I am thinking about a chair. How two bodies may fill the same space. I’m thinking geometry. Jezabel angles and the curvature of spines. Skin and bones.
Yesterday could have been fiction. A brass band of events strung together. My mother woke me, my mother with plans for my brothers teenage birthday. Brr-ring. I pretended to be more awake then my four hours of sleep and nodded when I needed to say yes. Tumbling out of bed, the phone rang again. I wanted my quarter back, but no return. There was a strong Thumbalina moment of wanting to crawl back into the rose petals and let the day continue without me before I sighed and answered the phone. Discharged the day before yesterday, my friend was free from the coma ward. Stress snapped like a band wrapped too tight. His voice shattered my branded pictures inside my head of stretched canvas people, baffling in their immobile insensitivity. Two days under, going on three, they wouldn’t let me in to see him anyway. He’d fallen and couldn’t get up. He’d fallen from a building and his head smashed in, cracked like an egg cliche. The surgery was delicate and the surgeon admitted that he had no hope. His call was short, “come see me”
So I went. He’s taller now and his scar spectacular. Building webs over his left temple, it radiates outward from a moment of impact. Time encapsulated in pink lines, lobotomy style. I like it. He seems practically unchanged, his grasp of words the only missing piece. Strangely, I’m not worried in spite of supplying half the nouns in every ten sentences. It seems like something that can be dealt with. A drawback that can be worked around, a concession which could possibly go away. The doctors are amazed he’s alive. They were shocked when he sat up and spoke.
I took he and his mother for dinner. Robin’s birthday and they’re family, after all. My book was gone from Taf’s. Someone found it yesterday, told the staff they found it and said, “but I’m taking it with me.” There was nothing they could properly do, I understand, but it would have been nice if I had a chance to finish it first.
We went to Sweet Confections, after, on Denman street. The tiramisu cheesecake may not have been the wisest thing to order on bloodtime when I know I’m going home alone, but it was worth it. I was not alone in my response, we all drowned in flavour. Quality sweets can be where it’s at. Fingernails clutching the table. Robin overdid it, had to excuse himself for a moment of feeling ill, but recovered admirably and finished his cake. On Monday I’m taking him to get an ear pierced. We don’t have ceremonies into adulthood anymore, transition state moments from childhood that mean anything, so I’m going to do my best to give him something permanent this year.
Mum dropped me off on Davie Street at Burrard and I stalked up to Numbers, stripping layers off as I walked. By the time I reached the door I had clothes what met the dress code. It was the official opening of The Leather Loft and a partial celebration of the Vancouver Bears Club yearly anniversary. Upstairs was filled with shirtless men in harness, leather pants and vests. Officially, I was there to take pictures, but I mostly stood waiting for the award ceremonies while S&M gay porn played meaningless on the monitors. Silva was being honoured, a certificate and flowers.
From a micracle recovery to a teenager birthday to an S&M night. I like.