Split (4 page)

When I got to 234, I stopped short.

The door was ajar.

I hugged the wall, listening.

Mrs. Lund was crying.

Had I made a mistake by coming?

Then I heard Johan. He didn’t sound too angry. His voice was more like warm maple spread, and before too long, Mrs. Lund had stopped her whimpering.

I knocked on the door, and pushed on it a little, poking my face in the wedge, but I didn’t say anything.

Boone lay in a big white bed. His face was the same color as the walls. He had a plastic thing stuck up his nose and a tube coming out his arm. The tube was attached to a bag with some kind of liquid that looked like pee. Johan sat next to him, directly on the bed, and Mrs. Lund sat in the armchair with Lene on her lap. She kept blotting her eyes with a tissue. Her cheeks were smeared with black makeup.

Nick stood in the far right corner of the room. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets. His eyes were like that thunderstorm we had last year. The one that tore the roof off the shed.

Johan was the first to see me. “Derek. What are you doing here? Do your parents know you’re here?”

At that moment, I remembered Boone’s blue eyes rolling back into his head and my throat tightened. Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head, pushing the bad thoughts out of my mind.

“Well, I’m not sure what to make of all this, Derek.” Johan’s eyes shone too. “I don’t understand. I would think that you’d know better. I’m real disappointed with you boys.”

It was the way he said those words. He wasn’t yelling, but I think I would have preferred if he had. He simply shook his head and sighed. “You know, Boone needs some test done now. Doc says he might have some brain damage. Brain damage, Derek, do you understand what that means?”

I understood.

From the bed, Boone whined, “Dad, Red didn’t know what—”

“Not a word from you. Understood? I don’t wanna hear it, Boone. You put your mother through hell this afternoon. You lay down like the doctor said, and you be quiet now.”

Boone glanced over at me, and my eyes quickly darted down to the dirty floor. I couldn’t look into his eyes. I don’t think I can ever look into his eyes ever again.

At least, not until next week.

I didn’t know what to do with my arm and legs, so I held my breath and stayed close to the door. They’re all so nice to me, and I’ve disappointed them. I don’t mind disappointing Dad so much, matter of fact, I think I do so all the time, but Johan, that’s different.

Finally, Mrs. Lund spoke to me. “Go home, Derek. I don’t blame you for what happened. I know my sons. When they get an idea in their thick skulls, no one can change their minds.” She stared Boone right in the face. “One of them is crazy,” she said, and then her eyes went, like a poisonous dart, from Boone’s face to Nick’s. “And this one over here is a beautiful liar.”

My heart exploded inside my chest.

No. Nick isn’t a liar. He was just trying to protect Boone, that’s all. My cheeks burned up, but all I could do was bite down on my lower lip.

Nick’s nostrils flared. He looked like a bull trying not to lunge at the red flag. His cheeks had darkened, and for a second, I thought he was going to throw something at his mom, but instead, he threw his hands up and bolted out of the room.

“Nicolai!” Johan yelled. “Come back here!”

Nick didn’t slow down. And for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from chasing him.

I caught the back of his head as he shoved open the door to the staircase, and I followed. I heard him running down the stairs. His steps were heavy and quick.

I skidded down those stairs, nearly breaking my neck at every landing, and caught up to him on the first floor.

I flinched, drawing back a little.

Nick was throwing punches in the air, cursing in Norwegian. His hair had come undone, and with every hook he swung, it whipped his face. He was breaking a sweat, fighting this invisible person.

Who could it be?

Then his long arms dropped at his side, and he stopped.

I opened my mouth, but nothing but a small breath crawled out.

Nick leaned back on the wall, breathing hard and fast through the nose, staring straight ahead. Straight through me. “I fucking hate her.”

I think he meant his mother, but I didn’t dare ask.

He ran his fingers through his blond hair and tied it back again. “Well shit.” The light flicked on inside his eyes. “Better go back up there ’fore my dad comes down here looking for me.”

I nodded, chewing on my lip.

For some odd reason, Nick laughed. Not a big laugh, just a small chuckle.

His eyes moved over my lips like they were tasting a candy cane. “Man,” he whispered. “You sure don’t say much, O’Reilly.”

I shook my head.

My penis jumped.

Nick squinted and ran up the stairs, leaving me to stare at the blank wall.

Dear Bump,

It was nine in the morning when I heard some voices in the Lunds’ yard.

My heart skipped three beats and I almost ran to the patio door. It was Saturday, and I wasn’t sure if Johan would let me play chess with him on account of me helping Boone break his brain.

Lene pushed her Cabbage Patch Kid on the tire swing.

Looked like she was giving it a good sermon.

My eyes jumped from one corner of the yard to the next, but I didn’t see Boone.

I slid the door open. “Hey, Le-Lene.”

“Hello, Derek.” She turned around. She had Nutella on her chin. “You be the daddy, I’ll be the mommy.”

“No.”

“Do you wanna see my special place?”

“No.”

“Can I see your special place?”

“No.”

She shrugged and went back to pushing the fat-headed baby. I sat on the steps and watched some ants carry a dead ladybug across the tiles. “Is your bro-brother okay?”

“Which one?”

“What do-do you mean which one? The one-one that was in the-the hospital yesterday.”

“They were both in the hospital yesterday.”

I sighed. “Lene, I’m talking about-bout Boone.”

She plucked her doll out of the tire and inched up her shirt. She tucked the doll inside it. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s sleeping. Do you wanna help me give birth?”

“No.”

“I plan on having a c-section.”

Lene reads a lot of magazines.

I got to my feet. I didn’t plan on spending my day with her. She scares me. “Well, tell him-him I went fuh-fuh-for a bike ride.”

“Aren’t you gonna play checkers with my dad?”

I stopped. “You mean chess, and yes, if he still wa-wa-wants to.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” She squatted down and started moaning.

“Is he in-inside?” I tried not to pay any attention to her shallow panting.

She fell back and started twitching on the grass. “Come cut my stomach before the baby dies!”

I shrunk back. “No-no way.”

She kept rolling her head from side to side, moaning louder and louder, getting dirt in her hair. “Hurry, Derek, save me! Save our baby!”

I looked around. There was nobody listening to her lunatic ravings. I found a twig and dragged my feet up to her. In one quick motion, I pretended to slash her belly open. “The-there.”

She screamed, then made like she had passed out.

I watched her for a minute, shrugged, and went inside to find Johan.

He was in the living room.

And Nick was there too, asleep on the couch. He was on his side, with his knees curled under his belly and his rosy cheek resting against his palm. The sunlight filtered through his yellow eyelashes.

My belly burned.

I paused by the oak chest and cleared my throat. “Hello.”

Johan looked up from his book. “Shh.” He tossed his head to where Nick rested peacefully. “Nicolai didn’t get much sleep last night.” Johan then eased himself out of his armchair and went to the kitchen.

I followed.

He smiled as he pulled a chair out for me. “Glad you came. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes. I di-did. Thank you.”

“Okay then. I’ll get the board.”

*

I haven’t played chess in over fifteen years.

I never could find another opponent who could teach me about life as we moved marble across a board.

I am thinking of Johan Lund tonight.

Him and his beautiful sons.

What happened to me?

I grew up, and then caught a deadly virus called adulthood.

After three years at Dawson College, I was accepted at Concordia University, where I earned a bachelor’s in commerce.

Following graduation, I began my apprenticeship in the glorious world of finance. I maxed out my credit card on tailored suits and trendy ties, and got myself dolled up every day only to sit at my computer, under blinking neon lights, sealed into a cubicle the size of my toilet. For six months, I crunched numbers through Excel pads, plugging data day in day out, drinking bad coffee, and sucking every possible ass I thought could get me ahead. Every time I moved an inch closer to a position worthy of eight years of studying, the ass I had been kissing was either fired or quit. The economy was beginning to plummet, and the first reaction from the major corporations was to panic and scrape off a whole layer of executives, leaving us poor middle men and women, picking up the slack with no financial rewards and little recognition.

After nearly a year of this, this idealistic Irish boy was about ready to quit the game.

Then I met Nathan.

We met at a sales conference, in the Charlevoix area. Though I was merely a staff accountant, I had been ordered to attend.

Nathan was one of the guest speakers.

As Nathan approached the podium, the audience, which had been quite distracted, and at times, just plain rude, quieted down. He plucked the microphone out of its stand and tapped it. His voice rose and fell perfectly. His tone was determined, yet nuanced with sympathy for the “hardworking men and women who strive to provide the customer with the best experience possible.” Within moments, the tough crowd of salesmen and jaded administrative assistants had fallen into a mild stupor. Everyone seemed completely smitten with him. His hand swooped the air as he spoke of “cutting the expenses out and raising the bar.” His dark eyes glimmered with ambition and straightforwardness. People around me, the very same people who had been doodling and yawning minutes ago, were now hunched over the tables, hanging on his every word.

Of course it helped that Nathan is drop-dead gorgeous.

The essence of him resembles a landslide.

And me? What did I think of him?

I hadn’t slept a wink the night before, on account of the party the sales team were having in the next room. Nathan’s speech, though compelling and perfectly delivered, was no match for my drooping eyelids. As he spoke of “going back to the basics, the core of customer service,” I struggled to keep my eyes open. I tried widening them every other minute, blinking and grimacing.

People must have wondered if I suffered from Tourette’s.

“You’re drooling on my presentation,” was the first thing Nathan ever said to me.

I had dozed off.

At the sight of this arrogant salesman towering over me, grinning devilishly, I popped up on my chair and wiped my damp cheek with the back of my hand.

“Hey, easy now. You’ll give yourself a head rush.” Nathan seemed perfectly amused.

I shot him a puzzled glance, and adjusted my jacket.

His dark eyes quickly moved over me, and I flinched, as if he had seen me in my boxer shorts. “Lunch is up in the next room,” he said. “They have liters of coffee. Not very good, but by the looks of you, I don’t think you’ll mind.” He extended his hand. I stared at it for a moment, and then reached out. “I’m Nate.” He pumped my hand as if we were sealing an important transaction. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

I frowned. How could this jerk know my name?

He laughed, then flicked the plastic badge I had clipped on my jacket. “Your name tag.”

I glanced down.

Right.

“So,” he asked, pulling me out of my chair as if it was the most natural thing to do, “accounting or marketing?”

That afternoon, we were tormented with more presentations, but though I had rarely witnessed such blatant disregard for engaging talk, I was excessively alert. Every time I turned my head, I would catch Nathan’s gaze devouring my face. By the last interminable presentation, Nathan’s persistent stare had worked itself under my skin, and I began holding it.

Soon, the chemistry between us had reached levels fit to dizzy any inhibited, guilt-tripping Irish Catholic boy.

I could barely swallow.

When the VP of communications broke out the projector, my will left me. I dared a glance Nathan’s way. His eyes gleamed with desire. I lowered my gaze to his full lips and caught them mouthing the words, “I want you.”

That was it.

Nathan’s room was on the second floor. We shot up the steps, ripping at each other’s clothes.

We nearly did it in the staircase, but managed to make it to his room. He dropped his key card twice before he could open the door, and I huddled against him, whispering, “Hurry. Oh God, hurry.”

That was two years ago.

Since I’ve met Nathan, my life has changed. Through his mind-boggling social network, Nathan has helped me secure a job as a financial analyst with the Bank of Canada. He’s paid my school loans, put me in touch with a wonderful speech therapist who, through grueling exercises and persistent coaching, has completely rid me of my stuttering problem (though, at times, when cornered or nervous, I do have some small setbacks).

Nathan has made my dreams come true. I owe him much. I’m very grateful to him.

What does it matter if I don’t particularly like modern art or sushi? What does it matter that I prefer a Guinness to sake? Or popcorn to soy nuts? None of these things matter. What is important is our commitment to one another.

Yes, he works a lot. Travels a lot too. But that’s normal. That’s to be expected. Patience is a virtue I intend on cultivating. No sense in placing blame. I knew what the score was when we agreed to take this dive. This lifestyle doesn’t come cheap, and with my less than impressive salary, my contribution is mainly domestic.

Aunt Fran can squint at me all she wants.

I’m perfectly happy with my life.

*

Dear Bump,

Dad is leaving for two months.

On account of a job in the Hudson Bay. I’m going to be responsible for the garbage and snow shoveling. Some of the cleaning too, but mostly the scrubbing of the toilet bowl. Aunt Frannie is coming to stay with us until Christmas. Dad is leaving on a train, and he’s leaving on Tuesday. He said, “Take care of your ma and don’t let Aunt Frannie drink too much.”

I’ve never been on a train, but I’ve been on the subway a lot, so that counts for something.

Next week is Halloween. I’m going as a pirate. Boone is going as a mass murderer. Him and Nick have been working on some sort of graveyard set. They plan on “having little kids shit their
E.T.
costumes.” When I was there yesterday, they were trying out a home recipe for fake blood and human tissue. Mrs. Lund warned, “If one of you ends up blind because of this revolting mixture, don’t expect me to drive you around for the rest of your life.” But she stuck around the kitchen anyway. I think she was fascinated by the result.

I didn’t know this, but Nick is really good at arts and crafts.

I tried not to watch him, but that’s like trying to keep my eyes on a book when the TV is on.

I noticed everything Nick picks up always looks so much more interesting in his fingers. He made a mask out of papier-mâché. It’s in the shape of a human face, except it has no mouth, just two slits for the eyes, and a pair of small holes for the nose. When Nick slipped it on, he looked terrifying. Then he tried on Johan’s old work clothes and walked around the house for an hour. I played my worst game of chess ever. Every time I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, I squirmed in my seat. I think he grew two inches since August. Nick must be close to six feet tall now. His voice is just as deep as Johan’s. His shoulders are wider than the fridge.

It was his sixteenth birthday on August eighth. Johan gave him a car. It doesn’t work, but they’re going to fix it up together. Nick knows a lot about cars and mechanics. It’s a Chevy Nova.

I hope we don’t encounter problems, you know, on account of us living without Dad. I don’t know if Mom knows how to change a fuse. Dad showed me where he keeps his shotgun. It isn’t loaded, so it doesn’t matter much that I don’t know how to use it. “Just to scare ’em,” he said.

Mom’s hair is growing back, but she’s skinny. I don’t like it when she hugs me because I can feel her bones on my stomach.

Aunt Frannie said, “I’m going to show you how to cook. If your mom knows you made it, she’ll have to eat it.”

I don’t mind learning how to cook. I just don’t want anyone knowing about it. If JF or his friends find out that I’m spending Sunday morning baking cookies, even Boone won’t be able to stop them from torturing me.

They’ve started calling me a homo, and yes, Bump, I know what a homo is.

Well, I’m pretty sure I know.

Jesse Chao quit the math club. Can you believe him? “I kissed a girl on her privates,” he said.

But it’s a lie, of course. Boone and JF cornered him during recess and demanded to know what it looked like. Jesse said it had a pair of lips and five small holes. Boone gave Jesse a wedgie while JF slapped his ears pink.

Boone got detention again, but JF got off with a warning.