Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World (14 page)

‘It’s these stupid pills,’ Lana said, swiping at her eyes with her fist. ‘You know. The birth control pills – they get me
all emotional for no reason. I’m happy, Stephen. Honest. I’m so glad you could trust me …’ She broke down again, her body
trembling against mine.

We lay back under the trampoline in the cool grass with our arms around each other. It was nice under there. Like being a
little kid hiding out in a tent in the backyard imagining nobody can find you. The grass pressed against us and left patterns
creased into our skin. We were on our sides. She asked me how long I’d been attracted to guys. I told her probably forever.

‘Even when you came to my house? That first time? When your Mom got drunk?’ There was a little hitch to her breathing and
I was afraid she’d start to cry again.

I ran my hand along her back. ‘You were so nice to me that day. It really turned everything around. That this cool girl from
Toronto wanted to be my friend.’

‘You mean the fat girl with the dippy name.’

‘Don’t say that. You’re beautiful, Svetlana.’

She asked me more questions, and I told her everything I could. Mark and Stephen, the whole sordid tale. Except it wasn’t
really sordid at all. I hadn’t done anything yet, with or to anybody. So why was I putting myself through the torments of
hell over this?

I stretched out on my back, so relaxed I felt like I might dissolve into the earth. ‘Lana, you’re the only one who knows.
And I’m not telling anybody else, not in this town. So please don’t—’

‘Of course I won’t.’

We were quiet for a while, tracing shapes on the black circle above us, leaning into each other with our heads touching.

‘He won’t love you back,’ she said.

‘I know.’

‘Might even hurt you. I mean physically.’

‘No, don’t worry about that, Lana.’

But as soon as I’d said it, I wasn’t sure.

‘Stephen. You have to be careful. I’m not worried about most people here. After all, this place is boring, but it’s not
Deliverance
. I’d watch myself around Mark, though.’

I told her again that Mark would never hurt me, not on purpose, that he thought of me as a kid brother. She moved onto her
side again so she could look me in the eye.

‘So how do you imagine Mark’s going to react if people start calling him gay because of you?’

‘But why would anybody think Mark was …’ Funny how I still couldn’t bring myself to say the word. ‘I mean, that’s just stupid.’

‘People here
are
stupid. You’ve been spending all your time together since you were practically babies. I’m telling you, everybody will say
you’re a couple.’

‘A couple.’ I tried to find this funny, told her if it were true, I wouldn’t be here now.

‘You’d be off somewhere blowing him. Yeah, I know.’

I sat up, bounced my head on the underside of the trampoline. ‘Jesus, Lana, could you not talk like that?’

‘Make you think about it?’ She was grinning.

‘Shut up. Yes.’

‘Slut.’

I started laughing then and couldn’t stop, sinking to the ground and clutching Lana’s shoulders, my nose pressed into her
neck.

It should have been a warm, normal moment, but I was already starting to feel twitchy and paranoid. This thing that had been
safely sealed inside my head for so long was a piece of news now – it was currency. Lana could keep it in her sock drawer
for twenty years or she could go out and give it to somebody else, exchange it, spend it. How could I be sure this wasn’t
going to get back to Mark?

The answer came, like the calm voice of God, like the sound of everything clicking into place.
You want to make sure nobody else tells Mark? Tell him yourself. Do it now
.

Yes. Do it now while I’m resolved. Do it now while I’m still a bit stoned. Do it now because I have to.

‘I gotta go.’ I crawled out from under the trampoline and headed for the back gate. Lana peeped out from its circular shadow,
blinking in the late-afternoon light.

‘Stephen? You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’

I jumped over Lana’s gate and was back where I’d started, a bit surprised to find the same streets, the same houses, just
as I’d left them that morning.

So: back to walking. But this time I had a destination.

Okay. Here we go. One foot in front of the other. Don’t be scared. There was no time to be scared. I had a destination. Mark’s
place. Mark’s place with Mark in it.

Marching along past these prim, wooden houses, built a hundred years before and slowly dying inside from rot, lining the streets
to see me off like I was on parade. I’d be there in a few minutes. What was I going to say exactly? Maybe I shouldn’t plan
anything after all. Just let it come out.

Terrifying.

I wanted a tune to keep me going. I wanted bagpipes, a battle march, maybe one of Mark’s Presbyterian hymns.

All I could come up with was the theme from
Benny Hill
.

Well, it had an okay tempo.

Late-afternoon light was touching everything with gold, shadows just starting to get long. Maybe at first he’d think I was
joking. He’d laugh. I wouldn’t. There’d be awkward silence. Then shock. He’d be
horrified, looking at me like I was something gross. What next? Would he punch me?

Or worse. He might turn quiet. Politely ask me to leave. Then never talk to me again. I couldn’t imagine life without Mark
in it.

This town was too small. I was there already. Outside his house. I gazed up at the building with its frowning windows, and
realised I was still humming
Benny Hill
. Like giggling before the throne of judgement.

Quit being an idiot. Get in there. Side door. It was never locked.

The door drifted open when I touched it, like a sigh. I knew that house as if it were my own. It would probably be the last
time I was there.

I took the stairs slowly, and then I was in the living room with its deep-red shag carpet. The kitchen was six steps up from
there. Funny the way the house was put together, the kitchen a half-floor above anything else. From the next room, you could
see the people in there framed in the doorway, lit up and hanging in midair like figures on an icon. I sank to the floor beside
the couch, huddling out of sight of the kitchen, paralysed. Mark was up there. I could see him and I could hear him, slow
and thoughtful, moving from the fridge to the sink to the stove to the counter. The kitchen was filling up with steam. Everything
was quiet. Just the low rumbling sound of boiling water in a pot. And somebody singing.

It was Mark. Had I ever heard him sing before? The tune was something solid and measured, rising gradually like his voice
was climbing wide, stone steps. A hymn.

Sun slanted through the windows in the living room, dust motes caught the light in beams that looked solid to the touch. The
water was bubbling and popping in liquid chuckles. Mark’s voice paced through his song, fading out and repeating words when
something in the kitchen
needed his attention. The stove made little clicks as if reassuring itself that all was in order.

One quiet, perfect moment before I tell him. Hold on to it. Hold on.

I tried putting the words of the hymn together. Something about strength and resolve, fighting giants, being a pilgrim. Valour,
being valiant. Courage, courage, courage.

Someone was whispering at me. ‘Stephen, why are you hiding behind the couch?’

It was Krystal, Mark’s little sister. Nine years old and thin like a blade of grass – very blonde, very blue-eyed, almost
translucent. The kind of person you’d expect to see working the reception desk in heaven.

‘Good question, Kris,’ I whispered back.

Krystal shrugged, left the room and came back dragging a vacuum cleaner half her size. She was probably just in from dance
class – still in her white ballet outfit, hair scraped away from her face and gathered in a tight coil near the top of her
head. Who’d done that for her? Not her mother. Maggie McAllister wasn’t the type. It must have been Mark. Mark brushing his
little sister’s hair and fixing it with pins so she’d look nice for her teacher and the other girls. It broke my heart.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, took the damn vacuum away from her and tried to do the job myself. Then Krystal had to spend
the next few minutes running around righting lamps and tables and catching objects while I fought this monster with its big
square shrieking head, as it sank its teeth into the carpet and attempted to gobble up extension cords and the edges of curtains.
I looked up at the kitchen. Mark was drying a plate, gazing scornfully down at me. He said something I couldn’t hear above
the roar of the machine and Krystal answered, ‘I don’t
know
what he’s doing here!’

I suppose I should have been watching the vacuum cleaner instead,
because I felt it thunk against something abruptly. Then I had to dive and catch the TV, which had toppled like a gravestone
from its little stand.

Krystal shut off the machine. ‘Stephen, please stop.’

The TV sputtered out a rerun of
Taxi
as soon as we plugged it back in. I wanted to sit there and watch it with Krystal. But I had a mission.

Six steps up. I couldn’t make myself go into that kitchen. I stood holding on to the doorframe. Mark emptied a pot full of
boiling water and hollow white noodles into a colander in the sink.

‘Mark, I …’

He ignored me and shook the water from the pasta, steam in a cloud around him. Vapour ascended out the window and dissolved
into the air. ‘
Taxi
’s on.’

‘So what’s it mean?’

I felt like we’d been fast-forwarded a few minutes and I’d missed something. He asked me again.

‘Inexorable. What’s it mean?’

Oh, right. I’d almost forgotten about that fight this morning. ‘It’s … something you can’t control. That’s been decided for
you. You know – fate.’

‘Doesn’t seem too difficult.’ The tap squeaked and Mark watched the pots and pans filling with water. ‘Not worth acting like
a complete ass—’ He glanced down at Krystal in the living room. ‘Not worth acting like a complete dummy over, was it?’

‘I’m really sorry.’ Still couldn’t get him to look at me. ‘I didn’t mean any of it. All that stuff I said. Maybe I’m going
nuts.’

I watched him take two plates down from the cupboard.

‘Maybe.’ A timer rang.

‘Or it could be I’m freaked out over leaving Riverside.’

Mark made some kind of dismissive noise.

‘Yeah, okay,’ I said, ‘but all my friends are here. You know, there’s Lana. And you. Until, like, recently. Today, I mean.’

‘Until recently.’ There was a sudden blast of heat as Mark took a sizzling chicken out of the oven and set it on the stove
top. ‘Jeez, listen to you.’ He dropped the dishtowel he’d been using to shield his hands. Then he reached out and ran his
knuckles over my head. ‘Look, we were both acting like total … dummies. I shouldn’t have called you that thing.’ He lowered
his voice to a whisper. ‘You know. Jew bastard.’

‘Well, it’s sort of true. Even the bastard part. They weren’t married till I was eight.’

‘C’mon. You know I didn’t mean it.’ He got another plate out of the cupboard.

‘There’s, um, something else.’

Feet on the ledge of a fifty-storey building. One step into empty space.

‘Yeah?’ The chicken wobbled under the force of his carving knife.

Right. This is what you came here to do. So do it
.

My hands were gripping each other. I found myself bending my thumb backwards until it hurt.

I couldn’t. Couldn’t make myself say the words. Mark continued to attack the chicken. I wanted a cigarette in the worst way,
but we were not allowed to smoke in front of Krystal. I glanced down at her – completely absorbed in the TV. How much of this
could she hear? I decided it was the least of my worries.

‘Not doing a very good job …,’ Mark said. The bird was in pieces.

‘I’m kind of scared.’

He turned to face me. The carving knife was still clutched in one hand. ‘Why would you be scared?’ He looked at me more closely.
‘Whoa, man, you are totally … messed up.’

‘Can you get rid of that knife?’

He set it on the stove. ‘Okay. I’m not armed. What do you want to tell me?’

I was squirming, one hand on the back of my neck like I was getting ready to drag myself into a police car. Here we go. Voices
from the TV downstairs, a studio audience laughing. Applause. Ending credits.

I brought my head up to meet his eyes, ducked down again.

‘I can’t.’

He was laughing. ‘Jesus, Stephen—’

‘You’re gonna beat me up.’ I felt pressure building, like when you’re about to cry.
Oh, fuck, no. Get under control
.

‘What?’

‘You are. You’re gonna, like, punch me in the face and stuff. You’ll totally hate me …’ My voice died to a rusty squeak.

‘Stephen, come on. You’re my little brother, man. I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t.’ He looked sad. I was making him
sad. I was upsetting everybody.

Mark had hold of my shoulders. ‘Hey. Sorry if I was acting all scary this morning. I know I lose my temper sometimes. Stacey
tells me that too. Guess I don’t like getting reminded that I’m kind of, you know’ – he looked out the window – ‘stupid.’

‘You’re not!’ I said, but you could barely hear it. I broke away from him and leaned with my forehead against the wall, struggling
to get control. Mark went back to the sink and started drying dishes.

It seemed like this went on for a long time, but I could hear from the TV downstairs that it was only the span of a commercial
break. A
chorus was encouraging everyone: ‘Get a little closer! Don’t be shy! Get a little closer! With Arrid Extra Dry!’

‘Stephen, listen to me,’ Mark said, when it seemed like I’d recovered somewhat. ‘You’re not gonna say anything to make me
hate you. Unless you’re about to tell me you’ve been doing my mom.’

That made me laugh. ‘No, Mark, I’m not doing your mom.’

‘Well, good, cause if you married her, you’d be my dad. Don’t think I’m ready for that.’

‘Where is she anyway?’

‘Meeting.’ She was on a date. It was code he used for talking in front of Krystal. ‘Look, you are seriously freaking me out.’

‘I … I’ve been …
studying
. All afternoon. At Lana’s place. She’s got some really great …
books
from Toronto.’ This was also code. Really dumb code. But we couldn’t start going on about drugs with the little girl there.

‘Yeah, looks like you’ve been hitting the books pretty hard. Have to get Lana to lend us some. You and me, huh?’

‘Those books would melt your brain.’

‘I can see that.’ He noticed me staring off over his shoulder at the dishes piled under the tap. ‘Hey, do you want the sink?’

I nodded and he moved the pots and pans out of the way, shoved my head under the tap and turned on the cold water. Perfect.
Cold and perfect.

Krystal came hopping up the stairs. I heard her saying something about ‘Stephen … in the sink again’ and Mark telling her
not to worry. Then I just concentrated on the water pouring down on me.

After a while, I reached up and turned off the tap, grabbed a dishtowel and used it to stop most of the drip from my hair.
Mark and Krystal were downstairs setting places at three little fold-up tables in
front of the couch. Steam rose from plates of food as Mark set them down. ‘Don’t burn your hands,’ he told her.

Oh, God. It was me and Maryna. Alone in the house together without Stanley, waiting for him to come back. Two people and an
invisible third.

Mark told me once that he felt like he had to stay in Riverside until Krystal graduated because he didn’t trust his mother
to take care of her. So he’d be stuck here, like my mother was stuck here because of me. He’d turn his part-time job at Home
Hardware into full-time. Working all week at the store, coming back to this house every day. Who would he even talk to? Krystal?

Supper was ready. I sat on the couch between them. We were watching an old
Star Trek
rerun – the episode where they all get space madness for a day and Sulu chases everybody around with a sword. It was Krystal’s
choice. She had a thing for Captain Kirk. Not William Shatner. Captain Kirk. In his yellow and gold uniform, 1967.

‘I’m going to marry him,’ she told us with a secret smile.

‘Aw, Kris,’ I said. ‘Thought you were gonna marry me.’ Our little joke.

‘I can marry both of you. Captain Kirk is very busy in space. Me and you and Mark can live here together. We can keep the
house nice and wait for him to come home.’

I told her the whole living arrangement sounded great. Looked down at my plate. Empty already. I was still a bit stoned and
I’d had nothing to eat all day but the junk food at Lana’s. I got up and filled my plate in the kitchen, and then I did it
again a few minutes later.

I stood by the stove staring into the living room below. Krystal was cross-legged and serious on the couch, with Mark sprawled
beside her. What would he think when he looked back on it all, after I told him?
What was he going to remember – hanging out with his best friend Stephen or spending years next to some creepy little perv
who was probably eyeing him up the whole time? I was going to ruin everything, present and past. So I could be honest.

Well, if you love somebody, why would you want to do that to him?

‘Hey, save some for my mom!’ Mark said. Too late. She should have thought of that before she went off to this ‘meeting’ of
hers, left her children alone with someone like me.

Then it hit. Tired. Shuffling zombie tired. I could barely keep my eyes open, everything pressing down on me. But this wasn’t
a bad feeling. Meant I’d be able to sleep – finally. I’d had maybe six hours over the past week, but now there was no negotiating
with it. I knew that at this point I could thunk down on the floor and be blessedly without thoughts of any kind for the whole
night and longer.

I stumbled back to the couch, pushed Mark and Krystal out of the way and crashed down with my feet hanging off the edge, my
head squished into the cushions, breathing in lint and the ghosts of lost change.

‘Guess I should call your mother and tell her you’re staying.’ I could hear Mark from the sofa arm nearest my head. Those
familiar
Star Trek
noises were filling the living room – the music cues, the voices, the strangely maternal hums and clicks of the machines.
I was almost asleep.