Read Online Everything Was Good-Bye by Gurjinder Basran - Free Book Online
Authors: Gurjinder Basran
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likestale smoke and wet dogs, like the cheap motels my mother cleaned. I followed him up a few stairs and down a dingy, green-carpeted hallway adorned with a “Jesus loves you” embroidered wall hanging and fading family photos. I stared into the placid smiles and sol-emn eyes, pausing at a photo of a four-year-old Liam blowing out birthday candles, his mother smiling at his side.
“Do you miss her?” I asked.
“What’s to miss? I barely knew her.” He went quiet for a minute and stared at the pictures. I reached for his hand but he moved away before I could hold it. “She lives in Saskatchewan with a guy named Chuck.” He laughed that painful laugh that I had initially misinterpreted as satisfaction. “Can you believe that? Chuck, what a name… Chuck rhymes with fuck.” He walked farther down the hallway. “This is my room,” he said, pushing the door open. The walls were covered in vintage art and rock ’n’ roll posters tacked and taped in place, one overlapping the next. His photographs were thumbtacked all over his closet door. There was even one of me. I had my hands up in a don’t-take-my-picture way, but you could still see I was smiling. His bed was unmade and showed no signs of ever having been made, his mahogany dresser and nightstand were missing handles and he had a milk crate full of records beside a 1970s’ sideboard-style stereo. Books were balanced in piles on the threadbare carpet, and between the Prousts and Emersons were mounds of clothing. His room was like a flea market—a crowded thrift store at best.
I picked up one of his cameras and looked at him through the lens. “So… where have you been lately? Are you sick?”
“Yeah,” he said and reached for the camera to show me where the shutter release was. I clicked off a few frames.” Well, I mean, no. Not really.”
He sighed and pushed his hair away from his eyes, only to have it slip back. “You know, I’m just sick of school, so I’m taking a break. A sabbatical, so to speak.”
“What does your dad think about that?” I asked.
“He’s hardly around.” He picked up another camera and took my picture taking his picture. “That’ll be a neat one,” he said, taking another.
“Aren’t you worried that he’ll find out?”
“No, not really. Besides, he wouldn’t even care.”
I nodded. Part of me wanted to ask him why, but our relationship was built on not knowing.
I put the camera down and walked across the room to look out the window at the backyard. It was littered with rubbish: car parts, rusty bicycles, a dilapidated 1970s’ swing set, a Mr. Turtle pool filled with rainwater and leaves, and an old German shepherd who appeared equally defeated. I looked away, not wanting to see my reflection in the neglect. Liam was sitting with legs outstretched on the bed, flipping through an encyclopedia. A stack of them teetered on the floor nearby.
“Did you rob the library or something?”
“Funny,” he said flatly. “I picked them up from the Sally Ann; this is my education in lieu of school. I’m already on D.”
“Wow,” I said, matching his tone.
“Did you know that dinosaurs only get a few pages? Millions of years ruling the earth and they get a few measly pages.”
I picked up the newspaper that was on his bed and unfolded it to the crossword. “Well, I guess humans should only get a then.”
“I was thinking a footnote, if we’re lucky.”
He picked up volume E, opened it and started reading. His lips mouthed the words like tiny breaths. I sat down next to him, pulled out the pencil that I’d used to tie up my hair, and shook the knot loose just like the girls on all the shampoo commercials did.
I worked away at the puzzle for an hour, aware of how close we were sitting to each other, aware that he had looked up from his encyclopedia several times and traced the line of my leg to the hem of my “Blondie” miniskirt. I was sure I had seen a picture of Debbie Harry wearing a
“Do you miss her?” I asked.
“What’s to miss? I barely knew her.” He went quiet for a minute and stared at the pictures. I reached for his hand but he moved away before I could hold it. “She lives in Saskatchewan with a guy named Chuck.” He laughed that painful laugh that I had initially misinterpreted as satisfaction. “Can you believe that? Chuck, what a name… Chuck rhymes with fuck.” He walked farther down the hallway. “This is my room,” he said, pushing the door open. The walls were covered in vintage art and rock ’n’ roll posters tacked and taped in place, one overlapping the next. His photographs were thumbtacked all over his closet door. There was even one of me. I had my hands up in a don’t-take-my-picture way, but you could still see I was smiling. His bed was unmade and showed no signs of ever having been made, his mahogany dresser and nightstand were missing handles and he had a milk crate full of records beside a 1970s’ sideboard-style stereo. Books were balanced in piles on the threadbare carpet, and between the Prousts and Emersons were mounds of clothing. His room was like a flea market—a crowded thrift store at best.
I picked up one of his cameras and looked at him through the lens. “So… where have you been lately? Are you sick?”
“Yeah,” he said and reached for the camera to show me where the shutter release was. I clicked off a few frames.” Well, I mean, no. Not really.”
He sighed and pushed his hair away from his eyes, only to have it slip back. “You know, I’m just sick of school, so I’m taking a break. A sabbatical, so to speak.”
“What does your dad think about that?” I asked.
“He’s hardly around.” He picked up another camera and took my picture taking his picture. “That’ll be a neat one,” he said, taking another.
“Aren’t you worried that he’ll find out?”
“No, not really. Besides, he wouldn’t even care.”
I nodded. Part of me wanted to ask him why, but our relationship was built on not knowing.
I put the camera down and walked across the room to look out the window at the backyard. It was littered with rubbish: car parts, rusty bicycles, a dilapidated 1970s’ swing set, a Mr. Turtle pool filled with rainwater and leaves, and an old German shepherd who appeared equally defeated. I looked away, not wanting to see my reflection in the neglect. Liam was sitting with legs outstretched on the bed, flipping through an encyclopedia. A stack of them teetered on the floor nearby.
“Did you rob the library or something?”
“Funny,” he said flatly. “I picked them up from the Sally Ann; this is my education in lieu of school. I’m already on D.”
“Wow,” I said, matching his tone.
“Did you know that dinosaurs only get a few pages? Millions of years ruling the earth and they get a few measly pages.”
I picked up the newspaper that was on his bed and unfolded it to the crossword. “Well, I guess humans should only get a then.”
“I was thinking a footnote, if we’re lucky.”
He picked up volume E, opened it and started reading. His lips mouthed the words like tiny breaths. I sat down next to him, pulled out the pencil that I’d used to tie up my hair, and shook the knot loose just like the girls on all the shampoo commercials did.
I worked away at the puzzle for an hour, aware of how close we were sitting to each other, aware that he had looked up from his encyclopedia several times and traced the line of my leg to the hem of my “Blondie” miniskirt. I was sure I had seen a picture of Debbie Harry wearing a
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