Flight of Aquavit (25 page)

ered my eyes with my hands and wailed. I didn’t

rub, I knew that would only make it worse. I turned

on my tummy and blindly reached out for some

snow, bringing it to my eyes to wash away the

offending substance. As I did this I could hear the

footfalls of my pursuee leaving the scene, escap-

ing through a squeaky backyard gate. This time I

was in no condition to follow.

196 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

Having rolled myself into a protective ball

against one corner of the house, it took me a few

minutes to feel comfortable enough to attempt

opening my eyes. First the right one. It stung ever

so slightly. The snow had helped. Then the left.

Again, the sensation wasn’t pleasant but at least I

could see. Using the house for balance, I stood up

slowly on nearly steady legs, straightening myself

out and trying to get my bearings. I trudged back

to the street and looked around. My eyes were

tearing but I could see well enough to determine I

was about two or three blocks from home. I pulled

the collar of my coat as far above my icy ears as it

would reach, buried my hands in my pockets and

began the chilly trek home, my mind busily com-

posing a story to tell my mother about kids play-

ing pranks. After what she and I had just talked

about, I didn’t want her feeling afraid to be in my

home. But…should she?

Saturday morning arrived with a thudding

headache, a sore throat and itchy eyes, all results of

my Friday night escapade. As I lay in bed I could

hear the sounds and smell the aromas of cooking

and baking even though the kitchen was at the

other end of the house. There was no sign of either

dog; they knew which side their biscuit was but-

tered on. I remained in my room longer than I nor-

mally would, mostly because I wanted to wait until

the pink irritation and slight swelling around my

eyes disappeared. I didn’t want to worry my moth-

er. A cold compress did wonders. While I waited I

Anthony Bidulka — 197

tried reaching Darren Kirsch at his office. I didn’t

really know how he could help me with my peep-

ing Tom problem. All I knew was that I definitely

needed to talk about this with someone. Alas, he

was not there, likely spending weekend time with

his wife and brood. Next I called Kelly and Errall’s

number, hoping I’d finally catch Kelly at home. No

answer—again. Well, to heck with that.

We used my mother’s van because there was no

way the Mazda would have had room for the crew

I was hauling. Errall and Kelly live in a two-storey

house on Pembina Avenue. It’s built on a hillside

with a partial view of downtown and a rolling,

woodsy backyard. We pulled up just before 11

a.m: me, my mother (who knows Kelly from when

she and I went to Howell High together), Brutus

and Barbra. When I explained to Mom about

Kelly’s illness she, after a brief weep, had hopped

into action. We made our way up the driveway

towards the front door with my mom schlepping

along grocery bags brimming with medicine—

plastic Becel Margarine containers filled with

stews, creamed potatoes, cabbage rolls and bread-

ed cutlets suspended in congealing gravy. As we

rang the doorbell it dawned on me that what I

hadn’t thought to fully explain to my mother was

Errall. Had she made the leap from the existence

of gay men, her brother and son, to gay women?

The door was answered by a version of Errall I

rarely get to see. She looks like a different person

out of her hard-edged lawyer drag. Her dark hair

198 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

was pulled into two messy pigtails and a plain

white T-shirt was barely tucked into a pair of

threadbare, faded jeans. If asked, she’d insist she

feels more comfortable in her power suits, but this

more casual look softened the sharp edges of her

face and intensity of her blazingly blue eyes. Her

pale face looked out at us with surprise, but she

stepped aside and with a thin, bony hand clasping

a steaming mug of coffee, she motioned us to

come in.

“Mom, this is Errall, Errall, Mom,” I said

brightly once we were all indoors and staring at

each other in the small entranceway.

My mother looked at me with a look that said,

“I vasn’t expecting dis, vere you expecting dis?

Who ees dis girl?” Instead she said, “Very nice,

hello, Carol. Very nice.”

Errall gave me a look that said, “Are you outta

your fuckin’ mind?” But she said, “Hello, Mrs.

Quant. So nice to meet you. Won’t you come in?”

Errall led us to the kitchen, where most of the

activity in Errall and Kelly’s home usually takes

place. It’s a big, bright room with big, bright win-

dows that look out onto the backyard and lots of

chairs and stools to sit on.

“Can I take your coats?” Errall asked politely.

Again another, “Who dis?” look from my

mother.

We gave up our coats and, while Errall left to

put them away somewhere, we stood expectantly

in the kitchen, my mother using her X-ray vision to

see inside cupboards and under the sink.

Errall returned and served us coffee. When it

Anthony Bidulka — 199

came time to hand my mother her cup, she looked

down at the bags my mother still held tight.

“I bring for Kelly,” Mother explained.

Errall gave us her first sincere smile of the

visit. “Oh, how thoughtful, thank you. What is

it?”

Mom handed her the bags, which Errall almost

dropped due to the unexpected weight they car-

ried.

“Is Kelly home?” I asked. Hoped.

Errall shot me a look.

“I’ve been trying to call her for days. She never

answers, so I thought we’d just drop by. Mom has-

n’t seen Kelly in years, probably since high school,

and I know Kelly would like to see Brutus.”

“Of course,” Errall said, setting the bags on the

kitchen island. “I’ll go see if she’s up yet.” She

looked at my mother and explained, “She hasn’t

been feeling well lately.”

My mother smiled and nodded. “Dat’s okay,

den. Ve come back, tomorrow mebbe?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Errall said. “Let me just go

see.” And with that Errall disappeared and in a

second we heard her clomping up the stairs.

I looked around, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I

don’t like showing up uninvited to anyone’s

house, but this was a special situation. Kelly need-

ed to get out of her funk. Perhaps seeing her dog

and having some of my mother’s cabbage rolls

would help. Barbra and Brutus were standing at

the back door, longingly staring out at the yard. I

let them out. Mom and I sipped coffee and waited.

When Kelly appeared, Errall at her back, I was

200 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

unexpectedly taken aback with emotion. I hadn’t

seen her in such a long time and, knowing what I

knew, I suddenly felt raw inside. Looking at the

two women I sensed a distance between Errall

and Kelly, not just a physical one, but an emotion-

al one that was just as easy to see.

Kelly and my mother hugged and my mother

immediately pulled her over to the island and

painstakingly went through the contents, one by

one, of each grocery bag, explaining how each was

made and why it was good for her. As they did

this I watched Kelly and I watched Errall watch-

ing Kelly. Kelly seemed thin, much of her stocky,

muscular build replaced by an undeniable frail-

ness. Her normally cutesy face, with the wide eyes

and mouth, was drawn and wan and her hair was

longer than I ever remember seeing it, the red a

faded version of its former self. Errall was observ-

ing the interaction between the two other women

closely, a thin, brittle smile on her lips.

“You seet down,” my mother ordered Kelly

after the bag inventory was done. “You seet and I

show your friend Carol how to keep dese foods

and how to feex dem goot, so dey be smahchneh.”

She almost pushed Kelly towards me while

motioning for Errall to join her at the island say-

ing, “Dees a goot stove?”

Errall looked horrified as she realized what

was happening and how helpless she was to stop

it. I felt sorry for her, but not that sorry and used

the opportunity to steer Kelly out of the kitchen

and into a nearby sitting room where we might

have some privacy.

Anthony Bidulka — 201

We sat in two armchairs at right angles to each

other. Kelly and I didn’t practise bullshit with one

another so I just came out with it. “Kells bells, you

don’t look so hot.”

“I know,” she said, twisting a finger in her hair,

a habit I didn’t remember her having. “I haven’t

been to get this mop cut for such a long time and

I’m not playing soccer this winter so I’m so outta

shape.”

“You should get out more. You and Errall are

coming to the tree trimming party at my place

tomorrow night, right, but how about just you and

me go out for a beer next week?”

“No beers for me,” she said.

“What are you talking about, no beers? You

give it up? The breweries will go bankrupt!” I

tried for levity.

“I’ve got to clean up my act, Russell.”

I didn’t get it. “What do you mean? The doctor

say that?”

“I have cancer, Russell. I’ve got to watch how I

treat my body.” The tone in her voice was unfamil-

iar to me.

“You
had
cancer, Kelly. It’s gone now.”

She turned to face me again. I’d be happy to

not remember the look in her eyes. “We don’t

know that for sure.”

We were quiet for a moment and then she said,

“You know, some doctors suggest cutting them

both off. Just in case. I didn’t let them. I just could-

n’t. The other breast is okay right now, but once

you’ve had cancer in one the chances of…”

“Okay, stop,” I told her. “You made a decision.

202 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

You made the right decision for you. And in all the

years I’ve known you, I’d say you make pretty

good ones. So we’re done. This is over. Each day

you’re going to get better and better and soon

everything will be just the way it was before.” I

knew I’d said the wrong thing as soon as it came

out of my mouth.

“Things will never be the way they were

before. I have only one breast left. I’ve had a dis-

ease in my body that wanted to kill me. I…I’ll

never be the same. Ever again. You don’t under-

stand! You’re just like Errall…and everyone

else…you don’t understand what it’s like.”

I nodded mutely.

“Sometimes…and I don’t say this to Errall…”

she said, her voice calmer, “but sometimes,

Russell, I think…I may not survive this. I think I’ll

look back at this as the beginning of the end. I

think I might die, Russell. No matter what the

doctors say and how much skin and tissue they

cut out of me, I think I might die.”

What can you say to that? I felt helpless. I felt

inadequate. I had absolutely no frame of reference

to use to even have a clue as to how she was feel-

ing. I’d never had cancer. I’d never had a part of

me cut off. I’d never lived with the fear that death

was hunting me. I wanted to let her know she

wasn’t alone and there were a lot of us who

believed in her survival. But what can you say?

“I love you” is what came out.

She mouthed the words, “I know.”

“Ve go now,” said a voice behind us.

We turned to see my mother standing there. I

Anthony Bidulka — 203

could hear Errall still in the kitchen, banging

around putting away the pots and pans my moth-

er had insisted on inspecting, and uttering a few

choice words barely beneath her breath.

“Yes,” I said, “we should go. We burst in on

you without an invitation.”

We collected our coats and as we said our

goodbyes my mother told Kelly, “Your goot friend

knows how to varm up all de food, so you eat.

Vhen you vant some…” and then she raised her

voice for Errall’s benefit, “…just call her and she

come over and cook eet for you, ya, Carol?”

“Mom, Errall lives here. With Kelly.”

She just smiled and said, “Oh, ya, uh-huh, goot

den. Very nice.”

Chapter 11

BACK AT HOME my mother prepared us a lunch of

roast beef, headcheese and pickled beets. After