Date: Sun, 19 Sep 2004 21:26:56 -0600 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Part Three Chapter 23 What's up with University being hard and stressful? Huh? Not cool the universe. Anyway, here's the next chapter of Carrots and Celery. I shrunk the tickets down and injected them... INTO MY BLOOD STREAM!!! --- After we roll into town we do the easy stuff first. Check into the hotel Kyle booked back near the Saskatchewan Alberta boarder, consult a city map to find Their address, stretch our legs and generally revel in finally being out of the car for awhile. Back in the Le Baron after nearly an hour of dozing on our beds tension starts to crackle inside of me. I completely drop all the out of my ass rambling I kept up most of the trip to stay sane, and try to ignore the looks of growing concern Kyle and Jonas throw me. "We're almost there, you know." Kyle mentions softly when it's true. "I know." "How you feeling?" "It's difficult to say." "Your friends are with you Aragorn." Jonas says reassuringly. It makes me smile, and that's enough. "Let's hope they last the night." Pulling up to the house, I'm rocketed back to full nervous and I take a few minutes collecting myself and attempting to amass some inner strength before getting out of the car and approaching what I've determined to be Celery's house according to the address he gave me. This proves to have been a wise move on my part, as I am confronted with Debbie when I finally make it to the door. More surprising than that is the baby she is cradling in her arms in a vague semblance of maternity. It seems out of place on her. I'm actually comforted when the look of lazily contained disgust crosses her face upon recognition of me. "Is Celery home?" I see no point exchanging greetings or attempts at pleasantries. The look of disgust diminishes in favour of one I warily describe as malicious glee. "Celery," disgust returning full power in voice and look as she speaks the name, "Doesn't live here anymore." I stand there stunned, my brain frantically trying to make sense of her words, and fail to notice the door has been shut in my face until it opens again. It's not Debbie who reopened the door I discover, but one of the steps, who regards me passive disinterest. "He lives with the freaky geek Greenberg now, its three houses that way." Vague gesture to the left. Again, my utter shock and confusion allows me no ability to reply and for a second time the door is shut firmly. Somehow I manage to stumble back to the car where Jonas and Kyle have no doubt been looking anxiously on. "What's going on? He wasn't home?" Kyle's voice warring between gentleness and urgency. I shake my head slowly, taking time to allow the concept to settle in. "Well did they say where he was?" Jonas demands, worry edging in as a result of my prolonged silence. "He moved out," By some miracle, I'm actually able to say that. I believe that is the miracle of detachment. "He lives with Saul now." "What?!" Both of them. The exact same way. "Yeah." "Carrots," Kyle's voice is like a plea, begging me not to give in to this news and let it burry me. I hold up a hand. "It's okay. I mean, at this point... coming this far," I shrug. "I just need to see him. I'll see him and then maybe I'll be able to make sense of some of what I'm feeling and understand this shit a little better. Until then I'm pretty much on auto pilot." "We noticed that," Jonas remarks. I figure they deserve an apologetic smile. And a little extra something for Kyle, "Sorry about all the rounds of Sexual Innuendo Ahoy! bro. I know that was probably scarring." Kyle affects a brave face, hiding his noble suffering. "It's okay." "Good." "You're still going then?" Jonas asks. I nod. "Yeah, one of the steps told me where it is. Which was... weird, but there you go. It's just on this same street, but guys..." "You want to go alone?" Kyle sounds grave, but unsurprised. This part of the plan was never really discussed, but I think they always hoped we'd be able to make it a team effort. "Yeah." Kyle makes the rest of the decision, "Jo, you and I should just go back to the hotel, that way Carrots, you can just take all the time you need, and then call a cab back," He pauses, hand searching his pocket, "Here's some cash for that." "Take as long as you need eh?" Jonas adds as I reach to take the money from Kyle. I nod and share one look of solidarity with them before taking a deep breath and getting out of the car. Getting from the Le Baron to Saul's house is the longest walk I've ever taken. And when I ring the doorbell the second it takes for the door to open lasts longer than my whole life has felt. Despite that, it seems very sudden at the same time -- all too sudden in fact -- to be facing a dark haired boy with huge watery green eyes in corduroys and an over-large t-shirt I hate recognizing as Celery's. I know that this can be no one but Saul and somehow despite the fact that I know this is his house, it takes me a minute to recover from that. I was so prepared for Celery to open that door. And the fact that Saul's wearing Celery's clothes and staring at me with tired but totally unruffled eyes is not helping me with my calmness issues. "Are you Paul?" His voice is tired scratchy and too deep for the harmless 13-year-old I convinced myself he was in my head. "Paul?" What? You expected an intelligent response at a time like this? "New guy at work? But then, if you were Paul, you'd already know about yourself. So Not Paul, what can I do for you today?" I blink. "Why are you here?" He tries again, not unkindly. "What do you need?" "Celery." I eventually and miraculously force out. This, though it didn't sound that impressive to the common observer, has certainly blown Saul away. He keeps raising his eyebrows and opening his mouth in an attempt to speak, but this is causing Saul great visible difficulty. He shakes his head a few times, slowing raising his head to look at me. "Are you," He swallows, "Carrots?" My name is spoken in some sort of bewildered awe, like I'm famous, but also fear and uncertainty. I nod, now mildly curious about what his reaction will be. "Hot damn." I'm shocked to find myself wanting to smirk and roll my eyes. I'm in no mood to deny myself right now, so that's just what I do. "Can I talk to him please?" Nothing like a good eye roll to get me feeling like my old self. At least enough to form sentences, anyway. There's an automatic involuntary looking flash of reluctance, but his face suggests he's aware that it's hard for me to have to ask this of him. "Yes, of course you can -- his room's just—" Explaining this suddenly becomes superfluous because Celery has emerged from a nearby door. He's holding a magazine in his hand, and appears to be reading it intently. Saul makes a desperate coughing noise and Celery's eyes jerk away from what he was reading and latch immediately onto me, widening into comical proportions with surprise. The colour literally drains from his face. He takes a stumbling step backwards into a nearby wall and just stays there, ashen faced and blinking at me like I'm the living dead. In what appears to be an exercise in supreme self restraint on Saul's part, he says nothing to Celery and limits himself to a brief squeeze of Celery's hand before he darts up the stairs, out of sight. This is how things progressed into me standing in the doorway and Celery standing half a meter away and both of us staring, wordless and white lipped from biting down on them so hard. He makes a sound almost like my name and I can't stop my feet from taking the step that leads me crashing into his arms anymore than I can stop the sob in my throat or the tears in my eyes when his arms rise from his sides to wrap themselves around me. We're together like that for a length of time I'm lost to calculate as I pound out my frustration and grief, a fist against his chest. I'm calm for a moment then, in his arms, once I've exhausted my anger, but this is a moment I can tell you quite confidently lasted barely a second before, hating how good it feels, I push him violently away and shut my eyes to the beauty of him that would make me forget and forgive anything and wrap my arms around myself. Just as I expected but should have feared, now that I'm here, I know exactly why. And I hate it. "Is this what you wanted?" I sob out the question. "Is this why you left -- to see if I would come after you? To see if you could push me this far away and still have me follow you?" All this, suddenly pouring out of me, everything I couldn't let myself think about the whole 20 hours on the way over here and the ones in between my deciding this was something I had to do and us getting in the car. The accusation hangs in the air but Celery's shocked and horrified look is enough to convince me it isn't true. I notice in a tired resigned sort of way that it doesn't really make this better. "Then why?" The desperate teary croak in my voice, "I know all the things you said were real I know that it's not just you... but what I don't know and can't understand is why you were able to actually leave when I couldn't stay away even while I was trying so hard to hate you." "Because you're different than me." He says, surprising me with the promptness and finality of his response. "You haven't learned how to take your pain and run with it quite the way I have. Because growing up in a real family teaches you how to deal and growing up in one like mine only teaches you how to duck? I don't know Carrots -- maybe because you're just a better person than me. Does it even matter?" He sounds so tired, and looks so worn. "Of course it matters!" He shakes his head. "Is there anything? Anything I could say, any reason I could give that would make it better? Make it hurt less? Change ANYTHING?" And of course it's only after he says it that I realize the answer is no. It's something my silence answers for me. The sigh that comes holds in it not even an ounce of self-pity, which I know because hearing it doesn't make me want to pummel him repeatedly. "What do you want me to say? I was a selfish bastard. I knew what my leaving would do to you and I did it anyway. I promised you I wouldn't leave and I DID IT ANYWAY. I'd love to say I had some nobler purpose in mind, that I was acting out of concern for you or our relationship, but that's a lie I couldn't stand to say any more than you to hear. And I can't even apologize, because I don't feel I deserve to ask for your forgiveness. But saying that, at least know for all that it was and the ways that it hurt you -- you have to know that it wasn't a calculated thing. There was no plan, no pre-meditation. It's just done... and I don't know how to make it better. Not what's been happening now or the stuff before it. This run away strategy of mine -- shockingly enough -- really isn't working so far." "This is me, so buried in sarcastic remarks and biting retorts I can't even pick one out of the din to say to you." It's mildly alarming and vaguely infuriating when he smiles and shakes his head. "I love you Carrots." I laugh, cause recently hearing him say that has started to seem like the funniest joke. Made all the more funny, of course, by my reply which is, "I love you too Celery." It's time for resigned embracing and resisting the urge to step on his toes. "You're such a bastard," I say, half because I love the muffled way my words sound when I'm talking into his chest. "Literally!" Celery shouts. I'm not entirely sure why, but I've always found the unnecessary shouting of "literally!" damn funny. Celery knows and agrees, and that is how we end up laughing hysterically, clinging to each other so we don't fall over. This of course, eventually results in both of us crashing to the ground in a heap. At which point my peasant friend who looks just like me arrives and we make a switch. And by that I mean, it's in that moment that Saul appears from the stairway. I notice belatedly that he's disturbingly and unexpectedly beautiful. "What's up?" Celery asks from his position beneath me on the floor. Saul answers, unfazed, "The guys called, wondering where we were. And so did Paul, apologizing for being late picking us up. I told him not to worry about it since you weren't going to be able to make it anyway." Celery looks massively relieved. "Thanks man." His voice is so warm. My heart screams. Saul flashes him a small smile. "I live to serve." He jokes casually. Half of Celery's mouth actually turns up into a smile, making me hate him. Saul that is. Well actually, maybe both of them. "I am planning to go over there though. Even without my brightest star," Celery rolls his eyes, "I can still get some good filming done. Anyway, they all want to know what's going on." Celery's face clouds. Saul smiles reprovingly, like he feels underestimated. "I'll compose some solid lies on the bus. The actual and difficult truth I'll happily leave to you." Celery laughs weakly. "You're too kind." "Dude, you know you love me." It's so offhand, so teasing, and that's exactly why it hurts. Because it speaks of familiarity and camaraderie. I don't understand how Celery avoided killing Colin. Celery'd already noticed the look on my face, and Saul is hot on his heels. He coughs awkwardly. "Am I still here? What's that about? Definitely time to hit the old dusty trail." Except he's not leaving. Celery's hand in on his shoulder (again!), and suddenly Saul looks like he's ready to do nothing less. Saul looks up at Celery carefully. "Are you okay?" Celery laughs hollowly. "There's no time." "Got it. Later though eh? I'd really like to talk to both of you." Celery glances hopefully in my direction (I'm still on the damn floor), but that's too far off. I can't even think about it. Perhaps sensing this, Saul abruptly switches topics, waving the cell phone in his hand at Celery. "Is it okay if I take this?" Celery nods. "I'm just a ring away." Firmly. Celery's mouth turns up in a half smile. "I'll be okay." They share a silent battle with their eyes. Saul looks away first, but his eyes fall on me, and he seems to instantly regain his confidence. "Look, I know I've got enemy stamped on my forehead right now and that you probably don't think I have any place in this, but this is the guy who saves me from routine pummeling at our local high school. This is the guy who listens to me rant about math and then consistently resists the urge to make fun of me afterwards. This is the guy who refuses to let my mom shovel or carry in the groceries or even BUY them half the time. This is my brother and my friend. Could you please try not to fuck him up anymore than he already is?" "Saul." Celery reprimands weakly. Saul effectively explodes. "Damnit John! Stop taking the blame for everything all the time! It's not helping anyone." It's exactly like my blood has turned to ice and a small bomb has gone off inside me at the same time. And I have to wonder, what happened to all the air in this room? I distinctly remember there being plenty a second ago. "John?" I echo. My voice some how escaping the shock that has rendered the rest of me immobile. "Oh shit," Saul covers his eyes with a hand. Celery just stands there, looking desolate and resigned, like things have gotten so bad he's not even going to try damage control anymore. "Saul," He eventually forces out. "Gone." And then he is. But once gone, Saul's presence is felt all the louder in the silence between us, my narrowed eyes and the echo of a name I almost forgot. "Is that who you are now?' I ask, less coldly than I first thought it. The audible swallow and pained look that answer me back causes my fists to clench and the last part of my heart that was struggling to remain intact to break in half before shriveling into nothing. (You gotta appreciate the way I'm still providing the imagery despite all that, don't ya?) I turn away from him and walk into the room he came out of not so long ago. I was in Celery's room in Winnipeg so rarely I have no expectations, nothing I can look for to see if Celery lives here anymore. The bed isn't made and the floor is littered with skateboard magazines, videos and cds. There are no posters on the walls, it's all just bare. There are several broken skate decks leaning up against one wall, alongside his current one. I sit down on the rumpled bed and stare at the picture of my 16-year-old self beaming at the 16-year-old Celery that sits on his bedside table. It shares a place with a broken looking clock and an ugly lamp. Celery is standing in the doorway watching me as I search my surroundings for a sign of the boy in that picture. "Did we know what we were doing?" I wonder aloud, staring again into our happy faces on that day we dared the world to suggest we'd ever be anything but together. "Do you feel differently than you did then?" Damn the whole concept of answering a question with a question. Damn it to hell. Damn the calmness in his voice too. I keep getting stuck in conversations I don't want to be having. And in no way is he helping by sounding once again like we're talking about a ham sandwich. "Now is not the time for your trademark stoicism!" Which I can barely care enough to bother telling you is a reverse Buffy quote. "I said everything I knew about what I was feeling before I left. I thought you were here because you didn't." Right. It's that easy. I'm going to do more than kick him in a minute. Just you wait. "I am finding it incredible that you can act like you don't care." Which is unfair enough of me to say that he calls me on it. "Fuck you Carrots," people seem to find saying that extremely satisfying lately. "Of course I care. That was actually supposed to be the point." "I thought you weren't going to pretend you left for noble reasons?" Inwardly I praise myself for turning my hurt into anger and not tears. Who's the man now? "There's nothing noble going on anywhere, and I meant right now. How there's nothing I can say anyway, so I might as well not even try but you deserve to get your rage on?" "So this is a martyr thing?" Just keeping up the good work. He laughs. Yay for the bitterness. "For I am the King of Emotional Martyr's -- may all lesser Emotional Martyr's bow before me." He proclaims this while sweeping his arms and puffing up his chest. I'm tempted to laugh. Or possibly smack him. In the end, all I can do is sigh and look around the room. "You moved out," I shake my head. "You moved out and you didn't even tell me. When did things get that bad, what happened?" Slowly, he comes over to sit by me on the bed. "It was always that bad. As you may recall, I used to spend 90% of my time at your house and still couldn't stand it. All Them all the time didn't go well. On my 18th I told Saul I was thinking of trying to find a place of my own and a couple hours later his mom was at the door with boxes and a rented van, ordering me to pack my things and informing me of my new address." I am Jack's enflamed sense of rejection. I try to speak, but fail rather spectacularly. Instead I just bore angry tear soaked eyes into his. There are so many ways this hurts I can't even form words. "I got nothing." He suddenly informs me. "What?" I croak like it's the first time I've spoken in 10 years. "There's no justification for why I didn't tell you or why I'm living in the room that used to serve as Saul's mini evil scientist lab instead of with you. There's nothing Carrots -- don't you see? Nothing to make it better. Not any of it." It takes me a long time, but I finally realize why. "You're happy here." And the fact that this is true is naturally the worst and most surprising part. I can't seem to stop laughing in the face of the worst hurts these days. "Yes." He replies (after several days). "And I was starting to be really happy there," I can't quite bear to say, `without you'. "Yes." "You saw. You saw and..." I have to stop a minute cause I'm really not ready to cry yet. "You felt like I'm feeling now?" Like screaming and laughing and breaking everything, especially the sources of the happiness that are taking him away from me. He nods. "I can't believe you didn't cut Colin's heart out with a spoon." I'm generous enough to say this now that I feel like I'm going to kill Saul on sight. His mother too. "It was touch and go there for awhile." He allows himself a small bitter smile. As has rapidly become the pattern for my life, yet another heavy silence blankets the room and us with it. Feelings swim inside me, crinching at my heart and making my eyes burn and I reach out to take his hand but our fingers bump as he's moving to do the same and we both jerk away as if magnetically repelled. With this final truth out in the open, I'm sure I'm thinking `what happens now?' hard enough for him to hear it without my actually speaking. I can almost laugh at the way `where do we go from here' has fallen into my head, but feel that I might only be good for laughing to hold back rage or crying anymore, and instead hold it all in. "We just have to," and then nothing, as if he has lost his nerve or thought or whatever. "What?" So hopelessly hopeful. "I'm having trouble making suggestions when I can't even achieve eye contact." It's an admission, not a shot. "I don't want to be without you." For this he will meet my eyes so immediately and automatic. "Happy or not, I'd still take anything over being without you," and it's the first time where I actually and honestly don't know if he'll feel the same way. "Even if you're better off?" I shake my head. "Answered that already Cel -- I've said. With you I am better, always. This itself is in no way new. Long past first blush with this revelation. It's your turn now. Don't answer for me, just say what YOU actually feel, for once." I have to brace myself, even to be able to ask the question. "Are you better off alone?"