Lying in a Ditch Somewhere

Jess:  Have you spoken to Eric lately?

Me:    No.

Jess:  What if something happened to them?

Me:    Like what?

Jess:  I don’t know. Like something bad?

Me:    I don’t think so.

Jess:  Well, did they go on their trip?

Me:    Sure.

Jess:  Well how do you know?

Me:    I suppose I don’t.

Jess:  Are you sure nothing happened to him?

Me:    Yeah, I’m sure.

Jess:  But you haven’t heard from him?

Me:    No.

Jess:  I thought you were good friends.

Me:    Very good.

Jess:  But if you don’t talk for so long?

Me:    We don’t need to.

Jess:  What does that mean?

Me:    It means that we talk when we want to.

Jess:  It doesn’t bother you that it has been a while?

Me:    There’s no quota.

Jess:  OK, but still how do you know nothing happened to him?

Me:    I don’t think so.

Jess:  But couldn’t he be lying in a ditch somewhere?

Me:    Could be.

Jess:  But you don’t think so?

Me:    No.

Jess:  How can you know?

Me:    I suppose I can’t.

Jess:  Then how are you so easy about it?

Me:    Bad news travels fast.

Jess:  So when will you hear from him?

Me:    When he wants to write.

Jess:  Couldn’t you call him?

Me:    Sure. If I feel like it.

Jess:  So that’s how it goes then?

Me:    For years.

Jess:  Ugh! Boys!

You're All Used Up

‘I mean I haven’t seen my brother in years, you know,’ Jess’s friend says. ‘Not since he finally got off drugs and went with his girlfriend to live in Newfoundland. I wanted them to stay with my parents so that I could have my space and I could visit them but then I could also come home to escape.’

Jess in downtown Toronto

She takes a strong pull from her lager and she continues her story. I am sitting across from her and Jess is beside me and another of her old friends is across from her. I am drinking a Smithwicks, which is a dark, strong English beer. It is very cold and very full tasting and I am enjoying it very much because it is what I used to drink at the Crown and Anchor in New Orleans and also it is a lot better than anything I have had lately.

‘But, fine, I said I’d have him and his girlfriend stay with me and so I went to meet them at the airport. But, you know, as soon as I see them come out of the baggage claim, I am totally regretting this. Before they even reach me, I can tell from his expressions that he is the same lunatic as before!’

She is vivid and very alive as she speaks and she has a bright face that compliments her mannerisms. We hang on her words and we listen without realizing that we smile because she is a great storyteller. I look at Jess and I see that she is smiling and I think that she is pleased to be here for a time with these two old friends. I take another pull from my Smithwicks and I feel it go down coldly and fully to my stomach.

‘We’re not even at the subway yet and he is complaining so loudly about each one of the people around him. He speaks so fast, and he’s impossible to follow because his brain is so scattershot. And he’s rude – especially to his girlfriend. He is so rude to her! I mean, it’s overwhelming to be around. And it’s infuriating too. I want to shake him and say, “Calm the fuck down!”’

I am smiling because I am very amused and I reach for my Smithwicks to take another good pull. Before I do, a feeling stops my hand halfway to my mouth and I put the pint glass back on the table. Then I feel that my stomach goes hollow and then it begins to turn over. A bending happens in my gut and my senses all change as though my whole body is focused only on what is happening there. It might just pass, I think, but I know this signal well enough even if I am not yet ready to accept it. I look around the table and I see them very engaged in the story and they are laughing at something that I have not heard. I smile to play along and I try to focus on the words but I feel the table growing wider between us.

‘Love, are you feeling OK?’ Jess says.

She has looked to me during the story and she has noticed my complexion change. She is concerned and her face looks very lovely that way.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I am bad.’

‘Will you be OK?’

‘Let’s wait and see what happens,’ I say.

When the waitress comes I do not order but I ask her to refill my water.

‘Will you want to have some bread or something from my dinner?’ Jess asks.

‘Not if I continue to feel like this,’ I say.

In a few minutes, beads of sweat have sprouted on my nose and my hairline is damp. My stomach turns over on itself and now I know for certain what will happen. I have only to wait for it. When it comes, I excuse myself to the restroom. In the stall, I do not wait long and, when it comes, it is quite easy at first. When it passes I feel better but I am not relieved the way I hope to be, so I know I am not finished with it. At the sink, I wash the foul taste from my mouth and I scrub my face clean with the hand soap. When I return to the table the conversation is stopped and they look at me very sympathetically.

‘Are you OK, love?’ Jess says.

‘I am sick,’ I say.

‘Oh no,’ she says. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes I did.’

‘Do you think it was the sushi from lunch?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Then it was probably the tuna,’ she says, ‘because that’s the only one that we didn’t share.’

CN Tower at night

‘Probably,’ I say.

‘But you were fine all evening at the CN Tower.’

‘Yes. It was not until I had a few sips of beer,’ I say.

‘It must have set something off,’ she says.

‘Must have.’

‘Should we go?’ she says.

‘No,’ I say, ‘this is your last chance to visit and, besides, it's not over yet.’

‘OK,’ she says, ‘but you’ll tell me when?’

‘Yes,' I say. 'I’ll tell you when.'

Jess’s friends look sympathetically at me and I smile as best I can. I remember how I was frequently sick for months after Hurricane Katrina. I had thought it was a virus until the pattern emerged that it was from the stress of the hours and the work pressure. I remember that I had hating always being sick but even more I had hated being seen as the one who is always sick. Jess’s friends dote on me and their sympathy reminds me of that, and then the one who sits across from me resumes her story.

Damn bad luck! I think as I sip water and try to follow the conversation over the revulsions of my stomach. It is a few months since I have taken to eating sushi. We have gone several times to the restaurant at the Mamba Point Hotel and each time I have enjoyed the new experience and my stomach has been fine. Now we have come home to where food is delivered fresh and there are actual quality standards and this is when I get sick. Probably I will appreciate the irony later, I think.

In a few minutes the meals arrive. The girls begin to eat and Jess asks if it would help to have some bread.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Water is even too much.’

‘I feel so bad to be eating,’ the other of Jess’s friends who is not the storyteller says.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ I say.

The girls eat and the one of Jess’s friends who is the storyteller continues to speak. It has become an epic but it is still engaging, though I have lost the thread and can only sip water. I was fine all evening after the sushi until I had this drink of beer. Bad luck, I think. I mean, all evening I was fine at the CN Tower.

View from the CN Tower

We had gone after the sushi and I was fine waiting in line to take the elevator to the lookout at top. Then at the top, we stood beside the thick windows and we saw the scattered lights across the city and the dark emptiness where you are seeing Lake Ontario. Jess took a few pictures with the view behind me and then we took the elevator to the Sky Pod and she took a few more. Then we did not know what else to do so we joined another line in order to take the elevator back down. At the bottom there was only the gift shop so put on our hats and our gloves and went out into the cold.

‘It was a lot of waiting in lines,’ I had said when we were outside again.

‘Yes, love,’ Jess had agreed. ‘That’s all I remember.’

After a few minutes the signal has returned and I excuse myself again. This time there are two people in the restroom and one occupies the stall. I delay at the sink until the one at the urinal leaves and then I pace. In another minute, the one in the stall finishes and then he leaves. I enter the stall and I can feel my stomach turning heavily over. Then I hear the door swing open and footsteps approach the urinal. I feel the sickness rising and I spit into the bowl because maybe it will buy me some time. In another moment the one at the stall finishes and then I am alone.

It comes quickly now and it takes half of everything I have. When it has taken the half and there is a break, I hear the door open again and another one goes to the stall. I flush because it seems like the right thing to do. I have half left to give and the stopping and the holding on is making me feel even worse. Then the one at the stall finishes. There is a flush and then the water from the tap and finally I am alone again.

         The sickness comes again and it takes the half that is left. When it is done I am sweating and tearing and my bones feel hollow. As I clean myself, another one comes in and goes to the stall but I do not notice him. When I am washed and I have mostly dried off, I return to the table.

         ‘Oh, love, you look awful!’ Jess says.

         ‘I have experienced a lot,’ I say.

‘Yes, love, you look very "experienced",’ she says.

‘This last was a bad one and I was interrupted because people came in.’

         ‘Let’s go then,’ she says.

         ‘No, I will hold out a little longer.’

         The story has ended now and they are talking about something else but I can pay no attention. In a little while, some friends of Jess’s friend who is not the storyteller come, and then another of Jess’s friend comes a while after that. The friend who comes last is the one who I have been told hopes to open a tattoo parlor. Also, I am told that she has made a very good canvas of her body, but I have forgotten all about that.

         I look around and I see that the group is very large and I watch the waitress replace the empty glasses with full ones.

‘I’m all used up,’ I say to Jess after I think she has had enough time to spend with the friend whose body is a canvas.

‘OK, we’re going,’ she says. ‘You have been very strong!’

‘Yes, I have,’ I agree, ‘but I’m all used up now.’

‘Come on, we’ll take a cab home.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘a cab will be expensive. I’ll be ok on the subway.’

‘Of course not!’ she says. ‘You’re sick and you’re being silly.’

‘I can hold out,’ I say.

‘No, love, you’re all used up, remember?’

My Ultimate Minimalism

Jess in front of her parents' home in day-after-Christmas snow

‘Is it time to open presents?’ Jess’s nephew Payton asks again – it has been his refrain for tonight.

         ‘Yes. It is time,’ Jess’s sister Lillian says finally.

         We have all finished the fondue that is a Swiss and Ferndriger tradition. Lillian has kept Payton at bay as long as she can. She watches over the new baby, Xavier, while Payton races past towards the tree. Jess sits next to me and talks to her mother. She is very tired but she has this little bit left. I am in a conversation with her father and Lillian’s husband, Matt. Her father is talking about their travels to Spain and Canada when they were younger and Matt is talking about American football and many other things. I am exhausted from the jetlag and from the new kind of eating and now from trying to make a good impression while following the thread of two conversations.

When we arrived everyone was already there. Lillian had given birth only two days before and she and Matt and Payton had come with the new baby nearly straight from the hospital. It is very curious how so much excitement can surround something that is almost always asleep. Xavier slept eyes tight and soundly beside the sofa and Lillian sat close by. Matt greeted us at the door and helped to bring our luggage in. Jess’s mother was preparing the fondue and at the top of the steps her father came to meet me and shake my hand.

‘He caught me in a bad handshake,’ I say when we are in Jess’s room getting sorted before sitting down to dinner.

‘Who did?’ Jess asks. She is changing into her flannel pajama bottoms because she is practically allergic to wearing outside clothes when she is home in the evening.

‘Your dad did,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He sort of, you know, gripped the ends of my fingers instead of my palm.’

‘How did that happen?’ she says.

‘He caught me when I wasn’t ready or at a bad angle or something,’ I say.

‘Well which was it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It all happened so fast.’

‘Aww. It’s OK, love,’ she says. ‘I’m sure he didn’t notice.’

‘I’m sure he did notice,’ I say. ‘It’s exactly the kind of thing that a father would notice about the guy who’s dating his daughter.’

 At the dinner table Jess eats and talks to her mother and is mostly quiet. She checks in with me occasionally but she is not following the plan.

‘What about the plan?’ I will ask her later. ‘You were supposed to run interference, remember?’

‘I know, I know. I’m awful!’ she says, ‘but I was so tired and I was overwhelmed too, you know.’

For dinner we each have strips of raw beef and pork and chicken on our plates. We have a small skewer each with a different color at the end of the handle.

‘You remember your color or else you might take someone else’s meat,’ Jess’s father explains.

‘It’s my favorite meal,’ Matt says and I see that he has an entire steak in large slices on his plate.

I skewer a strip of beef and I place it in the pot on a stand in the center of the table. The pot is filled with an oily sauce, which is kept at a boil by the fire from the burner beneath it. We leave the skewered meat in the fire for a few minutes while we take appetizers of olives and bread and cheese and other garnishes. After the meat has boiled in the oil for some minutes we check it and if it is not fully cooked we let it sit longer before we eat it. It is a new kind of eating for me and I like it very much. I eat slowly and so I am the one to scrape the sides of the pot at the very end.

During dinner I take a beer and afterwards Jess’s father offers me a glass of Jack Daniel’s. I am very grateful because it is exactly what I like. It tastes good because I am very tired and because my last bottle has finished two weeks before and I am too long without it. I ask if Jess’s father will take one with me but he says that he chooses not to anymore. We converse at the table for a while longer until I hear Lillian give in to Payton: ‘Yes. It is time.’ Then I feel Jess grab me by the arm and pull me away from my chair and down to the ground where we sit on the rug between the sofa and the Christmas tree. It is a moment before I realize that this is the moment that I have been waiting for more eagerly, I am sure, than Payton has.

We each receive and open gifts in a loosely coordinated merry-go-round fashion. My first is the ‘stocking’ and it is a bag of chocolate truffles, and a Toblerone, and a box of Belgian chocolate seashells. My next is tall and heavy and contains a large bottle of Jack Daniel’s. These are from Jess’s parents and I try through tired eyes to show my surprise and gratitude. Next is the box from Amazon that holds the two books on Adventure Motorcycling and a DVD on Dual Sport Riding Techniques. This one is from Jess and me to ourselves but I am sure I will be the one to enjoy it more. Last is the most important one, though of course it comes in the smallest box.

         Most everything I own fits into two suitcases and three cardboard boxes, which are in storage back home. Everyday clothing is in one suitcase and winter and formal wear is in another. The cardboard boxes contain camping and sporting goods, books and albums, and yearbooks and other mementos. I have always been tidy and somehow existentially concerned by my material footprint. Your things are an extension of you – I surmised at one point in my early twenties – and, if they are many or untidy, then the same will be true for your mind. But, after Hurricane Katrina, when I shared a cruise ship berth and lived out of a rucksack for six months, my penchant for minimalism became a survivalist instinct.

This doctrine was a shrewd philosophy for a time, but slowly I came to suspect that, the fewer the things I had and the more selectively I acquired them, the more those things become a necessity in themselves. This suspicion became enshrined as law when, six weeks before, my beloved iPhone suddenly died.

It happened when I foolishly plugged it directly into an outlet that was supplied by a Chinese generator. It shut off and, when I turned it back on, it was unable to boot up. This was at Lachlan and Nik’s house and the loss of my iPhone made an already difficult day even more so. When we got home and for several days after, I checked all the forums and scoured the online support and I twice called the Apple hotline. After following all the recommended courses, it was determined that my Mistress 3 (two iPods bore the name previously) could not be resuscitated. After lamenting the loss and further lamenting the cost of DHL, I shipped the corpse home for replacement under the one-year warrantee.

The six weeks since then had been as difficult as any before or since. I borrowed an old Sony Ericsson from Jess to make phone calls. In most ways it was OK except that the microphone was very bad. I would place a call and, after receiving an answer, I would be halfway through my first sentence before I would hear, ‘Hello? Hello? Anybody there?’ For music and audiobooks and podcasts, at first I tried to go without. I decided that it might be Zen-like to reduce the noise, except that, without the noise, you remember how boring most things are. So next I borrowed Jess’s old Chinese-made mp3 player.

‘Boy, we have truly fallen,’ I said when I conceded to try it out.

But it had a very finicky connector so that the slightest disturbance during a transfer and you lost everything. Also, it has a terrible interface and it could not remember your position in a track, which made a 10-plus hour audiobook very difficult to get through. Finally, I borrowed Jess’s newer Sony mp3 player and this worked well enough but it just was not the same.

Our memories of Christmas eve in Toronto

Somehow the days and weeks passed and now we are in Toronto visiting Jess’s family. We have just arrived and it is Christmas and my new Mistress is here in a box that Jess’s mother has wrapped in holiday paper. I peel off the paper and tear open the box. Inside is my ultimate minimalism. It is new in its case and it turns right on when I press it. I see the glow from the screen and I take a breath and I am comforted.

Then I put it down. I look around the room. Matt is telling a story and there is Payton with his new video game, and there is a new excitement around the baby who has woken up for the first time this evening. I look back at my iPhone and I realize that I have not any excitement left in me. Maybe tomorrow, I think, but right now I am just paid out. 

So, I sit back next to Jess against the leg of the sofa. She smiles dully at me, which is the best acknowledgement she can muster, and we stay like that until everyone has left or is gone to bed.