He’s a captive audience, so he has to listen to every last word that this man has to say. Or at least pretend to. He tries in vain to politely kill the conversation with a few monotone, one-word responses. No such luck. He even tries to talk about the weather but that doesn’t sidetrack his newfound friend. Only a couple more minutes, he thinks. But the man persists.
Sounding like a broken record, the man says, “I will just never understand women, you know? You just give and give and give and then they just come out of nowhere and decide out of the clear blue that they just don’t love you anymore. Like she just woke up one day and decided that everything in her life was wrong. All that time wasted. And for what? So she can just go and waste some other man’s time. So that’s it. I’m done with women. Done.”
“Yeah, that’s women for you I guess,” Michael responds, trying to be as vague as possible. “I guess I’ve just never been quite in your situation.” Dammit, he thinks to himself. He should’ve just left it at a few words.
“Well, you’re lucky, that’s for sure. But in a way, I think it’s really opened my eyes to new possibilities, if you know what I mean.” As the man with the comb-over says this, Michael gets a strange feeling that the man is trying a little too hard to look him in the eyes. It’s almost like he’s gazing into his eyes. Can’t be. Michael realizes he’s seen that sort of look and smile somewhere before, but he can’t quite place it.
Feeling a little flushed in the face, he says, “Well, I guess you have to try to move on, right?” At this point Michael decides to alternate between pretending to search for something in his carry on bag and looking out the window until the plane lands.
By the time the plane lands he isn’t sure if he has been getting some advice about women or if he was being hit on by this creepy man. He decides to stick with the anti-woman version. He was a little weary about this trip to begin with without having some disgruntled stranger telling him to keep his dick in his pants and to avoid all women like the plague. Maybe he was getting hit on after all, he thinks. He did have a hint of a pedophile smile to him. Shit. Now he feels even more awkward.
After picking up his luggage, he says his goodbyes to Mr. Comb-Over and gets ready to snag a cab to his hotel.
* * *
From: Sean Hillstead
Sent : August 17, 2005 7:38:26 AM
To : Michael Hillstead
CC:
Subject : A place to crash in Vagina???????
Hey bro. One more day! I can’t wait. It’ll be sweet! I mentioned this before, but you are totally welcome to crash at my place. The couch is yours. I haven’t violated it TOO badly!!!!!! Just don’t bring a black light! Bruhahahaha. Anyways bro, let me know if you wanna crash or not or if you wanna ride. We can go cruisin’ Albert! Nah, I think we’re too old for that shit now, aren’t we? Either way, we are gonna have a kickass time! Any ideas what you wanna do? It’s been forever, so I don’t know what you would wanna do. All I know is that booze will definitely be involved! I am gonna pulvarize yer liver!!! It’s gonna be in the fetal position on Saturday!!! I can’t wait to shoot the shit with my younger bro! Anyways, let me know when you get into town and we’ll get fuckin’ crrrrazy! Laterz.
-Sean
* * *
From: Michael Hillstead
Sent : August 17, 2005 6:43:13 PM
To : Michael Hillstead
CC:
Subject : Re: Place to crash in Vagina???????
Hey Sean. Thanks for the offer for the accommodations. That is really nice of you. Work is nice enough to cover the expense for whatever hotel I get since I am technically supposed to be doing research for an article, so I might as well take advantage of that. Once I get settled in at my hotel, I’ll give you a shout and we can make our plans from there. I’m at my office so I don’t have my flight tickets in front of me. I’m not sure if I arrive at 5 or 6. Sometime around then anyways. But I’ll give you a shout once I get in. It’ll be fun to catch up. It’s been a long time. Cheers. See you tomorrow!
-Michael
* * *
The cab driver grabs Michael’s luggage and puts it in the trunk. Michael creeps up the passenger side of the taxi and hesitantly steps into the passenger seat. Usually he heads instinctively for the back seat. Other times he sits in the passenger side. But today he decides to give the passenger seat a try. Sometimes he thinks that being in the back seat makes a cab ride seem too formal. It is just a ride in a car after all, right? However, he feels that sitting side by side with a complete stranger is a bit forced sometimes. He has always wondered what the proper etiquette is for stepping into a cab. Do most people instinctively head for the back seat, or the passenger seat? It is questions like this that drive him mad sometimes.
As he gets settled in the back and struggles to find the seatbelt, the cab driver asks him, “So where are you headed, sir?”
“A decent hotel downtown. Just not The Empire.”
“Ah, the Ramada is a very nice hotel, sir. Very nice indeed.”
“Right, right. The Ramada. That’ll be just fine. So how long have you been driving a taxi for?”
“Just over six years now. It pays the bills I guess. A little money in the pocket’s always a good thing, yes?”
“Hmmm… seven years, eh? You don’t say. That’s long enough.”
“Actually sir, it’s…never mind.”
* * *
It’s been five years since he’s been back to his old stomping grounds, as they say. Although he never really did that much stomping until he abruptly quit his job, packed up a few of his essential belongings, hopped in his Volkswagon van and decided to start his life over. After his parents died, he figured that he never really had much of a reason to stick around. The thought of leaving was always in the back of his mind, but he could never bring himself to do it. Like most people, he got caught up in his routine. He took classes at university and worked at various odd jobs. After getting his degree in journalism, he did some freelance writing for various magazines and newspapers, but the pay was modest at best. To ensure that he could pay rent and bills he worked part time at any mundane job he could find. Bartending, cashier, landscaping, you name it.
He wasn’t very happy with his situation, but he felt somewhat obligated to stay put because he always had his parents, if nothing else. For most of his life he felt his relationship with his parents was kind of like walking on a lake towards the end of winter. He always thought he got along with them well enough. They never had any big blow ups or anything. But there was always something missing that he could never really put his finger on. It’s not like they were overly strict or drank a lot or suddenly accepted and embraced Jesus into their lives. They were always just there. Nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps a bit less towards the end. He always had a sneaking suspicion that he must’ve been adopted or something because he always found it so hard to talk to his parents. His brother was definitely their parents’ boy. It was eerie how similar his brother and dad were. They could talk for hours on end about football and hockey and cars till they were blue in the face. His childhood and high school years consisted largely of sitting in his room drawing intricately detailed pictures of dinosaurs, creating comic strips, checking out live shows, listening to music. As he grew older, he found himself writing more and more, sometimes writing lyrics to three and four chord songs he was writing on his second hand acoustic guitar. As he became more and more immersed in his writing and drawing, he found he was becoming more and more distanced from his parents and brother. But he always thought that these were all just topics of interest. These topics seemed to divide him from his father and brother, but he figured they all should have been able to transcend this conflict of interest and hold a normal conversation that wasn’t shackled to these limiting subjects. But now he wishes he could sit down and talk about mindless, mundane things with his parents. He would even sit down and try to talk about football if he could.
* * *
At the supper table, Michael sat at his usual spot at the table to the right of his mother. His mother always set the table like it was Christmas dinner, even if the whole family wasn’t at home for supper. But her attempts to have formal suppers 365 days a year were usually thwarted by one or all of the men in the house. Tonight it was just Michael and his mother since his brother and father were out at one of Sean’s football games. After a minute or so of scooping potatoes, pork, gravy, and peas onto their plates, his mother asks, “So how was school today?”
Clearing his throat, Michael quietly answers, “Um, it was okay.”
“I’m not sure if I asked you yet, but do you like your teachers?”
“They’re pretty decent I guess. I don’t hate any of them yet, anyways.”
“You have Mr. Klinger for Math, right? Sean really liked him as a teacher.”
“Yeah, I have him. He seems okay. I’m not really big into Math, but he’s alright. He tells pretty bad jokes though. Old man humour.”
“Old man humour. That’s cute. I hope you don’t think I have old person humour.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that mom.”
They sit for another minute or two, concentrating on their food. Michael makes it his mission to stab each tine of his fork into a single pea. The middle two ones are always the tricky ones.
Looking at her son’s face and hair, the mother says, “You’re almost due for a hair cut, aren’t you? You’ve had the black and green for a couple months now. The blue’s fading pretty quickly now.”
“Yeah, I should probably go soon. Maybe I’ll see if Stacey can squeeze me in next week.”
“I really liked when you had your hair red, actually. It looked really sharp.”
“Yeah? I dunno. I pretty much let Stacey do what she wants with my hair. I figure it’s just hair. It can always grow back.”
“You kids are so crazy nowadays. Your dad would never have thought of dying his hair when he was young. Now he couldn’t if he tried!”
Michael felt almost tempted to laugh, but he kept it to a mild chuckle. “Yeah. At least he decided against that comb-over.”
“So what are you and your friends doing tonight? It’s Friday you know.”
Michael looks down at his plate and starts stabbing at peas again. Barely audible, he muffles out a close approximation of “Not a whole lot.”
“What’s that? Nothing? Well, why don’t you call up that friend of yours, Michael? What’s his name? Chad? That’s it. I don’t think you’ve hung out with him this summer. It seems like you’ve lost touch with some of your friends over the last year or so. You know, you spend too much time in your room with that music going on all the time. And that music sounds so dark and sad.”
“But I do all my writing there, Mom. I enjoy it.”
“I’m glad you like it, sweetie, but you should try to make time for some friends too. Sean is always out and about with his friends. They toss the football around, watch movies…”
Interrupting his mother, he blurts out, “Get hammered…”
“Michael!”
“Well it’s true.”
“Well, I don’t exactly like when he does that, but at least I know whose house he’s at and at least I know he’s making friends. I just wish you’d spend more time with others, Michael. I worry sometimes. I want you to have lots of friends and be happy.”
“Mom, I can’t just go up to random people and ask them to be my friend. I just go to school and do my own thing. I really don’t even like most of the people at our school. It just seems like everyone does everything they can to be cool and popular. It’s all so fake. Unless you get invited to the weekend parties, you’re left in this little social void. And I don’t want to hang out with the Dungeons and Dragons crowd, so I’m just happy doing my writing thing. Besides, I don’t think Sean would want to have his younger brother at his parties. He’s got a reputation to protect, you know.”
* * *
As Michael waits in line at the hotel reception desk, he wonders what his brother will look like. Will he be prematurely balding like his father? He mentioned a girlfriend. Probably a Rider cheerleader or something. He wonders whatever happened to his ex-girlfriend that he broke up with right before he moved to Toronto. Really nice girl, great in bed, but he was basically just biding time with her. Too clingy for his liking. He also thinks about that annoying guy in his Journalism classes with the shrill voice and wretched body odour and protruding nose hairs. Did he ever get a job in his field? Pretty doubtful, he thinks. And what about that really beautiful brunette that he had a major crush on while working at HMV? Probably married now with kids. Or maybe she has three kids with three different fathers. Who’s to say? And that thirty-something woman who lived directly above him in his apartment building that screamed like a banshee whenever she had sex. This was about twenty times a week it seemed. At least somebody was getting some. As far as he knew, she never had a boyfriend or husband. It’s a wonder that she, her partner of the evening and their bed never broke through his ceiling right on top of him.
* * *
Sick of his sons’ bickering, the father yells to Michael, “Can’t you and Sean stop fighting over the television? Honestly! Let him watch the game tonight for Christ’s sake!”
“But Dad, I never get to watch what I want to watch,” Michael replies.
Sean snickers and says, “C’mon and just let me watch the game. It’s a huge game! If the Cowboys win they’re in the playoffs!”
Calming down, his father sternly looks at his youngest son and says, “Michael, you know how much Sean loves football.”
Leaning back on his chair, and tilting his head back, Micheal replies, “What, like he’s never seen a football game before? Give me a break.”
“Michael, Sean has to learn all he can so he can get even better at his position. If he keeps going the way he is, he’s going to play at some university. Maybe he’ll even be a linebacker for the Riders some day.”
“Well, I’m gonna go to university too, you know.”
“Michael…Mikey…”
Michael takes a deep breath, slowly stands up from his chair and says, “Whatever. I’ll just do some writing or something. Don’t worry about it, Dad. It’s alright.”
But it was never alright. Back in his room, Michael berated himself privately for giving in so easily all the time, but after a while he got into the habit of just raising his white flag and retreating to his room.
* * *
Ever since the accident he’s always been wondering what, if anything, he could’ve done to be closer to his parents. He knows that thoughts like that get you nowhere, but still he thinks like that. Sometimes he thinks that maybe he did spend too much time in his room. But it was his haven. It was the one place where he felt right in the world. But maybe he should’ve gone to more of Sean’s football games with his parents. As a social experiment, if nothing else. But that’s all in his past and there’s nothing he can do about it now. And now he’s here to touch base with his brother who he hasn’t seen since he left town. He’s kept in touch through e-mails and MSN, but he hasn’t even heard Sean’s voice in a good year or so. It seemed like a huge chore to pick up that phone or to answer the phone the two or three times Sean would call in a year.
“Sir? Sir!”
Michael abruptly shakes his head and realizes he’s been daydreaming for who knows how long in line now. Clearing his throat, he politely says hello to the hotel clerk.
“Hi! How are you today? Good snooze?”
“Um, yeah, sorry about that. I’m kind of in my own world I guess.” The hotel clerk seems way too perky and happy for her own good, he thinks. She reminds him of Mary Hart hopped up on speed. It’s one thing to be friendly and outgoing, but she lays it on a little thick for his liking. The blonde hair, perma-grin on top of a thin bobblehead. She’s kind of cute though. She’d be a lot cuter if she had a mute button though.
“Probably beats this one, right? So, let me read your mind here. You need a room, right? Ha, ha! I mean, why else would you be here, right?”
“Umm, well, yeah. I would like a room for three days.”
“Just for yourself?”
“Well, yeah. Just me.”
“Just so you know, there is no smoking in the hotel. Or anywhere inside! Crazy laws, eh?”
“Don’t worry, I don’t smoke. Although, sometimes I think about starting.”
“Are you here for business or pleasure?”
Michael looks up at the receptionist and says, “Does anyone come here for pleasure? I wish I could actually say I was here on business.”
“You just did! Ha, ha. Don’t worry, I’m just buggin’.”
She just won’t quit, he thinks. “Wow, you have way more energy than I do right now.”
“Life’s short so you might as well enjoy it, right? That’s what I always say. You never know what could happen tomorrow. So that’s three nights you want, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right. Three nights.”
“Okay, how would you like to pay? Credit card? Debit?”
“Credit.”
“If you’re looking for something to do tomorrow, our bar has some really good stand-up comedians performing tomorrow night. Just so you know. My friends and I usually check it out every month or so. That is if I’m not working. Work, work, work, eh? Oh well, keeps me out of trouble, right? But not all the time! Ha!”
“Alrighty, well thanks for everything. I should really get settled though. Maybe I will check out those comedians tomorrow. Cheers.”
“Toodles!”
Michael grabs his luggage and keeps on walking until he gets to the elevator. Toodles?
* * *
In his hotel room, he hangs up his clothes, shaves, and has a quick shower. The water erupts out of the shower head. If the spray was any more powerful, it would throw him up against the wall. After getting impaled by the shards of water, he brushes his teeth with a new kind of toothpaste that is supposed to provide extra whitening. Three shades whiter in one tube. He looks at the container and really wonders if his teeth will get any whiter. Commercialism duped him again. He blow dries his hair and tries to style it just right, but he gets a little frustrated because he knows he should’ve got his hair cut this past week. Now his hair is at that awkward stage where it’s not long enough to just leave it natural, but too long to style it the way he likes it. He suddenly realizes that he goes through this ritual every couple of months. That one extra week is everything when it comes to his hair. Some day he’ll break out of this habit of his. Some day. Oh well, it’s just hair, he thinks. Nothing to get too agitated over. It’s just hair.
He picks up the phone. He begins to dial. 545-21… But he promptly puts it back on the receiver again. He sits down on the bed and turns on the television. Thirty seconds later he turns the television back off. He stands up, walks over to the window and looks outside for about a minute. Then he walks over to the mirror and looks closely at his face. A zit. He hasn’t had a zit in six months or so. Dammit. He double checks his outfit. Faded blue jeans. Boot cut. Thick black belt. A green, slim-fitting button-up shirt. Converse All-Stars. And a zit. He turns to the side and looks at his stomach in the mirror. He feels his age slowly creeping up on him. He’s convinced he sees the first signs of a paunch so he sucks in his gut a little bit. He takes a deep breath and heads for the phone. He tries it again. He picks up the phone off the receiver and dials the digits. It’s ringing. He can’t hang up now. It rings three times.
“Hello?” It’s a girl’s voice. Not part of the plan.
“Uh hi, is Sean there?” He clears his throat for the millionth time today.
“Yeah, just one second. Hey, wait. Is this Michael?” The voice sounds very soothing, with a hint of a rasp to it. Probably a smoker.
“Yes.”
“Well, hey! I’m Michelle. We almost have the same name! Too funny. I’m Sean’s girlfriend. Well, I guess that would be the technical word for it. I mean, we’ve been dating or seeing each other for a few weeks now, so I guess that would qualify me as his girlfriend.”
“Well, Sean did mention he was seeing a girl when he MSN’d me a week or so ago. Well that’s good to hear. So you get stuck with keeping him in line, eh?”
“I do what I can. For sure. So how about I put him on the line for you? I can’t wait to meet you, though. I unfortunately have to work tonight so I won’t be able to see you till tomorrow, but you guys probably want a night to yourselves, eh? You know, guys’ night out so you guys can talk about your football and cars and all that stuff.”
“Uh, yeah. It’s been a while.”
“Okay, well I’ll get Sean. Nice chatting to you! Sean! It’s your brother!”
Sean picks up the phone. “Hello?”
“Sean?”
“Oh my fucking God. Well if it isn’t my little bro. How the hell are ya, you rotten son of a bitch? Ha! Just jokes, bro. You know how I’ve always liked to kid. Always a kidder, always a kidder.”
“You always had a rapier’s wit there Sean.” Sean’s voiced seemed somewhat different than Michael remembered. It seemed to be a bit jumpier than normal. But it sort of had a hint of his father. Maybe it’s just the filter of memory though.
“What? A rapist’s wit? Ha! Wow, it is so crazy hearing your voice again. I’m trying to think of the last time we actually talked. It’s insane. Your voice sounds a bit deeper than I remember. I know we talk online and all that shit, but it’s not quite the same. I don’t think people fuckin’ use phones nowadays. Goin’ the way of the dodo bird or something like that. Well. So what’s the scoop Bettie Boop? What do you wanna do tonight? I think we should rip the town apart. Paint it red or blue or green. Or paint it black? Yeah! Like the fuckin’ Stones! Yeah! We could be like Mick and Keef and do ‘er up just right. Like old times. Man, it’s been way too long.”
“Yeah, like old times. Well, I don’t know. What’s there to do in Regina on a Friday night? It’s been awhile. What good pubs are there?”
“Hey! I know! We should start off at the casino. Maybe grab a bite there. And a drink or ten. And play some Black Jack or something.”
“Well, I’m not a huge gambler, but I guess we could go there.”
“Which hotel are you staying at?”
“The Ramada.”
“Well, hey! The casino’s only like three blocks away from you or something like that. How about we start there and see where the night takes us. Yeah? Yeah, let’s do that. What time do you wanna go? It’s about seven o’clock right now and I’m starving right now.”
“I’m pretty much ready to go any time.”
“Well, how about we meet there in thirty minutes? I’ll get Michelle to drop me off on her way to work. We could meet at the lounge area. Does that work?”
“Works for me.”
“We’ll see if we still recognize each other! Ha! Wow, it’s been way too long, way too long.”
“Yeah, but we’ll make up for lost time. Well, okay. I guess I’ll see you in a half hour or so.”
“See you there. Be there or be square, right? Alright. I’m pumped. This will be a kickass night, Michael. See ya in a bit!”
“Later.”
Well, that wasn’t so bad, he thinks to himself. It actually went surprisingly well. Sean sure hasn’t changed much by the sounds of it. Still not too tactful or subtle. To kill a half hour, he decides to walk around downtown and get some fresh air. The hotel room feels stifling already. He can’t understand why Sean would choose the casino of all places to catch up with his brother. He never really pegged Sean as a big gambler. Playing the slots doesn’t sound like his idea of fun. Oh well. He’ll view it as a social experiment.
* * *
Having gotten used to life in Toronto, he realizes that he has to walk a lot slower now that he’s here in Regina. He notices that he’s passed a good dozen people on the sidewalk, so he makes a conscious effort to slow down his pace but he feels awkward doing so. Now he feels like he’s moving in slow motion. There isn’t the big mad rush to get somewhere five minutes ago like there is in Toronto. He notices that there aren’t as many homeless people on the streets here. He’s become so accustomed to seeing homeless people sitting on the sidewalks with their cardboard signs requesting money. Like the man on Queen Street in the army boots and 70’s punk attire holding the cardboard sign which always reads “Kick a Punk For a Buck.” He has always pondered if anyone has given that man fifty dollars or so in order to beat the shit out of him. It would definitely be a good way to relieve stress. And the guy would know it’s coming. Although, he couldn’t really bring himself to kick the man. He’s just not a violent man. Pretty much a pacifist. He would probably give the guy a dollar and then lightly tap him in the shin with his foot. He’s positive that Sean would kick that punk for a buck, though. Probably in the groin or face too.
* * *
Walking through the casino, he can’t help but stare at all the senior citizens sitting in front of the VLTs. He almost feels guilty at watching all the people. Part of him is in awe, but mostly he is repulsed. But he can’t help but watch the gamblers. Their eyes are just transfixed on the bright screens. Cataract eyes almost glazed over in a daze. He thinks to himself that he is at some bizarre hybrid between an arcade and a funeral parlour. These old shells of people entranced by the blips and the bleeps and the gawdy neon colours leaping out from the screens, sucking out what little life remains in their brittle bones. Old codgers not muttering a single word except when the waitress comes by to ask them if they want a drink. The suspenders, tillie hats, puke green golf shirts, snot-encrusted hankies hanging out of back pockets, overpowering perfume barely concealing rancid body odour, neon blouses that would be visible from Mars, and blue plaid pants. He makes a mental note on what not to wear when he gets old.
Walking by the poker tables and Black Jack tables, he sees a wild combination of people. Young Asian students with streaked hair, paper thin cell phones, and three hundred dollar designer jeans betting fifty dollars at a time. Middle aged farmers hoping to make the money their crops are not earning for them. Rail thin coke addicts who are hoping their last twenty dollar bill can multiply in order to purchase that next gram. Of all the people he sees, it seems like the young Asian kids who are blowing their parents’ money are the only ones actually having a good time.
He sees a poster advertising which acts are coming to the show lounge in the next couple months. Roy Clark. Is he even still alive? Nearly Neil. Nearly Neil? People actually pay good money to see a Neil Diamond impersonator? He approaches the lounge area and looks around for his brother, but he doesn’t have to look too far. Sean is busy looking at a menu, so Michael takes a moment to gather his bearings and looks at his brother from a few feet away. He notices that Sean is getting a hint of grey in his goatee, his hair is getting a bit thinner and he is starting to get a little thick in the middle. Sean’s dressed almost exactly the way he expected: blue jeans, runners, white golf shirt with a Toronto Maple Leafs logo on the breast pocket. He’s aged quite a bit since the last time he saw his brother in person. Five years is a lot of time though. But he looks a lot older than thirty-three. He is surprised to see how ingrained his brother’s crows’ feet are around his eyes. As Michael steps a bit closer, Sean looks up from his menu, gets a big grin on his face and abruptly stands up.
Motioning for Michael to come closer, Sean bellows out, “Michael, you cocksucker, how the hell are ya? Ha! Come, grab a seat. Don’t be shy. Give your brother a hug! Man is it great to see you again! Give me some sugar! Just kidding!”
Sean gives him a big hug, while Michael looks around slightly embarrassed.
“Um, hey Sean. Nice to see you too.”
“Wow! Ha! Look at you, look at you. You have changed so much there! You’re still skinny as fuck, though! That’s quite the hair there you’ve got.”
“I was meaning to get a haircut before I came, but I got preoccupied, I guess.”
“I actually like it. Looks good. Looks sharp. You’ve always had quite the haircuts. Remember when you used to dye your hair jet black and all those crazy other colours? Always something new. Every month I’d see some new guy walk out of your room. Craziness! Pure craziness!”
“Yeah, well everyone’s got their own thing I guess.”
“Yeppers. No truer words were ever spoken.”
They grab a seat across from each other at the table. Sean is grinning, but shifts slightly in his chair. Michael immediately starts tapping his foot at a ferocious pace and realizes that he’s blinking more frequently than normal.
They look at each other for a few seconds, then Michael decides to break the silence.
“So, how long have you been seeing Michelle for?”
“Let’s see here. I’m trying to think. Officially? I don’t even know if we’re official.”
“Well, I guess she mentioned on the phone that she’s not even sure if you guys are official either.”
“Yeah, who’s to say, hey? I guess we’ve been hanging out for a couple months or so. Something like that. Yeah, sounds right. Mmm. Great girl. Real spitfire that one.”
“She sounded nice on the phone. So, how’d you two meet?”
“I met her at the bar. She’s a few years younger than me, so…”
“How old?”
“Twenty-six. She keeps me young! Ha! I can’t wait for you two to meet. I think you’ll get a big kick out of her. Real spitfire. She’s always on the go and always has a joke ready to fly out of her mouth.”
“Well that sounds alright.”
A young waitress approaches their table. “Hey fellas, what can I get for you tonight?”
Sean eyes the waitress up and down makes his order. “I’ll have a pint of Keiths and a steak sandwich, please and thank-you.”
“Are fries okay with that?”
“Damn rights. Oh yeah, could I get some gravy on the side? That would be stellar.”
The waitress slightly rolls her eyes and looks at Michael. “And you?”
“Can I have a grilled chicken sandwich with a side Caesar salad and a rye and Diet Coke?”
As the waitress walks away, Sean blurts out, “Diet Coke? What the fuck? What, are you watchin’ your girlish figure or what? Jeez Louise, man! Hey, better watch it. Regular Coke might go straight to your ass.” The waitress looks back and shakes her head.
Rubbing the back of his neck and feeling a little sudden rush of heat pulsing through his veins, Michael responds, “I actually like the taste of Diet Coke. Regular Coke is too sweet for me. It ruins the rye.”
In a more subdued voice, Sean leans over and says, “Ah man, I’m just ribbin’ ya. No harm, no harm. Drink whatever you want, bro. It’s a free world, right? That’s what I’ve always like about you. Always just a little different. Good show.”
Michael glances away for a few seconds, focusing on a man sitting a couple tables away that unknowingly has a small clump of mashed potatoes the size of maybe a dime on his left ear. Looking back at Sean, he says, “Thanks, I guess.”
The waitress returns with their drinks. Sean looks her in the eyes with a big grin, but she avoids eye contact and then walks away. Still half-looking at the waitress, Sean says to Michael, “Oh yeah, so anyways. Michelle. I think we were talking about her, right?”
“Yeah. So you two met at a bar?”
“Yeah, about two months ago I guess. I can’t lie man. I saw one look at her tits and I was blown away. You would swear they were fake, but nope. The real deal. Of course I didn’t get to find out right away. Not the one-night stand kind of girl. I had to work for this one, let me tell ya!”
“Well, I’ll try not to look I guess.”
“Ah, no worries. Great girl though. I really like her. Good head. On her shoulders, that is! Ha! I kill me, sometimes. But yeah, good head though.”
“I was waiting for that.”
“So what’s she doing with you then?”
“Hey, good one! You can be a funny fucker when you wanna be. You used to be so shy back in the day. I always figured you’d crack out of your shell at some point.”
“Yeah, everyone has their own pace I guess. But it’s not like I’m a social butterfly or anything though.”
“Well not everyone can be, eh? That’s what I’m here for!”
"You definitely got the outgoing gene in the family.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve never been too shy, eh? Gets me in trouble sometimes though. But sometimes that’s a good thing, right?”
“I guess so. I wouldn’t know.”
“But yeah, Michelle. I think you’ll like her. University type. Some of the stuff she talks about from her classes goes way over my head, but she loves it. Professional student, that girl.”
“Twenty-six, eh?”
“Yeah. She’s on her second degree now. She took some time off too. You know, travelling, working, yada yada yada.”
“It sounds like she’d have some stories to tell.”
“You have no idea. I’ve lost track of all the places she’s told me about. Pretty much spin a globe, blindly point your finger anywhere and she’d probably say 'Yup, been there, done that, bought the t-shirt.'”
“So what’s she taking?”
“Social Work. She’s got a huge heart that girl. Wants to help save the world.”
“You said she’s on her second degree?”
“Yeah, she got a degree in Women’s Studies. Probably why she’s still going to school! Ha! Of course I have to rib her about that from time to time. But she knows I just like to joke. And she can definitely dish it out just as much as I can sometimes.”
“Hmm, well I have to say that I never in a million years would have imagined you dating a woman who took Women’s Studies. Is this a sign of the apocalypse or something?”
“Yeah, crazy, eh? I was totally floored when she told me. But she’s not one of those like, militant, buzz-cut, bra-burning women, right? She can still have fun and crack a joke and shit.”
“Yeah, those wacky feminists, eh?”
“Actually, the more she talks about it, the more I can understand. Kinda weird. Well you know how Dad was. Always ‘broad this, broad that.’”
Both Sean and Michael glance off in separate directions for a second and have a couple sips from their drinks. Clearing his throat, Michael says, “Yeah, that was definitely our dad.”
Sean pauses for a second and then says, “So, um, yeah, Michelle’s pretty funny. When I go to work, she calls me Homer Simpson.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I do about as much work as Homer! Nothing! Two years of school to walk around with a clipboard a couple times a day and check a few gauges here and there. I even get paid to sleep sometimes.”
“Sounds like you have a pretty cushy job then. You’re still at the same plant?”
“Indeed I am. It’s kind of neat. I can even lift weights and exercise at work. Lots of the guys hop on the treadmill pretty regular.” Pointing to his gut, he says, “I’m not quite as ambitious, as you can see! What can I say? I like to eat. You only live once, right?”
“Well, there you go.”
"So how do you stay so skinny? Like holy shit!”
“By drinking Diet Coke I guess.”
“Ha! You slay me! Maybe I should take some notes from you.”
“The food’s sure taking a while, eh?”
“Yeah! What the fuck! I mean, are they butchering the cow or what? I’m starving like nobody’s business.”
* * *
On his way home from the drug store, Sean notices a few police cars and ambulances blocking off traffic a couple blocks ahead. Police officers and medical staff are scattered around three wrecked vehicles. It looks like one car got t-boned by another car, and somehow another car got involved in the action. Ricochet effect. One car is tilted upside down with the roof slightly caved in. It looks like the one car must have been zipping along pretty fast. Probably some highschool punk or something. Small fragments of shattered glass are littered all over the road. That car looks familiar to Sean. For some reason he has a strange sensation running through his body. He feels compelled to pull over and check out the scene. That car looks really familiar to him. As he gets closer he sees that the upside down car is a red Honda prelude. Mid ‘90s it looks like. It looks like there is some oil or antifreeze on the road by the car. Is it blood? He looks closer and sees the license plate. RBN 286. It can’t be, he rationalizes to himself. It can’t be. He steps a little closer but a police officer approaches him, sternly telling him to stand back from the scene. The police officer’s voice is all muffled. Sean wants desperately to say something, anything to the officer but he can’t utter a single sound. He is screaming at the top of his lungs, but the police officer can’t hear him. Why can’t he hear him? Is he deaf? “It’s my parents!” he keeps screaming, “It’s my parents!” but the officer cannot hear him. He just has to keep screaming and screaming until this police officer can hear him. Why does this officer have to be so difficult? He just has to help them out of the car and take them home. That’s all. Maybe they’ll grab some ice cream or something. They’ve been talking about getting a new car for the last year or so. But his dad always dragged his butt about these things. He’ll simply drive them home and he’ll take them to a few car dealerships tomorrow and they’ll get their new car. Yeah, something really nice and fuel efficient. But something affordable. Tomorrow he’ll get them lined up with a new car. He’ll call up Michael and they can all go car hunting together tomorrow. He can even teach Michael a few things to look for when buying a car. They’ll all go to the dealerships tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow.
* * *
The waitress brings them their food and they order another drink. Michael decides to make this one a double. Sean orders another beer along with two shots of Southern Comfort. As the waitress walks away, Michael notices his brother staring at the waitress’ ass.
“Wow! Did you just see that? That is a nice, nice ass. Don’t you think?”
“Sean, I think she may have heard you.”
“So what? She has got a nice ass. It’s a compliment.”
“What do you think Michelle would think?”
“Hey, I can always look, right? Nothing wrong with looking. The day I stop looking will be the day when I’m dead.”
“There’s nothing wrong with looking I guess, just don’t be so obvious about it. There are other people out here, right?”
“Yeah, well you know how I can carried away sometimes. You know how much shit Mom used to give me growing up. It was never-ending.”
“I can still hear Mom giving you the gears for your assorted shenanigans.”
“Yeah! And she would always…”
Cutting his brother off, Michael springs forward from his chair and says, “Say your full name!” In a shrill, nasally voice, Michael points his finger and shakes his head and says, “‘Sean Andrew Hillstead, what did you do to the carpet!? Get your goddamn shoes off the stairs!’” Having said this, Michael realizes that he is feeling pretty drunk now. His face is a little numb and it feels redder than a bottle of Tabasco sauce. He slowly encloses his finger back into his hand, picks up his chicken sandwich, and awkwardly takes a small bite.
At the tail end of some laughter, Sean says “Right on. She always had that distinctive tone, eh? Just priceless. Just priceless. Man, oh man… Those were good times. Good times.”
They sit and eat the majority of their meals in relative silence, except for the occasional burp from Sean or the occasional comment from Michael on how good his sandwich tastes. While eating, Michael glances over and sees an elderly couple walking hand in hand towards one of the exits. He wonders if his parents would still be holding hands if they would have lived to be eighty. Then he thinks. Did he even remember his parents holding hands? He thinks for a while but cannot even muster one single memory of his parents ever holding hands. Surely they must have held hands. Maybe when he was in his room.
Breaking the silence, Sean says, “So, you. Are you seeing anyone or anything?”
“No, not for a couple months or so. I dated this woman for about eight months, but it just wasn’t working. So I’ve just been flying solo.”
“Sometimes it’s better that way. Oh guy, you’re probably gonna kill me, but I gotta tell you.” Sean leans forward and speaks just barely over a whisper. “Back in high school I thought you were, um. I thought you were gay.”
“Umm, what?”
“Seriously. I mean I would’ve been okay with it if you were. Or are or whatever. But, yeah. I think Mom and Dad were kind of wondering too, although they never really said anything.”
“Well, that’s kind of weird. I had no idea. But I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. I mean I wasn’t the big football star or anything and I never really did give a shit about cars. I always just saw them as a means of getting from Point A to Point B.”
“Hey, I hope I didn’t piss you off. I am sorry if I did.”
“I’m not really pissed off. I mean, I’m definitely not homophobic or anything. I just never felt like I fit in back in highschool and I guess I never really dated much back then. Plus, it seemed like anyone who didn’t listen to AC/DC or played football or worked on their car in the garage must’ve been a ‘fag’ or something.”
“Yeah, I know. I probably got caught up in that too. I actually got some ribbing from some of my teammates because they thought you were fruity or what not. But you know how guys are. I always stuck up for you though.”
“Well thanks. So why didn’t you try out for the Rams or anything? You used to love football.”
“That was more Dad’s thing, really. I mean, I liked playing but I think Dad had this big dream of me playing in the CFL or something. That was just his thing. If I wasn’t pressured so much I might have enjoyed it more. But, I still enjoyed playing in high school, but I probably liked it a lot because of the cheerleaders! Ha!”
“Yeah, you and your cheerleaders.”
“Yeah, what can I say? The only thing that was shitty about the cheerleaders was that I had to talk to them after. Painful stuff sometimes, let me tell you! I sometimes wished that they had a mute button or something.”
“So you really didn’t get a big charge or rush from playing football?”
“It was just alright. I mean, it kept me in shape and shit, but yeah. It was more Dad urging me on. Dad would’ve killed me if I quit the team.”
“He was pretty excited every time you guys went to your games.”
“Yeah. He was in his glory. But you never really came out to many of my games. Did you even come out to one?”
“No, I guess I didn’t. That would’ve required leaving my room.”
“Yeah, you were like a fuckin’ hermit! A gay hermit! Ha!”
“Okay Homer, I get it. Hardy har har.”
“Just jokes, just jokes. You know, I always tried to joke around with you when we were younger, but I was a little scared sometimes that you’d take it too hard or something. I didn’t want you to like kill yourself or anything.”
“I wasn’t suicidal, Sean.”
“I was hoping not. It’s just every time I walked by your room, you always had that “Oh woe is me” shit cranked. Like what the fuck bands were they? The Smiths? The Cure? Echo and the Rabbit Something Or Others? Or whatever the fuck else you had.”
“I didn’t really look at it as depressing stuff. I guess it wasn’t exactly happy bubblegum pop music. It was just more real. Just because I never listened to Motley Crue or Metallica didn’t mean I was going to slit my wrists or jump in front of a bus. Metallica was pretty dark and you weren’t depressed listening to them.”
“Well, Metallica had huge fucking loud guitars man. That stuff kicks ass. I still love that stuff. Plus you went through that phase where you dressed all dark and stuff. Black this, black that. You’d step outside at night and like disappear into thin air!”
“But I also had my hair dyed green and red and blue too. You name it. Should I have just grown out a mullet?”
“Oh man! Remember my mullet I had? I thought I looked so fucking cool.”
“Yeah, you even permed it too. And you thought I was gay. Plus you had those ridiculously tight acid wash jeans. You were pretty close to having male camel toe.”
“Ha! Yeah, well there you go. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty eh?”
* * *
As they keep talking, Michael glances around and notices Mr. Comb-Over sitting at one of the slot machines, approximately fifty feet away. A big clump of hair at the back of the man’s head is drooping down, exposing a big patch of shiny baldness. He’s wearing a green, yellow and orange Hawaiian shirt that even Weird Al Yankovic would find repulsive. The back of his collar is flipped up and his shirt is so wrinkled that it almost looks like an accordion. Maybe Weird Al would wear this accordion shirt after all. After staring for a few seconds, Michael quietly points out Mr. Comb-Over to Sean, igniting hysterical laughter from Sean.
“That’s the guy with the comb-over? Mr. Comb-Over? That is classic! Michael, that is so funny! God, my gut is just hurting. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. When you told me that story I just about busted a nut from laughing so hard, but to actually see the guy. Wow. He does look like a child molester or something.”
“Yeah, he was quite the guy. It was a pretty painful plane ride, let me tell you. Nails on chalkboard.”
“Hoo! That’s great.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d find that funny. Your sense of humour is twisted enough for you to find that hilarious.”
“Well you’ve obviously found your comedic side too. Two wild and crazy guys! Ha! Remember that Saturday Night Live skit? Great stuff. Steve Martin! And Dan Ackroyd.”
“Except Dan Ackroyd stopped being funny somewhere down the line.”
“Yeah! Bill Murray is still funny as hell though. I love that guy! Caddyshack was killer.”
“I didn’t like that movie actually. Although, I’ll at least give you that Bill Murray was easily the best part in it. I mean, you can only take so much of Rodney Dangerfield’s ‘no respect’ shtick.”
“You know Michael, I’m really enjoying this, but I’m gonna be serious here for a moment.”
“Okay.”
“Moment’s passed! Ha!”
“What a guy, what a guy.”
“But seriously, I really had no idea what to expect here. I’m really enjoying talking to you here.”
“I have to admit that I’m having a good time too. I was pretty scared shitless coming back here to be honest with you.”
Sean’s face suddenly becomes very downcast and grim. “Yeah, it’s been five years since, well…since.”
“Since, yeah.”
“Five years. I really miss them.”
“I do too.”
“It’s like sometimes I’ll have a dream and wake up expecting them to be around or something.”
“I know what you mean. Especially for you since you were closer to them than I was.”
“They loved you, you know. They really did.”
“I know they loved me, but I wish they had a better way of showing it. I just never felt like I belonged. I always thought that Dad would’ve paid more attention to me if I would’ve played football or something. I sometimes found myself wondering if I was adopted and I would try to visualize what my birth parents looked like.”
“No way. That’s fucked. I can definitely see parts of Mom and Dad in you. I really see a lot of Mom in you actually. She was always so skinny. But they tried. They tried. But you just cut yourself off from the world. I hardly even saw you because you were always in your room. It’s hard to talk to someone if they’re not there.”
“I just never felt that they supported me as much.”
“You know, Mom really liked your stories. She even sat me down and made me read a couple of your stories, you know.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m deadly serious. And I even thought they were pretty fucking good. I mean, I’m no expert, but I really liked that one you did. That one where the teacher went completely batty and had those tripped out dreams?”
“Oh my God, you actually read that?”
“I did, I did. I was really impressed. You impressed me.”
“You never said anything till now.”
“Well, you were always in your room.”
"You know, you say that like I never stepped foot outside my room. And if I was in my room, you could’ve always knocked.”
“But I figured you were probably jerking... No. No jokes. Okay. Look, I don’t want to fight here, I’m just saying. I’m trying here. I’m trying.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just… It’s hard.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“So what made you invite me back home?”
“I just started thinking back and I was having that whole “What am I doing with my life?” kind of phase. I just realized that I really don’t have a whole fucking lot in this world. I just don’t. I mean, I’m dating Michelle or seeing her or whatever the hell we’re doing, but it could end tomorrow for all I know. Who knows? I mean, I can be a real dick sometimes. You know that. I know that. I’m trying to get better though.”
"Sean.”
“No listen. I don’t think I’ve ever really talked to anyone like this. Maybe it’s the beer talking or something. I am actually pretty corked but I gotta get this out.”
“Alright. Go ahead.”
Sean tilts his head back, lightly massages the back of his neck for a couple seconds, takes a deep breath and says, “Michael, I fucking hate my job. It’s horrible. Yeah, I get to sleep, watch people run on a treadmill, and jack off if I want to, but I get bored to tears. It really sucks. I just don’t know what else to say about it. I try to have a sense of humour about it and make the best of it, but I really hate going to work. The money is great, but that’s it. And it’s shift work so I work these shitty twelve hour days. When I get a week off, it takes a couple days to get my body back to a normal sleep schedule. And then in a couple of days, my sleep is all out of whack again.”
“Well, why not just quit and find something else?”
“I think I’m stuck. I’m thirty-three. What else am I going to do? I’m not gonna work at fuckin’ Walmart or something. No thanks. And I can’t see going back to school. I got a diploma so I might as well use it, right?”
“I’m sure Michelle would be happy if you roamed the halls of university with her.”
“Yeah, probably, but she probably will go to school forever. I don’t think I’m cut out for school right now. Or ever.”
“I don’t know what to say Sean.”
“I dunno. But I just got thinking about everything and like I said, I realized that I really don’t have a whole lot. So I took a shot in the dark and saw if you could take the time to come home even for a couple days. Even if it’s on business. So what are you covering here?”
Feeling like he is shrinking smaller and smaller by the second, Michael slumps in his chair and quietly tells Sean, “Ah, okay. Here’s the thing. I lied. I’m not really here on business. I mean, I may work on an article if I feel like it, but I really don’t have to.”
Sean jumps forward in his seat, almost spilling his drink. “You lied?! What the fuck??? So you’re paying good money for a hotel when you could’ve stayed with me for free?”
“I know, I know. I feel shitty about it, but that’s the truth. I feel like a schmuck.”
“Man.”
“But hear me out, Sean. I just didn’t know what to expect from this trip. I thought that, worse case scenario, if we couldn’t hold a conversation… I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to spend time with me if we couldn’t even talk. It’s not like we were that close growing up.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that I guess. But what a waste of money. You’re not married to the hotel for the whole weekend, are you?”
“I’m sure I could get out of staying there for the whole three nights. Yeah, I’ll check out tomorrow. I can do that.”
“Good, good, good. Good! Well there you have it! Wow, I was getting kind of serious there, eh? I think that beer is making me all down and serious.”
“It is alright to get serious every now and then. I’ll forgive you if you do.”
“Okay, I gotta back up here. So how are you? I mean, really how are you? I think I’ve been talking your ears off and I don’t think I even know what the hell you’re even doing in Toronto. So let’s see here… no girlfriend, you’re not gay, creepy guys with comb-overs want to violate you… so what’s your deal? This is your life Michael! Details! Ha!”
“You’re always so on. Do you have a mute button or anything?”
“No, people just tell me to fuck off on occasion.”
“Oh okay. So what have I been doing in the big T.O. eh? I’ve just been doing a lot of freelance writing. I kind of lucked out and have pretty steady work now. It was really touch and go for the first couple of years, but now there are about three or four magazines and newspapers that accept my work on a regular basis. I still like to write my stories, but I haven’t got any of those published yet, but I’ll see. I’ve submitted three of my stories in the last couple months to a few literary journals and magazines so I’ll see what comes of that. Even if they don’t get published though, I just love the writing process. What else? I live in a tiny apartment that I pay far too much for, but that’s how it goes I guess. One man’s closet is another man’s palace, right? Is that how it goes? I don’t even know. Wow, I have to say that the rye is definitely doing its business. Am I slurring? I feel like I’m slurring. Anyways, something to that effect. Wow, I think I’m babbling. Definitely babbling.”
“Mr. Babblehead! Feel free to babble. Blah blah blah. This is good. This is a great talk we’re having! You can really talk when you want to! Hey, who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
“I locked him in his room!”
“Yeah, of course! Where else would he be?”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know. My watch broke the other day so I am out the loop lately. I gotta tell ya, I don’t even miss the damn thing. You’re always just glancing down and time just drags out when you keep checking. I’m not going to be a slave to time, dammit!”
“Fuck time!”
“Yes! Yes! You got it. That’ll be our first action once we take over the world. No more clocks.”
“And everyone must have a permed mullet.”
“Or a comb-over!”
“Yeah, exactly. Alright, so I came back home. Here I am. When are you going to come to Toronto? You should come out on one of your weeks off.”
“Yeah! I’ll just have to book a hotel.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Point taken.”
“Ha, just joking again. How about next time AC/DC play in Toronto?”
“Maybe The Cure will open up for them.”
“Ah, but seriously, I’ll try to come up some time in the next couple of months. But that’s too far down the road. Right now, let’s just sit here and enjoy the moment. And raise your glass. Here’s a toast. Here’s to you and me, and here’s to Mom and Dad.”
“To Mom and Dad.”
“I really wish they were here.”
“I know. I know.”
“I still have that image in my mind, you know. I couldn’t even recognize them. You just don’t know. If it wasn’t for the licence plate I wouldn’t have even known it was them.”
“I can’t believe you had to see it. I really don’t know how I would react if I was at the scene. I would be a blubbering mess.”
“It’s weird, I just was standing there and I couldn’t even make a sound. I couldn’t even…” Sean’s eyes start to well up with tears. He tilts his head and puts his hands over his nose, trying to cover his sniffling. “I really don’t want to do this, Michael. I’m sorry you have to see this.”
Sean looks up and notices his brother’s eyes are getting red and wet too. “Ah shit, now I got you going too. Dammit. I’m sorry. We’re supposed to be having fun, right?”
Michael sniffs once, breaks out a meek smile and says to Sean, “No worries, right? No worries.”
“Good, good. Ah jeez, look at us. We’re crying at the casino!” Sean looks around and notices a handful of people discretely looking at him and his brother. Unfazed, Sean stands up, scans the room and declares, “Hey everybody! We’re crying at the casino! Enjoy the show! No impersonators here! You get the real deal. And look at this! For an encore, I’m gonna hug my brother!”
Michael stands up and gives his brother a big, brisk hug. While hugging his brother and with the remnants of tears still fresh around his eyes, he sees other people looking at them in various degrees of attentiveness. But he realizes that he is not embarrassed. They decide to leave the casino and head towards a local pub. Trying to keep up with Michael’s fast pace, Sean asks his brother, “Why are you walking so fast?”
