Authors: Pete; McCormack
“Oh god, that's so beautiful. I'm coming again!” She fell back on the couch and moaned.
“Shut up!”
“Oh baby, baby.”
“That's it. I'm leaving.”
“Good.”
“I mean it.” I left the room.
“You'll be back,” I heard her yell. “Your dick'll be back! Back beggin'⦔
I drove home dazed, terrified of the years that lay ahead. Despite the hurt, Lucy's insults had left me aware of my pathological need to be in the throngs of sexual liaisons. Truth was, on any given day at any time I was prepared to be taken. Intercourse, in fact, had occurred to me ten or twelve times driving across the Burrard Street Bridge to her apartment. But, then again, so had cunnilingus and various paths toward spiritual growth. Nevertheless, I couldn't stop wondering what would happen if not for that mysterious
je ne sais quoi
that prevents me from acting on every urge. If it wasn't for social normality and women's rights, how far would I go? Who wouldn't I have sex with? When does a rapist become a rapist? When does a murderer become a murderer? Why
didn't
I kill Frank? I wanted to. Why didn't I hire prostitutes? I wanted to. What was keeping it all in? The wrath of God? The fear of prison? Inherent morality? Insufficient funds?
Overwrought with my lack of answers, I opened the door to Eric's apartment to see through the kitchen a half dozen people on my pull-out couch ingesting varied substances; food, cigarettes, alcohol and so forth. On the floor a few feet in front of me was Eric in the lotus position, wobbling his head. He glanced up.
“Ah ⦠you are the temple,” he said in a Chinese accent. “Fair lady works at shuttles.”
“What?”
“Golden cock stands on one leg.”
“What are you doing?”
“Tai Chi fridge cleanin'. Step back, slowly ⦠repulse monkey.” He handed me a beer, pushed himself up, bowed, staggered to his right and took from the oven what appeared to be brownies. “Kids! Dinner's ready!” he said in a high cackle. He put the tray on the top of the stove, turned and spun out of the room, yelling to the crowd: “Darling, where the hell's my squash racket?”
I grabbed his shoulder. “Eric.”
He looked around.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Course.”
“Do you like sex?”
His face scrunched. “What kind o' question is that?”
“Do you think about it very much?”
“Sure.”
“How much?”
“All the time.”
“Me, too.”
“So?”
“Answer me this: If you could have relations with every women here without repercussions, would you?”
Eric turned back and surveyed the front room. “Like no AIDS and shit?”
“Disease free.”
“Look at the onion on her, man,” he said pointing. “No pregnancy, no bullshit?”
“Nothing.”
He sniffed. “Maybe.”
“If you were a world dictator and could have sex with anyone you wanted, would you?”
“Against their will?”
“Whatever you wanted.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn't be a kick like that.” We looked at each other. Eric glanced at the tray of treats in his hands. “Although I wouldn't mind access to a few more babes. Power is a big time turn-on, man. That's why Presidents don't get dick done. Brownie?”
I felt clothed in despair. “I fear nothing is sacred. Does love truly exist?”
“Course it does, you dick. Drink your beer.”
“Why do regiments of seemingly normal young men rape and massacre innocent villagers during wartime?”
“What's gotten into you, man?”
“There are men in this world, Ericâmen like you and meâwho
eat
other people for sexual gratification.”
Eric splurted out a laugh and shrugged. “Go figure.”
“I'm scared, Eric. What if I suddenly slit your throat with a kitchen utensil?”
“The spatula killings. Pictures at eleven. Ease
up
.”
“How can you jest? How can I be sure the women in this room are safe from my kind?”
Eric put his arm around me. “Because three quarters of them could kick your ass,” he said. “Have a brownie and keep on your toes ⦔
The phone woke me up at twenty after six the following morning. I lay crumpled on the pull-out couch, clothes still on, eyes burning.
“Hello,” I said groggily.
“Meet me at 3883 Imperial.”
“Lucy?”
“3883 Imperial. Quarter to seven. At the pro shop.”
“Pro shop?”
Lucy was standing beneath a clubhouse awning when I arrived. It was pouring. I got out of the car and ran for shelter.
“A
golf
course!” I yelled.
Lucy smiled, reached out and kissed me softly on the cheek. Her breath was warm. She turned my face to hers and looked into my eyes as the rain crashed down behind us. She smiled a soft smile, and then caused my body to shiver with the placement of her hand on my lower back.
“Come on!” she said, clasping my hand and yanking me towards the pro shop.
“I think we should discuss last night.”
“I'm sorry about that,” she said.
“What are we doing?”
“Guess?”
“Golfing?”
“Bingo.”
Lucy's first swing dug up a divet so immense we could have strung a net across it and called it Wimbledon. The club sprang from her hands, cartwheeled across the face of a monsoon while the ball, without getting touched, toppled off the tee.
“First time?” I asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
By the time we reached the green I was well over what enthusiasts call par and Lucy was prostrate and using the back end of her putter as a pool cue.
“About last night,” she said on her belly, knocking the ball a few feet short of the hole. She stood up, soaked. “How can I put this? Last night's geyserâwhich I'm sorry aboutâwas an example of what happens whenever I get repeatedly laid over an extended period of time. I don't know if it's biochemical or what, but I get ⦠I get these streaks of darkness ⦠these bullets on my tongue ⦠I guess ⦠confined. I feel like a concubine.”
“I definitely don't think of you like that.”
“I lash out. And I know it affects the rest of my life, too. See, anybody can figure out their options when they're left to rot in a damn cage. What else are you going to do? Push-ups? Rot? Shit? But the real test is to do it when you're free, when you have choices.” Lucy scratched her cheek. “I gotta feel free.”
I paused. “Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever feel
too
free?”
“Too free?”
“Like there's a myriad of potential opportunites; good and bad. So many you're paralysed by the onslaught.”
“You gotta be kiddin',” she said.
We walked up the next fairway, silent save the rain and an almost vocal ambush of greenery. Lucy picked up her ball and walked with it.
“I want you to know, Shel, that when you showed up on Thanksgiving, I swear to god I felt like I could come on the spot ⦠It was unbelievable. I felt loved, you know? I thought, âThis guy is
A-okay'
âwhich I still figure.”
“I ⦠I try to be kind.”
She stopped walking. “But I was wrong in thinking I was ready to have sex without feeling like a
douche bag
afterwardsâit's the whore thing, maybe. Whatever, I thought I could, with an open mind, you know, make it loving, mysticalâdo the tantric sex thing, that's what I wantedâto use the tantra and transfer sexual energy to a higher level instead of crushing it.”
“And â¦?”
“It didn't flow.”
“Lucy, before you say anything more I'd like to first apologise for my own actions and admit that there were some bonafide truths to last night's accusations. As far as being a lover goes, I
have
been intercourse-oriented, and for what it's worth, I'm committed to change.”
“I should have finished what I was saying,” she said. “I'm taking a vow of celibacy.”
“Celibacy?”
“Sex for me is still power. Control. There's nothing loving about that. So until I figure it out, I need to commit to my needs ⦠and I can't feel guilty about it.”
“You shouldn't.”
“I just can't.”
“What about you and me?”
She seemed suddenly sad. “It's too wet for golf,” she said.
XIII
Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry:
for anger resteth in the lap of fools
.
â
Ecclesiastes 7:9
A burst gasket in Sicamous caused me to arrive in Revelstoke at two-thirty in the morning. The kitchen light was left on but all was still. A sense of emptiness coupled with sadness sat like sludge in my heart. There was a note on the table.
SON
There's meat loaf in the fridge
.
Ed
.
Just as I put the note down both Mom and Dad staggered into the kitchen, matching blue polyester pajamas, shading their eyes from the light, staring at me as though I might be contagious. Both squinting, dad rubbed an eye.
“What the hell have you done?”
“I just arrived.”
“Three years.
Flush
.”
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out Lucy's crumpled check. “I have the two thousand dollars you sent me at the onset of summer,” I said, placing it on the table.
“One question, Shelby. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why?”
“We had an agreement,” Mother said, jumping in. “We agreed to pay for your schooling. We have. You quit.”
“I have quit, yes, but from only a portion of the whole. To the remainder I remain committed to excellence. Surely, life does not end with the dropping out of school.”
Dad walked by me gruffly and put on water for coffee.
I stretched. “I'm about ready for bed,” I said. “We'll have a good chat come the new day.”
Startling me, Dad grabbed the shoulder of my Gortex jacket and twisted me towards him.
“Don't get uppity with us, you yellow son of a bitch,” he said. “We are not the one's that don't
get it
. Don't slough off your mother with poetry. You've been a real bastard. Start explaining ⦔
And so, over the next two hours, as exhaustion set in and the general mood wobbled from bitter to frustrated to caustically sarcastic, I tried.
“⦠well I'll be whoopity damned,” Dad said. “Hear that Peg? Shelby's working in a library ⦠So what do you do there, son?”
“I shelve books.”
“He's a book shelver! Great, great. How's the pay?”
“Quite reasonable,” I said. “It's union.”
“Fifteen an hour?”
“Nine, actually.”
“That ain't bad,” he said, the timbre of his voice becoming more strained. “Hear that Peg? Fifteen an hour.”
“I can hear him, Ed. I'm right here. He said nine.”
“Nine?” Dad said. “Lucky nines. Guess you like it, though, eh?”
“For now it's enough.”
“For
now
? Sounds like a lifer to me, Shelby.”
“Dad ⦠I ⦠Please understand. I couldn't continue in a situation I didn't enjoy.”
“En
joy
?” he said. His grinâwhich never really wasâflipped to a snarl. “You son of a bitch,” he said. “
I
do not
enjoy
what
I
do. But that doesn't mean it wasn't the right
thing
to do.” He stood up and over me. “Think I enjoyed busting my balls to pay for your three years of university?” He slammed his fist down on the table.
“I appreciate all you've done,” I said, “From moment zero to now. And Lord knows I never meant to let you downâeither of you.”
“If I told you one damn thing it was school, school, school!”
“I still have plans for social contribution.”
“You know what it cost to pay for the last few years?”
“I could reimburse you.”
He stopped in midstep and turned around, leaning his face to my level. “At nine bucks an hour it'll take you fifty goddamn years to pay back thirty-five grand.”
“I'll do it.”
“In fifty years we'll all be
dead
.”
“Too far, Ed,” Mom said.
“Too far nothin'!”
“It's five in the mornin,'” she said. “We should get some sleep.”
“Oh I see now,” he said, “it's all very clear: The power base has split.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen, presumably towards the front door. It slammed.
Mom sat down. “What's happened, Shel?”
“A change of priorities, Mom, that's all.”
“Come on, talk to me.”
“That's
it
, end of story.”
“Don't
snap
at me, you little snot!”
I was startled by the attack. Staggering backwards, I mumbled out: “If you don't mind, I'd like to go for a fresh walkâI mean air.”
She waved me away without looking up.
Outside I ambled into a sky dappled in cloud highlighted by a low flying moon. “Embrace me restless night,” I cried, “for I am momentarily lonely.” I ran towards the woods. How could I worry about school with such splendour before me? After all, it was my life, and I was far more concerned with the incessant ache that had managed to lodge itself in my gut like a national landmark for as long as I could recall. As for Dad, I was sorry he was so upset, but there was little I could do for his positionânor he for mine. And Mom? It was so unlike her to bellow at me as she had. Nonetheless, there were more important matters at hand, like moving out from the cosmological void I had for so long claimed as me. “O what awaits? What awaits?” I cried. “I am open to bigger things.”