by David Skuy
“Hi, Big Ray. What’s up?”
“You better hustle home, bro. Your pizza will get cold,” Big Ray said. “On your way back from school?”
“I came from my place to pick it up.”
Big Ray opened his eyes wide. “I just sent it out. Your mom didn’t tell me you were coming. You guys haven’t picked up in ages — it’s been all delivery. I was starting to take it personally.”
Lionel’s arms hung down at his sides.
“You okay, Lionel? You look a bit disoriented.” Big Ray came out from behind the counter and put his hand on Lionel’s shoulder. “You’re all wet too, like sweaty.”
Lionel stared at him wildly. “I’m fine. Bye.”
He ran out the door and back down the street. Brent would polish off the pizza by the time he got back. That man could eat an extra-large by himself.
Everything began to hurt at once: his foot, his chest, his head, his knees. He pushed it all from his mind and kept going, on and on, pounding along the sidewalk, past the now-darkened Binny’s Café, past Manuel’s Garage. He kept going and going until he couldn’t feel anything but the pain; it was just him, the pain, and the sound of his shoes smacking on the sidewalk. He pushed open the lobby doors and punched the elevator button. It was hard to breathe.
“Lionel? Are you all right?”
He hadn’t noticed Donna off to the side.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” she said.
He managed to shake his head.
“Lean against the wall and catch your breath.”
“I’m okay … ran a bit ... I’m good.”
Donna smiled. “You must be late for something unbelievably important. You look like you’ve run a marathon.”
A fit of coughing came over him.
“Dear me, Lionel. Are you sick? Do you need to sit down?”
“I’ll be okay.” He swallowed a few more times and finally caught his breath. “I ran too far and lost my breath. Thanks.” She seemed so concerned. He felt bad making her worry. “Thanks. Really. It’s nice of you to …” He couldn’t think of what was so nice, other than not many people cared what happened to him, and it was weird that Donna would. She didn’t even know him. He tapped the elevator button again and the doors opened.
Donna laughed. “A minor miracle, I’d say. You get going. I need to put these cans in the bin.” She rattled a bag she was holding.
“I’ll hold the elevator for you.”
She patted his arm. “You’re a good kid. Well-mannered. Not many kids are these days. You go.”
He waved goodbye as the doors closed, and then leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes. Death by pizza. He could imagine the police trying to figure it out.
Why did he have a heart attack?
Couldn’t be because he ran anywhere. Look at him.
It would be one of those unsolved mysteries.
He walked into the apartment.
“They delivered the pizza, Lionel. Sorry, I forgot to tell them you were coming,” his mom said. “I texted you.”
“Sorry … didn’t bring my phone.”
“I called Brent. He said he’ll be here in five minutes. We should at least wait for him, okay?”
He wanted to devour the pizza himself. Easy for her to say wait after scarfing the leftovers. He didn’t answer. He went back to his room and sat on his bed. His legs had stiffened up and his foot was stinging. A blister had formed, a big puffy one. He lay down. His head had barely hit the pillow when he heard the front door open. He groaned and forced himself back up. No way he was letting Brent get to the pizza first.
Thursday: 5:45 p.m.
Brent stood by the sink and pointed at the faucet. He was holding a duffel bag in his other hand and there was a suitcase by his feet.
“You’ve been sitting on your fat butt all this time and you didn’t even hear this water dripping?”
Lionel thought about going back to his room and pretending he wasn’t hungry. Brent had obviously been drinking. His face was red and puffy and he was speaking loudly.
“Turn the damn television off for once in your life,” Brent said. “I mean, really. Is that all you do?”
“Brent, this is supposed to be —”
“Turn the damn thing off, woman,” he roared.
She hit the button on the converter. The apartment went quiet except for the dripping of the tap.
Plop, plop, plop.
“You can’t even turn a tap off, Charlene? Seriously? You’re actually that useless?” Brent cast a furious look at her and twisted the knob. The dripping stopped.
“I can’t believe I lived in this funeral parlour for three months — feels more like three years.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being like this,” Charlene said. “You got the job. Everything’s good. Think of all the things we can do.”
He rolled his eyes, and a cruel smile spread across his face. “Sometimes I forget how dumb you are.”
Lionel watched a tear fell down his mom’s cheek. He was used to Brent’s moods, but he’d never seen him like this.
“I don’t know what point you’re making, but let’s not do this in front of Lionel …”
“Lionel?” Brent snorted. He cast a fierce look his way. “He’s more useless than you. He can do two things: game and eat. I’ve been hanging out with two members of the living dead — only you’re not as interesting as zombies! At least they eat raw flesh, which is kinda cool. All you eat is pizza and burgers.” Brent slapped the kitchen tap with his palm. “Is it too hard for you to get off your damn butt and turn off a dripping tap? Is it?” He sniffed the air. “This place stinks.”
“Brent, please — Lionel,” she whimpered. “This will make him anxious.”
Spit had collected in the corners of Brent’s mouth. “Don’t worry about that sack of potatoes. He’s more dead than you. He’s barely alive. Ain’t that right, Lionel? You alive or dead?”
Lionel had no words. His entire body was paralyzed. Brent was in a rage. His dad used to lose it too, and Lionel would end up getting a smack.
“The funniest thing is, you actually thought I’d stay here with you two life-sucking zombies once I got a job. Are you that dumb?” He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed the suitcase handle. “Catch you later, losers.” Brent stomped over to Lionel. “Pair of Do-Nothings is what you are. You hear me, Lionel? Can … You … Hear … Me? A Do-Nothing.”
Lionel struggled to breathe. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow.
Brent laughed and patted Lionel on the back.
When Lionel opened his eyes, Brent was at the open front door, leaning out.
“Fresh air. I love it,” Brent said.
The door slammed shut. Lionel remained frozen in place, still terrified.
“Well … come and have something to eat before it gets cold,” Charlene said softly, and she turned the television back on.
Lionel came over to the couch and opened the pizza box.
Friday: 8:20 a.m.
Lionel had barely managed to drag himself out of bed this morning. He’d taken a pill and he still felt groggy and disoriented. The guy from Binny’s Café was sitting in his chair. His dog took a few licks of water from a dish, lowered his body to the ground, and dropped his head between his paws.
A few cars sped past. He figured he should cross the street or the café guy would say something. He hated having to talk under pressure, like when you run into someone and they make a joke and you have to make one back. He felt a swoosh in his chest, a sucker punch, the wind being forced from his body. He had to gasp for breath.
He looked over at the café. It was cowardly to cross the street just because someone might talk to him. The guy would say hi and that would be it. He might not say anything. He probably wouldn’t even remember him.
“It’s Marathon Boy,” the man cried out. “How come you’re walking?” His belly shook as he laughed, his eyes bright and full of life.
Lionel could’ve killed himself. Why didn’t he cross?
“I’m going to school,” Lionel said, running his fingers over the shoulder straps of his backpack.
“What school do you go to?”
“Winfields.”
A woman came out. Lionel guessed she was about the same age as his mom, only more energetic and fit-looking.
“Gwen, meet Marathon Boy,” the man said. “He goes to Winfields.”
“Do you have a real name?” she said, flashing a mouthful of beautiful white teeth.
“Lionel.”
“Nice to meet you, Lionel,” Gwen said. “And don’t mind Binny. He’s always getting into other people’s business. Can’t help himself.” She rubbed the back of Binny’s neck. “Maybe you can go for a run with Lionel some time. He and Britney could use it.”
So, this was the Binny of Binny’s Café. Lionel looked at the dog. Britney. The name sounded familiar.
Binny scratched his dog’s head. “Do you feel like going for a run today?”
Britney grunted and closed her eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Binny laughed. “We’ll go extra far to make up for it.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “I’ve been after him for years to get in shape. He’s awful, either behind the counter or plopped in this chair getting fat. Anyway … do you know our daughter Kiana? She’s in grade eight.”
That swoosh in his chest came back with a vengeance. Kiana’s parents — and that was her dog! If Kiana found out, she’d tell her friends and they’d chirp him for weeks. He felt panicky, light-headed, and his knees got shaky.
“Of course he knows Kiana,” Binny grinned, “the most beautiful, smart, funny, athletic girl in school. Reminds me of her mother.”
Gwen blushed slightly, and slapped the back of Binny’s head gently.
“I should get going. I gotta catch my bus for school,” Lionel said.
A girl stepped out of the door. She was dressed head-to-toe in black, both arms heavily tattooed. Her jet-black hair fell long to her shoulders, very straight, and her ears were covered in piercings. She also wore a small gold nose ring. Her bracelets jingled as her hands waved in the air.
“We’re out of Ethiopian beans,” she said. “Did you order any? It’s been two days. What should I brew up?”
“Go with the Kenyan, Georgina,” Binny said. “I’ll order more today.”
“You said you ordered it yesterday,” Gwen said.
“I got busy — afternoon rush. I’ll do it now. No worries,” Binny said.
“It’s always no worries,” Gwen said. “For once I’d like worries — and for you to follow through.”
Binny’s eyes met Lionel’s. The light had dimmed.
“So … I go with the Kenyan this morning?” Georgina said.
“I guess so,” Gwen said with an angry shake of her head.
“I gotta get going to school,” Lionel said. “Goodbye.” He began to walk away.
“See you later, Marathon Boy,” Binny said. “Say goodbye, Britney.”
Britney didn’t stir.
No one was at the bus stop when he arrived — bad sign. It meant a bus had just come, which meant he’d have to wait, which meant he’d be late, which meant Mrs. Dempsey was going to be an unhappy camper this morning.
He sat on the bench. The bus wouldn’t come for another fifteen minutes if he was lucky. But he was never lucky, like this morning when his mom told him she had a headache and was going to stay home, so he couldn’t fake a fever. He pressed his back against the shelter.
The squeak of hydraulics roused him, followed by a mouthful of hot, gasoline-filled air. The bus had actually come early! He grabbed his backpack and got on. He sat down near the back. His stomach hurt and he was tired. Maybe he could get out of gym.
Friday: 3:15 p.m.
The sounds of squeaking sneakers and basketballs being dribbled were mixed every now and then with Marcus’s shouts of encouragement or quick pointers. Lionel watched from the side.
“The ball moves faster than you,” Marcus said. “Pass, pass, pass. That’s how you get easy baskets.”
Marcus hadn’t bought Lionel’s stomach excuse. He had to do the stretching and sprints, but when the game started, he went off as a sub and never bothered trying to get on. His teammates ignored him, as always, happy to keep playing. He got picked for teams because the guys knew he wouldn’t play. It didn’t bother him because he got what he wanted in the end — to be left alone. Ten minutes to go and school was done — except for the shower. Everyone had to shower at the end of gym class — stupid rule.
Marcus came over to where Lionel’s team was playing. Lionel lowered his head and stared at his feet.
“Excuse me, Mohamed. Did you forget something?” Marcus said.
The boys stopped playing. Mohamed looked up at the ceiling. “You’re right. I’m supposed to bounce pass to Nick and then cut inside for the give-and-go, and instead I …”
“Not a basketball forget,” Marcus grinned. “More like a mom who’s waiting outside for you …?”
“Ech! Stupid!” Mohamed slapped the side of his head with the palm of his hand. “I’m totally spaced. Forgot my mom’s picking me up early. Gotta get my braces tightened so I’ll be more beautiful than I already am, as if that’s possible.”
“Tell them to yank the teeth out. That’s the only thing that’ll make you better looking,” Nick said.
“Get some Botox while you’re at it,” Bryan said.
Mohamed laughed. “You can’t improve on perfection, boys,” he said.
“Don’t forget to take a quick shower,” Marcus called to him as he headed to the change room. “Your mom will thank you.”
“Nothing will get the stink off him,” Nick said, and the boys all laughed, including Marcus.
Mohamed pretended to smell his underarms and then held his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. Lionel wondered how Nick, Mohamed, and Bryan did it, always ready with an insult, never nervous in front of people, never worried about what others said. Of course, it was easy when everyone was afraid of you.
He should’ve thought of leaving early — then he could’ve showered alone.
Next time he’d tell Marcus he had a doctor’s appointment.
“Yo, bro. Wake up.”
Lionel scratched the back of his leg and sat up. His tailbone was hurting from slouching so long.
“You deaf? We need you for Mohamed.”
Nick held his arm out towards the court. Lionel felt an intense heat on his face, like a thousand spotlights had suddenly turned on. Only a few minutes to go and Nick was bugging him to play — Nick of all people.
“I … can’t. My stomach hurts,” he mumbled. He wrapped his arms across his belly and brought his knees to his chest. He’d told Marcus he was feeling sick, so he probably should stick to his story.
“Guy’s a pylon,” Bryan whispered to Nick.
Nick grunted. “You can’t even stand on the court and be useless?” He glared at Lionel.
Lionel wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. Nick would go away if he didn’t respond. He had the attention span of a flea.
Nick rolled his eyes. “Okay. You can’t even be useless. Fine.” He looked around and spotted Stephane. “What about you?” he barked.
Stephane got up and walked onto the floor. “Where do I play?” he said.
Lionel almost laughed out loud. Stephane was like a sheep wandering into a wolf pack.
“You cover Bryan,” Nick said. “If you get the ball, pass it to me, okay?”
Bryan was laughing as Stephane came over.
“Wonder if I can get past him,” Bryan said.
Bryan took the ball at half-court and began dribbling slowly. Stephane followed him in an awkward crouch, arms extended. Bryan cut to his left, but Stephane managed to stay with him and kept him from penetrating the key. Bryan bounce passed to a teammate on the right flank, who held the ball over his head, brought it waist high, faked a move wide right, and then threw it back in Bryan’s direction … but it didn’t make it to him. Nick anticipated the play and managed to get a hand on the ball, knocking it away. Stephane picked it up.
“Dish it,” Nick barked, cutting to the basket.
Stephane bounce-passed the ball and Nick scored with a reverse layup.
“The mailman delivers,” Nick said, striking a bodybuilder pose.
Lionel leaned back against the wall and watched the second hand of the clock tick along. The minutes felt like hours. The boys kept playing. Finally, the whistle blew.
“Into the showers,” Marcus announced.
Nick took a shot. It hit the rim and bounced to Stephane.
“Shoot,” Nick hollered.
Stephane tossed the ball at the basket. It hit the backboard, the rim, and then out. Bryan flung his fist in the air.
“We are the champions of the world!” Bryan declared.
Nick threw his head back and stamped his foot on the ground.
Bryan held his hand out to Stephane for a high-five. “Thanks for being you and missing a two-foot layup.”
“Bro, you suck so bad,” Nick said to Stephane. “Why do you even exist? How do you miss that?”
“I’m sorry,” Stephane said. “I … thought it would go in.”
Bryan grinned at Nick. “I thought it wouldn’t.”
“Useless,” Nick said to Stephane, and he turned and headed to the locker room, Bryan following along.
Lionel stayed back. Best to let the others get started on their showers, and then he could shower without anyone noticing him. He fiddled with his shoes for as long as he could. The last of the boys headed in. He got up slowly and ambled over, dragging his feet. The lockerroom door opened.
