More writings

Hey everyone. First, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who's given me feedback on my story. It's been really helpful :) So I thought, why not post a bit more, just for fun? Here's part of Chapter Three of the novel. The short story I already posted is parts of Chapter One and Two. Hope you like it!! Please note - it's not the whole chapter, just a small piece.

Regrets

“Don’t you love the taste of burnt ash in the morning?”
“Hi Danny.” I didn’t even have to turn around. Only his freakishly velvety voice could break the 6am monotony so gracefully. Sittin’ on the back stoop, watching gulls collide with the cherry horizon – what was that saying my Dad used? Red sky in morning, something warning? – and I was trying to ignore the infernal cooing of the mourning doves that congregate by my pine tree. They woke me every morning.
“I thought you quit.” He stood in front of me, looking disappointed. Taking the cigarette from my mouth, he took a puff, made a sour face, and threw it to the ground. I couldn’t tell the difference between his smoke and my breath.
“I did.” Fuck could he ever make me feel guilty. He sat down beside me and put his arm around me. I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed.

In another life, Danny would have been the perfect lover: dark hair, slightly shaggy, green eyes like those lime caterpillars, long nimble fingers (that I wish every woman had) and graceful man hands. I couldn’t think of anyone else I could tolerate every day; we did everything together. We met on the school playground when I was seven. I was sitting on the swings moping cause of my parent’s divorce, and he came over and asked if I wanted a push. When I started liking girls more than boys, Danny would bring me posters of Hollywood starlets. When he started drawing and painting, I modeled for him. He did this one portrait in charcoal once. I was seventeen, laying across his bed half-naked, and staring up at the ceiling. It was really lovely. He said it was cause he loved me. I punched him in the stomach. He won second prize at some competition or something though. I think that’s the picture that got him a scholarship at some Emily something Art School in British Columbia. But he turned it down. He works at Read’s Bookstore-slash-coffee shop now, and he still draws and takes classes at the Centre for Arts and Technology. I still don’t know why he didn’t leave Fredericton. He won’t talk about it.

“So what’s up Champ?” I loved it when he called me that. He kissed the top of my head, and I felt I could’ve just stayed in his arms all day. Man he was something: he didn’t even have a pussy and I didn’t want him to take his hands off me.

I didn’t know how to answer him though.

Luckily, I didn’t have to right away. Tangie came strutting up the stairs with a dead rat in her mouth. She dropped it at my feet and sat on the step below me. She started roaring when I rubbed her chin.

“So is this your new roommate? She’s cute. What happened to the last one?” He reached out to pet her, but she pulled away, closer to me. “The other one was friendlier too. Does she always bring you these little presents?” He pointed to the rat.
“Yeah, she’s kind of officially moved in with me, so I think she leaves them as rent payments. I don’t know why she stays. She even sleeps in my bed with me. She’s different alright.” I started petting her some more and she hopped up onto my lap. “And Pucca was adopted by the Andersons.”

Pucca was my last stray. She was a really small good natured cat. The Andersons live in the unit next to mine. They just adopted a four year old Chinese girl, so I gave her Pucca as a welcome gift. The little girl, Ling I think, was pretty happy, so I think it’ll be a good home for Pucca.

“Well that’s nice. So what do you do with the carcasses?”
“I boil them and make them into the sandwiches I bring to you at work.”
“Thanks Issa, I appreciate the protein.” He grabbed the rat – with his bare hands – and threw it into the field behind the house.
“What the fuck are you doing? You could get a disease or something off that thing!”
“Don’t worry about it; I’m indestructible, remember?”

The bloody bastard was right. Danny was the guy who always won those “perfect attendance” awards at school. Even when I’m practically dying with the flu, and he’s making me soup and picking up my gross, snotty Kleenex off the floor, he never gets sick. It pisses me off more than anything else.

“Now stop changing the subject. Why is little Issa wallowing in her own filth and self-pity?” Damn. I was hoping he’d just forget it.
“Oh, I’m just nursing my guilty conscience.” I sighed again. I didn’t want to do this.
“Now, what could you possibly do that’s so horrible that it pushes you to develop an oral fixation on cigarettes?”
“Court is in the hospital.”

He took his arm away from me and looked at me, hard. “Merissa, what did you do?”

“She umm... kind of fell down the stairs.” Court was now nearly four months pregnant. She had been sleepwalking a lot, which isn’t something she normally does, so she had been staying with me for a few days. You know, so I could keep an eye on her. “She’s okay now. Just a few bruises.”
“And the baby?” Danny still hadn’t gotten it.
“It’s fine too.”
“He, Merissa, not it.” He kept staring at me. Then he turned away and looked at the field he threw the rat into. “She didn’t really fall, did she?”

I couldn’t look at him. I just closed my eyes. Don’t cry, Issa. “She thinks she fell. She was half-asleep.”

His gaze turned to me. His eyes were burning. The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn’t seem to know what to do; he just passed his hands through his hair, scratched his ear, got up and started pacing. I had never seen him like this. Finally, he slapped me.

“What the fuck Merissa? Were you trying to kill her? You have like fifteen steps in your place!” His eyes were now the coldest they’ve ever been. His face changed. Understanding. “It was cause of the baby, wasn’t it?”

That’s it. I lost it. I don’t know how or why. I couldn’t stand Danny being mad at me. I felt bad enough as it is. I stood up and almost screamed. “It’s going to be a retard, Danny! A fucking retard! Do you know what that’s going to do to her?”

“Jesus fuck Iss. That’s HER choice. She knows what she’s doing. She’s an adult. It’s not about you, okay? It’s not always about you. You just want her for yourself, and you know that if she keeps the baby, she’ll never have you. That’s what it comes down to. You just hate that you can’t always have your way. Jesus Jesus fuck. You are such a selfish brat.” He looked at me, disgusted. He pointed his finger right in my face, so close that I could still smell the cigarette off his hands. “If you do anything else to hurt her or the baby, I will crucify you myself. Call me when you grow up.”

And that was it. He just walked away. And I collapsed on my steps. I couldn’t keep the tears away anymore. Where the fuck had all that come from? Where did he get off calling me selfish? He was supposed to have my back! Danny always had my back.

Like the time in second grade when I stole three of Jessica’s barbies and a bunch of their little outfits. Danny made me take them back and explained that I had “accidentally” put them in my bag. I later fucked her and stole fifty bucks from her purse because she wouldn’t  go to the school dance with Danny in ninth grade. I used the money to get him a new easel. And he calls me selfish? What the fuck? Although he did get pretty angry when he found out that I slept with her.

Whatever, he’s an idiot.

Tangie started chewing on my hair, so I decided it was probably time to go shower. I knew what had been in her mouth. Maybe I should feed her more or something. How were you supposed to take care of domestic animals? Was there a class for this or something? I didn't have cats growing up, how am I supposed to know?

I needed a shower. After giving Tangie some olives and cheez whiz (apparently they all love olives and cheez whiz; it's worked thus far) I climbed up my stairs and dragged my ass to the bathroom. I decided a hot shower was in order. I never took hot showers; they're bad for your skin. I like them cold. Barely lukewarm. But not today. I just wanted the water to beat down on me, burn my skin, sear my memories into it. Fuck. I hadn't hated myself this much since I was twenty-two.

Twenty-two. The last time I had been with a man. I remember Brian Eno had been playing on his computer with all these psychedelic helixes changing colours on his media player. We were in bed, I think his name was Sergei, and three quarters of our clothes were on the floor. I was topless anyway, on my side, with my head in the crook of his neck. He smelled of vodka, sweat and fresh potatoes. He held me so close that I could feel the hardness of his monster cock against the dip in my pelvis. I was about to grab it when I felt another bulge against the small of my back. Then I remembered that his roommate was in bed with us. Antonio? Tony? Whatever. He grabbed my tits, started playing with my nipple and asked: “We out of x yet?”

I hated remembering these things. I didn't hate men, they just always made me feel dirty when I slept with them. I always despised myself afterwards. Danny was probably the only guy that ever made me feel really beautiful. But he's an artist right? That's his job. He's just so dorky and adorable. Like this one time, he went shopping for power tools. Danny doesn't know anything about tools. So the clerk totally took advantage of him and sold him four hundred and fifty dollars worth of power tools and gadgets that Danny has yet to use. Anyways, I showed up at his place and the minute I'm in the door, he rushes at me and says: “Look Merissa! I finally have a hammer! Oh shit, I dropped my hammer.” He shoved the damn thing in my face, then missed my foot by an inch. I pushed him inside his apartment. “Give it up Danny, you're an artist, not a handyman.” I picked up the hammer and threw my jacket on his sexy red couch. “So what do you need hung up?” I asked. He pointed to his newly framed painting. It was of a wet Italian street that he had seen in one of my mother's photographs. I picked it up and hung it above the couch. “Thanks Issa. I love having a butchy dyke as a Best Friend.” He then got this huge grin and gave me one of his grizzly bear hugs. It was random shit like those days that made me love Danny to death.

My hot water had finally run out. I grabbed my rosemary lemongrass body wash and scrubbed down. One of my favourite things in life, a guilty pleasure, was to squeeze all the excess soap out of my puff. It made me so happy. It was something my Mother used to do when I was kid taking a bath. I couldn't remember the last time I had thought of my Mother. She was still alive, of course, but she was off galivanting in Europe somewhere. I don't really remember where she is now. When she left Fredericton, she was with some guy named Jamal. I think she met him on PlentyofFish. I don't really remember my Dad. They were cheating on each other or something, so they divorced when I was seven. Mum raised me, and Dad went to live in Washington. He wanted to become an architect I think. Mum did her best I guess, trying to keep me out of trouble. She taught grade eleven Geography and always said she'd travel the world. When I graduated high school, she took off. Went to Spain with Jamal. She hasn't set foot in Canada since. Is she with a William or Edward now? I can't remember if she was talking about a new boyfriend or seeing the Shakespeare theatre in England. She sends me postcards. I don't usually keep them. My mother's always been more of a distant friend than a Mum. Her students and men mattered more than I ever did. Danny's parents took care of me more anyways. The only awesome thing Mum ever did was buy me a car for my twenty-first birthday. I think she was trying to make up for the fact that she's never here. She gave me the money and instead of buying a fancy sports car like she would have, I bought a black 2004 Honda Civic. My mother laughs at me when I make practical decisions like that. Calls me a dyke. I think she was disappointed that I don't love a good cock like she does.

Danny's parents were more family to me than my own Mum was. Danny's parents, Raymond and Connie, lived on what used to be a farm on the outside of the city. They have a hundred acres of land and are fairly well off. Not wealthy, but they do well for themselves. His Dad worked for Irving, but doing what, I've never really found out. He's been retired for years now. Danny was an only child like me, so I soon became the daughter, or other son really, that they never had. Raymond found it was a hoot that I liked girls. Connie just wanted me to find a good girl to settle down with. They were really goodhearted nice people. They've done so much for me. Like the time they invited me to supper with Danny and them to friends of theirs. Their good friend and his wife, Don and Mary, were having them over for supper and they invited me along as their daughter. It was such a fun night. It's one of my favourite memories.

We walked into the smells of mustard and jig's dinner. Piano played on the TV (I had never heard an instrumental version of “Yesterday” and “Making Love out of Nothing at all” until then) and there was a fat cat sleeping by the fire. As we put our coats away, Mary apologised to us: “I didn't time the dinner right; the potatoes are gone! I think they've melted!” We laughed, expecting the apology to be over something much worse. Barb and Ken walked in behind us, him in a moose flap hat and her in a Sherlock Holmes hat. We quickly brought them up to speed on our inside joke about the missing potatoes. We all sat by the fire, sipping wine and drinking beer, exchanging funny stories from the last week. I looked around to Danny's parent's friends, and listened intently as the generation gap widened. The winter wind slapped hard against the window as the men exchanged war stories, tales of the hunt, and learning to live in the New World. They looked weathered, these men of his father's generation. They've seen too many harsh winters and fish full ponds; they have good old names like Donny Roy, real men who come from the woods and still hunt bears with bows and arrows. At supper, conversation flowed easily, as these strangers (to me) made me feel at home. Tea, not coffee, was served, a sign of the old times. Sassy, the aging labrador dog, was begging by the back door, just waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food. We all laughed and joked at how Mary was stingy because she didn't put any potatoes in the stew. She served Apple Pandowdy for dessert, and 1950's music swirled in my head: “Shoo-fly pie and apple pandowdy makes your eyes go round and your belly go howdy...” Ironically, I first heard that song in a video game. We discussed the homemade art and paintings on the wall, as we're all surprised at Donny's hidden talent. I mixed vanilla ice cream in my tea, and listened to the men tell dirty jokes, as the women did dishes in the kitchen. Everything in the ways we once knew.

I'm now good friends with Don and Mary. I went to his brother's funeral last month. Poor bastard was fifty-nine. And I call Raymond every week. He's the father figure I never had. He tried teaching me how to build a fire when I was nine years old. Danny didn't wanna learn 'cause he was scared of fire, so Ray decided he'd teach me how to take over the homestead. I never remembered how to do it, so he showed me again when I was twenty-two. After my little fling with Sergei, I was feeling pretty shittty, so I went and spent some time with Ray and Connie. I stayed a week, with no phone, no internet, and no TV. They had all these things of course, I just didn't bother with them. I just read and rested. I had to get away for a bit. So yeah, Ray taught me how to do it again. It was February, and Connie had gone to church to listen to the choir sing. Ray and I were downstairs in his “workshop.” He had been a jack of all trades his whole life, but a master of none. We used to say that he'd “frig around” downstairs. He had all kinds of tools, most of which I don't even know the use, and he would do woodworking, building, painting, whatever he felt like. That week, he had painted Danny's old room and was reassembling the doorframe. It was getting chilly, so he asked if I wanted to make a fire. First, you take about five pages of spread from a newspaper and you scrunch them up in a ball. Scatter them all over the floor of the wood stove. You take about six to eight pieces of plywood and lay them vertically across the paper. Add two more pieces laying perpendicular to the first ones, and then light the paper with a match. As the fire starts to spread, put more hard wood in, and you can put way more than you think; I was just going to put about five logs, when Ray out of nowhere brought in eleven and made them all fit. This stove is huge! Once the fire catches the wood, you open the choke on the side of the stove and then shut the door. It's pretty cool. Or hot, I suppose.

I got out of the shower and got dressed. I never got the hang of dressing like a dyke, so I just dressed like a regular girl. Slightly torn jeans, green graphic t-shirt, purple thong with matching bra, and black zip up hoodie, ya know, the one with the thumb holes. After my fight with Danny, I didn't know what to do with myself.