The Lighter Side of Life and Death

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “Night, buddy,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow,” he echoes, running upstairs. He’s got those frantic little-kid footsteps that I heard at Colette’s place and I realize this is the first time I’ve thought about her or Kat all night. Maybe I need to hang out with Burke more often.

  eleven

  Christopher Cipolla phones early Saturday after noon and asks, in a keen Cockney accent, if I want to catch a play in Toronto tonight. My accent isn’t half as good as his but I do my best to keep up with him. “What’s the story, guv?” I say. “What’s this ’ere play about then?”

  The play’s called Spin Cycle and his cousin’s part of the stage crew. He can only get two free tickets but his cousin might be able to score a discount on the rest. Miracle, Dustin and Jamie have already decided to go and Christopher plans on calling Y and Z too.

  “You in, mate?” Chris asks.

  It’s impossible to avoid Jamie. Why even try? “Absolutely, mate,” I tell him. “Sounds bloody brilliant.”

  Chris wants to take two cars so Miracle won’t have to chauffeur for once but Zoe just got her license six weeks ago and her mother won’t let her take the expressway, and everyone else either doesn’t have their license yet or can’t get hold of a car. We all kick in for gas and parking and Miracle says she doesn’t mind driving anyway.

  “I can drive next time,” Jamie announces in the van. “I have my road test on Tuesday.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say. For a second I forgot that he’s not really speaking to me. His presence is so familiar.

  “Yeah,” Jamie says out of the side of his mouth. “Tuesday.”

  This is the first time I’ve seen him outside of school since the cafeteria meltdown, and the tension between us feels out of place in the real world. “Good luck,” I tell him.

  “Thanks.” Jamie nods to himself and looks away.

  He hangs back when we pile out of the van, like he’s trying to put some distance between us, and I let him. A big part of me wants to sit beside him in the theater and talk at him until he caves and talks back. Instead I slide into the seat next to Miracle’s and watch Chris lower himself into the chair on my other side. It’s better this way. For once I’ll let someone stay mad at me for as long as they have in them. Why should I bend myself out of shape for something I don’t even regret? The truth is I still wouldn’t take that night back. I’d change a couple things, yeah. I wouldn’t say Kat was heavy and I wouldn’t let her leave until we talked about what happened but that’s it. The rest was too perfect to mess with.

  Spin Cycle’s uneven but intense and I get this swell in the pit of my stomach, like I can see how good it could be if the entire cast measured up to the guy who plays Tom. He’s so mean sometimes that it’s hard to sit still and watch. He’s dangerous and magnetic and when you least expect it he says something really funny and you can’t help but laugh, even though you don’t want to.

  There’s some nudity too and it’s jarring to have this guy striding around the set with no pants on, completely different than seeing someone naked in a movie. If I really want to act it’s something I need to consider. From my safe place in the audience the possibility feels terrifying but I also know that it’s different when you’re up there. The work gets inside you. You don’t think the way you normally do. You flow with the scene the way Tom’s doing; you let go of the person you normally are and just let it happen.

  Anyway, Tom’s more toxic by the minute. You almost feel contaminated watching him. An underlying threat of violence pushes closer to the surface and the tension builds and builds until there’s only one place for it to go. After that you just want to get it over with and we clap in relief when the actors take their bows. Miracle, Chris and I give the guy who played Tom a standing ovation and when the lights are back on I check his name in the program: Ian Chappell. He graduated from York University in 2004 and has been a Shaw Festival company member for the past five years. Half a dozen other plays are listed in his credits.

  I’m only getting started at this but I think that’s what I want my bio to look like when I’m his age. Meaty three-dimensional film or TV roles would be great too, but acting for the audience right in front of you, feeling them boost your adrenaline with a personal kick of their own, not much can touch that electricity.

  Afterwards Christopher’s cousin Julian comes out to talk to us. He wants to know what we thought of the play and Miracle and I start raving about Ian Chappell straightaway. Then I remember that Julian’s part of the stage crew and start commenting on the set and stuff. “Do you want to hang around awhile and meet some of the cast?” Julian asks.

  “Absolutely!” Zoe and Yolanda exclaim. “We’d love to.”

  But Miracle’s full of surprises. “Maybe another time,” she says hurriedly. “I need to get the van back. Thanks for letting us come, though. It was fantastic.”

  I give her a puzzled glance and wince as she pinches the back of my arm. Jamie witnesses the painful exchange, steps forward and starts talking to Julian to fill the gap in conversation. Meanwhile Miracle pushes her head close to mine and says, “I don’t want to meet anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t.” Her voice is hushed so only I can hear it. “After seeing someone put all that into a performance, it’s too weird. What do you say to them? It’s … it’s completely overwhelming.”

  “I don’t think you really need to say anything,” I whisper. “There’re so many people here that he’d never notice.” Obviously we’re talking about Ian Chappell. That much is understood. No one else was good enough to awe her that way. I didn’t even know she got starstruck. She doesn’t seem like the type.

  “You guys go ahead,” she says, bunching her arms up in front of her corduroy jacket. “I’ll wait in the van. Although that looks odder, doesn’t it?” She drops her program on the floor in front of us and I bend down to pick it up for her.

  “Thanks,” she says, pinching the program between unsteady fingers. “Okay, I’m being ridiculous.” She takes a long breath, the classic antidote for a case of nerves. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. This is stupid. Let’s go.”

  “What? You mean meet him?”

  “Yeah,” she says firmly. “Let’s just do it.”

  “Really?” Given another ten seconds she could change her mind again.

  “Yes.” Miracle nods boldly and straightens her jacket. “Um, Julian.” She cranes forward and interrupts his conversation with Jamie, Y and Z. “You know, I think we have a bit of time after all. If it’s no trouble for you, that is.”

  “No trouble,” Julian says agreeably. “A few of us usually hang out awhile after the show. Let me go talk to them. I’ll catch up with you guys in a second.”

  The theater’s right down at Harbourfront and we go outside and stare at Lake Ontario. It’s too early for mosquitoes but it’s a pretty mild night and I roll up my sleeves and feel that swell in my stomach again. I’m not even positive what it means. There’s a universe expanding around me and in some ways I’m almost impatient, but then again I’m happy enough in the moment with everyone analyzing Spin Cycle in excited voices.

  “Can I use your cell phone?” Zoe asks, waving her hand in front of my face. “I have to check in with my mom.”

  “Sure.” I smile as I hand it over. “Go ahead.”

  “You have a message,” Zoe says as she turns it on. “You want to check it first?”

  “Nah. Go ahead.”

  It’s probably Charlie Kady. He was supposed to hook up with the Whole Foods girl again tonight. If they’re going to be together awhile I guess I should start remembering her name.

  Z talks to her mom for a minute and then presses the phone into my hand. Behind her Miracle’s rocking on her heels and listening to Y describe this state-of-the-art ten-tier wedding cake she saw on the Food Network last night. I speed-dial my voice mail, push the phone against my ear and jerk back in shock.

  “So I’ve had
your number for a while now.” Colette sighs and starts over. “I hate leaving messages. I’m the queen of the anonymous hang-up but I guess in this case that would defeat the purpose. I wanted to talk to you about what happened when we last saw each other. Maybe bringing you to my place was a bad idea. I thought for once in my life I’d be completely direct with someone but it still ended up the same way. Funny how that works.”

  I tighten my grip on the phone and breathe in fresh air blowing in from the lake. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about you,” she says slowly. “Give me a call tomorrow if you want to talk.” She recites her phone number and promptly hangs up.

  I listen to the message twice, my pulse speeding. I’d play it a third time but Julian steps out of the theater with two of the Spin Cycle actors plus some guy with a shaved head and goatee. Ian Chappell isn’t with them and Miracle instantly lights up with relief.

  It’s crazy. My body’s all over shaky, same as if Colette was beside me. I churn out a smile as Julian introduces us to his friends but I can’t think. I stick close to Miracle, who is doing enough talking for both of us now that it’s clear Ian Chappell isn’t going to show. The group of us walks over to Queen’s Quay and eats burgers and I swear, I miss the entire thing. I can’t even finish my food.

  “Was it okay?” the waitress asks, pointing to my plate. The fries are doused in ketchup but I can’t have eaten more than a handful.

  “Yeah, it was fine,” I tell her. “I’m just not that hungry.” Jamie glances at me from the other end of the table and I automatically start to grin. His gaze leaps stubbornly past me but I can’t work up the slightest resentment; I’m up to my neck in anticipation, gratitude and shock. She’s been thinking about me.

  “I’ll take your fries,” Y volunteers.

  “I’ll help,” Dustin says.

  “Knock yourselves out.” I pass Y my plate and wonder what Colette’s doing right this second and why I can’t call her tonight instead of tomorrow. Is she with Ari? Let’s face it, his existence won’t stop me from calling. It’s not a matter of if, but when. I drum my fingers against the table and gulp in oxygen tinged with the taste of mustard and vinegar. A bolt of lightning knocks around under my ribs, charging out through my nails, my lips and my teeth. The last time I felt this alive was the night we finished All My Sons.

  ———

  I’m up early Sunday morning and Burke and I eat bowls of cereal together at the kitchen table. He’s into Lucky Charms; I’m more of a Cheerios kind of guy. These are the tolerable kinds of differences that I appreciate—not like Brianna stumbling into the room with her hair on backwards (hey, I can’t help it if that’s how it looks), scowling and asking why the empty milk carton’s sitting on the counter.

  “Good morning,” I say, fixing her with an extrawide smile. She reprises her scowl, throws last night’s chili into the microwave and pulls up a chair across from me. “You’re not eating that for breakfast?” I ask. Leftover pizza, sure. Chili, now that’s revolting.

  “It smells like farts,” Burke complains, smiling at me.

  I laugh, almost choking on my Cheerios.

  “You ate it last night,” Brianna reminds him. “I don’t remember you telling Mom it smelled like farts then.”

  “It didn’t smell like farts then,” Burke says, shoveling in a spoonful of blue moons, pink hearts and green clovers.

  “Oh my gawd,” Brianna says under her breath. “You are so retarded.”

  Whatever sibling rivalry they have going is none of my business, but Burke is six and a half, which puts him at an automatic disadvantage. “Just ignore her, little B,” I say.

  “Little what?” Brianna screeches. Honestly, her voice makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s that bad, especially in combo with her tangled devil-woman hair. “He’s not your little brother, you know. Just because we’re living here now doesn’t make us related.” The microwave bell dings and she flies across the kitchen and yanks out the chili.

  I plunk down my spoon and stare at her. She completely misunderstood me. I meant little buddy, not little brother, but that’s not the point. “What’s your problem, Brianna?” I’m careful not to use the F word in front of Burke, but my tone implies it.

  “What, like you guys are all bonded now after watching one stupid movie together?” she says bitterly. Her gaze switches to Burke. “Don’t think he really likes you just because he laughed at your stupid joke. You’re still retarded.”

  Nina strides into the kitchen in her robe and slippers before any of us can react. “That’s enough, Brianna,” she says sharply. “Stop badgering your brother.”

  Brianna glares down at her chili. It stinks worse now that it’s been reheated, and she flips it over, dumping it swiftly into the sink. “He’s being a pain,” she protests. “They’re both being obnoxious.”

  “It sounds like you’re the one being a pain,” Nina says in a flat tone. “I hope you plan on cleaning that mess up.” She motions irritably to the sink.

  “I’ll clean it up,” Brianna mumbles. “It’s your smelly chili but fine, I’ll clean it up.”

  “Watch it,” Nina warns. “You’re on thin ice.”

  Brianna shrugs like she doesn’t care.

  “Wait for me in your room, Brianna,” Nina commands. “I’ll be up in five minutes to talk to you.”

  “What about the chili?” Brianna asks, further testing her luck.

  “I’ll take care of the chili.” Nina grits her teeth and turns towards the counter. “Just give me a minute to grab some coffee and then we’ll talk.”

  “Fine.” Brianna storms out of the kitchen. We hear her footsteps on the stairs, heavy and deliberate.

  Burke digs back into his Lucky Charms, unfazed, while Nina plucks a mug from the shelf above the stove and switches on the coffeemaker, looking harried. “How’re you guys doing this morning?” she asks.

  “I’m finished,” Burke announces, tapping his spoon against the bottom of his empty bowl. “Can I watch cartoons?”

  “Of course.” Nina smiles thinly. “Might as well bring me your bowl. It seems I already have some cleaning up to do.” Burke hands her his cereal bowl and heads off to watch TV and I know by the rigid way Nina’s holding her arms that she has something to say to me. I wish we could fast-forward through it because whatever it is won’t fix Brianna’s attitude in a hurry, and besides, I’ve already stopped caring. Brianna can be as bitchy as she wants. I just need to make it to noon without picking up the phone to call Colette. I don’t want to seem overeager.

  “Sorry about Brianna,” Nina says, leaning against the counter. “I, for one, am glad you and Burke are getting along so well.”

  “He’s a cool kid.”

  “Yes, he is.” Her eyes are pensive. “Brianna is too. She’s just going through a bad patch. Everyone says girls are tougher at this age. It’s not about you. I hope you don’t take it personally.”

  I take another bite of Cheerios and listen to Nina’s coffee gurgle. She turns towards the sink and starts scooping up steaming chili with a wad of paper towels. I throw the rest of my soggy cereal into the garbage after it and go back to my bedroom, wondering why it’s not even ten o’clock yet and how I’m going to make it through the next two hours.

  But I don’t. Of course I don’t. I punch in Colette’s number at eleven and hang up when her machine answers. I don’t let myself call again until after eight that night and by that time I have a pounding headache behind my eyes from the weight of anticipation. I should know better because of Kat but I don’t. Of course I don’t.

  “Hello,” Colette says smoothly.

  “Hi, Colette,” I fire back. “It’s me—Mason.”

  “Mason, hi.” Her voice changes when she says my name. I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. “You got my message.”

  “Yeah.” I lie on my bed and think of Ian Chappell’s stellar performance in Spin Cycle last night. This is the easy stuff; I shouldn’t give it a second thought. Beside
s, if I’m twitchy over the phone she may not want to see me again. “I was at the theater with some friends last night.”

  “The theater?” she repeats keenly. “What did you watch?”

  I give her a quick recap of the play, careful to stay loose. She follows up with questions about themes and performances and I answer a few before panicking that we’ll never get to the important part and interrupting her in midsentence: “You said something about wanting to talk.”

  “I did,” she says faintly. “It’s a good phrase, isn’t it—we need to talk. It pretty much fits every situation.” She pauses for a second. “I wasn’t going to call you but my problem is, well, I suppose I should’ve thrown your phone number away, for a start.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” My head doesn’t hurt anymore. I could run a marathon. I might have to. All that excess energy charging through my veins needs someplace to go.

  Colette laughs. The sound makes me smile. I’m in so much trouble here. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says we shouldn’t see each other again.

  “Are you going to make me do all the talking?” she asks. “Do I have to do all the grunt work—climb out on a limb for you?”

  “Poor you,” I tease. “What do you even see in me?” Okay, so I feel a little better now. This isn’t so difficult. This is fine.

  “It’s a mystery,” she says. “Maybe you’re my final fling as a shameless, soulless early twentysomething.”

  “I thought you’d already turned over a new leaf.” I sit up with my back against the wall. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. The undercurrent’s giving me a massive rush. “I thought you were going to save the world from SUVs.”

  “You know, you’re right,” Colette says, mock-serious. “I think you’ve stopped me from making a major mistake here. Thanks, Mason. I owe you one.”

  “No problem.” I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna dive into the deep end and ask her. This is where it’s all meant to go. “So do you think we can see each other again sometime?” I say that with complete sincerity. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.