fic-tion

my only job over the holidays was not killing myself. it was a small little personal goal but i felt it was more heartfelt than a new years resolution. i sniffled through wes anderson movies chewing on sour candies and rolling hundreds of cigarettes a day by hand. it was hard having the entire apartment to myself. i moped around in dark rooms and drawn curtains, double-thick from the sheets I hung behind them. left to my own devices i could entertain myself. left on my own for 2 weeks in december was never a good idea. long banned from family functions i managed to enjoy a robust 10 years of skimming through Christmas on booze and random vacations out of province with other holiday orphans.

this year i was left on my own, more so because i had lost my vacation money in a card game. Felix had spent all night packing for his 6am flight and i sat cross-legged on his bed.

"Are you going to sit around and drink the whole time I'm gone?"
"No no, some of the camera guys and I are going to see that screening of Grey Gardens tomorrow."
"Well that leaves..." He dove into a sock drawer looking for his passport. Found it.
"That leaves you 13 more days."
"I'm fine. Stop trying to suss out of me if I'm having a party."
"I called the LCBO, they don't have any pre-orders to ship here."
"Nice one, can you detect my disgust inspector clouseau?"
"Oh you ruined so many things with the last one..."
"It's not really my fault that YOUR friend Anton threw up blood after all those keg stands."
"You know he's a diabetic!"
"I'm not a fucking doctor... listen, he's fine and what's a little bit of time shaved off our time on this earth?"
Felix whipped a handful of bundled socks at me. "STOP STOP STOP with all this death talk! I'm sick of it!"
"Woah! Ok ok, I'll never die. There." I smooched Dexter's smooth little boston terrier head. "I won't die." kiss. "And Dexter won't die." kiss. "And Felix won't die from hepititis on his vacation to a borderline third world country to exploit the locals who cry when you give them toothpaste..."
"Hardly my fault that you blew your money. You could have come with me."
"No thanks, I have some lingering freckles I want to measure to make sure they don't turn into moles."
Sigh.
"Look after Dexter ok?"
"Fuck, I forget to feed him the one time and you're never going let me forget it." I was scratching dog fur underneath his smart tartan collar. He burbled some noises through his snout and was almost asleep.
"Feed him two scoops of the dry food and then..."
"Slice of turkey loaf. What happened to that vegan shit recipe The Twat gave you?"
"Twat and I aren't on speaking terms." Terse pat down of clothing into a suitcase.
"Oh... Wow. you live in the same apartment and you still have no idea what's happening on the other side."
"That and the vegan food gave Dex the rankest gas in the world."
"It was like a cross between melting plastic and soggy hay."
"Ugh... well it was terrible whatever it was."
"Sorry things didn't work out."
"No you're not."
"Well he is a total twat... BUT but... I wish you well. I wish it had worked out."
"Come with me."
"What?"
"Right now. I'll pay for it... It's a double room..."
"Calm down! You're blathering."
He sat on the corner of the bed with his back to me.
"Why do we do this? I feel utterly confident that I'm over you and then I snap and ask you to come to the Cayman Islands."
"Yeah it's true, you're always trying to get back together with me."
Disgusted snort and he reclined his head back to grin at me. "Right. I'm the only one."
"So there was that one time last year. I honestly thought we could make a go of it again!"
I smiled easy and pulled a pillow over my chest. "No you need out of the apartment and away from me and the show and the cameras... Just take a break, read a book, catch up on your valium doses and jerk off. Godssakes there's a hot tub in the room."
He looked perplexed. "Why do you always tell me to jerk off?"
"I just think it would do you a world of good."
"That's your advice for everything."
"Keep packing. You just have 4 more suitcases to fill." I kicked a well sorted pile of golf shirts onto the floor. "Gay weiners wear golf shirts. You should be going shirtless with a 2 foot wide towel cinched around your waist."
"Is that what I'm supposed to wear?"
"Clearly you missed the memo."
"No one's going to recognize me? The Dominican was hell... I spent more time telling american tourists how to make poached eggs than relaxed."
"I told you, this is Josie's grandfather's tax shelter/vacation house. The only thing you have to worry about is a neighbour thinking that you're the chinese gardener."
"Still, better than 20 questions... They always ask about you anyway."
"You're my sidekick. People want to know where the super hero is."
"Ugh. Pick up my shirts."
"Make me. I'm going to get some more wine. Care for some?"
"No... And try to be good while I'm gone, Nate."

I guess good can be construed as sitting in the dark and watching stacks of dvds. I wipe under my nose when it drips as Bill Murray says, "I hate fathers and I never wanted to be one." In a sick way it was my happiest to be in the dark, but then again I was a very depressed child so moments like this didn't seem morbid in my later years. I wasn't too drunk, I wasn't too numb-lipped from dainty lines of coke. I flipped another rolling paper into my hand and rolled another cigarette. I would go out at 2am and cab to Parkdale to hand them out to all the crackheads. Look look look... all the trash and here's jesus from the reserve passing out smokes in a grim pennance for years of begging for people to give me one. Still not sure if there's life on mars....