this. I guess it was because of his eyes, and his story about the airplane and the lake. How the young guy died and the old guy didn’t. How when he asked me a question, I felt like had to tell him the real answer, because any minute either one of us could be gone.
“Together. As in lovers. The two of them.”
Hector sat back in his chair, like he was thinking about what I said, as opposed to thinking about what he was going to say back. So I kept talking.
“They are lesbians. Together.”
“I understood the first time around, Joseph. I just didn’t want to interrupt you. Go on.”
All of a sudden I felt like my chair was too small for my ass, like I had just woke up shirtless in front of someone I didn’t know.
“That’s it. I’m in town to drop off her books, so I can move on. Get a hobby. I’m learning the cello. It’s either that, or my mom and sister’ll put me on the Prozac. I’ve been a little hard to be around, they tell me.”
“That’s understandable, given your circumstances.”
“I don’t know why I talked your ear off about my sorry love life like that.”
“Because I asked.”
“Well, thanks for the drink, Hector. And the chat. It was really nice to meet you.”
He got up to shake hands. “The pleasure has been mine. You’re much more fun to talk to than the woman next door. Gin. Makes for a bitter outlook. Come by any time, Joseph, I’m here most of the time, typing away. I’m always up for some company, so don’t be shy to knock.”
The scotch was making me itch for another cigarette, plus I was thirsty. I felt around in my pocket for change and went in search of the drink machine. A small bottle of water cost $1.75. Freaky, when you thought about the fact that the Americans were scrapping on the other side of the world for oil, and here we were whining about paying ninety cents for a litre of gas for the truck, meanwhile they’re dinging us twice the price for drinking water, right here next to the Rocky Mountains. That was the kind of thing that would drive Allyson to fire off a stern letter to some CEO somewhere. She was a seasoned veteran of the stern letter. In the five short years she had been in Drumheller, she had headed up the letter writing brigade that had single-handedly forced the city to put speed bumps in the school zones, stopped them from backfilling the marsh off of Highway 26, and shut down the fertilizer factory until the company properly installed filters in its smokestacks.
There was another blue bench, identical to Hector’s and mine, bolted to the sidewalk in the little outdoor courtyard where the ice and pop machine stood humming in the dusk. I sat down and lit a cigarette, my bottle of water between my knees, weeping condensation onto my good pants. There were four stone and cement planters, evenly spaced on each corner of the courtyard, empty except for beer caps. Stand-up ashtrays full of white sand and cigarette butts next to both doors.
A little girl about six years old suddenly burst through the door that led to the rooms looking out onto the road. She had a ring of dried tomato sauce around her mouth, and she was dragging a plastic basket full of freshly folded laundry. The smell of warm air and fabric softener hung
in the air she brought out with her. A young woman in a matching velour tracksuit and flip-flops followed her, ten feet or so behind.
“Hold the door for Mommy, Raylene, my hands are full.”
I jumped to my feet to hold the door open for her. Mommy? She didn’t look like she could even be twenty. She must have had the kid when she was still a baby herself.
“Thank the nice man, Bug.” She had an overstuffed garbage bag in both arms and was pushing a wicker basket through the door with one flip-flop.
“Thank you.” The little girl suddenly went shy, popping one thumb into her mouth and reaching sideways through the air with her other hand for the leg of her mother’s track pants.
I nodded you’re welcome and picked
“Together. As in lovers. The two of them.”
Hector sat back in his chair, like he was thinking about what I said, as opposed to thinking about what he was going to say back. So I kept talking.
“They are lesbians. Together.”
“I understood the first time around, Joseph. I just didn’t want to interrupt you. Go on.”
All of a sudden I felt like my chair was too small for my ass, like I had just woke up shirtless in front of someone I didn’t know.
“That’s it. I’m in town to drop off her books, so I can move on. Get a hobby. I’m learning the cello. It’s either that, or my mom and sister’ll put me on the Prozac. I’ve been a little hard to be around, they tell me.”
“That’s understandable, given your circumstances.”
“I don’t know why I talked your ear off about my sorry love life like that.”
“Because I asked.”
“Well, thanks for the drink, Hector. And the chat. It was really nice to meet you.”
He got up to shake hands. “The pleasure has been mine. You’re much more fun to talk to than the woman next door. Gin. Makes for a bitter outlook. Come by any time, Joseph, I’m here most of the time, typing away. I’m always up for some company, so don’t be shy to knock.”
The scotch was making me itch for another cigarette, plus I was thirsty. I felt around in my pocket for change and went in search of the drink machine. A small bottle of water cost $1.75. Freaky, when you thought about the fact that the Americans were scrapping on the other side of the world for oil, and here we were whining about paying ninety cents for a litre of gas for the truck, meanwhile they’re dinging us twice the price for drinking water, right here next to the Rocky Mountains. That was the kind of thing that would drive Allyson to fire off a stern letter to some CEO somewhere. She was a seasoned veteran of the stern letter. In the five short years she had been in Drumheller, she had headed up the letter writing brigade that had single-handedly forced the city to put speed bumps in the school zones, stopped them from backfilling the marsh off of Highway 26, and shut down the fertilizer factory until the company properly installed filters in its smokestacks.
There was another blue bench, identical to Hector’s and mine, bolted to the sidewalk in the little outdoor courtyard where the ice and pop machine stood humming in the dusk. I sat down and lit a cigarette, my bottle of water between my knees, weeping condensation onto my good pants. There were four stone and cement planters, evenly spaced on each corner of the courtyard, empty except for beer caps. Stand-up ashtrays full of white sand and cigarette butts next to both doors.
A little girl about six years old suddenly burst through the door that led to the rooms looking out onto the road. She had a ring of dried tomato sauce around her mouth, and she was dragging a plastic basket full of freshly folded laundry. The smell of warm air and fabric softener hung
in the air she brought out with her. A young woman in a matching velour tracksuit and flip-flops followed her, ten feet or so behind.
“Hold the door for Mommy, Raylene, my hands are full.”
I jumped to my feet to hold the door open for her. Mommy? She didn’t look like she could even be twenty. She must have had the kid when she was still a baby herself.
“Thank the nice man, Bug.” She had an overstuffed garbage bag in both arms and was pushing a wicker basket through the door with one flip-flop.
“Thank you.” The little girl suddenly went shy, popping one thumb into her mouth and reaching sideways through the air with her other hand for the leg of her mother’s track pants.
I nodded you’re welcome and picked
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