Date: Wed, 24 Nov 2004 20:44:14 -0600 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Part Three Chapter 29 Lisa it's your birthday... Happy Birthday Lisa... And by that I mean, this is Megan's birthday chapter. Blame her if it makes you sad. --- The problem with ever thinking anything is okay ever, is that it's a really stupid thing to do. Because I mean, think about it. There's always going to be another fight, or tragedy or accident, or whatever. And there's this moment, when you realize that you'll never be safe. Not ever again. What's worse is that you realize you've NEVER been safe from disaster, and that every kind of misery that could befall a human being is waiting around the corner, bound and determined to smother you to death at any moment. Thing's don't even need to happen. Bombs live inside people everywhere, waiting to go off. Hormones and chemicals and synapses can betray without warning. And they do. They can take a perfectly wonderful moment and make it into something ugly simply by turning your feelings into ash before you even recognize the change. There was no fight. There was just a 30 second phone call that broke through our fragile yet perfect seeming peace. 30 seconds was all my brain needed to swing viciously back into anger and melancholy for no reason I could justify and it made me so frustrated and sad that by the time he'd switched off his phone Celery's eyes widened in shock upon discovering there were tears in mine. This was some nameless fear, a bitterness at moments lost that had nothing to do with him, so I was allowed the comfort of his arms, but instead of buoying my mood, it pulled his down. We clung to each other glumly, not bothering to move or shed off excess clothes as the sky blackened outside his small window and the room slowly receded into darkness. Sleep came in small gasps and brought strange dreams, short and intense. We woke up and talked about them, but our dreams were never shared, and nothing ever made sense in the telling. Morning arrived before any real rest was achieved and we were already making tiny cuts with our eyes and voices as we pried ourselves apart and showered because it was so easy and our heads hurt. I found myself resenting a happiness and clam that could be taken away so easily, so we fought about that too. It was far too automatic and simple to be angry with each other, and we hated that most of all. If I had been thinking about it, it might have occurred to me that all this tension was probably due to the fact that we were ignoring the inevitably of my approaching departure the next day, but I was not. Thinking about it that is. But you know what's a lot more comforting and effective than you might think? Make up Yatzee. Note the lack of sarcasm or jest. After one more false start to recovery and the deep conversation fraught with heart wrenching revelations No. 174.2 that followed the sniping of the morning, Celery and I got our sorry asses down to Kyle and Jonas's general location, which turned out to be a deli/bar they discovered when wandering around near the hotel that gave me warm fuzzies because it reminded me strongly of Cousins, especially in the board games at the back capacity, and I what meant to say in dramatically fewer words is we all met up at a deli and have since spent the day sitting around drinking Jones pop and playing Yatzee. In between best-out-of-three tournaments Jonas seems nearly physically incapable of losing, we take turns making trips to the cooler for more drinks and going to the front counter for these abnormally large cookies I've theorized must have crack in them. Sometimes we go in pairs, and on one such occasion, Kyle takes the opportunity provided by Jonas and Celery's absence to punch me in the arm and congratulate on `becoming a man' in the sense that I've engaged in senseless violence for the very first time and finally released some of my aggression. *I* take the opportunity to scoff audibly, "Yeah, and such a healthy outlet for my anger. He-man violence. My cup runs over with pride." Kyle grins in the face of this caustic sarcasm. "It's just satisfying to have you come join the rest of us stupid testosterone driven males every once and awhile, that's all." I try to avoid pausing to consider that the correct way to interrupt this statement would be to conclude I'm being called girly, and that Kyle's saying he's glad it's finally like he has a real brother around and instead take the track that prompts this reply. "So this is just you enjoying a chance to be smug about my most recent fall my grace, is that it?" I'm pretty sure there aren't many more grace rungs from which to plummet. He nods. "Sure. Mere mortals like me have to get our kicks where we can." Detecting seriousness, I sigh. "Kyle, is this some sophisticated form of cruel mockery my mind is too feeble to comprehend? I've been acting like a spoiled petulant brat pretty much full time for going on a year now. There's been plenty to be smug about, if that's what you're looking for. Mine has not been the behavior of one deserving admiration. I have no where to be knocked down from." Kyle shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. You haven't killed Celery, Saul or yourself. I'd say you've displayed the patience and restraint of a Saint." I stare at him blankly. "I'm serious." "That's what I find so disturbing." I respond flatly. His eyes go frighteningly cold, "Whatever amount of it you've been responsible for yourself – you've still gone through hell this year. And despite all that and every time you've failed or been failed, you're still here, trying to work things out. You've forgiven more that I thought Celery was ever capable of requiring and instead of giving him the ultimatum I'd have to say I think he richly deserves, you spent the week trying to adapt yourself to this new life he started on the sly and get to know his friends. That you only punched one of them – who from Celery's reports has a mouth that gets him into fights every other week – would once again fall under "restraint of a Saint" category in my book." I blink. "Restraint of a Saint rhymes, did you notice that?" "It wasn't intentional, but yes, I did notice." "I love a good unintentional rhyme." "I know you do Carrots." About that time it occurs to us that Celery and Jonas have been gone longer than could generally be considered reasonable for a trip to buy four veggie burgers (lunch!) and another round of Jones Orange Cream Soda, so we get up and mosey over to the front counter, where we fully expect to find Jonas and Celery. And we do. The part that comes as something of a surprise is that Celery is on the phone having a conversation that at first glance appears to involve a great deal of getting interrupted and heavy sighing. When he sees me he actually looks relieved, shoving his cell phone at me saying, "Here, it's Saul." Mystified, I put the phone to my ear. "Buddy?" Notice my masterful use of irony. "So I hear you punched Jay in the mouth." Ah. "Yeah, I did." Not sure what else to say. "Totally understandable – we've all been there. What I'm checking about is if this was a `jay is a mouthy punk, loveable only if you're Celery – and here we define Celery as `insane, often a very poor judge of character and possibly blinded by the worship in Jay's eyes' kind of punching, or a `you know who deserves a good punching? Jared, that's who. But damnit, he's all the way over there... oh hey, Jay – punch!' type situation. I'm guessing it was the latter, but wanted confirmation." I resist the urge to punch the air. "I knew you would understand!" Which, take a beat to yet again love the irony. "We dislike Jared for the same reason we dislike each other – except possibly more cause –" "He's a total poser?" "Exactly." "So, is that all you wanted to talk to me about?" "Yep." "Okay then." "See you around." I take a moment to try to figure out how to turn off Celery's phone, and then give up and hand it back to him. This is when I notice that he's staring at me quite as though one would stare at someone who has spontaneously grown several extra heads. A moment later I notice the same looks on Kyle and Jonas's faces. I do one of my patented frustrated noises at the back of my throat before saying, "Relax guys. It was just a civil conversation – it's not like we're going to pick out curtains and a china pattern you know?" They all seem to feel continuing to stare at me is the best way to respond to this. I do the angry noise again, and then sigh. "Let's just move on shall we?" My motion meets with no resistance, and we get the food Jonas and Celery never got around to and then return to the table. After all the food is gone and Jonas gets his second bonus Yatzee of the game, I'm feeling just bored and spiteful enough to say, "So, did you guys decide what you're going to do about the Parental Factor?" Jonas shifts in his chair, but Kyle answers promptly. "As yet, the house is divided. 50% voted for groveling and submission to wrath in hopes of maintaining peace, while the other 50% put out a strong motion in favour of putting a permanent end to cowering under tyranny and hurting those who truly love you in favour of said tyrants. Guess which side I voted for?" There's a shocked pause before I sputter, "Jesus Kyle, maybe you should have punched Jay too. It works wonders for the old pent up reserves of hostility." Jonas is up and running from the table a second after these words pass my lips and there's barely a gap measurable by known units of time to before Celery is fixing Kyle to the table with a look and jumping up after him. Once Celery too has disappeared out the deli doors, Kyle's shoulders sag and his face crumples. "It's been a banner year for us Vasskez brothers, hasn't it?" I'm without a sarcastic or witty quip this time around so I just reach over and grasp his hand across the table. We stare at each other bleakly, and we're still doing so when Celery and Jonas come back nearly 20 minutes later. Jonas's jaw is set and his eyes bright, determined. Kyle is visibly lost for words. Just when I think an apology might be creeping onto his lips, Jonas cut him off with an impatience wave of his hand. "Look, no one's saying you're wrong okay?" A crack in his armor forms, but he keeps most of the emotion out of his voice. "It's just that this is just isn't one of those time where logic applies." Kyle's choice of response is breathtaking in it's simplicity as he holds up his arm and Jonas bites back relief as he rushes to take the invitation and slides into the booth beside Kyle under said arm. Just as Celery's taking his seat next to me, Kyle presses his lips to Jonas's ear, and whispers something that sounds suspiciously like, "I'm sorry anyway goldie.' But, after he does he goes back to looking stoic and vindicated, so that's just a theory. Most of the charm of endless games of Yatzee is lost in the wake of such things, and following along with conventional wisdom we put a stop to it, settle our bill and roll out (in the Le Baron). Suitably exhausted after such a whirly-gig of fun as the past few days have been, I fall asleep not long after getting into the car and curling up on Celery's conveniently located shoulder. When I open my eyes, he's smiling at me. "What?" Suspiciously. "Nothing. I'm just happy." I push myself up into a sitting position, eyeing him with heightening alarm. "Why?" He shrugs. "Because – why shouldn't I be? You're here! You're beautiful and you're mine and you're HERE. What right do I have to be unhappy?" "After all, you're young and free in Canada!" "Exactly." I nod. "Okay. I'm in. I'm on the joy train." And grin. He sighs. "Well it won't work now." "Why not?" I sputter. "Because these things have to be spontaneous." "It was your idea!" "It wasn't an idea – it was an emotion." But what you have to pay attention to are the corners of his mouth, and how he's working hard to stop them from turning up into a stupid grin. "You're ridiculous." He loses the battle and grins. "Whatever." I kiss him, and for a minute things are so simple again. Celery threads our hands and I settle against him. For the first time in too long, life is perfect, because we're together. "Clearly that goat idea of yours was much better than I realized." Which is his way of letting me know he feels it too. "See?" Triumphant. "You scoffed – but now you see how brilliant it was." "I think we should do it. Scout ourselves a nice cave somewhere, steal some goats. It'll be perfect. Just us." "No one else." I pause. "Of course, you'll have to do all the work." "What work?" "Oh you know – all the manly woodsmen work... log cutting and animal slaying and so on." "And what will you do?" "Lounge about on furs strewn about the cave floor and wait around for you to come home and ravish me." He laughs and kisses my shoulder. "What about the goats baby?" "Oh well, I assumed they'd just take care of themselves. Goats are very industrious you know." "I thought going to the mountains and raising goats was the whole point?" "Maybe in your scenario. I like mine better." He kisses me again, on my neck this time. "Me too." "So it's settled. We're to run away and become inattentive goat herdsmen." "Best men in the woods." "Can we live one forest over?" Jonas wants to know. I almost jump, as this question is the first reminder I've gotten since waking that we still happen to be in the Le Baron, meaning along with Kyle and Jonas. Not that I would have conducted myself differently if I'd remembered sooner, nor am I embarrassed now. It just startled the fuck out of me. Still, I have to grin, once I've recovered, as this question of this surely implies some sort of victory for my eldest brother. "Absolutely. We'll take epic once a year hikes over to your cave and give you goats to bless your home. It'll be great!" Kyle refrains from loudly protesting, but has this to say, "Jonas – recognize that I'm going to require that we have some sort of electoral slash plumbing system hooked up in our cave." Jonas gives him a confident thumbs up. "Recognized." "We better look into something like that for ourselves." I mention to Celery. He nods. "I'll get right on that." After a long silence of silence set off only by the hum of the car and the distraction of passing cars I venture, "Could anyone see themselves being even vaguely enthusiastic about putting the drunks to bed and confronting our real fears instead?" Am I the only one who wishes Doug would have let the Bonaduces rest in peace instead of reanimating the corpse and calling it The Paperbacks? (This is a related topic if you're aware that what I just said was partly a quote from the Bonaduces song). But back to matter at hand. Which would primarily be the resounding lack of answer to my question by all concerned. I'd criticize, but I'm not exactly tripping over my pylons of desire to go through anymore emotional Olympics myself just yet. "I'm up for mentioning that we should probably call mom and dad one of these days. To, you know, let them know we're all still alive and what the plan is." I'll get to the second part as soon as there is one. "No one's called them yet? At all? Jesus – they're probably in the midst of a massive search and rescue mission as we speak!" "Chill Winston. I called them – but only once – well, twice. The morning we got there and then again that night, to say we would be staying for awhile. I told them I'd call them again once I knew how long that would be, but I don't really yet. Still, no one's going to be releasing a fleet of hounds following the sent they picked up from getting up close and personal with one of your socks any time soon." "Even so." "Lecture me on correct parent/son relations Carrots. See how fast it gets you kicked out of the car." Jesus. And here I thought Kyle was the last safe place I had left. The one relationship I was sure I hadn't (and could not) screw up. I opt quickly to take the not getting kicked out of the car route, "Yeah. Sorry." Kyle lets me off easy with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I sort f didn't mean for it to come out that way." "Probably best that it did. I need to be reminded of the people I have to make stuff up to, the work that needs to be done if I want things to get better. Because you know, I do, and they will." It ends up sounding more commanding than you might think. >From his seat beside me in the back of the Le Baron Celery's looking tense and startled. Maybe because nothing's been resolved between us, or that we seem to be far too good at instantly tearing any resolutions down. I meet his gaze steadily. "I want things to be better. All the things in my life. I need them to be, because they can." While not spoken, the implication is clear. It's time to move on. Pick up the pieces, sort through the wreckage, salvage what I can and throw away the rest. It may be simply my most recent epiphany borne life change decision of many, but it's my favourite, and I'm determined to do this. To make the necessary changes. With or without him. (I'm almost brave enough to mean it.) "I think I like this talk better when it was about goats." Jonas cuts weakly through the nearly audible tension following my declaration. At Jonas's words Celery's eyes break from mine, and settle determinedly out the window. I keep looking at him, watching his Adam's apple move as he breathes heavily and takes deep reaching swallows. This goes on until we reach Saul's house, and I have time to wave good night to Kyle and Jonas hastily after I get out of the car and follow Celery's rapidly receding back into the house. We lie down together and he closes his eyes tightly. I listen to his breath waiting for it to go from ragged to smooth or give me some other kind of sign. When he opens his eyes, they're blazing brightly. "I'm so angry." I reach up, and brush rebel strands of hair out of his eyes. "I know." The softness of my gaze eventually breaks him, and Celery dissolves into tears, angry and broken. "I wanted to hold onto your forever." I want to beg him with every ounce of strength in my body to understand that he still can, to make him see that despite all our changes we still belong primarily in each others arms. But I say nothing, knowing it is a decision he must arrive at on his own. In the place of pleading words what I offer up as persuasion are my hands around his face, my legs across his as I straddle his body and look down at him with tear soaked eyes. "I am here," I whisper. "Here in your arms. But for no longer than it fails to cause you pain." At this, his hands, which had hitherto lain limp at his sides, come up and grip my own. "I told you, I mean, that what I've been trying to tell you anyway. It doesn't matter that I've found happiness without you – happiness with you is the only kind I care to have. You are the thing that I trust... you will always be one who saved me. For that and for everything that you now are, I will always love you." It's two plus two equaling four, it's gravity. Trusted, accepted, but infinitely comforting at the right times. I kiss him fiercely, possessively. "That goes for me too – all of it. If you ever doubt that again – doubt US again – I may be forced to kill you." It's scary cause it's true. He nods. "Okay." I'm brave enough for the next bit now. "I need you to come home." Confusion... reluctance... shadows of too many doubts to name. "This isn't who you are," brushing my fingers against his lips, our faces still close enough to be almost touching, his eyes almost the sum of what I can see. I have to draw away from this tantalizing closeness to be able to say the rest of it. "Or it is," I shrug heavily. "And if that's the case, the person I love doesn't exist anymore." And either way, I have to leave. It's just a question of whether or not he'll come with me. Without a moment's hesitation, he places his hand against my (pounding) heart. "I'm right here baby." Against my sob of relief he murmurs, "And I promise this time I'm staying, okay?" I nod brokenly and allow myself the luxury of falling sobbingly into his open arms.