids read were Harry Potters.

"Jimmy, the TV Generation is systematically destroying all intellectual thought,

flipping over it like a boring documentary on the History channel," Aunt Barb

stated, taking a tiny sip from her glass of wine. She and Jimmy began a scathing

dialectic on pop culture and its damaging effects on society—how her children

cared more about clothes than the war, and more about movie stars than their

own family. It baffled her. It upset her. Jimmy tried to stick up for them a litde,

claiming they were still young and didn't see the big picture yet. It doesn't hold any real weight in their mind. No bomb has ever went off in their backyard, nobody's ever died in their arms, government is just a big word to them, and they still take TV and the news at face value.

335 "Don't you get it, Jimmy? That's exactly what they want, because by the time my little innocents do see the big picture, it'll be too late. They'll just feel powerless against the corruption, and numb their feelings of unrest with a movie about a talking dog or some girl with magical boobs that shoot lasers or something."

They both laughed and cringed.

"C'mon, you gotta have a little faith in them. They are more informed than any other generation—"

"Why because of the Internet?"

Jimmy nodded. "And yes, I know there are piles of garbage to sift through, but the information is out there."

"Why would you want to go online and learn about history and politics when you can look at a naked girl instead?"

"There's plenty of time for both," Jimmy said with a laugh.

"Ha!" Aunt Barb chuckled. "Should we dub them the Dot-Com Generation then?"

"That could work, but I think I like Generation for the Damned."

"What about Generation Question Mark?"

"Or Generation Me Me Me—"

"Or how about Generation let's just clink our glasses together and keep drinking and forget that we were talking about something that actually mattered?"

"I like you Aunt Barb," Jimmy said with a smile.

336 They raised their drinks in the air.

"To television and Internet porn then," Jimmy said.

"To war and movie stars," Aunt Barb added, and they clinked their glasses together in sardonic delight. . .

It would take Jimmy three days to completely unwind, but once he was able to shackle the 'situation' in a dark closet way in the back of his mind, the relaxing came easy. Jimmy stopped biting his fingernails, he stopped compulsively jiggling his knees, he stopped slamming beers, and he hadn't had a cigarette for five days.

These were all good things.

He went on midnight hikes with Kaitlin and his cousins, only slightly surprised to see them lighting cigarettes and joints in the moonlight. He watched his cousin

Stevie, a fresh-faced boy, now seventeen, sneak onto campsites and cooler hop, running through the woods with pilfered bottles of Coors Light and cans of Old

Milwaukee for everyone. A triumphant smile on his face. Frighteningly similar to

Jimmy's own at that age.

Jimmy remembered a time when Gavin got caught attempting the same feat, by a stern-faced man, not unlike Clint Eastwood, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. They would take turns from one hopeful cooler to the next and Gav was up. He army-rolled theatrically onto the campsite, pretending he was a ninja, and crept up to the cooler, which was resting on the picnic table. So far, Gavin hadn't had any luck, and so he was excited when opening the cooler he saw it was

337 loaded with beer. Jimmy and Blondie were in the bushes, gasping in silent horror, as the stern-faced man came up from behind Gavin, snatched him by the shirt, turned him around and smacked him in the face, muttering terrible curse words under his breath. Gavin, at the time only fifteen or so, was scared shidess. The worst-case scenario of being caught doing something bad flashed through his mind—parents, park rangers, police, jail—and the icy cold beers he was holding slipped through his sweaty hands.

The stern-faced man's footwear was not so stern. He was wearing a pair of flip-flops or sandals and one of the bottles landed on his foot.

"You fucking little punk!" Stern-face wailed, falling on one knee, but Gav was already gone, dashing through the bush like a frightened deer, holding his hands in front of his face, so he wouldn't get a branch in the eye. Blondie and Jimmy followed in quick pursuit. Stern-face's voice boomed through the trees. Dogs started barking. The boys giggled through their panic. The backpack on Jimmy's back jangling with the bottled fruits of their mischievous labour . . . and they got away, but decided not to try that again for a few days.

And later on that night, beer never tasted so good, as they sat in a tight circle on the beach, with three American girls they met the day before. The girls had a bottle of vodka. The boys' backpack cooler (a garbage bag filled with ice and their booty) had eight beers and two Seagram's wine coolers, which Blondie had stolen for the girls.

338 The boys had yet to learn the concept of wingman, and all wanted the same girl, even though she clearly liked Blondie. Her name was Tracy. She was a cute, freckled redhead from Michigan who smoked Lucky Strike cigarettes and had developed much faster than her friends. Meaning: she had big gunners. To the boys she was already a woman. Their pubescent egos shone in the night as they each tried to win her affections, until finally, she grabbed Blondie by the arm and pulled him away from the circle.

Still on the beach at dawn, they all decided to go for a morning dip. Tracy entranced the three boys as she slinked out of cut-off jeans and hooded sweatshirt, wearing only a cute green bikini underneath. Her shoulders burnt from the sun. And so many freckles Jimmy couldn't keep count.

They all swam in the lake, the water calm and cool. Splashing each other as kids do, teasing each other as teens do, being ridiculous as the booze and their hormones surged with each splash. Tracy and Blondie swam away from the group, embracing and kissing in the water. Gavin and Jimmy turned towards

Emily and Tara a few metres behind them. Silently the two boys studied them, having scarcely noticed a thing since Tracy had unveiled herself all freckles and green in the early morning light.

Jimmy and Gavin had teased Emily and Tara all night, but that was in the dark with their clothes on. Now they were half-naked, waist-deep and goose-fleshed in the lake. They giggled as Gavin and Jimmy sized them up. Emily was definitely cuter than Tara. She flipped her hair and looked away. She was wearing a bikini. It

339 was pink. She had a nice tan. Her hair was light brown. But Tara, not so pink, not so tanned, hair a dirty blonde. Slight overbite and lisp.

Gavin and Jimmy turned around and had an intense best of three match of rock-paper-scissors—in the end Jimmy's rock crushing Gavin's scissors, and triumphantiy, Jimmy swam towards Emily in the pink. She squealed as Jimmy splashed water at her, an awkward attempt at flirtation. Blondie laughed from somewhere in the tide. Gavin groaned, cursed, and swam towards Tara in her plain, black, one-piece bathing suit, with the mild acne, flat chest, and overbite—a wingman before he even knew the term, poor Gavin—but at least he was drunk and not in jail. . .

Jimmy absendy smiled as Stevie passed him a botde of Coors. Jimmy twisted off the cap and took a sip.

"I'd piss Coors if I could!" Jimmy said to Stevie, who burped in response. "Ya know, we can go into town tomorrow and I can buy you guys some beer."

"What'd be the fun in that?" Stevie replied, flipping his hair out of his eyes.

"True enough," Jimmy said.

"Oh, but you gotta check this out, I just got a fake ID," Stevie said excitedly, putting his beer in the grass, and reaching in his pocket for his wallet. "These two guys from school make 'em on their computers. Twenty bucks. Me and my friends all got one." He pulled out a card and shined his flashlight on it. Jimmy inspected. It looked pretty authentic. He studied Stevie's face in the moonlight.

340 "You better keep growing those chin prickles my man, because you sure as hell don't look like you're twenty. Have you tried it out yet?"

"No, not yet—"

"Well, hick towns are the perfect place to try fake ID's. So tomorrow, we'll go into town And jou can buy the beer."

"Can I drive?"

"We'll see."

Their conversation was interrupted by loud laughter, as Jimmy watched Kaitlin and her friend Melissa attempt to chug cans of beer. They coughed and screamed, foam sputtering from their lips. And the group stumbled uphill in the dark towards the beach, carefree, through the dunes, the sound of their laughter carrying to the tops of the trees . . .

Jimmy ate hot dogs and hamburgers. Drank pop and beer. He munched pretzels and burnt marshmallows. He played horseshoes. He played frisbee. He went for bike rides with his folks. He read No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod.

He worked diligently on his tan, returning to the campsite after sizzling on the beach for a siesta in a hammock tied to two elm trees. He went canoeing with

Stevie on the Ausable Channel. He walked deep in the woods, all alone, watching the birds. He lay in sunny clearings with fern and fragrant sumac, watchful of poison ivy, and gazed at the wind rustling the leaves of the oak trees. He took photos of everything. He set up his camera on a tripod and practiced long

341 exposure shots at night of towering pine trees and the quiet river. He took photos of sunsets and birch trees. Birds and bugs. He snapped candid shots of everyone, including himself. . .

His parents let up on him after a couple of days, deciding that if he wanted to talk to them he would. Jimmy wouldn't of course, but his more relaxed attitude took the heat off. He enjoyed his folks out of the 'home' context. The annoyances of living in his parents' house didn't apply here.

Jimmy stared at his Dad's three-day stubble, welcoming it, as it grew red and grey on his chin, a sight rarely seen on his ready-for-work face. But this was his camping face. His happy place face and Jimmy liked it. It made him look tough, as if he'd spent all day chopping wood or working in a coal mine.

Jimmy shared dirty jokes with his Uncle Paul, and gossiped with his Mom and

Aunt Barb and Aunt Linda. He listened to classic stories—the kind of risque tales that only come out around a campfire once the younger kids are in bed. Stunts his

Dad had pulled as a kid. Wild camping trips from his own youth, back when

Crosby, Stills & Nash were kings. Jimmy sat around the fire late into the night, talking nonsense with Kaitlin and his cousins. He played Beades tunes on the ukulele.

He smiled a lot.

And what of Jessica Matvey?

Was Jimmy able to erase her from the chalkboard in his head?

342 Or instead, was he scratching her name into that same blackboard with his nails?

You decide.

Because it would pain Jimmy to have you know that he thought of her incessandy, and saw her almost everywhere . . .

Oh my God, look there she is, lying on the pink beach towel over there. What a tan she's got, eh?

Hey, doesn't that kind of look like her, walking arm in arm with that guy by the river?

Same sort of bounce in their step, don'ty a think?

Oh wow, haha, hey, look over there. See that little blonde girl? Yeah yeah, the one eating the ice-cream cone, doesn't she look almost exactly like what Jessica might've looked like at that age?

Insert unpleasant sound of nails on blackboard not once, not twice, but thrice.

Part of the problem was, everything Jimmy did while he was there, he unconsciously did for her. He took photos he imagined Jessica might like. He sat in grassy knolls he imagined she would find picturesque. Every time someone told him something interesting, he imagined recounting it to her—he saw her laughing, blushing, smiling. Jessica's laugh made Jimmy euphoric, and he definitely wanted to hear that giggle again.

Of course, he still lived and breathed for himself and all of that, but it was she that made him want to be a better person. She whom he furtively talked to in his head. He kept returning to their make-out session on the porch. The way she nuzzled her head against his shoulder, the way her lips felt on his . . .

343 Yes, he was a lil' bit hurt.

Et bien stir, he still felt kinda betrayed.

Y si, si, Jimmy felt he deserved some explanation.

But he wasn't upset with her.

Jimmy remained smitten.

He couldn't help it.

Jimmy wanted to touch her skin again. Pinch it. Scratch it. Knead it. To know

she was real. To know he wasn't mistaken. He wanted Jess to bite him, smack

him, knock the wind out of him, do something that fucking hurt. Because his

feelings from that night were a bit amorphous.

Love? Was that what I was feeling? Jimmy silendy asked himself, lying in his tent in

the dark of night. But then he swifdy drove the thought like a car off a bridge, or

worse, into a pop-up trailer on the side of the road.

He remembered A and her litde head games and guilt trips and the way

his feelings for her had to manifest over time, but with Jessica they were just

there. With Jessica he didn't have to do a goddamn thing. So naturally, Jimmy was

frustrated and a litde confused, and had to allow the Matvey tingle to outweigh

the Maksimich crotch kick and everything afterwards, in order to relax and have a

good time. 'Twas the wolfs easiest way out, so he adapted. And because of this,

Jimmy had one hamster on guard by the closet, keeping the 'situation' locked

tight, while the other lay silendy prostate before Jessica, his furry litde butt in the

344 air. She was raised high on the pedestal backstage in Jimmy's mind, not unlike

Winged Victory, her golden hair moving gently in the breeze of his thoughts.

Maybe Jess will visit the ljouvre when she's in Paris. And maybe she'll get lost in Winged

Victory's beauty too, maybe she '11 be moved close to tears, and maybe jusssst maybe she '11 wish

she could be sharing the moment with someone special. . .

Thinking about Jessica made Jimmy feel good. So he went with it. He went

with her, and left all the other bullshit behind him, and for a week Jimmy felt calm

and young and free. And on that seventh day (which happened to be a Tuesday),

Jimmy drove back to Windsor in the heat of the afternoon.

With a steady hand, he gave the dusty old skeleton key to the hamster on

guard, and told it to release the 'situation' from the closet. The wooden door

creaked as it opened, and suddenly Jimmy wanted a cigarette. The door opened wide, hanging on rusted hinges. Jimmy pressed his foot on the gas and raced

down the 401, teeth grinding in mouth, hamsters scurrying in head.

Jimmy thought and cringed, cringed and thought—the speed all around him propelling his thoughts faster and quicker, higher and farther. The reality of his life coming back to him as if by osmosis. As if he was drawing it in with each breath, and the closer he got to home, the more potent each inhale was. His face grew itchy and he desperately wanted a shower and shave. By the time Jimmy passed Tilbury, his innocence was lost, spent, tossed out the window and left to rot in a ditch on the side of the highway. He could already taste the humid

Windsor air in his mouth. It was chewy.

345 Jimmy thought about his friends and how he had to work at the video lab on

Thursday. He thought about how his reality constantly seemed to get in his

fucking way. He turned up the car stereo, listening to an old Modest Mouse song that was kinda sad, and decided to get off the 401 at Manning, because he was

sick of the trucks and the traffic, sick of the speed. He drove slowly off the exit ramp and turned left onto Tecumseh. The song gave him tingles.

We kiss on the mouths, but still cough down our sleeves . . .

Jimmy Jenkins pulled into his driveway shortly after five. His neck stiff. His shoulders tight. It did feel nice to be home, though. His parents weren't coming back until tomorrow, so he had time to tidy the house and relax a little before they returned. He got out of the car, stretched, and went in the house—the air stale and warm within. Jimmy kicked off his sandals and looked around, sniffing, scanning, making sure nothing was out of place. He saw the light flashing rapidly on the answering machine as he walked past the phone into the kitchen. He glanced out the window at the garden.

I'm gonna have to get rid of all the empties, water the hell out of the garden, fold the towels, clean up whatever Sara and Gav missed, and maybe even cut the lawn before they get back.

The knots in his back grew tighter. He went upstairs to open the windows. He looked in his room, checking for signs of forced entry or burglary. All looked well. Jimmy was convinced that someone was always on the verge of breaking in.

346 Scoping out the place and just waiting for him to leave. He'd rehearsed possible plans of action many times before. What he'd do if he ever caught someone in his house. Ready to leap on anyone if need be. Smash a chair over their back. Whack a Mag-Lite off their skull. Fists clenched, he kicked open the door to Kaitlin's room, scanning it for bodies. All clear.

Jimmy went back downstairs, turning on a few lights on his way to the kitchen.

He opened the fridge. It was filled with leftover beer from the party. He grabbed a Keith's, twisted off the cap and took a sip. It was so cold, having sat patiendy in the fridge for a week. Jimmy went over to the flashing answering machine. It was full. He pressed play with a heavy thumb, and the machine made several clicking sounds as it began to rewind.

Beep.

You have thirteen new messages, the machine said, sounding like Stephen

Hawking.

Jimmy took a sip of his beer.

"Yo Jimmy, it's Gavin, it's 6:30, and you're not answering the phone. I'm at my place chillin' with Sara. She says hi. You could at least pick up and thank us for cleaning your house. Scrubbing the floor on hands and knees like dirty swine for you! Fine, don't pick up, I don't care. I'm guessing this means that you're either a) taking a nap, b) taking a shower, or c) still at Jessica Matvey's. If the last one's the case, which I think it is, then you my friend are the Lord, you my friend, are Jesus fucking Christ! Call the minute you walk in the door. Let's go out

347 tonight for a pint. Blondie says there's some bands playing at the Dactyl... all right, call me."

Beep.

"Jkn, it's Blondie. I just got out of bed . . . um, it's like seven. I gotta work at nine. I feel like a cripple. Fuck, I was hammered last night. I'm pretty sure I had a good time, though {laugh/groan). Gav just called me, said you guys are gonna stop by for a pint later. Hair of two dogs. Please do so, because right now I can barely breathe. Ciao."

Beep.

"Jammer, it's your good friend Gavin again. What the hell, man? It's now almost eleven o'clock, and there's no way you're still sleeping . . . ooh, unless it's with Jessica Matvey! Haha! Zing\ Sorry, couldn't resist. Well sir, if you hear this message before last call, haul your ass to the Dactyl. Sara and I will be looking just ravishing on the patio. She'll be wearing pink, and I'll be wearing a tie around my head. I'm sure there'll be a crowd around us, so just squeeze through. Wear something green. If you hear this message i«//

Beep.

Jimmy flinched.

"Hey Kaitlin, it's Chantal and (giggle) I just remembered you're gone on vacation so never—"

Jimmy slapped a button on the machine.

348 Skipping message, Dr. Hawking said.

Beep.

"OK, I'm startin' to get sick of this answering machine, dude. It's been nearly

24 hours since my last message and I know you're not at work, so where the hell are you? You missed a good show last night. This band called the Bad Luck

Nickel played . . . they were fucking loud! Best band I've seen from Windsor since

Soyl! Maksimich was there too, the fucking douche. Sara and I hissed at him from across the bar. Oh, and you would not believe the looks I get from people with sweet Sara sitting next to me, rubbing my thigh. It's unbelievable! And so is she.

Call me, you fucker. Soon. Now. Bye."

Beep.

"Urn, hey Jim, it's A , listen, we should talk, so call me when you get this message, K, bye."

Jimmy furrowed his brow. He tried to make it one.

Beep.

"Good day, my name's Jeff Brogan, I'm calling on—"

Skipping message.

Beep.

"Yeah hi, this is a message for Jimmy. It's Alex calling, uh, Thursday night just about nine thirty. If you get the chance gimme a call tomorrow, I've got the day off, so I'll be at home. All right? Good, talk to you soon Jimmy, take care."

Beep.

349 Rummy's voice scraped across Jimmy's forehead. He tilted his head back and slammed his Keith's.

"Jimmy! Jimmmay! Where are you, Jenkins? It's Nate. I'm driving down

Walker with Blondie ... we just went to see that new Takeshi Kitano film I was telling you about at Silver City, Zatoichi the blind Samurai! It was beautiful. You'd love it, absurd plot twists, amazing cinematography, and tons of violence. Oh,

Gav thinks you're dead, by the way {laughter). Last night he got drunk at my place and listened to the police scanner, paying attention for bodies found in the river and car accidents involving old Ford Tempos. Blondie thinks you went camping, but Gav says you woulda asked him to go with if you did, so he's convinced you're dead. He thinks Maksimich did it {laughter) . . . we're gonna go to Max's tonight and beat the shit out of him till he talks. Call me on my cell when you get this, peace."

Beep.

Jimmy shook his head.

"Hi Jim, it's A again . . . um, I'd appreciate it if you'd call me back. All you have to do is dial your old number, let it ring, and wait for me to answer. I know you can do it. Bye."

Beep.

"Good Lord!" Jimmy poured the rest of his beer down his throat. He held his stomach and burped. He ran a hand through his hair. It felt disgusting.

350 "Jimmy, it's Gavin. We've decided you're not dead and probably went camping. Why you didn't tell me I dunno. I'd like to say you're in Europe with

Jessica, perhaps backpacking through Italy, or drinking wine on a crowded terrase in Paree. Qa va, buddy, c'est la vie, mon ami. But lemme tell you, when you get back, your gonna have a lot of explaining to do, ya hear me? {laughter) Do you hear me you little prick? Oh fuck, I hope your Mom doesn't hear this. Sorry Mrs. J, as you know I have a bit of a potty mouth and for that I apologize. Call me back Jimmy, you piece of shit!! Haha!"

Beep.

Jimmy chuckled from somewhere deep inside of himself.

"Hi this is a message for—"

Beep.

The machine popped and clicked and began to rewind.

"Thank God!" Jimmy said, walking directly into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He took off his shirt, dropped his shorts, and inspected himself in the mirror. He stared at his brown back and belly. He looked at the whites of his eyes, rubbed a hand over his furry cheeks, and then jumped in the shower.

When he was done, he dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and was about to go upstairs to grab his razor for a shave when the phone rang. Jimmy stiffened, a bird on a wire, a wolf in headlights, a young man in front of a foggy mirror.

351 He decided to answer it. He walked out of the bathroom, still wet, towards the phone.

"Good evening—"

"Jimmy! Jesus Christ, you're there!"

"Yes I am."

"Where the hell you been, kid?"

Jimmy frowned, holding the phone tight in his hand.

"I went camping with my family—"

"I figured as much. Listen, I only got a sec, but I'll be done work soon, and I wanna talk to you. Is it all right if I stop by?"

No no no no no, it is not all right!

"Tonight?"

"No Jimmy, next Thursday at two in the goddamn afternoon."

Jimmy moved the phone from his mouth and sighed. "You know where I live?"

"I do actually. I looked you up last week."

"Well, the front door's open."

"All right, see you in a bit."

Rummy hung up. Jimmy continued to hold the phone to his ear listening to the dial tone. As he was about to hang up, the call waiting went off. He clenched his jaw and clicked over.

"Good evening—"

352 "What'ya know, Jimmy finally picks up ... "

Jimmy made an awful face. "Hey," he choked out.

"Hi."

"How's it going?" Jimmy asked after a moment of silent curses. He walked to the fridge and grabbed another beer. A Moosehead this time. The voice on the line started going off. Jimmy listened for a moment, but then held the phone out by its cord, letting it swing like a pendulum in front of him.

It sounded like A had practiced this, or as if she had it all written down on a piece of paper and was reciting it.

Jimmy popped open the Moosehead, took a swig, and the towel fell off his waist. He stared down at his cock and it twitched a litde.

I'll tell her that I'll stop by so we can talk and then I'll fuck her. . . I'll fuck her, and then tell her I never wanna see her again.

Right then and there, Jimmy was fed up with being the nice guy. Because that guy obviously didn't fucking work. The sober, healthy, smile and nod nice guy was being systematically eaten alive by the vice-ridden, slouch-shouldered, lust monger.

Yes! The guy who would beat the shit out ofMaksimich in front of Jessica, the guy who would fuck his ex-girlfriend for spite, and because he's about as horny as he's ever been! The guy who would lie and cheat and screw his way through any situation to get what the fuck he wanted!

And he wasn't kidding either.

353 Jimmy felt like he'd been stifling this guy not just this week, but every fucking

day of his life. And each time he went against this guy and his ways, it made

Jimmy want to listen to him even more. Especially when there wasn't a smile his

face—well, there sure as hell wasn't one now.

Jimmy decided with stark conviction that he hated everyone.

And I could give a flying fuck if anyone holds me in high regard ever again!

Jimmy rested the phone on his shoulder, still not listening, and poured more

beer down his throat. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe it. He already

saw himself falling back into the old patterns, quickly forgetting everything of the

past week, because this was the realJimmy, the other guy was just a fucking

figment. A lofty aspiration.

Well, fuck the hell outta aspirations . . .

Jimmy listened to A 's muffled voice from his shoulder, and became more

rankled by the second. A week out of town feeling good, and within an hour he's

kicked to the shits.

He grabbed the phone and growled: "I was gone camping, and got back less than a fucking hour ago."

This stopped her for maybe a second.

"Did you get my messages?"

"Yes, A , I did."

"And were you planning on calling me back?"

354 "Yes, A 1 was, but you didn't give me the fucking chance! I just walked in the door."

This was enough to quiet her. Jimmy took a sip of beer. "You still there?" he asked after a few seconds. She mumbled assent. "OK, yes, I agree, we should talk, and I want to, but can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Why?"

"I just got home and have some things to do—"

"With who? Jessica Matvey?"

Well, that stopped Jimmy in his tracks.

Touche, Jimmy said to himself with an incredible frown.

The hamsters, who up to this point, had been doing a stand-up job, darted to separate corners of the cage and started gnawing on the bars . . . scraping their chompers up and down like fingernails on a file. They were frantic yet methodical.

They ran to the food bowl and began stuffing seeds and grains in their cheek pouches, hoarding, stockpiling—hoping there'd be enough reserves during the ensuing fugue.

"You still there?" A asked. Her voice full of snakes and mosquitoes.

Jimmy barked assent.

"What?" she asked. "Did you really think I wasn't gonna hear about your litde one-off with her the night of your party?"

Jimmy couldn't think of anything to say in reply.

"I heard all about it, Jim."

355 "From who?"

"I can't believe you actually thought I wouldn't hear about it," she replied, her voice shrill. "Your run in with Alex Maksimich was the talk of the town for a week—the poor guy was crushed after finding you two in bed, Jim."

What?! Oh, he is fucking dead!! Jimmy swore, as anger and jealousy ran through him. He pictured Maksimich talking to A , going out of his way to find her, and embellishing, confiding, flirting . . .

He's as calculated as a right angle, for fuck's sake!

Jimmy sipped more Moosehead. His arms started to feel tingly.

"I swear to God Jim, if you were even thinking about that bitch while we were still together, I'll—"

"Oh, shut up!" Jimmy cut in. "Seriously, A , shut your mouth," Jimmy cried.

"You could've at least had the decency to tell me ..."

Jimmy glanced down at his nakedness. It now looked withered and old.

Impotent. He belched sourly. He pulled out a chair and sat bare ass at the dining room table, holding his head in his hand.

They breathed at each other over the line.

"Can I have my say, please?" Jimmy asked.

He heard A light a cigarette and exhale into the phone.

"I'll take that as a yes . . . and thank you so much for your comments," Jimmy said dryly, before launching into his own philippic: "Look, I'm gonna lay it out for

356 you right now, OK? So listen carefully. First of all, in case you forgot,you broke up with me A , you fucking kicked me out. And second, we've been broken up for over three months now, and how many times have we spoke since then?

Barely a fucking word until the night of the party. And why? Because we're done,

A . (pause) I'll admit it, for a while, I wanted to call you every fucking day . . . and yeah, damn right, we had a good thing going, a fucking great thing and I'll never forget it. But then we had a bad thing going, and I know now that not being with you anymore is the right decision." Jimmy paused, waiting for her to say something but there was no response. He continued: "And even though it's none of your fucking business, up until the night of the party, I didn't even so much as blink at a girl let alone kiss one. You can believe whatever the hell you want, but

I'm telling you, Maksimich is a fucking liar, (pause) Does Gav know about this?

Does Blondie?"

A didn't answer him. Instead she quiedy asked: "You've already written me out haven't you?"

After a second, Jimmy said: "You know what? I guess I have, A ."

Damn, that's gonna take a lot of editing, Jimmy thought to himself.

"You're such an asshole, Jim."

"Look,fuck, I'm not trying to be an asshole, and I wasn't trying to be one the night of the party either. But by the time you popped up out of nowhere I was already too far gone to think clearly about anything."

"Yeah, because you had just fucked Jessica Matvey."

357 Jimmy shot out of the chair. "You know, I thought I'd be able to tell you what happened, but you're not listening to a fucking word I say—"

And he hung up.

Jimmy dropped the phone on its cradle. He was shaking in anger, but also because he had actually hung up on A . He was surprised at how good it felt to deliberately be a prick, though.

The phone rang.

Jimmy made the awful face again. This was more than he expected. More than he could deal with. This wasn't part of the 'situation'. He ran to the phone, picked it up, growled into the receiver, and then saw Gavin in the doorway, cell phone to his ear, eyes on Jimmy's groin.

"Hey Jimmy, nice balls!" Gavin said, cackling into the phone. Jimmy nearly dropped his beer trying to cover himself, and ran for his towel on the kitchen floor.

Gavin hollered from the front door. "That is some white ass! Ho-lee shit!"

Jimmy wrapped the towel round his waist. "What the hell, dude?" Jimmy cried, turning red. "Where'd you get the cell phone?"

"It's Sara's," Gavin said, kicking off his shoes and walking through the living room. "Welcome back," he said. "You look good . . . especially naked."

"Fuck off."

"Nice beard."

"I was just about to shave—"

358 "Leave it. It makes you look wild. So, how was camping?"

"It was a good time."

"Did you meet any girlies?"

"A few, but they were like fifteen. Stevie had a field day, though."

"Oh yeah? Stevie got some action?"

"Yep. He fell for this girl from Hamilton named Danielle."

"Nice! Did he kiss her on the face?"

"He did."

"Did he cop a feel?"

"Probably."

"Ya think she gave him a bee-jay?"

"Maybe."

"Ya think he gave her some cunny?"

"Fuck Gav, I dunno—"

"What'd she look like? Was she cute?"

"Yeah, she was cute. She was a kinda wannabe Goth girl. Black hair, nail polish, fish nets, clunky Doc Martens, teen angst, she had it all."

"Docs, eh? Shit, do you remember my ten hole cherry reds, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, and your nappy ass Kurt Cobain hair too."

"Fuck, I was cool back then."

"Ya think?"

"Fuckin' right."

359 Jimmy laughed and grimaced at the same time. "Beer?"

"Fuckin' right."

"They're in the fridge. Let me go put some clothes on." Jimmy darted through

the living room and up the stairs for a clean shirt. He returned a minute later in an

old white t-shirt and cut-off cargo pants. He grabbed his beer, clinked it with

Gavin's, and sat down at the table.

"Why didn't you call me before you took off?" Gavin asked.

"I was in a rush, I guess."

Gavin stared at him for a moment. "So, I'm guessing things didn't go well with

Jess—"

"Negative," Jimmy mumbled after a sip of beer.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothin' to talk about, man. She was already gone ..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, by the time I got to her house that day, she and her parents were already the fuck outta Dodge—"

"I thought she wasn't leaving until the next day."

"As did I."

"Hmm . . . what do you make of it?"

Jimmy was about to say something when the phone rang. "Do not fucking answer it," Jimmy said.

"Why not?"

360 "It's probably A , I just had a lovely conversation with her."

Gavin made a face. "Ooh ..."

"You know about it?"

"Yeah."

"I wanna fucking kill him, Gav."

"Don't worry we took care of it—"

"What?"

The answering machine went off but whoever was on the line hung up.

"Me, Nate, and Blondie had a little chat with Miss Maksimich the other night."

"What?"

"Yeah, we pulled him into the office at the Dactyl and let him know his shit wasn't gonna fly. Blondie got right in his face and told him that if he thought he was good at starting rumours to just wait, and then he kicked him out of the bar in front of everyone, it was awesome!" Gavin said, laughing.

Jimmy groaned. "Now he's gonna tell everyone I had to have my buddies take care of my shit for me—"

"You weren't here to defend yourself, Jimmy. We were just looking out for you."

So that was Maksimich's plan, to cause shit between me and A. , and make Jessica look like a slut. What a fucker! Playing the jilted lover act. Jimmy couldn't believe A would ever take Maksimich's word over his own. See, that's exactly the fuck why I don't wanna be with you anymore! Jimmy screamed to her in his head.

361 "I'm gonna kill him."

"Seriously Jimmy, forget about it. It's over. No one cares . . . everyone thinks you're the man, because you had sex with Jessica Matvey."

Jimmy stood up from the table and frowned. "Let's go sit on the porch. I'll pass out if we stay inside any longer."

He was starting to feel claustrophobic after being outdoors for a week. Gavin grabbed his beer and followed Jimmy out the front door.

"Who's car is that?" Jimmy asked, looking at a black Sunfire in his driveway.

"Sara's."

"What the hell? You're driving her car around, using her cell phone . . . are you wearing her underwear too?"

"Fuckin' right, Jimmy. A pink crotchless thong. Wanna see?"

"God no."

"C'mon, it's only fair. I just got to see your little guy."

"Shut up."

"It was cute. It was swingin' nicely."

"Fuck off!" Jimmy said, unable not to laugh. "How is Sara, anyway?"

"Amazing."

"You got it bad for her, don't you?"

"About as bad as you got it for Jessica Matvey." Jimmy blushed. Gavin shut his eyes and sighed. "This was one of the best weeks of my life, Jim."

Jimmy looked at him. "Aren't you glad I didn't invite you camping, then?"

362 "Sara woulda came with." Gavin said with a smile, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "You want one?" he asked.

Jimmy shook his head no, even though the word yes was on the tip of his tongue. "I'm quit again," he said, sipping his beer. Jimmy picked at the label on his botde, unable to stop thinking about Alex Maksimich. A Volkswagen slowed down in front of Jimmy's house and parked across the street.

"Fuck," Jimmy muttered under his breath as a smallish man with thinning hair stepped out of the car, slighdy favouring his right arm.

"Who's the suit?" Gavin asked.

"Jessica's Dad."

"Rummy?"

"The one and only."

"It's good to see ya, Jimmy," Rummy said, a few minutes later, sitting next to him on the porch steps.

Jimmy nodded stiffly, listening to Gavin yapping on the phone from somewhere in the house. "You sure you're comfortable? We could sit in the back—"

363 "No, this is perfect. I like the sun," Rummy said. "Nice front yard too. I sold a house a few streets over from here last month on Fairview. Cute little starter home going for 89,9. It wasn't even listed a week before it got scooped up."

"Yeah, people love this part of town," Jimmy said.

Rummy stood up and walked down the steps so he could take a look at

Jimmy's house.

"Do you know how old it is?" Rummy asked.

"Getting close to a hundred, I think."

"Big old brick house, lots of yard, friendly neighbourhood. This place could grab some serious change," Rummy said, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun. "If your parents are ever interested in selling ..."

"I'll be sure to give you a sterling recommendation," Jimmy said with a smirk.

"There it is," Rummy said, sitting back down and patting Jimmy on the shoulder. "You're allowed to smile, kid. It's all right."

Jimmy finally made eye contact with Rummy. After a moment, he looked away, shaking his head.

"Listen, Jimmy . . .Jess told me everything."

Jimmy's eyes opened wide.

"That's why I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last week. I wanna set the record straight for you . . . and for Jess."

"This doesn't have to do with the accident, then?"

"Nope."

364 "Jesus. I was convinced you were coming here to tell me that someone had seen what actually happened and told the cops and we were gonna have to go to court for obstruction of justice or perjury or something—"

Rummy chuckled. "No, luckily things are good on that front," he said.

"What about your arm?"

"It's doing OK. I keep it in the sling when I'm at home."

Jimmy sipped his beer and glanced at Rummy out of the corner of his eye. He was grinning at him.

"What?" Jimmy grunted.

"How you managed to stop yourself from kicking the piss outta that little shit,

I'll never know, Jimmy."

"Who?"

"Who do ya think? Alex, the goddamn wiener-boy." Jimmy almost chuckled.

"Jess told me what happened that night, Jimmy—"

"Well, it doesn't fuckin' matter now, does it?"

"Of course it does."

Jimmy sighed. "I refused to hit him, because I knew that if I beat him up in front of Jess, he'd win. And that's exactly what he wanted—thinking she'd side with him if I kicked his ass. That's why I didn't do it."

"Admirable."

"No, sensible," Jimmy replied. "Either way, he fucking won. The guy is sneaky as all hell and definitely not stupid."

365 "Well, he looks pretty stupid wearing those glasses," Rummy tried affably.

Jimmy didn't respond. "Listen, Jimmy, I'll tell you right now, Jessica doesn't give two shits about Alex Maksimich."

"She might if she knew the rumours he's been spreading about us," Jimmy said. "After Jess left for Paris he told everyone, starting with my ex-girlfriend, that he caught me and her in bed that night, and boo hoo hoo he's crushed, boo hoo hoo he's fucking devastated ..."

"Hmm." Rummy mulled this over for a second. "What'd you do about it?"

"Nothing. I just found out about it a half an hour ago."

"Well forget about him, Jimmy—"

"Don't you see what he's trying to do?"

"I do, but I'm tellin' ya, it doesn't matter."

"I am sick of being the nice guy, Alex."

Rummy laughed. "Well too fucking bad." Jimmy looked at him incredulously.

"Suck it up, Jimmy. It'll blow over. It probably already has."

"It hasn't. I just talked to my ex-girlfriend and she practically bit my ear off."

"Well, if she believes his word over yours then she's not worth it."

Jimmy stared at the lawn. My fucking thoughts exactly, Rummy. He glanced at

Rummy sitting next to him on the porch, and he suddenly felt oddly calm.

Suddenly everything clicked.

You know what, Rummy's right... I had too good a time camping this week to let this shit bother me. It's not worth it. So what if Alex told some of his downtown hipsters that he found

366 us in bed instead of on the porch. It doesn't fucking matter. Bar talk is always just gonna be bar talk, and Maksimich is as big a shit-talker as me and every other drunk kid downtown who thinks he's the greatest after he's had a couple of drinks in his favourite bar on Friday night. . .

"But listen, I didn't come here to talk about old flames, Jimmy," Rummy said, clearing his throat. "I've had some time now to reflect on what's happened over the past week. And I think the best thing to come out of all this ... is meeting you, Jimmy."

Jimmy laughed sourly.

"Shut up for a minute and hear me out, OK?" Rummy said, staring at him.

"Look, I know you feel partly responsible for what happened that night, I know you think that if you hadn't followed me I would've never sped off and made it home . . . but I truly think something much worse could've happened. Sure, I mighta made it home that night. . . but what about the next time, Jimmy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because oiyou there ain't gonna be a next time," Rummy said, running a hand through his hair. "Look, we don't need to get into it," he said in a low voice, "but that night wasn't an isolated incident..."

"You're telling me you make a habit of driving home blind drunk?"

"Obviously it was an extreme case, but definitely not the first time I drove home after havin' a few—"

Jimmy shook his head. "You just don't seem like the type, Alex."

Rummy laughed through his nose. "There's a type?"

367 They sat in silence for a moment, watching a couple jog by on the street.

Rummy sighed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, lit one, and handed the pack to Jimmy.

"I quit," Jimmy said, placing the pack on the top step.

"Smart kid," Rummy said, blowing the smoke away from him. "You want me to put it out?"

"No, no, it's all good. Smoke 'em if you got 'em," Jimmy said, unable to look at him direcdy.

Rummy took a few drags before he continued. "When something like this happens Jimmy, it shakes you up, knocks you off whatever track you thought you were on, and forces you to re-evaluate your life. Which ends up leading to all those cheesy cliched lines, like life is precious or short or to be cherished . . . and yeah, on the surface they sound pretty goddamn stupid, but I'm tellin' ya, Jimmy, that accident made me see the forest for the trees."

"Another one, you've become rather proverbial, Alex—"

"Goddammit, Jimmy. One day something like this will happen to you, and a couple days later you'll be walking around looking at everything with a brand new pair of eyes, my friend."

Gavin opened the screen door and stepped out onto the front porch holding two beers. "Do you boys need a brewski?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Jimmy said.

"No thanks, I'm all right," Rummy replied.

368 Gavin handed Jimmy one. "Nate and Blondie are coming here in a bit."

"For what?"

"Someone's gotta help you drink all that beer in the fridge."

"Why don't you call everybody you know while you're it?"

"We missed you too, buddy," Gavin said, patting Jimmy on the back. He

looked over at Rummy. "I was in a class with Jessica last year, Mr. Matvey. She's a

nice girl, I like her a lot."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, not as much as Jimmy here, but if she had a fan club I'd definitely join

it."

"You can go back inside now, Gav," Jimmy said, turning red.

"All right, I'm gone."

Gavin went back in the house.

Rummy chuckled, flicking ash from his cigarette. "So, to finish up what I was

saying there, Jimmy . . . whether it was inadvertent or not, you sparked a change

in me that I really don't think I would've initiated on my own. It might sound

crazy to you, but I'm glad we met the way we did. I wouldn't change it if I could.

And listen, you and Jessica—you guys have something, don't push it away, don't

doubt it. She cares about you, Jimmy."

"Then why'd she leave without telling me?"

"I don't know. She was confused and upset. She says she called here after you left that night and somebody told her you were upstairs with your old girlfriend."

369 "What? Oh fuck, but nothing happened!"

"I believe you."

"Does Jess?"

"Kind of. Well, she's not sure what to think . . . she thought you were gonna

come back that night."

"Fuck, I was going to, but there were so many people here, and everyone was

passing me a drink and . . . well, at some point I decided I'd probably do more

harm than good if I went back, but that turned out to be a big fucking mistake,

didn't it?" Jimmy said with a frown.

"I'll talk to her for you—"

"No."

"I owe you one, Jimmy."

"You don't owe me shit, Alex."

"Jess came to me to talk about her personal life—"

"So what?"

"It was probably the first real deep down conversation we've ever had, Jimmy.

Jess doesn't open up to me about things like that. And I have you to thank—"

"Oh, c'mon," Jimmy said, cringing. "That's bull."

"If it was any other guy she would've never came to me," Rummy said,

stubbing out his smoke on the step. "You know, it's not easy watching your kids

grow up. Hell, Hannah wouldn't even let Jess go meet Scotty by herself in Paris.

You get so attached to the little shits, even when they piss you off," he said,

370 chuckling to himself. "And so, when one of them says something that amazes you

or does something like you did that night, it makes it all worth it in the end."

A taxi pulled up in front of the house, and Blondie hopped out, carrying a

Sobeys bag.

"Whaddup, Jenkins!" Blondie yelled from the street. Jimmy smiled at him.

"Nice tan, buddy!" he said as he approached.

"Thanks. Alex, this is Blondie."

"How's it going?"

"Not bad," Blondie said, shooting Jimmy a look to see if everything was cool.

Jimmy gave him a quick nod. "What's in the bag?"

"I got burgers, potatoes, and some asparagus just for you—"

"Barbecue?"

"Yes sir."

"Good call, I'm starving. Gav's inside somewhere."

"Sweet. Nice meeting you, Alex."

"You too," Rummy said, as Blondie opened the front door.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer, Jimmy. I think I've said enough—"

"You certainly have."

"Bottom line, whatever you think you felt with Jess that night was exactly what you felt. Sure, things may have gotten messed up, but it's nothing that can't be

fixed."

"A lot can happen in two months, though."

371 "I can have her call you or e-mail—"

"No ... I think we should just let her enjoy her trip."

Knowing that Jessica hadn't lied to him and wasn't just playing him was enough to relax Jimmy, enough for the hamsters to know he wasn't going to lose it anymore.

"She'd enjoy it a lot more if you got in touch with her. Seriously, send her a little note," Rummy said, grabbing his pack of smokes off the top step. "Her e- mail is easy to remember, it's her name at hotmail."

Jimmy sighed. "No dashes or underscores?"

"Nope."

"Fine, I'll do it," Jimmy said, getting anxious just thinking about it.

"Smart kid," Rummy said, standing up off the porch. "I don't think she'll be near a computer until she gets to Nice on Friday, though."

"She's going to Nice?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, that's where she's gonna be for the rest of the summer," Rummy said, walking down the porch steps. "Jesus Christ, you don't know anything about her trip at all, do ya?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"She's staying with a host family in Nice for the next month and a half, and taking a French course at some renowned language school that I can never remember the name of," Rummy said with a chuckle. "It sounds like she's gonna

372 have a great time, though. They immerse the students in the culture right away, and take them sailing and scuba diving on the weekends—"

"Wow, I had no idea."

"Yeah, and it ain't cheap either. She saved for a year, waiting tables at The

Rogue."

It's like I don't even know you at all, Jess. . . and yet I've never been more captivated or attracted to anyone in my entire fucking life!

"So, right now her and Scotty should be in Lyons for the night."

"Is he taking the class with her too?"

"No, he's continuing on the train into Italy. But it's nice knowing he'll be with her until she gets there," Rummy said. Jimmy nodded in agreement, picturing

Jessica riding the rail, gazing out at the French countryside as it flashed by.

"And when Hannah gets home tomorrow, we get to be an old married couple for the rest of the summer," Rummy said, smiling. "I'm pretty excited about it.

But, I'll leave you to your barbecue. E-mail her, Jimmy! And no matter what happens out of all this, we're gonna keep in touch, right?"

"Definitely," Jimmy said.

"You a Tigers fan?"

"My Dad would disown me if I wasn't."

Rummy laughed. "A buddy at work has season tickets and hooks me up from time to time. I'll call ya."

"Sounds great," Jimmy said.

373 "Have a good one."

"You too, Alex."

The men shook hands and stared at each other for a moment before Rummy

began walking towards his car.

"Thanks again, kid," he yelled from the driveway.

Jimmy Jenkins stood on the porch and watched Rummy drive away as the

afternoon sun began to dip behind the maple trees in the Campeaus' yard across

the street.

Jimmy wasn't angry anymore. Talking with Rummy, he realized it wasn't worth

it.

There's always gonna be something to piss me off or something that makes me feel like shit,

and if life is just a series of mending and fixing the things that don't make me happy so I can figure out how to he happy all the time, then I've got some work to do . . . BUT I think I can do

it. Andya know what? I do still believe in lofty aspirations and am pretty fucking sure they're

the key to that happiness thing I was just talking about. Jimmy drank the rest of his beer.

A.nd if Rummy wants to use me as his catalyst for change, then so be it. Go hog wild, Rummy! I

know I really had nothing to do with it, but if that's what it takes for you to make the changes you need so that you can be happy and joyful too . . . then I am just glad I could fucking help.

Jimmy stared at the road, imagining what he looked like to people catching a

glimpse of him as they drove by. Did he leave any impression? Was he more than

just some average dude standing on his front porch on a muggy afternoon in July?

Because at that moment, Jimmy truly felt like he was.

374 He heard Gavin and Blondie laughing and went in the house. They were in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and listening to the radio. Jimmy opened the fridge and grabbed himself another beer.

"So, what's the plan, boys?" Jimmy asked with a smile. "Because tonight, I am up for anything."

375 — epilogue —

JIMMY Jenkins put his car in park and attempted a polite smile at the customs lady as she stuck her large head out the window of the inspection booth.

"Citizenship?" she asked.

"Canadian."

"Where you headed?"

"To the game at Comerica Park."

"Two pieces of identification each please."

Jimmy handed the customs lady his and Rummy's ID. She looked them over for a few moments, and typed something into the computer in front of her.

"Any contraband or firearms in this vehicle, Mr. Jenkins?"

Jimmy chuckled. "No, we left the guns and blow at home, ma'am."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Well, yeah, kind of—"

Rummy nudged Jimmy with his elbow.

"Do I look amused?" Customs lady asked, sticking her head out of the booth.

"No, I guess you don't."

"Let me remind you, Mr. Jenkins, and you too Mr. Matvey, that entry into the

United States is a privilege, and should be taken seriously. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Jimmy said.

376 "Boy, you are lucky I don't send you right back where you came from," she said, shaking her head at him. She handed him back the ID's with a scowl. "Go ahead, get outta here."

"Thank you," Jimmy said, driving through the turnstile. He glanced at Rummy in shotgun. "See, I told you there'd be trouble if I drove."

"That's because you were acting like an idiot."

"What? One comment—"

"It was your tone."

"What about it?"

"It lacked even the semblance of respect..."

"I guess I have a problem with authority—"

"Well, you better get over that right quick. It's all about patronizing, Jimmy.

You don't joke with women like the one back there. She doesn't like her job and she sure as hell don't like you. So just give her what she wants, smile at her, say yes ma'am, thank you ma'am, have a nice day ma'am . . . and as soon as she lets you through the gate you can call her a whorebag all you want, but you gotta keep your yap shut until then."

Jimmy turned off Jefferson Avenue onto Woodward, gazing at the Joe Louis monument as they drove by it. He loved that big fist.

"I was just trying to be friendly ..."

"You were not."

"I was so. I wanted to cheer that fat fucking whorebag up, that's all."

377 Rummy laughed in spite of himself. "Jesus Christ, Jimmy."

Jimmy chuckled and stopped at a red light. The sun reflected off the windows of the buildings. Jimmy flipped down the visor above the windshield and looked over at Rummy. "I'm glad you called, Alex."

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"It has . . . "

"Well, don't worry, Jimmy. I've been keepin' tabs on you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well," Rummy said, clearing his throat, "I heard you took my advice and have been chatting with Jess over e-mail."

Yeah, but she hasn 't responded in two fucking weeks!

The light turned green. Jimmy gripped the wheel and accelerated. His face went red as he nodded at Rummy.

"And apparendy, from what I hear, you write pretty good ones too—"

"Did she tell you that?"

"Slow down and hang a right up here," Rummy said. Jimmy tapped on the brakes. An old black man holding a cardboard sign waved them around the corner.

"Did that sign s?y fifteen dollars?" Jimmy asked.

"Don't worry, I got it."

Jimmy drove down the block towards a parking lot and was directed by a man in a safety vest to an open space.

378 "Seriously, did Jessica really tell you that?" Jimmy asked again.

"She'll be back soon enough," Rummy replied with an amused smirk. "You

can ask her yourself."

But I'm askingjou right fucking now!Jimmy nearly screamed. Instead he made a

face and they got out of the car. The guy in the vest came over.

"Y'all headed to the game?"

"Yes sir," Rummy said, handing the man a five and a ten. "So what do you

think, are the Tigers gonna win today?"

"Against them Baltimore Orioles? Hell yeah. It ain't even gonna be a contest."

Rummy laughed. "Try and make sure our car's still here when the game's over, will ya?"

"I'll keep an eye on it for you boys. Have a good one."

"You too," Rummy said, patting Jimmy on the back as they began walking

towards the entrance. "Are you excited, Jimmy? I know I sure am."

The game had already started by the time Jimmy and Rummy got to their

section. As they made their way through the crowded stadium getting whiffs of mustard and pretzels, popcorn and hotdogs, Jimmy had a flashback of going to

Tiger Stadium when he was a kid. Remembering how excited he used to get on the way there, as they drove over the Detroit River on the Ambassador Bridge.

379 Remembering how he always brought his glove to the game, hoping to catch a

foul ball or maybe a home run. How he knew the names and stats of every player

on the team back then.

Lou Whitaker, Alan Trammell, Cecil Fielder, Mickey Tettleton . . . man, I loved those

guys, Jimmy thought to himself, realizing he didn't know a single player on the

team anymore. Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about baseball. Musta been when I

started liking girls . . . damn hussies!

"These should be pretty good seats," Rummy said, snapping Jimmy out of his

thoughts. "They're right behind third base."

Jimmy gazed out at the players on the field, and the manicured green of the

diamond. The crowd cheered as the Oriole at bat took a swing and a miss.

"Well, here's my row," Rummy said, stopping in the middle of the aisle. "Your

seat is a few rows down still—"

Jimmy glanced at his ticket stub.

"Hey Ally, over here!" Rummy's wife shouted, standing up out of her seat.

Jimmy stared at Hannah with a bewildered look on his face. Rummy smiled and put his arm around Jimmy's shoulder.

"It's a double date, Jimmy . . . but with separate seating."

Jimmy spotted a blond ponytail jutting out the back of a baseball cap a few rows below. His heart started cramping. His palms clammed.

What the hell's going on?!

380 "Enjoy the game, kid," Rummy said, his eyes shining. Jimmy had never seen him look so happy. "Oh, and make sure you buy her one of those big pretzels, she loves those things."

The Oriole at bat connected with the pitch and hit a fly ball into left field.

Jimmy watched the outfielder make a running catch look effordess. And the crowd cheered Jimmy on, as all the feelings he'd been trying to evade for the last couple of months prompdy beaned him in the head. He took a deep breath, and began walking down the steps to Jessica Matvey.

I don't fucking get it. She doesn't respond to my last e-mail, in which I piss my heart out like a goddamn drunken idiot. . . she's home earlier than she said she was gonna be . . . and now I am somehow at a baseball game with her, on a double date with her Mom and Dad?!

"Hey, Jimmy."

"Hello," he yipped, more than a bit flustered as he sat down.

"Oh . . . get ready," Jessica said, pointing over Jimmy's shoulder.

"Huh?"

She pulled him up out of his seat, and put her hands in the air, cheering, as the wave passed through their section of the stadium.

381 They watched it travel towards the outfield bleachers and sat back down.

Jimmy gazed at her legs as she crossed them in front of her. She was wearing a pair of dark blue shorts and Argyle socks pulled up just below the knee.

"How are you?" she asked.

Jimmy's arm was tingling where she had just grabbed it. "Urn . . . I'm feeling a litde overwhelmed right now," he said, looking up at the Blue Jays logo on her baseball cap. "When'd you get back?"

"Two days ago—"

"ICE COLD BUD UGHT! ICE COLD BEER!"

"HOT DOGS! GET YOUR HOT DOGS, RIGHT HERE!"

Snack and beverage vendors suddenly had them surrounded.

"GET YOUR NACHO CHIPS, GET YOUR CRACKER JACKS!"

"WHO'S THIRSTY? WHO WANTS SODA? ICE COLD COCA-COLA!!"

"I'll take a hot dog right here, please!"

"You got Miller instead of Bud?"

"We'll take some nachos with extra cheese over here!"

"How much for two Cokes and a Root Beer?!"

The crowd around them were wagging American dollar bills in the air, shouting, salivating, as if they hadn't eaten in days. And then the lead off Tiger at bat smacked a single into shallow centre field and the crowd erupted. It was nearly too much for Jimmy.

382 Jessica saw the expression on his face and gently touched his leg. Jimmy looked at her hand on his knee and then up at her face.

Finally, they locked sights—the pupils dilating in both their eyes.

Jimmy peered into the bold blue of her gaze, surprised it was even more intense than the lapis lazuli eyes he'd given her in his mind.

Jessica juckin' Matvey!

"Are you OK, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, I'm all right," he stammered, still held by her stare. She was emitting so much energy around him.

Jess started giggling.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No ... of course not," she said, smiling. "OK, well maybe a litde. It's just, you look so freaked out."

"My brain is spinning. The hamsters up there are going nuts—"

"The what?"

"Oh, nothing, never mind ..."

"Well, I'm just as nervous as you are, Jimmy," Jess said, watching the hot dog guy dole out franks in the aisle. He handed her one to pass to the man sitting next to Jimmy. Jimmy gave it to him, glancing back at Rummy and Hannah in their seats.

383 Holy shit! That's why you didn't respond to my last e-mail! Rummy set this whole thing up, didn't he? What a sneaky son of a bitch! That's why he was egging me on the entire fucking way here!

Jimmy sighed, momentarily relieved. But then he started to get discouraged, wondering what Rummy had told her. If instead of telling the truth, he had just continued to talk him up . . .

"I didn't put your Dad up to this, ya know," Jimmy said a bit brusquely, turning back to Jessica. "I told him I wanted to take care of it on my own."

"Take care of what?" she asked.

"Well. . . what's going on between me and you—"

"Why? What's going on between me and you?"

"Oh c'mon, you know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Jimmy sighed through his nose. The crowd yelled in dismay as the batter hit a ground ball to the pitcher for an easy out at first.

"Did he tell you not to reply to my last e-mail?"

"I don't know. Did you mean what you said in it?"

"Of course!" Jimmy cried, staring at Jessica in earnest.

"Well, it was very sweet," she said after a moment. Jimmy exhaled loudly with relief. "You were drunk when you wrote it, weren't you?"

"Hammered. How'd you know?"

384 She smiled. "In the other ones you were trying way too hard to be polite, they were written like essays—"

Jimmy made a face as is he was offended. "Hey, yours weren't much better!"

Jess snickered. "I know, but aren't you glad we were at least able to clear things up a bit?" she asked, gazing out at the field.

"Yeah, I am," Jimmy said quietly. The batter, a big guy with long curly black hair, hit a foul ball up into the stands. The crowd seemed particularly fond of him, cheering loudly before and after each pitch.

"What I liked most about your last e-mail," Jessica said, "was that I could actually hear your voice in the words. It was nice."

"I had a major panic attack when I remembered sending it to you the next morning."

Jess giggled and her cheeks flushed. "Well, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, Jimmy."

"Really?"

"I was happy you sent me any notes at all. . . even if they did seem like they were written in the Victorian period—"

Jimmy chuckled and affected a bad British accent: "Well, I daresay, my dear, from this point on, I shall write only lewd and lascivious remarks, as I have only just discovered you are a morally debauched and depraved woman."

The two guys sitting in front of them glanced back at Jimmy, and the one not stuffing a hot dog in his mouth made a face at him.

385 "Sa-wing batter batter batter, sa.-winnng battah battah battah!!" Jimmy suddenly hollered in a Brooklyn accent, making a face back at the guy. Jessica burst out laughing. "Ya think maybe that's better?" Jimmy asked her in a whisper, leaning close. And the curly haired Tiger at the plate connected with the 3-2 pitch, smacking a line drive over the glove of the first baseman into right field.

"I guess it was!" Jess yelled over the roaring crowd. They leapt out of their seats, as the runner on second took off and was waved home around third.

The two guys turned around and gave Jimmy and Jessica high fives, whooping and cheering in all the excitement. Jimmy clapped and grinned. He had forgotten how fun baseball games actually were, how the enthusiasm of the crowd was completely contagious.

After everyone had settled down, Jess looked at Jimmy with a smirk and asked:

"So, how do you know I didn't set this whole thing up?"

Jimmy chuckled. "No way, this has Rummy written all over it."

"Who?"

"Oh ... I uh, call your Dad Rummy in my head."

"Why?"

"Because he was such a sauce bag the night we met—"

Jess grimaced in remembrance. Jimmy tensed a little and cleared his throat.

"Speaking of which . . . can I ask you something, Jess?"

Might as well get it all out in the open right fucking now. . .

"Sure, go ahead."

386 "Did your Dad ever um, talk to you about it?"

"You mean about what happened? And like how you think it's all your fault?"

"He actually to/d you?" Jimmy yelped, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Jess nodded. "Me and my mom."

"When?"

"Before I left for Paris."

"ir^/.?/What'dhesay?"

"The wave's coming back."

"What?!"

"Turn around."

Jimmy turned and saw the wave on its return swell. They stood up, raised their arms, cheered wildly, and sat back down.

"Seriously, what did he tell you?"

"You really wanna know?" she asked, watching his eyes twitch.

"YES—"

"All right," she said, taking a breath. "He told us that you tailed him down

Riverside Drive for like a half an hour, and after awhile he convinced himself you had to be a cop, so he sped off, thinking he could maybe lose you on a side street, but he was so drunk he didn't even make it a block before he crashed the Sebring into a pop-up trailer on Kimberley Avenue. Does that sound about right?"

Jimmy could only stare.

387 "And you think none of this would've ever happened if you hadn't followed him home, and he thinks this whole thing was a blessing in disguise because he'd been boozing way too much, and smashing up his car and almost dying made him realize everything pretty quick. And I think, all that really matters in the end is that my Dad is OK, Jimmy—he didn't die or get hurt or get arrested, and he's better because of it."

Jimmy frowned.

"You know it's true. Look at him," Jess said, glancing back and waving to her parents. Rummy gave them a thumbs up and winked at Jimmy. Jessica laughed.

"He's eating this up, by the way ..."

"He must think he's pretty clever."

"Oh, he does," Jess said. "You should've seen how excited he was going over the plan this morning—"

The crowd groaned as the batter hit a pop-up to shallow centre field for the second out of the inning.

"And listen, Jimmy," Jess continued, "the fact that you hid him in your car and like totally defied the law with him is pretty amazing ..."

"And is that why you have a thing for me?"

"What? Of course not, you jackass," she said. "I don't have a thing for you.

This goes way beyond things—"

"So, how you two making out?" Rummy suddenly said, crouching in the aisle next to Jessica.

388 "We're not making out at all, Dad."

"Oh, you know what I mean," he said, looking over at Jimmy with a grin.

"What do ya say, Jimmy? Huh? Not bad, eh? I'm tellin' ya, the look on your face was beyond priceless!" he said, laughing loudly.

"Well played, Alex," Jimmy said dryly. "You're one crafty son of a bitch—"

Rummy howled. "You can thank me later," he said, smiling at Jessica. "Your

Mom wants some frozen yogurt, so we're gonna go check out the concession stands. Do you guys want anything?"

"We're OK for now," Jess said.

"All right, I'll come back and bother you in a bit," Rummy said, walking up the aisle.

Jess turned back to Jimmy, crinkling her nose at him. "What the hell's your problem?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get my head around everything," he said, watching Jessica hike up an Argyle sock. "It's just, I think you've got the wrong impression about what happened that night—"

"Well, you know what? I don't care what you think, because the fact that you stopped to help him and bent over backwards to keep him out of trouble is pretty fucking amazing."

"How could I not?" The batter hit a foul ball into the Orioles dugout. The crowd clapped and yelled. "Look Jess, all I was doing was acting on impulse—"

389 She grabbed Jimmy's hand, pulled it into her lap and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, so was I," she said, staring into his eyes. "And ya know Jimmy, a lot of the time, impulses are very telling ..."

Jimmy's heart felt like it was expanding in his chest. Jessica squeezed his hand tightly in her lap.

"I like you, Jimmy—"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she quickly shushed him.

"And you're just gonna have to get over whatever bad feelings you're still harbouring from that night, because guess what? Everything that came out of it was good. I know it sounds fucked up, but it's true ... so please just shut up and

•watch the game with me," she said, tickling his wrist with her thumb. "Maybe things do happen for a reason sometimes," she added quietly.

"Oh, don't you get all proverbial on me too. It seems to run in your family."

"And shootin' your mouth off seems to run in yours—"

"Ooh, she's getting right sassy! I like it! Must be from hanging around with all them Frenchies this summer."

"Tagueule!"

Jimmy laughed. They heard the crack of a bat and the crowd cheer as another

Tiger singled into right field.

"Wow, they're on a roll!"

390 The Tigers had runners at first and third. The crowd was really getting into it

now. The next batter stepped up to the plate and the two guys in front of them

started chanting: "GO PUDGE GO!! GO PUDGE GO!!"

The pitcher's first toss was a bit outside. The crowd screamed and hollered

and the two guys kept rooting "Pudge" on—screaming at him to knock one out

of the park.

"That's one of my Dad's classic lines too," Jimmy said.

"What is? Go Pudge Go?"

"No, you dork," Jimmy said, chuckling. "That everything happens for a

reason."

"I think Leanne mentions it too, doesn't she?"

Pudge took a powerful swing, just missing the change-up pitch and the crowd

collectively sighed. Jessica, however, held her breath, staring at the perplexed

expression on Jimmy's face . . .

He was picturing Leanne Jacobs hiding in Jason's closet with the Argyle

sweater to her mouth. Then he saw Rummy dropping the story off in Jimmy's

mailbox on his way to work. And then Jessica, in her host family's attic bedroom,

her face illumined blue from the light of her laptop as she worked late into the

night. All of it converged at once in Jimmy's mind.

Back on the diamond below, Pudge crossed himself as the pitcher wound up, wheeling a fastball dead centre over home plate and—

CRACK!!

391 He smashed the ball deep into left field. This one's going, going . . . it's outta here, folks! It's fucking GONE!!

And so was Jimmy Jenkins.

Jimmy was on his feet, clapping his hands together, as the crowd went ballistic around him and Pudge circled the bases, BUT his mind . . .

He'd been toying with the idea that maybe A had written Leanne's story.

He was even half convinced that maybe he'd written it himself in some strange marijuana and Jagermeister induced fugue, because he'd spent half the week e- mailing and calling people he thought might have written it—

ExceptforJessica fuckin' Matvey!

"WHO THE HEEL ARE YOU?!" Jimmy screamed over the din of the crowd.

Jessica shrugged her shoulders. Jimmy stared at the light freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, and he started to get goose bumps—thinking back to the conversation in the story where Dave was talking to Jason about having to update images of people in his head once something happened to change his perception of them. Jimmy looked at Jessica's tongue peeking out of her mouth, and realized the romanticized version of her he'd placed on a pedestal in his mind and pined

392 for all summer long was a graven image, a completely false conception of who

Jessica Matvey really was.

And he couldn't wait to get to know the real one.

Still standing, Jimmy met her gaze. Her eyes flashed and he pulled her into a sudden embrace. Her baseball cap fell off as she crashed into his arms, her head nestling against his shoulder. Jimmy wrapped his arms around her, whispering in her ear.

The game resumed, the crowd returned to their seats, but Jessica and Jimmy were oblivious to it all. They just held each other tighter.

"Hey! Sit down, will ya!"

Jimmy shivered, feeling Jessica's breath on his neck.

"C'mon! We're trying to watch the game!"

"PARK IT, you two!"

Jessica raised a hand and placed it over Jimmy's pounding heart.

Jimmy put his hand on hers.

"GETA ROOM!"

Jessica lifted her head from Jimmy's shoulder and they gazed at one another, rapt.

393 AFTERWORD

"Of course it happened. Of course it didn't happen." —Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow

In the brief preface to his 'fictional memoir' This All Happened, Canadian writer

Michael Winter states that "any resemblance to people living or dead is

encouraged. Fictional characters and experience come to life when we compare

them with the people and places we know. New experience is always a

comparison to the known" (iv). Upon reading this "caveat" for the first time, I

wondered why Winter would explicitly encourage his readers to make these

comparisons, when most of us end up doing it naturally—unless, the line he was

drawing between fiction and reality in his writing was blurry.

Critical comparisons to writer's 'real' lives are frequent, but questions like: 'Is

Jimmy Jenkins you?' or 'How much of this is based on your own experience?' or

'Havej/cw ever bitten through your tongue like your character Leanne?' seem

pointless, because fiction is verisimilitude, or at least the fiction I am attempting

to write here. Writer and critic Jeanette Winterson elucidates this thought in her

essay, "Writer, Reader, Words", when she says the "intersection between a

writer's life and a writer's work is irrelevant", because the "reader is not being

offered a chunk of the writer or a direct insight into the writer's mind, the reader

is being offered a separate reality. A reality separate from the actual world of the

reader, and just as importantly, separate from the actual world of the writer" (27).

394 Therefore, when Michael Winter encourages his readers to compare his

characters and setting to the people and places they know, he hopes it will help

them connect with the separate reality he has created out of the fictional

conflation of his actual world—bohemian life in the port city of St. John's,

N ewfoundland.

Winter has "spent most of his career chronicling the life of an alter-ego

named Gabriel English" (Giese, par. 2), and claims that his stories about Gabe do

"reveal a torqued-up emotional truth" (par. 4) of what's happening in his own life;

however, he doesn't "want to expose the people [he] lovefs]", he just wants to

write about them. Perhaps Gabriel English—appearing now in four of Winter's

books—is Canada's answer to Philip Roth's Nathan Zuckerman, who over the

course of thirty-plus years and nine novels was Roth's second self.

Robert Liddell, in A Treatise on the Novel, states that when writers create

characters, "some form of self projection must always take place" (103), and the

most "successful characters are portraits of potential selves" (102). Clearly, the

character Jimmy Jenkins is a potential self, and perhaps a bit of an alter ego, but

this is where I leave him—in Detroit, Michigan, watching the Tigers game with

Jessica—with no plans to visit him later and see what's become of him. It is not

my goal to write a semi-autobiographical bildungsroman or kunstlerroman over the

course of five or ten books. Instead, I wish to continue developing the style of

realism this thesis fits into, yet do so with many fictional characters, and in

settings besides cities I have lived in. Part of what happens, especially with a first

395 novel, is that a young writer wants to take it all on, and do so with complete confidence. And the easiest way to do this is to draw from real life, channel one's self, and write what you know.

Before beginning to write what would become A Tale of Two Stories, I had a simple yet important revelation. I realized that even the great writers I revered—

Tolstoy and Chekhov, Hemingway and Fitzgerald—weren't completely happy with some of their finished work, and I found a bit of comfort in this. But, at least they had finished works to be unhappy about. I knew that all my insecurities and worries—maybe I'm not old enough to write a novel, maybe I haven't experienced enough, maybe I haven't written enough, maybe I haven't read enough—all these uncertainties and moments of self-doubt would continue to grow until I was paralyzed. This realization is echoed through the character of

Jimmy Jenkins at the outset of the novel, when he decides "to comfortably swallow the fact that he was probably never going to be happy with the finished product of anything that came out of his puerile brain—at least not yet" (2).

Jimmy Jenkins is an aspiring writer. Like myself, he too felt the pressing need to write something substantial and meaningful, something from the heart and gut, if only to get to know himself better in the process. While driving in his car,

Jimmy reiterates my hesitancies towards the daunting task of writing a novel, but once he accepts that the only thing he can do is "comfortably swallow" them, he realizes his best plan is to begin writing a first draft and worry about its literary merit later.

396 When discussing the composition of his first novel, Everything is Illuminated,

Jonathan Safran Foer says, "it took me a week to finish the first sentence. In the remaining month, I wrote 280 pages. What made beginning so difficult, and the remainder so seemingly automatic, was imagination — the initial problem, and ultimate liberation, of imagining" (Houghton Mifflin par. 6). When Foer began, he wanted to tell the truth but found himself inventing his narrative, whereas when I began, I wanted to write fiction, but found myself telling the truth—at least in the first few pages. However, infusing the character Jimmy Jenkins with my self-consciousness and self-reflections at the outset functioned as a way to liberate my imagination. Furthermore, having the novel start in media res, with

Jimmy isolated yet surrounded by speed and motion, driving his car down a dark street, reflects the gathering of narrative momentum, as it propels the semi- autobiographical beginning into the Active world of Jimmy Jenkins.

Originally, I thought the entire story might take place with Jimmy driving, while his mind went on a series of digressions, with the help of analepses and prolepses—comparable in form to Nicholson Baker's first novel The Me^anine, in which the narrator reveals his thoughts and memories, and contemplates the minutiae of everyday life during the course of a one-storey escalator ride up to the mezzanine level of his office building. Instead, the technique was employed exclusively in the first chapter.

Author Heather O'Neill says that "working on a novel is kind of like putting together a robot without an instruction manual. Each word is a nut or a screw and

397 there are hundreds of thousands of them. You put it together and tinker with it, hoping that it will come alive in the reader's mind" (339). During the composition of A Tale of Two Stones, not only was I slowly putting the robot together, I was writing the instruction manual too. My amorphous plan of having a story in a story in a story was gradually pieced together bolt by screw, trial and error.

As the character Rummy crashes his car into the pop-up trailer on the side of the road, the reader fully enters the narrator's "separate reality", to again use

Jeanette Winterson's term. The beginning of the novel finds the character of

Jimmy in a semi-autobiographical liminal space. The actual present moment of the first chapter is Jimmy in his car following Rummy, yet Jimmy essentially occupies a non-space, as he jumps back and forth through time in the narrative. Jimmy driving in his car is the present of the first 'story', a place for it to begin, yet there is a meta-narrauve1 that reaches above this, one that is able to flash forward through the use of prolepses, and get into Jimmy's mind, and tell his and Leanne's story in conjunction.

To continue with this idea of liminality, theorist and anthropologist Victor

Turner says the liminal state can be regarded "as a realm of pure possibility whence novel configurations of ideas and relations may arise" (The Forest of Symbols

97) In the first chapter of A Tale of Two Stones, Jimmy Jenkins is in this "realm of pure possibility"—he's in limbo—a place "betwixt and between" (93) fiction and

I have appropriated this term for my own use I am not using it in the grand Lyotardian sense, but simply as a way to describe the double story being told by the 'writer'Jimmy Jenkins—the overall 'tale' that makes up the two stories

398 reality, as the writer in him gains the confidence to take over the narrative, using

Rummy's accident as the impetus to guide himself in to his section of the 'tale'.

The farther Jimmy goes in, the more confidence he gains—the proof of this being

the unconnected second narrative dealing with Leanne Jacobs. Leanne's story, her

embedded narrative, occupies a liminal space within the diegesis of the overall

'tale'. Readers of A Tale of Two Stories never know exactly how Leanne's story is

connected with Jimmy's until the very end—when Jessica insinuates that she is its

author—and even then they are deceived, because Jimmy is the writer of both

stories.

Leanne Jacobs, in her closet hideout, can be seen as being in a liminal space or

state, as she attempts to come to terms with Jason's betrayal and the dissolution

of her relationship. Literary critic Sarah Gilead claims that the "liminal condition

forms the essential stage in individual psychosocial development" (184). Echoing

Hamlet and David Lynch's Blue Velvet, Jason's closet inadvertently functions as this transitional and revelatory place for Leanne, where she works through her mild neurosis and broken heart, and also becomes privy to Jason's infidelities.

Gilead furthers her discussion by stating that even though the liminal figure seems to be removed from the group, s/he "is actually its moral representative and, in fact, exists to serve the social structure from which [s]he seems to have been separated" (184). Leanne is the moral representative of her story—she is the one who remains faithful in her relationship with Jason, and the one who helps him through his difficult rehabilitation after the industrial accident at Ledic's.

399 In addition, Victor Turner states that when individuals "are in a liminal state of suspension, separated from their previous condition, and not yet incorporated into their new one, they present a threat to themselves and to the entire group"; nevertheless, the liminal stage is "of crucial importance with regard to the process of regenerative renewal" (On the Edge 159). Readers of A. Tale of Two Stories can see this latent process of regeneration in a number of the characters. Firstly, Leanne

Jacobs, during her liminal phase in Jason's closet, accidentally discovers the truth about their relationship, and although the experience is painful, it makes her a stronger person in the end. Jason's phase occurs while he lies in a hospital bed

"with a piece of his leg grafted, stitched, sewn, and slowly healing on top of his foot" (Leslie 211). Jason's recovery is not only emotional but physical as well.

Rummy, at the beginning of the novel, is in the pre-liminal phase, but once the car accident happens and Jimmy has hidden him in the backseat of his own car,

Rummy essentially occupies a non-space—'betwixt and between' reality, as everyone is led to believe he was at home, asleep in his bed, during the time of the crash. Rummy driving home drunk in a speeding car is an obvious threat to himself and others, and his accident marks the impetus for him to begin a process of renewal—in this case, by no longer abusing alcohol.

When Turner discusses this concept of liminality, he does so with respect to the threefold structure (pre-liminal, liminal, post-liminal) French ethnographer

Arnold van Gennep applied to rituals and rites of passages within social groups and structures. Turner regards the second phase, liminality, as a period of

400 transition that should lead to a new perspective with a "higher, more authoritative set of meanings" (Gilead 183), once the person is reincorporated into his/her world. Coming-of-age stories fit this criteria, and even though Jimmy says that this "ain't no biography" (7) or "coming of age tale", the motions he goes through can very much be seen as the 'rites of passage' a young man encounters on his way to adulthood. Rummy encapsulates the experience when he says to

Jimmy near the end of the novel, "One day something like this will happen to you, and a couple days later you'll be walking around looking at everything with a brand new pair of eyes, my friend" (369). Rummy is now in the post-liminal phase, his outlook on life altered, and the process of Jungian individuation begun.

Rummy's accident was the impetus for self-actualization, and realizing it was necessary to make a change in his life.

Northop Frye postulates "two main tendencies" in fiction, "a 'comic' tendency to integrate the hero with his society, and a 'tragic' tendency to isolate him" (54).

Readers can see these tendencies at play in A Tale of Two Stories. Although the written part of Jimmy's story deals with his social interactions—often times in a comic manner—the #»written portion, the 'meta' part of the overall 'tale', finds

Jimmy predominantly by himself, reading books, and writing the two stories that make up this novel. Leanne trapped inside Jason's closet echoes Jimmy's self- confinement over the summer months, as he attempts to "think for himself and dream for himself and get to know himself, and in the process feel damn good about himself (Leslie 325). Yet, the motif of isolation is still present when Jimmy

401 is out in public. Like the protagonist in James Joyce's story "Araby", Jimmy is

always somewhat isolated from his peers, even more so after the incident with

Rummy. Jimmy is unable to relax and socialize at The Pterodactyl the night after

the accident, and cognitively removes himself from the crowd around him by

getting so drunk he passes out in front of the bar. The following evening at his

own house he does the same, figuring "to get this night over and done with, he'd

have to drink heavily" (269). Jimmy knows already from his experience with

Rummy that this is not the way to deal with things, but it seems the simplest and

quickest way to detach himself not just from his surroundings, but from his

interior narrator as well.

Leanne's isolation, on the other hand, is physical. Northrop Frye states that

the guiding principle of tragic irony "is that whatever exceptional happens to the

hero should be out of line with his/her character" (41). This is evident in

Leanne's case at the beginning of her story.

Now, Leanne's not the type of girl who can readily be found in

predicaments like this one. Rest assured, there is a rational, albeit

slightly strange reason why Leanne was hiding in her ex-boyfriend

closet while he was feeling up some other girl and Leanne was

oozing blood from the mouth. (154)

Frye goes on to say that "[ijrony isolates from the tragic situation the sense of arbitrariness, of the victim's having been unlucky, selected at random or by lot, and no more deserving of what happens to [her] than anyone else would be" (41).

402 And to be sure, for Leanne, it is simply a matter of bad timing, just as it is for

Jimmy and Rummy on their car ride home. While trapped inside Jason's closet,

Leanne has plenty of time to lament the fact that if she had "grabbed the book

and got the hell out of there, instead of sitting on the floor and getting all sappy

and nostalgic, she would not be in the particular situation she was in now" (Leslie

155). Yet, instead of isolating herself from her thoughts, Leanne forces herself to

confront and deal with them, and her entrapment echoes Jimmy's solitude as the

"fictive author" in the unwritten yet implied meta-narrative (Genette, Narrative

Discourse 229).

The tide, A Tale of Two Stories, acts as a clue as to what is happening within the

overall meta-narrative, and the reader is given hints throughout the course of the

novel that Jimmy is more than the protagonist. An example in the first chapter

where the meta-narrative or meta-plot breaks through, occurs when the narrator

says: "Don't worry, Jimmy's just acting out the compulsory bitter scene from act

one of the dramatization to his life" (Leslie 22). Perhaps novelization would be

the more accurate term here, but Jimmy wants to be slightly ambiguous, he wants his fictive reality to be indistinguishable from his 'real' reality. By using a moment

of high stress and action, i.e., Rummy's accident, as the point where the character

Jimmy and the writer Jimmy become one and the same, the reader will be more

focused on Rummy's well-being than to stop and question the narrative levels at play.

403 Because Jimmy Jenkins is the narrator, but also "present as a character in the story he tells" (245), theorist Gerard Genette would call him a "homodiegetic" narrator within the overall diegesis, or fictional "universe in which the stories take place" (Narrative Discourse Revisited 17). Leanne Jacobs story happens at the

"metadiegetic" level (91), because it is a secondary story embedded within the primary narrative.

Genette states that the "embedded narrative is narratively subordinate to the embedding narrative, since the former owes its existence to the latter and is based on it"; however, "the 'embedded' narrative may be thematically more important than the one framing it" (90). The themes of isolation, sorrow, and renewal are much more overt in Leanne's story, but act as threads that can be juxtaposed within Jimmy's story as well. Leanne's story may be subordinate to Jimmy's in the diegesis, yet within the meta-narrative, it reveals the writer Jimmy having moved into the realm of pure fiction. Whereas the primary narrative deals with a fictive version of his own life, Leanne's narrative woven inside Jimmy's reveals a complete liberation of imagining, and a new confidence for Jimmy as writer.

Critic Marcel Cornis-Pop states that few novelists today "write without attention to both plot and metaplot, character and author/audience, history and the history of literature" (129). When beginning to write A Tale of Two Stories, I had only a vague idea of what was going to happen, besides the fact that it would be told in a non-linear fashion—yet, by the time the first draft was complete, each of the above aspects was being considered and examined. The initial appeal of a

404 non-linear or "shuffled" narrative, to use film theorist E.J. Dawson's term, was likely inspired by Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction (par. 4). Of course, the shuffled or fragmented narrative has been employed to a certain degree in many films—

Citizen Kane and Annie Hall, to name two earlier examples—but viewing Pulp

Fiction at the impressionable age of seventeen or eighteen made the technique seem magically stylized. Being forced to be an active rather than passive viewer in order to piece together the chronology and three different narrative strands—the date between hit man Vincent Vega and the wife of his boss, the boxing match

Butch is supposed to lose, and the 'cleaning up' of Marvin after Vincent accidentally shoots him in Jules's car—as they are played out "in an order created more for narrative coherence than as a reflection of the passage of time"

(Dawson, par. 9).

Tarantino's film is cerebral yet still very compelling, and there is an attempt at a similar effect when reading^ Tale of Two Stories—through its use of humour, poetic prose, characters defined by their actions, and the non-linear double narrative. Above all this, I also wanted a metafictional subplot that pays attention, as well as homage, to the literature and film that has inspired me thus far. Yet, even though there is a metafictional level at play in the novel, there are no long prose passages about the writer Jimmy Jenkins working at his desk or sitting in front of a typewriter.

I wanted to minimize what Linda Hutcheon has called the "mimesis of process" (5), and instead plant the idea at the outset of the novel, and then hint at

405 it occasionally throughout, with lines from Jimmy's interior monologues (which read very much like a voice-over in film). My concern was not with the act of fiction making or to "self-consciously and systematically draw attention to [the novel's] status as an artefact" (Waugh 2). Rather, my main concern was simply to write a convincing tale about people in their early twenties growing up in Canada in the first decade of the 21st century. The novel is closest in style and tone perhaps to Lynn Coady's Mean Boy, which tells the story of aspiring poet

Lawrence Campbell, who, like Jimmy, is very much a part of the social world of undergrad boozing and partying, but once the novelty wears off, realizes he would rather isolate himself from that world and write instead. Yet, Mean Boy is a much more traditionally metafictional work than A Tale of Two Stories because it overtly deals with writing about writing—it still makes visible the writerly process, even if

Coady is being ironic throughout.

Cornis-Pop articulates what I am trying to say with regards to the meta- fictiveness of A. Tale of Two Stories, when he states that "[i]nnovative fiction employs what we have called—for want of a better term—'metafictional' procedures to call attention to the constructed, conflict-ridden nature of 'reality'.

Its allusions to the process of fiction-making, to the difficulties of articulating a

'life-story', often suggest (or conceal) a broader inquiry into the mastery models on which cultural representation depends" (131). Furthermore, Cornis-Pop contends that the postmodern emphasis on the self-reflexive is debilitating.

Contemporary novels need to "become again an 'effective story-telling machine'"

406 (127), and at the same time, move towards a "full scale analysis of cultural representation" (152).

With regards to cultural analysis, A. Tale of Two Stories explores urban Canadian culture, much like Russell Smith's first novel How Insensitive did, but without the blatantly satirical bent. Nevertheless, the character Alex Maksimich is somewhat satirical—an immediate foil and antagonist to Jimmy—typecast as a 'hipster' from the moment he is introduced:

Surely you know the type. Tight jeans with big cuffs . . . maybe a

pair of Chuck Taylor's or slip-on Vans ... a bright coloured, ill-

fitting T-shirt, either bought at a second hand store or with the

name of some band on it. Umm, what else? Short messy hair on his

head, at least one tattoo somewhere on his body, and one piercing

on his face—what the hell, let's give him a pair of thick-framed

glasses too. Perfect! Add a pair of iPod headphones constantly in

his ears, and you've got Alex Maksimich in a nutshell. (90)

Maksimich is a contemptible character, and for the most part one-sided with respect to his development. He is a device for conflict, worthy of scorn, whereas

Jimmy, Jessica, Leanne, and the rest are not intended to be viewed in that way.

Carol Toller states that when Smith's novel came out in 1994, many of his critics "viewed him as a literary trickster, a poseur transcribing the vacuousness of his own life and passing it off as literature" (par. 4). I would argue, however, that

Smith's novel transcends its "slight" subject matter, because essentially it is the

407 'coming of age' story of Ted Owen, a young man who moves from the Maritimes

and attempts to find meaning in the downtown club scene of Toronto. Coady's

Mean Boy is also a good example, because it recounts quite a bit of drinking and

wild alcohol-induced behaviour by both her young and old characters, but if its

subject matter comes off as trivial, its implications do not. These are the cultural

milieus Smith and Coady felt compelled to analyze and write about, just as A. Tale

of Two Stories examines 21st century popular culture through its depiction of college

students growing up in an Ontario border city (in Jimmy's section of the story),

and those who relocate to go to school, as is the case for Leanne and Jason, both

moving from home to go to McGill. The common narrative threads of friendship

and relationships, the motifs of isolation and renewal, and the distincdy Canadian

city settings, although specific, will still be universal when, as Michael Winter says,

readers compare them to the places they know.

The novel's epilogue attempts to reveal that Jimmy Jenkins has survived his

'liminal' summer, has matured and grown, and is ready to reincorporate himself

into society with Jessica by his side. Jimmy has realized over the summer that

there is always going to be something to upset him, and recognizes that "if life is

just a series of mending and fixing the things that don't make me happy so I can

figure out how to be happy all the time, then I've got some work to do" (375), but

Jimmy is now prepared to do it.

In the revelatory final scene of the novel, during the home-run celebration at

Comerica Park, Jimmy pulls Jessica into a sudden embrace. The couple crash into

408 each other, evoking Rummy's 'crash' before them, and the two are oblivious, lost in a lover's embrace, momentarily isolating themselves from the world within the crowd, and wondering if their collision at the end of the novel will be as serendipitous as the one that started it.

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415 CURRICULUM VITAE

Candidate's full name. Matthew Gerard Leslie

Universities attended:

University of Windsor, BA (Honours English), 2003 University of Windsor, BA (General Communications Studies), 2004

Conference Presentations:

"Extensible Syllabus Format (XSF): Marking up the Syllabus", Canadian Symposium on Textual Analysis (CaSTA), University of New Brunswick, Fredericton, October 2006

Invited Speaker. "Post-Rock and Electronica embrace Digital Culture", Culture and Ideas II (07-203), University of Windsor, Windsor, April 2003

Publications:

"The Cockroaches" {Short Story) QWERTY, Spring 2007, no. 21 "To Create is to Destroy" {One Act Play) Debut: Experiments in Drama, University of Windsor Press, 2001.

Productions:

Playwright. "Black Swan" {One Act Play) NotaBle Acts Theatre Festival, August 3- 5, 2007. Writer, Director. "Conquest of the Irrational" {Short Film, 35mm, Colour, 25 min.), 2002. Writer, Director. "Beyond Nausea and Bliss" {Short Film, 16mm, B&W, 18 min.), 2001.