The Tumours Made Me Interesting (13 page)

“Just a smooth, androgynous hump.”

I rolled out of Fiona’s lap and crawled toward my pants. My face was trapped in a pout and my eyes were sticky with tear glue. “This is bullshit! I really thought you were going to fuck me.”

“You’re acting like a baby, Bruce. You’re focusing on the most unimportant things.”

I jacked my jeans up, determined not to look at her. I slammed half a dozen cigarettes in my mouth and set them alight. The influx of smoke was so voluminous that smoke began drifting from my ears. It relaxed me. With each inhalation I felt myself calming, becoming more pliant. There was something devious about these cigarettes. Something that went beyond the standard cocktail of poisons one would hope to find. I couldn’t escape the feeling that Fiona had done something untoward to them. I tried taking a step back from myself, but stopped when vertigo hit. Why was I going along with this? I only met this woman a few days ago. Why was I content to stand with my cock out in a room full of strangers when I didn’t even like seeing myself naked? Why was I letting this, undeniably insane, woman blow smoke up my arse? I inhaled again, knowing I was letting myself fall prey to her. It felt like my resolve was a crumbling wall. She was drugging me. I knew it. She existed only to speed my death. She didn’t care about me. She only cared about my disease. I hated her. I turned to face her. I walked with purpose toward the arse tube and plucked it up. I held it out to her. She didn’t move.

“Go on! Take it!” I yelled. “Feed them. You want them so fucking bad, you can have them. You want the perfect disease? Then make it happen.” I dropped my jeans back down and spread my arse. “Go on! Feed those hungry fuckers. I only exist to grow them. I know that now. Make my life mean something.” I whipped her with the tube. “Go on! Stick that fucking tube up me.”

Finally, she snatched the tubing. Her somber expression was replaced with a smile. “You’ve made the right choice. I want to help them be all they can be. I just need your utter obedience.”

11.

F
iona was quick to capitalise on my acquiescence. Clearly she sensed my indecisive nature and proceeded before procrastination had a chance to settle in. She informed me that she wanted to meet with any people I may be living with because, in her words, they required ‘briefing’. As little as a week ago, this would have been unnecessary, but it now seemed I had my own makeshift family. Fiona made arrangements to meet us all the next morning and she was quite vocal about ensuring everyone attended.

I prepared an area in the lounge room with chairs and mild refreshments. I even went so far as filling a vase with posies, which I placed on the coffee table as a centrepiece. I was filled with Christmas morning levels of excitement and I wanted to do everything right. I had never been the subject of a meeting before and it made me feel great. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. The journey thus far had been a deeply strange one. The heart that beat at the centre of all this interest was a disease that was destroying me and intellectually I knew that my participation was misguided. But given the position I was in, I just wanted to feel happiness. I had been shown something that resembled joy and I was prepared to take it.

I assembled the Stotsons, Arthur, Belinda and her mother into the lounge room. Each had an allocated chair with their names misspelled on them and I insisted, for reasons I couldn’t explain, that they all sit in their appropriate location. Belinda bounded for her chair and bounced upon it excitedly, clearly feeling the rush. The others tagged along, not with enthusiasm, but without resistance. Arthur lagged behind preparing a cup of Earl Grey. Fiona was due to arrive at 9:00am and, given my experience up until now, I expected her to be bang on time.

“Hurry up, Arthur,” I said. “She’s going to be here any minute.”

“Don’t be desperate,” he replied. “A good cup of Earl must be crooned to before it releases its divine flavour.”

I stood behind him, tapping my feet and sucking on a cigarette, trying my best to smoke him out of the kitchen.

“You won’t get anywhere rushing me, lad. Just show some decency and allow me my humble fancy”.

With the teacup held below his mouth, he quietly sang songs into his Earl Grey. I strained to make out the words and thought I heard something about break dancing. He brought the cup down and allowed the steamy curls of aroma to reach him. He exhaled deeply, made eye contact and said, “Okay… I am now ready”.

With an impatient hand pressed against the small of Arthur’s back, I guided him toward the meeting area.

“Were you a child, I’d find this endearing,” he mocked.

As he took his seat, his joints sounded off like fire crackers. We all partook in a communal wince.

“You try spending 30 years hunched over in a ceiling and see how your joints feel,” he said. “Standing is only achieved with ease if one is accustomed to standing.”

 None of us dared respond. Instead I glanced at my Captain Planet watch, whose muscular arms, steadfast and true, told me the time. The second his jutted finger clicked over to 9:00am, Fiona burst through the door. The jolt of this gave us all a start. I stood to commence introductions but caught my belt on the arm of my chair and fell back down. Fiona gave me a dismissive wave so I just reached for a cigarette.

“Introductions won’t be necessary,” she said. “We will be meeting regularly and grow to know each other quite well.”

Fiona’s demeanor bled a dynamic dominance that entranced everyone immediately. She could have held a gun to their heads and they would have beamed smiles in response.

“At this stage,” she began, “who you are is insignificant. Who I am is of more import because I am going to be overseeing your actions until the conclusion of this project comes to pass.”

She circled us, completely ignoring the chair I’d prepared for her, which annoyed me, but not enough to vocalise it.

“As you are all aware, Bruce is in possession of cancer. What I’m quite sure you’re not aware of is the highly specialised nature of his cancer. Bruce has, what we call, ‘perfect cancer’. As I speak, tumours are growing within him that defy anything we’ve seen before. They are, without a shadow of a doubt, the best example of a disease we’ve seen.”

“So we’re here to help you make Bruce better?” asked Rhonda with palpable confusion.

“In a sense, yes…” she replied. “But probably not in the way you think. Our goal is not to rid Bruce of cancer. Our goal is to make Bruce the perfect vessel for the cancer. We have a rare opportunity here.”

My excitement was beginning to wear off. I no longer wished to be the centre of attention. My neck retreated into my sternum. What Fiona was saying struck me as ludicrous when said amongst a group. In the one-on-one space, without the judgment of others, it was easy to get swept away. The look of horror that painted their faces spoke volumes. This horror was punctuated by Arthur’s monocle, which slipped from its socket and landed with a splash in his tea. Fiona was prepared for this.

“Your collective reaction to this news is perfectly consistent with that of the general populace. We are taught to fear disease and respond combatively toward it. I will take this opportunity to stress to each of you that if Bruce had the slightest hope of surviving, we would not proceed with this course of action. This is a marriage of special circumstance and, it should be noted, one Bruce has agreed to.

“Is this true, Bruce?” asked Vince.

I coughed up cigarette smoke while giving quick nods, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“I want to stress,” continued Fiona, “that your cooperation isn’t mandatory, but, should you choose to help, it will be handsomely rewarded. Those unprepared to help change the world must leave now. Your presence will be most destructive and detrimental to the outcome.”

In the ensuing silence, I waited for those around me lift from their chairs and leave. Surely no one would partake in what was essentially assisted suicide. But no one budged. Although the silence continued, they remained firmly seated and altering their gaze from Fiona to me.

“Would you
like
us to help you, Bruce?” asked Belinda’s mother.

I stared at Belinda’s mother and then at Fiona, catching her right in the eyes. The intensity was staggering. Her eyes were firmly informing me that should I sabotage this, I would regret it. I thought about the care Fiona had promised to give my mother. It was the closest thing I had to assurance that she’d be okay after I was gone. I stared back at Belinda’s mother and nodded.

Arthur was the first to climb aboard. He stood up straight, serenading us with more cracking joints in the process. “I’m in!” he yelled. “I’m happy to help you out, dear Bruce.”

“Fantastic,” said Fiona, directing her gaze to the other, as yet undecided, members of the party.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You guys don’t have to. It’s a pretty weird request.”

Upon saying this, Fiona fetched a lipstick tube from her handbag and pelted it at my face. It left a grisly streak of Cherry Jubilee across my forehead.

“What Bruce means to say,” said Fiona. “is that each of you are a vital component to the overall foundation of this project. We would love for you to contribute and reap both the emotional and financial rewards befitting the effort.”

Conversing with their eyes, Vince, Rhonda and Belinda’s mother considered what was being asked of them. I was still considering what was being asked of me and I didn’t know what to make of it. The cigarettes I was smoking made it hard to see reason. The smoke was a suggestible fog filling my body; retarding my reason. Fiona had waved sex before me like a cracker and then she snatched it away, yet I was still here; still a part of this strange circus. The truth is, sex was only important in that it validated me. I didn’t need it, nor did I necessarily want it. What I needed was someone to trust me with their body – someone to entrust with my own. But I had something else now: I had the tumours. They trusted me. Nothing had ever trusted me more and I felt I needed to reward them for that trust. In so doing, I would help my mother. Whether I followed Fiona or not, I wasn’t going to survive this. One way or another, my mother
would
be left alone. It was now up to me to decide how I was going to leave her.

I was being offered the chance to finally be something. And while it was hard to know exactly what that ‘something’ was, I did know that the reaction my tumours had garnered from those enthusiasts was real. To them, I was that elusive ‘something’ we all try to be. It would be nice if we could always chose the areas in which we desired to excel, but sometimes they choose us. As I neared the home stretch of my life, I was being given the opportunity to do so in a meaningful way.

The makeshift family that had gravitated toward my home seemed significant. The presence of these people suggested intention. Maybe they were here to help me. No matter how cold or unpleasant Fiona appeared, I couldn’t fault her passion and commitment. That anyone would give up so much of their time for someone like me struck me as profound. I was as unreliable as mobile phone reception… I needed a support network around me to keep me from veering. This really was my chance to finally be interesting.

I stood up with conviction. “I would love for you to help me achieve the perfect disease,” I said.

Fiona approached me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I assume to her this was meant to exude support, but to me it felt like entrapment. My mind kept telling me to smoke the cigarettes
, You’ll feel better,
so that’s what I did. And the harder I sucked on the cigarettes, the better I began to feel.

Vince, Rhonda and Belinda’s mother rose from their seats to match Fiona, Arthur and myself. Belinda remained seated, wearing a goofy grin and lost in the kind of daydreams only permitted to children. Everyone else encircled me and announced their intention to lift me from the ground as a means of celebration. Maybe they didn’t approach me from the right angle, or perhaps their hearts simply weren’t committed to the task, because I’ve never witnessed a more awkward attempt at anything in my life. Arthur, refusing to put down his cup of tea, scooped an arm between my legs. Rhonda bear hugged my waist. Fiona pushed her hands hard into my chest and Vince placed his hands below my chin. Without a countdown to align their efforts, they all began lifting, pushing and hugging at different times. I felt my body being pulled in every direction at once. I yelped, while my would-be lifters muttered exacerbated swears. Then, in a ball of inept humanity, we slowly fell to the ground. Rigid, uncoordinated limbs engulfed me as our combined bodies, entwined beyond reason, sat in the middle of my lounge room. We remained in this position for some time. We all agreed never to mention the incident again.

With everyone on board to play Fiona’s game, it was now time to learn the rules and discover our individual roles.

Fiona’s role was as supervisor and cigarette provider. The household was allocated two cartons a day which, as long as I had as many as I needed, could be distributed amongst the others. Each day she was to visit at 8am and 6pm. The 8am visit would be a one on one session with me where she would assess my progress and ensure I was adhering to an exercise regime which she had carefully developed. The 6pm visit was for the others. She would discuss strategies and troubleshoot potential issues and, most importantly, I was forbidden to attend.