by Shawn Syms
She turned to see that Gus had already stripped down and was climbing under the sheets. She walked toward him, turned off the light, undressed, and joined him.
“A couple of rowdies, but harmless,” Gus told her in a low voice. “The fat one is Ray, and the tall one’s Rick. Two brothers from New Brunswick, partying their way to some motorcycle event in Ontario. I just hope they don’t keep us up all night blabbing about titties and booze. I need some sleep.” He kissed the back of her neck softly. Within minutes, he was snoring. Before long, she followed him into slumber.
In the morning, they walked over to Marie’s, a small snack bar next door to the campground. Beth assumed their neighbours had stayed up late into the evening. It was well past ten, and there were no signs of life next door.
The tiny restaurant had been designed to look like a boat. The walls were decorated with marine trappings, including a miniature model of a lighthouse and a petrified starfish, both of which fascinated Todd. A French-language newspaper left lying on their table had a headline mentioning the upcoming Référendum du Québec. Gus was relieved to find that their waitress—a cheerful woman in her fifties whose nametag read “Yvette”—spoke English with an accent but without reservation. “We have a lot of touristes here,” she explained as she brought them oval plates heavily laden with sausages and pancakes. “Besides,” Yvette added with a toss of her curly, blonde-dyed mane, “I can communicate with anybody using the international language.” Gus smirked, appreciating her sassy manner. The family ate heartily.
Later, on the way back to the campground, Beth told Gus and Todd that the breakfast hadn’t agreed with her.
“My belly is cramping,” she announced with a grimace. “Maybe you two should go on without me. The field where the balloon is landing is just down the road. It’s supposed to be a big party there.”
She touched her stomach gingerly. “I think I need to lie down for a little while. Then I can come and join you boys.”
“Are you sure, babe?” Gus touched her shoulder. “Why don’t we wait till you feel better, and we’ll all go together?”
“I don’t really think that will help much. And I don’t want you to miss out on the fun.” Beth didn’t want to be babied—and the camper was too small to be very comfortable for the three of them, except when they were asleep.
Beth promised to join them before too long, and Gus reluctantly agreed to go on ahead. He and Todd headed up the path to have a shower. When they returned to drop off their towels, Beth was lying down. They both kissed her and then left, leaving the camper door open.
She pulled a blanket around herself tightly. It smelled of Gus’s sweat; the familiar scent gave her a sense of comfort. She lay quietly in the camper and listened to Gus and Todd’s voices slowly fade as they walked away. Her stomach wasn’t in pain. Although this was only the second day of their vacation, she felt closed in.
Over the years, she and Gus had developed a kind of quiet intimacy. In bed, he was caring and sensitive. Whether he stroked her breasts lightly or grazed her neck or thighs with his tongue and teeth, he knew how to please her physically. The penetrative act itself usually didn’t take that long. Beth got the feeling that this was because he didn’t want to hurt her, either with his thrusts or with the weight of his hefty body on top of her more petite frame. She didn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t have to be so gentle. The nature of their habits and routines had been unspoken for so long.
Beth drifted off to sleep. She dreamt that she and Gus were in their bed at home and that someone was watching them through their bedroom window. She woke up with a start. The sun’s rays shone through the camper’s open door, but no one was staring inside.
Slowly, she roused herself and glanced at her watch. It was noon, and the balloon was expected to reach Matane soon. By now, everyone in town must be in that farmer’s field waiting for it to touch down. Sticking her head outside, she saw that the campground was deserted. The broad solitude pleased her. Beth threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and grabbed a beach towel lying beside the bed. She stepped outside and walked up the path toward the showers.
After a minute, she heard some rustling noises behind her, followed by a low whistle. Ray, the large bald biker, was coming up the path with a white towel draped across his shoulder. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, his voice a low rumble. She nodded in response and kept walking, feeling his gaze tracing the outline of her bare legs. By the time she reached the entrance to the facilities, he’d caught up with her. He didn’t say another word, but surveyed her body in silence for another moment. Then he adjusted his crotch casually, as if he’d just scratched an itch. With that subtle, brazen gesture, he pushed the men’s room door open and walked in without looking back. Beth stood outside for several seconds. Then she followed Ray into the men’s room. Behind her, the door shut slowly.
Adjusting her shirt, Beth walked out of the men’s room and stepped out into the sun—and bumped right into Axel, who stood in front of her with a mop in one hand and a bucket holding a can of Ajax in the other.
They both froze, staring at one another. Then Beth turned toward the ladies’ room and Axel stepped into the men’s. He propped the door open with the bucket. From inside, the sounds of water pelting onto tile—and of Ray whistling in the shower—could be heard.
Alone in her own shower stall, Beth closed her eyes as she lathered her face, arms, and legs. She hadn’t had sex with another man since marrying Gus—until now. She’d be happy if she never saw that biker again. Still, as she rinsed her body off, a lingering ache reminded her that she’d enjoyed their rough, gritty act.
Beth left the shower stall and walked into the empty dressing room. She’d left her clothes next to an enormous mirror that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. While dressing, she studied her reflection. I like my hips, she told herself, touching them with her fingertips. She made some funny faces in the mirror and then laughed. Beth wondered what it would be like to have a moment alone in front of this same mirror again ten years from now. The men’s room hadn’t had a full-length mirror.
Walking back to drop off her towel, she saw no sign of either Ray or his brother. The whole park looked barren and abandoned. She headed out, passing the smiling whale and walking alongside the highway toward the farm. The warm sun and cool Maritime breeze caressed her skin. A red TransAm drove by, and one of its passengers shouted something at her in French that she couldn’t make out. Looking up at the sky, she could already see the large blue balloon in the distance up ahead.
Before long, she came upon a crowd behind a red farmhouse, hundreds of people gathered in a field that smelled strongly of damp hay with a faint but stubborn hint of manure. It didn’t take Beth long to spot her husband and son. At six-foot-four, Gus stood out in most crowds. Todd sat on his shoulders to get a better view above the throng of people. Approaching them quietly from behind, she rubbed Todd’s back playfully, and then slipped her arms around Gus’s belly.
“I guess I got here right on time.”
“Mom! Look at the balloon,” Todd cried out.
She looked up. The balloon hovered a few hundred feet from the ground. Enormous and proud, the navy-blue vessel hung in the sky as if it belonged there—as if it were not manmade at all, its rounded surfaces shining like azure satin. The balloon descended gracefully, looking for all the world like an inverted teardrop serenely sliding down from the visage of clouds.
Its two passengers—a father and son, Gus told Todd excitedly—stood waving to the crowd from a lightweight wicker crate attached to the base of the balloon by taut nylon cords. It looked like a giant picnic basket. Off to the side of the landing area, a small marching band stood in place and began to play with celebratory flourish. The crowd broke into applause as the balloon touched ground and a handful of people rushed toward it as soon as it landed.
Gus, Beth, and Todd stayed in the farmer’s field for hours, mingling with the crowd of curious locals, American visitors, and assorted
balloon aficionados who’d made the trek to Matane. Gus got the autographs of the two flyers for his son. On the same piece of paper, Todd documented the identification number that had been painted on one side of the balloon.
They ate corn on the cob and cups of warm applesauce sold by the farmer and his family. Beth and Gus sat on a bleacher made from bales of hay, watching Todd played Frisbee with a few local boys who spoke only French. At one point, she saw Axel and his grandmother on the other side of the crowd. The old woman smiled and waved. Beth waved back. Her eyes met Axel’s.
The celebrations eventually started to subside. The family took a walk along the river and then headed back to the campground as the sun began to descend.
When they got back to the campsite, the bonfire was roaring again next door. Wearing the same clothes as they had the day before, the brothers were drunk and noisy. They quieted down for a short while when the Luciuks arrived, but by the time the family had decided to bed down for the night, they’d gotten boisterous again.
“What can I say? She loved it … she couldn’t get enough. She liked it so much, she stole my friggin’ underwear!” Crude bellows of laughter roared through the camper’s thin canvas walls. “I guess she wanted a souvenir. I bet she’s sniffing them right now.”
Gus flinched. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, standing up nude in the darkened camper and pulling on his shorts. A glimmer of orange flame sparked into view for a moment when he stepped out into the night.
Completely still, Beth listened. She hoped that Todd was already asleep. She heard Gus outside, speaking to Ray and Rick in low, hushed tones. A minute later, he came back to the camper, pulled his shorts off, and returned to bed. The two men next door were silent. “I told those jokers we have a young kid over here. And he doesn’t need to hear that kind of crap.” Gus sighed irritably and rolled over, turning his back to Beth.
Early the next morning, they dismantled the camper and hitched it back up to the car. Not a sound could be heard from the tent next door. They drove back up to the office. Beth got out of the car and entered the white whale once more through its red door. Axel sat behind the desk.
He wrote up their bill for the two-night stay by hand. “How did you like Matane?” His eyes met hers. “Was your visit what you hoped it would be?”
She bent down to sign the credit-card imprint on the wooden desk, then stood up and looked at Axel. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“I know,” he said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out Ray’s large white cotton Fruit of the Looms. He let go of the briefs, and they flopped onto the desk between the two of them. They were damp, and the front was discoloured with yellow droplets. Beth stared at them for a few seconds, then looked at Axel. He was blushing. After a moment’s silence, Axel laughed nervously.
“Not much I can do with these,” Beth said. “Gus wears boxers.”
She walked to the door of the office and turned to face Axel again. “We’ll be coming back this way in a week or so. Maybe we’ll spend a night here on the way home.”
“I hope you do,” he said. “But I may not be here by then. I’ve decided to move to Montreal. I’m going to stay with my cousin Francine. She’s an artist.” He grinned.
She smiled back at him. “Good luck, Mr Delpeuch.”
“Good luck, Mrs Luciuk.”
Beth left the office, got into the car, and tossed the receipt from the campground onto the dashboard. She gave Gus a kiss, and he stroked her cheek gently in response. Todd reached forward to hand her a cheese sandwich as they drove away from the white whale, slowly picking up speed.
They drove east along Highway 132. Within minutes they reached the empty field at Dubroc’s farm. Beth rolled down her window and looked to the spot where the balloon had landed the day before. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she picked up the map that sat next to her novel on the dashboard; it was warm to the touch from the heat of the morning sun. Beth unfolded it and noted their upcoming turnoff, south onto 195. The next stop would be New Brunswick. She traced its outline on the map with the tip of her finger.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been started without the support and encouragement of Marnie Woodrow and would not have been completed if not for similarly wise and insightful contributions from Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer. Thank you to Claude Mercure and Paul Leonard for their much-appreciated editorial suggestions. Thanks to many editors who have worked with me on these stories, including Steve Berman, Maurice Mierau, Michelle Miller, Troy Palmer, and Emily Schultz. I would also like to gratefully acknowledge the financial assistance of the Toronto Arts Council and the Ontario Arts Council.
My heartfelt thanks to everyone at Arsenal Pulp for their efforts to make the book better and get it out into the world: Brian Lam, Susan Safyan, Cynara Geissler, Gerilee McBride, and Robert Ballantyne.
Thank you to my family for all their support: my mother Margaret and brother Chris and husband Jeff. Thank you to my close friends for their encouragement: Paul Schofield, Don Pyle, Jason Winkler, Wes Doherty, Paul Dubaz, and Harry Hodges.
This book is dedicated to the memory of my father Frank Syms and the memories of several individuals who were very influential during the period in which this book was written: Barrie Joseph Cossette, Patrick Duggan, Kathleen Gilbert, Melinda Morningstar, David Parnell, and Bertha Prosyk.
Shawn Syms is a widely published author, journalist, and critic whose work has appeared in more than fifty publications over the past twenty-five years, including The Journey Prize Stories 21, Canadian Literature, the National Post, and The Globe and Mail, as well as the acclaimed anthologies First Person Queer and Love, Christopher Street: Reflections of New York. He is the editor of the anthology Friend. Follow. Text. #storiesFromLivingOnline. Shawn was raised in Niagara Falls, Ontario, and lives in Toronto.
shawnsyms.com
NOTHING LOOKS FAMILIAR
Copyright © 2014 by Shawn Syms
US edition published 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any part by any means—graphic, electronic, or mechanical—without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may use brief excerpts in a review, or in the case of photocopying in Canada, a license from Access Copyright.
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The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the British Columbia Arts Council for its publishing program, and the Government of Canada (through the Canada Book Fund) and the Government of British Columbia (through the Book Publishing Tax Credit Program) for its publishing activities.
Earlier versions of some of these stories have appeared in the following publications: “On the Line” in The Journey Prize Stories 21 (McClelland & Stewart) and PRISM international; “Family Circus” in The Winnipeg Review; “Snap” and “The Exchange” in Little Fiction; “Get Brenda Foxworthy” in Boys of Summer (Bold Strokes Books); “Taking Creative License” in Joyland magazine and Joyland Retro Vol. 1 No. 2; “Man, Woman and Child” in This Magazine; and “Three Tuesdays from Now” in Friend. Follow. Text. #storiesFromLivingOnline (Enfield & Wizenty).
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons either living or deceased is purely coincidental.
Cover photograph: Getty Images © Shana Novak
Design by Gerilee McBride
Edited by Susan Safyan
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication:
Syms, Shawn, 1970–, author
Nothing looks familiar : stories / Shawn Syms.
Short stories.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-55152-570-9 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-55152-571-6 (epub)
I. Title.
PS8637.Y57N68 2014 C813’.6 C2014-904312-0
C2014-904313-9
>
Table of Contents
On the Line
Four Pills
Family Circus
Snap
Get Brenda Foxworthy
Taking Creative License
Man, Woman, and Child
The Eden Climber
The Exchange
Three Tuesdays from Now
East on 132
Acknowledgments
