Peace, Tony, Devil Pt 7

On Wednesday afternoon I call my parents. They don’t even know that they talk to me. I flick the tv to the sports channel to make the atmosphere more convincing.
     My father, Tom, answers, ‘Hello?’
     ‘Hi Dad, how are you? How’s Mum?’
     ‘Victor, my boy, I’m fine. Rosemary isn’t feelin’ any better, I’m afraid. I’ll let her tell yer ’bout it. How’s work? Stayin’ out of trouble I hope.’
     ‘Of course. We’re working out in the ’burbs at the moment for a development company, keeps us very busy.’ Victor is a partner in a small building company just like Dad used to be. My father is so proud to have one son that followed in his footsteps. ‘How about you, any news?’
     ‘No, not much. Only thing on this week is Blanche bringing Elliot over on Saturday. Rosemary really looks forward to seeing them, y’know. She’s makin’ her best fruitcake and all. I wish yer brother would fucken man up and talk to her. Thinks he’s too good for us.’
     ‘Dad, I don’t think that’s the reason…’
     ‘You think it’s ok what he’s doing to that kid, do yer, Victor? And to Blanche, lettin’ her struggle on her own?’ Tom always gets fired up about Blanche and Elliot.
     ‘I didn’t say that,’ the last thing I need is to make trouble for Victor. ‘Of course it isn’t ok.’
     My father tells me some about his garden and hands the phone to my mother, Rosemary.
     ‘How are you, Mum? Dad says you’re not feeling any better.’
     ‘Not really, no and I’m not getting any better either. The doctor says it’s spreading and there’s not much they can do. He said they could put me through chemo but the chance of success is pretty low.’
     ‘Are you going to do it?’
     ‘No, honey, I’m not. I’ve had my time, I’ve seen you boys grow up. I’ve met Elliot. I don’t think the side effects and false hope will be worth it. I’ve got a few months left and all I want now is to see us all together again. You know I love you and Tony no matter what.’
     ‘I love you too, Mum and so does Tony. I was with him on the weekend and he asked about you both. He’s still too afraid of how Dad will react if he visits you.’
     'Oh Victor, you know Tom, there’s not much I can do to wrangle him. He does love you both. You know he can’t forgive Tony for doing what his father did. Can’t we talk about something more cheerful? How are you, honey? How did your date go last night?’
     She asks me every time, and even now she wants to know if there’s a potential for any more grandchildren. We chat a while and I tell her what Victor told me on the weekend, lamenting about my (his) love life. I gloss over the fact I have nothing to tell her about the date last night. She seems content.
     We are interrupted by my apartment’s buzzer. I tell her I have to go and give her my love. Except I in my voice. Shit. I hang up quickly and hope she didn’t notice. I answer my buzzer; it’s the delivery guy from Baby Plus. I press the button to let him in downstairs and unlock my door.
     I let him in and show him to the nursery. It is rather bare: only a chest with a few blankets on top occupies the space. He places the flat packed cot in the corner, near the window.
     ‘Nice view,’ his attempt at small talk is an obvious lie. The view from my window is that of a smoggy city centre in the distance and in the foreground it is filled by brick boxes and concrete rarely broken with a hint of green. It is an ugly urban wasteland.
     ‘Yeah, I’m pretty lucky up here,’ whatever, I’ll play along. He glances at me sideways and tries his best to smile. I’m not fooled. I sign something for him and he shows himself out.
     I stare at the piece of paper I have been handed for a while after the delivery guy is gone. I feel inadequate. I remember he was handsome. I think about his odd glances toward me and his attempts at small talk. I remember that I am unattractive: my belly juxtaposed onto my scrawny frame. I stare some more.
     The television is still on the sports channel; I flick it over to some holiday show and wait for Victor, who is due in an hour or so.
     The programme bores me but I don’t bother to change it. I sit there and continue to feel sorry for myself. The phone rings. The handset is on the coffee table in front of me. I ignore it. It insists with a metallic cry. It stops shrieking but within a few seconds resumes.
     I lean forward begrudgingly. It is Victor. He says he won’t be over tonight. I ask him what I’m meant to do with his ‘thank you’ feast now. He says put it in the fridge. I don’t mention I’m joking.
     I lull back onto the couch exhaling slowly. Fucking Victor, the one night I need his help and he “can’t make it”. No excuse, just can’t make it. I scrunch my fists up like a newborn. I struggle to stand and stomp towards the nursery. I stand at the open door and stare at the newly delivered carton. Without noticing I have begun to cry. My face is wet as I move toward the box. I examine the outside and go to the kitchen for a blade to cut open the tape.
     I stumble over something in the kitchen; I look down to see a bowl of cereal on the floor. The contents have cemented themselves to the porcelain. I have a vague memory of staring at the kitchen cupboards this morning. Since when have I taken to eating breakfast on the floor? I put it in the sink and fill it with water.
     I find a blade in the second draw and return to the nursery. I stare at the box in the corner for a minute, considering the task ahead. If Antonia can assemble a flat-packed cot, why can’t I? I lay the box flat on the floor. The blade slides through the tape satisfyingly easily. It feels like a good start. The pieces have little numbered stickers and the instructions are comprehensive: I can do this. I stop - not included: Phillips head screwdriver. I do not own a screwdriver of any description. It is as simple as that. I am not one of those people who have an idea about home maintenance. I stare at the instructions until the letters swim around, into new words “We can defeat you Tony. You have no idea.” Although there is no rush for the thing to be constructed I cannot let it lie. I pull on my overcoat and grab my keys and wallet.

Peace, Tony, Devil Pt 6

I sit at the bus stop waiting to go to birthing class. Next to me on one side is a middle aged man and on the other a young couple are fighting. They have a cask of wine between them. The couple makes me uneasy and the middle aged man keeps looking up from his book at them and then at me, as if I, too, were a deviation from normal society. I stare almost at my knees. My belly distracts me as I try to keep to myself.

The bus arrives and the couple gets on in front of me. The older man sees the trouble I’m having with the step and offers me his arm. I thank him timidly and truly appreciate the gesture. The driver looks at me oddly as he counts my change.

I arrive at the community hall where the classes are held and search for Antonia’s Hummer. My palms seem sweatier than normal. I didn’t think I was this nervous about being around her again but my body feels differently. I almost run into Audra as she is leaving the hall. She nods hello but doesn’t say anything. I see Antonia talking to Colette. I rub my hands on my shirt and approach them.
‘Hi Tony,’ Antonia grins at me. Colette looks at me and tilts her head.‘Hi Antonia, Colette,’ I return her smile.
‘You’re still free after this?’
‘Yeah,’ I wipe my hands again. ‘Well, I didn’t want to interrupt. See you afterwards,’ I slink off wishing I wasn’t so awkward.

After class I meet Antonia by the door and we walk through the drizzly evening to her Hummer. I get in and wind down the window. I attempt some chatter about the class but Antonia seems bored by it.

Arriving at her house I am astounded by the newness of the neighbourhood. I didn’t imagine she would be one to live a new suburban offshoot. That said, I still want to think she owns the Hummer in an ironic way. But I guess not.

Her house is no different to the others around it: a sterile looking place. The manicured lawn and lack of any garden makes it seem like a display house, not a home. I feel uneasy, like I am trespassing. This is not where I belong and it isn’t what I pictured for Antonia.

She tells me her husband is on a business trip. I feel even more like I should not be here. I like her so much and I have no idea what she expects of me. As I step over the threshold it’s like I see nothing. There is furniture and such but nothing else; there are no trinkets or magazines strewn around. It is a display house: void of any personal touch. In the kitchen she fills the kettle and pulls a cheesecake from the fridge.
‘Wow,’ I say, ‘did you make that?’
‘Ha, I’m no good at baking. It’s from the local bakery.'
‘It looks delicious,’ my mouth is watering. ‘Can I see your baby’s room?’
‘I guess,’ I knew she wouldn’t offer on her own and I would like to see what it looks like.

She takes me to the only almost colourful room in the house. By that I mean, the walls aren’t white: they are off-white, tinged with blue. The contents are neatly aligned and brand new. I see the box of a flat packed cot, similar to the one I bought and the assembled product near the window and marvel.
‘How long did it take Lachlan to assemble that?’ I ask, gesturing.
‘Lachlan?’ She snorts, ‘I did it in about twenty minutes. Lachlan isn’t handy to save his life.’
I laugh a little, unsure if this is the right response.
‘C’mon, I’ll make you some tea,’ Antonia gently sighs.

Back in the kitchen Antonia fixes a pot of tea, cuts some cake and we move to the dining table. We fumble for a suitable topic of conversation. I ask her about Lachlan’s job, she looks bored. I ask her about her job, she looks bored. Then I ask her what she and Colette were talking about this evening and her face brightens marginally. She tells me that Audra’s family is pressuring Audra to move interstate to look after her father. Audra is seriously considering it and Colette is furious and refuses to move. We drink our tea and the conversation drifts lazily. It’s all inconsequential stuff but I feel my fondness for her growing.

Antonia is yawning now and I tell her I’ll go. She offers to drive me home and I accept; I would get lost in this suburban wasteland.

As I close the door to my apartment exhaustion winds me like an elbow to the stomach. I brush my teeth and slide into bed. For what seems like hours but is probably only minutes I cannot settle myself. My mind runs over the stilted conversation with Antonia and I wonder what she really thinks of me.

‘I love you, Tony. I love you and your unborn child.’ Her voice soothes me.

Oh Heartland, up yours!

Peace, Tony, Devil Pt 5

Victor helps me out of the car and I am embarrassed to hear myself groan slightly, like you would expect of an old man. I feel large. We walk into Baby Plus and head to the back where the cots are kept. I see a sales assistant do a double take and then walk in the other direction. You’d think these people who work on commission would be willing to help anyone but they aren’t. I try not to let it bother me and Victor and I look for something suitable. There are hardly any other customers and still the sales assistant is avoiding us.

‘I’ll rustle somebody up to sell this to us, eh?’ Victor takes charge, as usual. He walks up to the teenaged girl awkwardly trying to look busy enough not to bother. ‘Can we get some assistance over here please?’
‘Oh… sure,’ she looks timidly at me. Her name tag says Annabelle and her t-shirt is too small. She scratches the back of her hand and walks over to me.
‘I’d like this cot,’ I say.
‘That’s a popular one. I’ll see if we have any left.’ Annabelle walks off quickly.

We wait. After ten minutes or so I see a Baby Plus uniformed man striding purposefully toward us.
‘Hi, I’m Garry, the manager here at Baby Plus, now you say you wanted one of these?’ Garry does his best to be business-like and not ogle my belly.
‘Please,’ I murmur as I look at him looking at me.
‘Well, is this the best price you can do? We’re happy to pay cash,’ Victor, once again, takes control.
‘The thing is we’re actually out of this model at the moment. The next delivery will be Tuesday. Now, if your heart is set on this one, you can purchase it now and pick it up Tuesday.’
I look at Victor, knowing he is working all week. ‘Do you deliver?’ he asks.
‘For a small fee we can deliver it Wednesday.’

I hand my wallet to Victor and let him take care of things. As Victor and Garry discuss the price I get bored and I wander off toward the high chairs. I pass by a young couple looking at the changing tables. I see the woman look at me and step behind her husband, as if she were looking at something else.

On the way home I ask Victor how Mum and Dad are.
‘Oh, you know, alright, the same,’ he stumbles over these words a little, like I’ve caught him off guard. I do know why but that’s my secret for now.
‘Nothing new at all?’
‘You should call them you know.’
‘You know Dad won’t talk to me and I can’t handle Mum. Mostly she just cries when I call her’
‘It’s not my news to tell. You have to talk to them sometime.’
‘So there is news?’ Finally, he might tell me. I can’t tell him how I know already. I’ve kept my special talent hidden this long and I’m not giving it up now.
‘Yes, but you have to hear it from them. You know all they want you to do is talk to Blanche. They don’t expect any more than that. They think she deserves that at least. Or that Elliot does.’ We are silent for the rest of the drive. I stare out the window at the passing houses.

Victor drops me off at the building and we say goodbye. He says he will come over on Wednesday evening to help me set up the cot. As he drives off I sigh. I am exhausted. My belly is so heavy these days. I have a fat person’s shuffle instead of a walk now. I make my way up the stairs and try to curl up on my bed. Except there’s this belly in the way.

Scotland Will Rule Again

Where to begin? Billy was a short and slim Scot with slanted eyes, salt and pepper hair tied in a pony tail and breath that reeked of tobacco, beer, and puke. He always wore a green tee shirt that read ‘Scotland will rule again’ with faded jeans and leather boots that had walked a thousand miles, unless he had to dress up for his girlfriend Rose, then he wore cross-country ski boots.

Billy would always greet you with his missing-tooth grin by calling you an “old toad”. Then he would yell to Ken the bartender “give us a round of drinks” acting as he was going to pay for them, but he never did. Billy was loud and obnoxious and you had to walk on eggshells many nights because he also threatened quite a few that he was going to make them “gobble glass”. You might question me “Why would you want to be around anyone like this?” I would respond, “You never seen him play guitar”.

Billy claims he was in a sixties band named Shadows of the Knight, they are the band who wrote “Gloria” I never checked on it, I don’t really want to know. As I mentioned about the Gallery, anyone, anytime could get up on stage and perform anything. One night with a lot of coaxing, Billy in his drunkenness jumped up on stage and started playing the guitar, he wasn’t very good but I chalked it up to his drunkenness, no big deal. A few nights later same thing, and next time the same and so on and so on.

Billy only knew three songs and not very well, when he sang you could hardly make out anything he was singing due to his heavy accent and too much beer. Every time my friends and I were at the Gallery we always wanted Billy to play. It was entertaining to us, not in the typical way but more like watching a shitty comic bomb. One night, after seeing Billy play fifty times or so, we got him up on stage and he started singing his three songs but something seemed out of sorts. Billy had finished singing “Old Man” by Neil Young, and as everyone was cheering Billy uttered a very soft and humble thank you, I think I was the only one who heard him and as I watched walk off stage my heart began to sink. All these times that I had listened to him play thinking this some sort of drunken game, I suddenly realized that those three songs meant everything to him. When he played he was transported to a better time. It made him made him forget all his troubles and the hard and sad times in his life, I think that’s the only time he felt real and good inside. Instead of seeing Billy as partner to drink the night away, I saw a sad old man who had basically given up on life. I didn’t really know anything of his past or anything he was really doing in the present, I never even knew his last name and I guess I didn’t really know him at all. One thing I did know is that I felt his emptiness that night and that is a horrible feeling. I’m not a healer, I can’t turn back time, I knew the only thing I could do to help him have a better life, if only for a few minutes a week, was to get him to play me his guitar and wail out a song knowing he was off to that better place.

This piece was written for me by my friend Steve Miller. I wanted to share it with the world. That is, if anyone even reads this blog.

Peace, Tony, Devil. Pt. 4 (I'm not dead right now)

This morning I have two post-its on my monitor. One is from Jesse, William’s secretary, re the preschool accounts and the other is from Brad, my cubicle-mate, saying that Antonia called. This notice takes up most of the little square but at the bottom it also says Blanche called. Blanche is my wife, so really I called but it’s just my way of keeping up the illusion.

When Brad arrives he greets me with a big smile. He is a small man, like myself, and blends in similarly; I guess that’s why we were partnered up when Loomis & Loomis moved to its new offices. He never does much to get noticed but I can sense in him a longing to be recognised and reveled as an important man. I mystify my co-workers and as the closest to me, he is the ‘go-to guy’ for any updates on my status as they tend to avoid me. He sees this as some sort of upgrade to his social standing and I know he is grateful for it.

‘Morning, Tony?’ Brad mostly states questions when he talks. It frustrates most people but I quite like it, and usually ignore it but sometimes I like to play along.
‘Certainly is, Brad. Busy day today eh?’ I do my best at a manly pal-around.
‘Finishing the preschool accounts today? Definitely, I haven’t seen our old Loomis and Loomis this flustered since old Hadley was leaving the team?”

* * * * * * *

On Saturday my brother comes to visit. He picks me up at the door to my building and we head out for the day. He’s the only person with the know-how to assemble things I could find who was willing to accompany me to shop for the baby’s room. My brother, Victor, has broad shoulders and almost no neck and despite my shape being almost the opposite (weedy and long-necked) I have never envied his stature. Being my size made it easier to slip into the background, until this belly appeared anyway.

Sitting in his car I wind down the window and let the fresh air breathe over me. He says something to me but I look out the window and am distracted by a man in the car we are passing. As we overtake him I catch a glimpse of a figure hunching toward the steering wheel and probably he has just sneezed but it looks as if he is crying. A sudden dark feeling envelops my body. I feel awful inside. It’s hard to believe that a stranger who probably isn’t even crying but looks as if he is can do this to me. Deep down I fret a little, what will happen when I see my child cry? How will I cope?

Peace, Tony, Devil Pt 3

I arrive at work early this morning; I want to make a good impression on the bosses for the next two weeks. It would be helpful to have a job to return to when my baby is old enough. I work at an accounting firm, Loomis & Loomis. Loomis and Loomis aren’t my biggest fans currently. They are identical twin two brothers, Steven and William. I think most of our clients can’t tell them apart. The only reason I can is because of their voices, and the difference is so subtle I think only myself and Janet, the secretary, can pick it and then, only when they speak. You can usually tell when someone is trying to put on a voice, one of the many reasons my special talent is so useful.

William or Steven arrives when I do and we nod hello, I can’t tell if he’s pleased that I’m early or grizzled that I exist. We reach the door at the same time and he holds it open for me. I realise it is William, Steven is never so polite. I must admit this is something about him that I appreciate and sometimes I feel it’s the least he could do, me being in my condition and all.

‘Did you get that thing I sent you?’ William may be polite but he’s all business.
‘The preschool accounts?’
‘No, my review of the outline of your presentation, I sent it last night.’
‘Oh, not yet. I was at my birthing class last night.'
‘Of course you were,’ he sighs heavily, as if it were he with a weight in his belly.
‘It’s the first thing on my list.’ I wander towards my desk.

* * * * * * *

The more I think about it the more the fear builds inside me. This whole pregnancy thing does frighten me, immeasurably. I know I gave the impression (said in words, even) that I wasn’t afraid of what is happening to my body but truthfully I am terrified. I’m a man, not built for this. My legs feel weak, my back aches and my belly is ever expanding. I wonder if a woman will ever love me again.  I have breasts now. I remember not long ago when I would judge a man with even the slightest hint of breast and now I am that man. The only consolation for me is that at least they’re not because I enjoy my food too much; although my cravings make me worry that this reason could overtake that of my pregnancy.  For now my breasts serve a noble purpose.