pushed off to find Johnny Parker.
The night Tina kicked him out it snowed like a bastard. And she had really kicked him out. None of this nice breaking up you hear so much about, where you talk for hours and hours trying to settle your differences, and when it becomes clear that you just donât want the same thing, you both cry, and you hold each other, and then you climb into bed for some intense farewell sex, and in the morning you start looking for an apartment. And you live together civilly, even having more sex on occasion, if thatâs what seems appropriate, until you find a new place to live, and you remain friends and have joint custody of the cat. None of that for his Tina. Oh no. She sent him out in a hail of broken crockery, in a shower of shouted insults, in a barrage of sneered accusations. There was no soft sentiment in that breakup that was certain. He went down under her violence and he was still waiting to surface.
And sure, he wasnât blameless. Sure, heâd egged her on, he hadnât listened to her half the time sheâd bitched at him for whatever it was he was doing wrong. But he never thought it would come to this. Come to him rootless, owning not much more than the pile of clothes currently mouldering on James and Emilyâs bathroom floor and the guitar that never dealt a harsh or unkind word his way. Come to him not even having a permanent place to live, for chrissakes, but shacked up instead in James and Emilyâs place while James was away on tour,dealing with signs of happy coupledom wherever he looked â the matching night stands in the bedroom, framed photos of the two of them throughout the house, their left behind toothbrushes leaning together in the glass on the bathroom shelf. There he was every day, taking in their mail, seeing none of his own. He was sure Tina was dumping his in a snowbank or burning it on the barbecue â she probably wouldnât even bring it in the house and burn it properly, in the fireplace â she hated him that much.
He couldnât figure it out. She was the one who had cheated on him. After all that time, and all her fear, and all her misguided accusations, in the end, it was she who could not be true. Henry had had plenty of opportunity, and had been plenty tempted. And to him it would have been just sex. But the thought of it made Tina insane, and he loved her, or thought he should, and so he never strayed. And finally, one night when he was in Moncton pinch-hitting for Johnny Parker in some Tragically Hip tribute band, Tina stepped out on him. When he got home, she was sitting there, thin-lipped, white-cheeked and she told him. Told him sheâd slept with her art teacher, a great poncey old man she seemed to think was brilliance incarnate. And when Henry just nodded and sank down heavily into a kitchen chair and shook his head once or twice silently, she lost it. She started yelling and screaming and throwing things. She pulled him to his feet and hammered on his chest and raved at him, as if he were the one who had sold their relationship out. He took it, he took it all, and he never said a word. What was there to say? His silence only enraged her and she stood there in the kitchen, eyes awash in hatred and something else, something Henry couldnât place â disgust, maybe or despair â and she said in a voice so quiet that he almost didnât hear it: âI think youâd better go. I think youâd better get your fucking stuff and get out of my sight.â Henry started toward the bedroom without a word, but Tina got in front of him and he reared back, as if she were on fire. âOn second thought,â she said evenly, âjust get the fuck out now. You can come and get your stuff tomorrow when Iâm at work, but if you donât leave right now, I think weâll both be sorry.â
He could see she wasnât fucking around, so he groped for his coat as quietly and subtly as he
The night Tina kicked him out it snowed like a bastard. And she had really kicked him out. None of this nice breaking up you hear so much about, where you talk for hours and hours trying to settle your differences, and when it becomes clear that you just donât want the same thing, you both cry, and you hold each other, and then you climb into bed for some intense farewell sex, and in the morning you start looking for an apartment. And you live together civilly, even having more sex on occasion, if thatâs what seems appropriate, until you find a new place to live, and you remain friends and have joint custody of the cat. None of that for his Tina. Oh no. She sent him out in a hail of broken crockery, in a shower of shouted insults, in a barrage of sneered accusations. There was no soft sentiment in that breakup that was certain. He went down under her violence and he was still waiting to surface.
And sure, he wasnât blameless. Sure, heâd egged her on, he hadnât listened to her half the time sheâd bitched at him for whatever it was he was doing wrong. But he never thought it would come to this. Come to him rootless, owning not much more than the pile of clothes currently mouldering on James and Emilyâs bathroom floor and the guitar that never dealt a harsh or unkind word his way. Come to him not even having a permanent place to live, for chrissakes, but shacked up instead in James and Emilyâs place while James was away on tour,dealing with signs of happy coupledom wherever he looked â the matching night stands in the bedroom, framed photos of the two of them throughout the house, their left behind toothbrushes leaning together in the glass on the bathroom shelf. There he was every day, taking in their mail, seeing none of his own. He was sure Tina was dumping his in a snowbank or burning it on the barbecue â she probably wouldnât even bring it in the house and burn it properly, in the fireplace â she hated him that much.
He couldnât figure it out. She was the one who had cheated on him. After all that time, and all her fear, and all her misguided accusations, in the end, it was she who could not be true. Henry had had plenty of opportunity, and had been plenty tempted. And to him it would have been just sex. But the thought of it made Tina insane, and he loved her, or thought he should, and so he never strayed. And finally, one night when he was in Moncton pinch-hitting for Johnny Parker in some Tragically Hip tribute band, Tina stepped out on him. When he got home, she was sitting there, thin-lipped, white-cheeked and she told him. Told him sheâd slept with her art teacher, a great poncey old man she seemed to think was brilliance incarnate. And when Henry just nodded and sank down heavily into a kitchen chair and shook his head once or twice silently, she lost it. She started yelling and screaming and throwing things. She pulled him to his feet and hammered on his chest and raved at him, as if he were the one who had sold their relationship out. He took it, he took it all, and he never said a word. What was there to say? His silence only enraged her and she stood there in the kitchen, eyes awash in hatred and something else, something Henry couldnât place â disgust, maybe or despair â and she said in a voice so quiet that he almost didnât hear it: âI think youâd better go. I think youâd better get your fucking stuff and get out of my sight.â Henry started toward the bedroom without a word, but Tina got in front of him and he reared back, as if she were on fire. âOn second thought,â she said evenly, âjust get the fuck out now. You can come and get your stuff tomorrow when Iâm at work, but if you donât leave right now, I think weâll both be sorry.â
He could see she wasnât fucking around, so he groped for his coat as quietly and subtly as he
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