LITMIR.BIZ

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man and the confused unlovable kid who needed to belong. He had been happy with Bob, but he couldn’t bring to mind now the last time he’d felt anything remotely like happiness.

      He picked up the bottle and peered through it. The world appeared more pleasant coloured by the amber liquor. One more drink, he knew, and the cynicism would creep in beside the self-pity. He wouldn’t be thinking of the love that had worked between him and Bob, but of the older man with money and the kid with the sizeable cock. So why not skip the drink and go straight for oblivion? Go right from the Sermon on the Mount to the Crucifixion. The way he ruined everything by going too far.

      For a fleeting second, he saw the repulsed faces of the men and women he’d asked for spare change on his arrival in Toronto. Their expressions had said it all. They’d known him for what he was: a piece of shit who got nothing because he deserved nothing, and never would. That was why bleakness had followed him all the days of his life. Except for Kedrick.

      Except for Ked.

      This thought radiated against the darkness and lifted him up. He remembered the first time he’d been handed the bundle of warmth wrapped in blankets and looked down at his son’s wrinkly red features. The tiny miracle he’d participated in. All the things he and Ked shared that belonged to no one else: comforting words whispered in the dark before bed, hands held climbing stairs, moments of anticipation and worry as Dan watched him grow and learn. He recalled the first time his son had asked his advice and the wondrous trust creeping across Ked’s face as Dan helped solve his problem. The glow he’d felt knowing his son looked up to him. All the good that had been and would always be. So who had judged it otherwise, and why? Dan had, of course. Whatever others said about him or did to him, it was he who’d accepted it. No one had made him what he was but himself.

      The phone rang and his heart zigzagged. It would be Bill calling to apologize, to say he loved Dan, always had, and just wanted to talk things out. Dan picked up and listened to the mechanical whir of a line being transferred. Only an 800 number. He hung up before some desperate telemarketer came on the line.

      He walked to the door and fingered his jacket. He could go over to Bill’s and try to talk to him. But what was the sense? Bill might change his mind tomorrow, but Dan wouldn’t be able to push him into anything tonight. He stood there fighting the feeling. Wanting to give in, but not give in. He was doing exactly what he’d done as a kid when anything upset or troubled him. Holding it in and pushing it down till he’d conquered his feelings. Till they no longer scared him, a dangerous reef lying blackly below the surface of the water, the boat’s vulnerable bottom skimming only inches above.

      He breathed out, pushing hard against his diaphragm to empty everything. He wanted to shrink, get smaller and smaller, till he disappeared. He stood in the hallway, looking from his coat to the door. His eyes fixed on a wall calendar, a bucolic scene in a country lane with children and chickens and a nurturing mother watching over her brood. It had always seemed full of life’s complex mysteries, promising all that and more every time he looked at it. But now it had changed. Now it was just a picture in the same way his coat was just a coat and the door just a door. Empty. In some way he couldn’t define, things had lost their meaning, their substance slipping away without his recognizing it. He stood there among the lifeless objects and realized they were just that: lifeless.

      Maybe it was better that Bill had barely spent any time here. Otherwise Dan might spend years remembering where Bill had stood, the things he’d touched and the expressions on his face. The ghost of memories past. He’d be haunted by Bill long after he was gone.

      Dan shook his head. What was he doing? Bill had dumped him, when Bill was the one to blame. Fucking hell! I am a loser, he thought. He slumped in his chair and looked at the void surrounding him. He poured another glass and left it sitting on the arm of the chair. He felt a little better just knowing it had been poured. He stared at it for a long time, then lifted it to his mouth and drank.

      He felt calmer. He was in control again — the inner him that knew how to avoid life’s obstacles. He could put himself on automatic pilot and wait for the soft immolation that came in the aftermath of these emotional implosions. He fingered the glass. If he stopped now, he’d be fine. He picked up the phone and dialled.

      “I just wanted you to know that Bill and I are through.”

      There was a brief pause then, “Congratulations! That’s the smartest thing you’ve done in years.”

      “I didn’t do it,” Dan said. “He dumped me.”

      There was another second of silence as Donny absorbed this. “You’re kidding! He dumped you? That’s priceless! Aren’t you glad now you’re still talking to me?”

      “Why? So you can mock me in the midst of my misery?”

      “Ah! Baby — don’t think of it like that. It’s the beginning of your freedom, a newfound period of emotional sanity. Tomorrow you will rise up like the phoenix from the ashes. Tonight I want you to go out and conquer somebody. Anybody!”

      “Listen, I don’t really feel like staying on the line right now.”

      Donny’s voice became soothing, sensing the seriousness of Dan’s mood. “I can come over, if you’d like.”

      “No, don’t do that.”

      “Are you sure? Tell me you’re okay about this.”

      “I’m okay,” Dan said. “Actually, I was thinking I’d stay home and get drunk.”

      “I’m sorry if I’m making light of things. Is this going to be a big crash?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Shall I call you later to make sure you’re all right?”

      “If you like.”

      He hung up, brought the bottle to the living room, and sat in the chair facing the window. He needed to find the dullness and slip into it till everything that bothered him had moved far, far away from where he sat in the gloomy interior of the room, of his life.

      He put his hand on the bottle and uncorked it. He lifted it and watched a long, thin stream spill down and pool in the bottom of his glass.

      Sixteen

      The Dog Days of Autumn

      The dreams were cruel, but the reality crueller. Dan woke to a vile taste, an acid finger probing his throat. Someone had a hand over his face, smothering him and holding him down. He fought wildly against the nothingness surrounding him, the unseen appendage holding him prisoner. He lurched to the kitchen sink and gagged till the residue spewed from his mouth. Heart pounding, he gasped for breath and sank to his knees. When he could breathe freely again, he poured a glass of water and ran the tap to wash the sickness away.

      Ralph watched him with curiosity. His tail thumped briefly and stopped. Humans were unpredictable. Outside, a dazzling greyness had taken over the sky, another gloomy morning just around the corner. Dan went back to the living room to survey the scene of his recent debauch. The chair still bore the impressions of his body. An empty bottle sat upright on the floor, a lone sentinel standing guard. Apparently he’d lost the battle not to drink it all. It had poured an awful lot of drink before it quit on him. Just like a good friend.

      He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He obviously hadn’t thought of going upstairs to bed. The acid-etched neurons of his brain fired in fits and starts as he remembered his conversation with Bill. It hadn’t been long, but it felt final. Strangely, he felt good about it. There was no emotional hangover, just a good solid physical one coming on full gallop. Better that way then.

      He also remembered talking to Donny and the promise to call back. He went to the front hall. Sure enough, the answer machine flashed its little red message of hope. A pungent whiff hit his nose — something unpleasant, like old garbage. He turned to the front door. There were two dark elongated shapes like a stain on the floor. The anger rose inside him. Dan felt himself choking again, only this time on his rage.

      “Son-of-a-bitch!”

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