“He’s dying to meet you.”
“Wrong word,” Sydney says. “He’s eager to meet you.”
“Did you tell him about my head?”
“I showed him pictures I snapped when you wasn’t lookin’.”
No one is ever dying to meet Irwin, especially after they’ve seen his head. “What did he say about my head?”
“Why’s it always got to be about your head, junior? For real, I mean it’s not that freaky. You act like you’re the Elephant Man or something.”
“He didn’t say anything about your head, son. He told me he’s always wanted a brother.”
The big, swollen thing inside Irwin finally busts out but doesn’t rip him apart. He sinks back on the bed, freed of its burden.
“So,” Forbes says, “are you in? Do you want to go tomorrow? His show closes tomorrow.”
“What the frick, that’s the door again.” Sydney heads for the hallway.
“Seriously, Spidey, do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“It might be weird. I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Ready for what? How are you supposed to know if you’re ready when you don’t know what it’s like to meet a guy with your sister’s heart and lungs inside him?”
Dee bustles in clutching her Elite School of Beauty bag. “What’s this about not getting out of bed again, Charlie Brown? You promised you’d let me practice waxing on you.”
“I’m too tired.”
“All you have to do is lie there, you lazy ass. I do the work. We’ll start with the pits.” She plugs in her wax warmer. “If you don’t cooperate I’ll hypnotize you.” Dee took a hypnotizing tutorial online and has been practising hypnosis on Nina’s cat.
“All you can hypnotize is cats,” Irwin says.
“You are wrong, Chuck. I hypnotized the stick insect.”
“No shit,” Forbes says. “What’d you make him do?”
“Suffer.” Dee pulls out waxing strips, applicator sticks, baby powder and coconut oil.
“Practice waxing on me,” Sydney says. “I have to shave constantly. It’s a total drag.”
“You’re on. Move over, Charlie, she needs to lie down.”
Irwin moves over, embarrassed but excited at the prospect of sharing his bed with Sydney. Her softness presses against him. Fortunately the Prozac subdues his erection.
Lynne comes in. “What’s going on here?”
“A waxing party.” Sydney stretches her arm back so Dee can spread some wax on her armpit. “What are you doing here, Lynne? You’re supposed to be at work.”
“I left early, and a good thing I did. I trusted you to look after him, not host a party. Irwin needs rest.”
“No I don’t. I need you to leave us alone.”
“I should be going anyway,” Forbes says.
“No, don’t go,” Irwin pleads. “I want you to stay.”
Lynne sags against the doorframe. “So you’re saying you want them to stay, and me to go?”
“That’s right.” It astonishes Irwin that he is able to speak to her this way without the assistance of vino. “Go smoke on the balcony.”
“Irwin,” Forbes says. “Take it easy, son.”
“Let me tell her what to do for once. She’s always telling me what to do.”
“Hold still, Syd,” Dee commands. “I have to figure out if your hair grows up or down then pull the strips off in the opposite direction.”
“Fine,” Lynne says. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”
“Good.”
“That’s mean, junior.”
“She’s mean to me.” He hears Lynne banging the kitchen cabinets, probably searching for vino.
“Okay,” Dee says, “get ready. I’m tearing a strip off.”
“Ow,” Sydney yelps.
“The price of beauty.”
“She always says that,” Irwin says.
“There’s this dingus at LA who’s got an armpit fetish since he hit himself on the head with a dumbbell. All he talks about is licking hot chicks’ armpits. He says, since he hit himself in the head with a dumbbell, he can screw all night long.”
Dee lays another strip. “Cheaper than Viagra.”
“When you hypnotized Wyck,” Irwin asks, “did you make him drop the charges?”
“More than that. I made him think helium balloons were pulling his arms up. The stick insect was standing there with his arms stuck in the air. I considered leaving him like that but I’m too nice.”
Lying with Sydney beside him, listening to Dee and Forbes, Irwin feels a part of something, he’s not sure what, but he’s comfortable in it whatever it is. Sydney, Dee and Forbes don’t blame him for anything, don’t tell him what to do, don’t mind his big head. They might even be his friends. And there’s a young man out there who still wants to meet him after seeing his picture.
His friends urge him to talk to his mother. They say it hasn’t been easy for her, that she did the best she could. “That’s all any of us can do,” Sydney says.
“But how do you know what your best is?” Irwin asks.
“You can’t think of anything else to do, junior. You’ve tried everything you can possibly think of.”
“Everything you can think of that’s possible.” Dee tears another strip off Sydney, who yelps again.
“You’ve done your best when you’re up against the wall, son. I’d say your mom’s been up against the wall more than most.”
“She calls you a low-life,” Irwin says.
“I’ve been called worse. Cut her some slack, Spidey. She’s kept a roof over your head, put food in your belly and clothes on your back.”
“And she loves you like crazy,” Sydney says.
After they leave, he studies Harriet’s fierce and bleeding creatures and tries to understand why they had to be this way, why they couldn’t have been vulnerable and suffering like Oliver’s. Harriet’s creatures seethe with vengeance. Vengeance is a waste of energy, Mr. Chubak says. Vengeance causes wars and everybody loses in war.
When Irwin ordered his mother out of his room, he could see she was hurt. He’d gotten his revenge. Now it lies lifeless beside him, a waste of energy.
He finds her on the balcony. She isn’t smoking but leaning over the railing, staring morosely at the parking lot and Irwin’s afraid she’s going to jump, that she’s vulnerable and suffering and too tired to fight anymore. Suddenly he can’t imagine a universe without his mother loving him like crazy, and he grabs her around the middle the way Heike grabs him.
“What is it, sweet pea? What’s wrong?”
“I love you.”
“I know that, peanut.”
He releases his hold and guides her away from the railing, easing her into a lawn chair. She’s losing energy, as though her batteries are dying. When he was little, she bought him a mechanical blue poodle that barked and wagged its tail. The noise irritated Gennedy so they didn’t replace the batteries, just watched the poodle slow down until it couldn’t bark or wag its tail anymore. Irwin holds his mother’s hand, alarmed at how small it feels in his. When he was little, her grown-up hand covering his gave him courage. Now her hand feels as though it will break if he squeezes it.
“You have to stop getting skinny,” he says. “It’s scary.”
She doesn’t respond, just stares at the cluttered balconies across the parking lot.
“Promise me you’ll eat,” he says.
“Cook me something. If you cook me something, I’ll eat it.”
“Is it okay if I make sandwiches?”
“Whatever you make, I’ll eat.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
A promise from his mother is a promise. He strokes her hand gently,
as though it’s an injured animal. She rests her head on his shoulder. She has never done this before. He kisses the top of her head the way she kisses his.
Irwin hasn’t seen Mr. Shotlander in the lobby for two days and is beginning to worry about him. He takes the Mirror up to his apartment and knocks several times. “It’s me,” he says through the door. “Irwin. I’ve got your paper.”
When Mr. Shotlander answers, he looks shrunken. “Thanks, Irwin. You’re a good kid.”
Irwin waits for him to offer a Coke but Mr. Shotlander starts to close the door.
“Can I come in?” Irwin asks.
“What for?”
“A Coke?”
“A Coke?” Mr. Shotlander looks as though he doesn’t know what a Coke is.
“A Diet Coke,” Irwin clarifies.
“Oh right. Of course.” He steps back from the door. He’s been forgetting to tug up his trousers and they droop from his hips, revealing his diamond-patterned boxers. “Help yourself.”
“Can I get you one?”
“Sure, sure. You’ve got to get that sister of yours to go to Mr. Hung’s for me. I need chips. Barbecue.”
The other seniors are concerned about Mr. Shotlander because a complete stranger managed to get a $500 cheque out of him for cancer research. When Mr. Chubak asked Mr. Shotlander what the stranger’s organization was, or if he’d offered a receipt, Mr. Shotlander told him to mind his own business. Mr. Shotlander has never been known to write cheques for anybody. Not even for his son when he needed his wisdom teeth out. “The old tightwad got rooked,” Mr. Chubak said.
Mr. Shotlander adjusts the thermostat.
“It’s summer, Mr. Shotlander,” Irwin says loudly to his good ear. “The heat’s not on.”
There is only one Coke in the fridge. He hands it to Mr. Shotlander, who sits on the couch holding the can as though he doesn’t know what to do with it. Irwin takes it, flips the tab then hands it back to Mr. Shotlander. He doesn’t drink any. “Get one for yourself,” he says.
“I’m okay.”
News about his son’s tests has not been good. The cancer spread beyond his lungs into the adrenal glands and the abdomen. The oncologist recommended four months of chemo. His first treatment is next week. Mr. Hoogstra couldn’t understand why it’s going to take five and a half hours. “Who the hell gets chemo for five and a half hours?”
Mr. Quigley, doing sit-ups, said, “Somebody with stage four lung cancer.”
Mr. Shotlander wanted to go with his son to the treatment, but his son said it wasn’t necessary.
“Of course it’s necessary,” Mr. Quigley said. “It’s his son. When my son was in for a kidney stone, I was right there with him. He should go regardless of what Danny says.”
Irwin thinks it’s strange that all the seniors talk about Danny and his cancer to each other but not to Mr. Shotlander. The only reason they know anything is because Mr. Shotlander’s computer is on the blink and he has to use Mr. Quigley’s. Mr. Shotlander is afraid of forgetting his password again and told it to Mr. Quigley. Mr. Quigley checks Mr. Shotlander’s Gmail frequently to make sure he doesn’t miss any important emails from Danny.
“Why don’t they talk on the phone?” Mr. Chubak asked.
“For crying out loud,” Mr. Quigley said, “what century are you in? Nobody talks on the phone these days.”
Irwin sits on the couch beside Mr. Shotlander. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Not a thing.”
Photos of Mr. Shotlander’s dead wife and Danny at different ages are spread on the coffee table. “I guess you must’ve taken all those pictures,” Irwin says. “Since you’re not in any of them.”
Mr. Shotlander feels in his pockets for change. He does this often now, for no apparent reason. Last week he sideswiped a minivan and rear-ended a CAA towing truck. He told the police he suspected the cause of the collision was that his automatic transmission was improperly engaged and failed to go into reverse. The police suspended his licence. The other seniors think it’s time to surrender the Cavalier, but they don’t say this to Mr. Shotlander.
“Don’t let me forget to drive Danny to the hospital,” Mr. Shotlander says. “The twenty-fifth, eleven a.m. Don’t let me forget. I don’t want him taking the subway after they drip poison into him. Elizabeth used to get so woozy from the stuff I had to carry her out of there.”
“He can always take a taxi.” Irwin does not want to remind Mr. Shotlander that his driver’s licence has been revoked and his car impounded. “It’s really hard to find parking around hospitals.” Irwin knows this because Gennedy would circle SickKids many times before finding a space.
“Run along then, Irwin. Tell that sister of yours to come see me. I need her to look at my dang computer. It’s on the blink again. Tell her I’ll even pay her a fiver.”
Irwin doesn’t want to remind him that Harriet is dead. He has done this before and Mr. Shotlander, initially shocked by the news, becomes incensed, ranting about that layabout.
“I can get what you need from Mr. Hung’s.”
“No, Irwin, I’m a loyal customer. She needs the cash. She’s got big plans, that one.”
“What plans?”
“Escape money. She’s going to escape that crumb-bum layabout.”
“She told you that?”
“She told Chubak. She wants to eat seals, carve soapstone and learn Eskimo.”
This is news to Irwin and can only mean she was saving money to abandon him. “Harry’s dead,” he blurts, suddenly wanting to hurt as he has been hurt.
“She’s what?”
“She’s dead, and her heart and lungs are in a guy named Oliver. He paints just like Harry.”
Mr. Shotlander stares vacantly at him then feels in his pocket for change again. After a minute he gets up and checks the thermostat.
Irwin sits on the fire stairs, trying to forgive Harriet for wanting to leave him behind. Nothing is black and white, and he has to learn to forgive a little.
After she died, they found $95 hidden in her art books. Lynne stared at it like it was illegal. “Where did she get all this cash?”
“From the seniors,” Gennedy said.
“But why wouldn’t she put it in the bank? She loves the bank.”
When they discovered that Harriet had $228 in the bank, Lynne closed the account and took the money. Irwin didn’t think this was right, but couldn’t think of what else to do with it. Now that he knows it was escape money, it feels even more wrong. Maybe, if he’d asked her, Harry would have taken him with her. Maybe she thought he’d want to stay with Gennedy and Lynne. This makes sense because she knew he loved Gennedy. Besides, she probably thought he was too little to travel. Maybe she was going to send for him later.
“Irwin, what you doing there sittin’ like Tom Thumb?” Mr. Quigley climbs up and down the fire stairs when it’s too rainy to run outside.
“Nothing.”
“Nobody does nothing. Everybody’s up to something.”
“I’m worried about Mr. Shotlander. He seems really confused.”
“That he is, but there’s nothing the likes of us can do about it. Don’t sweat the stuff you can’t fix. Come on, kid, do some stair climbing with me. Two at a time on the way up. On your mark, get set, go!”
Irwin climbs with him because he can’t think of what else to do. After two flights he is out of breath and has to stop. Mr. Quigley jogs on the spot. “How do you feel, sport?”
“Tired.” Although for the first time in weeks he feels connected to his legs, and the heart and lungs pumping inside him.
“That’s the stuff. One more then we’ll do some stretches. You stick with me and you’ll be in fighting shape in no time.”
The idea of being in fighting shape appeals to Irwin, even though Harriet was tired of fighting and wanted to escape. Irwin has never fo
ught, except for his life in the hospital. This isn’t the same as what Mr. Quigley calls fighting the good fight. The good fight would be fighting for Heike and Lynne. Mr. Hoogstra told Irwin he’s the man of the family now.
After stretches Mr. Quigley makes him do knee push-ups. He can only manage eight.
“It’s a start, sport. Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time.”
It’s when he’s cleaning the fish tank that Heike phones. “Why didn’t you call me?” she demands.
“I’ve been calling and calling. You didn’t charge your cell and your mother never answers when I call.”
“Phooey.”
“Are you better?”
“Way better. I ate an entire pizza today. I made Mummy order it with processed cow cheese and pineapple chunks and I ate it. Half for lunch and half for dinner. Mummy was totally grossed out. It was sick.”
“Do you have to have more rabies shots?”
“No way, José. The doctor says I could get really sick from them. I Googled rabies and there’s no way that dog had it. He was, like, totally normal. I want to go to the comic con.”
“Call Dad and ask him to take us. I already asked him. If you ask him it’ll be harder for him to say no.”
“Eww, I don’t want to go with him, he’s too drippy.”
“It’s the only way your mom will let you go. She won’t let you go with just me.”
He hears Uma giving orders in the background.
“Gotta go, big brother. Chillax, I’m on it.” She hangs up and joy blasts through him. Heike is better. Life itself is back.
They take the subway and two buses to get to Oliver’s school. Forbes uses his crutch to climb on and off the buses while Irwin manages the chair, folding it to keep it from obstructing the other passengers. Dee offers Forbes an arm to grab if he loses his balance. Irwin’s stomach feels jammed up against his ribs because he’s afraid Oliver won’t like him. He couldn’t eat any of the waffles he toasted this morning. Lynne, at Irwin’s request, ate two. Sydney ate seven then said, “I disgust myself. I’m going to have to spend, like, ten hours on the treadmill.”
The school gym smells of stale sweat and old running shoes, and there aren’t many people looking at the artwork hanging below the windows. Sun spills above the paintings, providing a heavenly glow, softening the blood and gore. Harriet never painted on large canvases. Enlarged, the creatures’ suffering is more visible. Many seem to be running from something but losing energy, just like Lynne. After breakfast his mother didn’t do the dishes but sat on the couch staring at Betty and Bob. Irwin considered telling her that he was going to meet the boy who’d received Harriet’s heart and lungs, but he feared it would upset her.
On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light Page 39
