Bow Grip (11 page)

“I’ll deal with her. I’m fine, I’m telling you. I can feed myself. I barely even have a headache now. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but seriously, all I feel right now is tired.”

“Your mom is freaking because of your dad, Joey. You need to call her. Call the doctor, too.” She took the pink prescription note out of her pocket and stuffed it into mine, next to my cigarettes. “You need to take this seriously, get it dealt with.”

“I’m not like him. I go to the fucking doctor, remember? I’ve had everything tested. I’ve jerked off into cups and had a camera up my ass. I’ll deal with it. You need to get off my case about it. You’re not my wife anymore.”

My words hung and stung in the space between us.

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

She took the keys out of the ignition, passed them across the empty seat between us.

“You’re right, Joey. Point taken. But call me later, okay? I love you.”

I didn’t say anything, mostly because I couldn’t talk around the lump of hard caught in my throat. I waved goodbye to Kathleen, locked up my truck, and half-hugged Ally
goodbye. She had said it aloud. I was right, we weren’t married anymore.

I waited until they had pulled the pick-up out onto the main road, until I was sure they couldn’t see me anymore. Then I lit a cigarette.

I
spent what turned out to be quite a bit of time in front of the mirror with a wet facecloth, trying to clean the dried blood out of my hair. I’d had stitches in my head a couple of times before, and I knew it was going to be a while until I could fully shower and wash my hair, because I couldn’t get my stitches wet. I poured myself a scalding hot bath, though, and climbed in, letting the heat soak the stiffness that was growing in my shoulders and neck. The water swirled pink around my head as I scrubbed my neck and behind my ears. My good white shirt was ruined. It was hanging, rinsed, wrung out, and wrinkled on the single hook on the bathroom door.

Panic attacks? What the fuck was that about? Right in front of Kathleen like that, too. She probably thought I was an idiot. She didn’t really know me that much, before. Didn’t have much to go on. Not that I should really care too much about how my ex-wife’s girlfriend felt about me, but I couldn’t help but want her to like me. Truth was, I wanted to like her right back. I think it was because it would have made me feel even worse, if that were possible, if it turned out Ally had left me for someone I thought was an asshole. Truth was, I wanted Kathleen to turn out to be an amazing person, someone Ally couldn’t help herself from loving enough to have to leave me. Somehow, I thought, that would take the edge off.

I put on some clean clothes and flopped on the bed in front of the TV. It was five o’clock. I needed to call my mother. I got up, went outside, and knocked on Hector’s
door. He was wearing a different bright white T-shirt, but the same grey work pants.

“Hector, I need you to do me a favour. Wait two minutes, then knock on my door, really loud. It’s really important. I’ll explain it later.”

Hector shrugged and nodded, started to put his boots on.

I went back to my room and called my mother.

“Thank God, Joseph. I just got off the phone with Ally. You didn’t tell me the name of the place you’re staying, and it’s been almost two hours since the girls dropped you off. I’ve been just sick with worry. You can’t sleep alone tonight. You’re not thinking straight.”

“I’m not alone, Mom. The guy next door is going to check on me. I’m fine. I’ve had worse from hockey. I’m going to the other doctor tomorrow, I’m all over it.”

Hector rapped on the door, right on cue.

“I gotta go, Mom, my buddy is here. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hung up before she could get started.

I let Hector in, pulled the chair out for him.

“That was my mother on the phone. Thank you. What a fucking day I’ve had. Beer?”

He nodded. I grabbed him one from the little fridge, got myself some water.

“You’re not joining me?” He laid his beer cap on the TV table, spun it in a slow circle.

“I’m on the codeine. I fell and cracked my head open today at my ex-wife’s new place. I just got back from emergency. Eight stitches.” I leaned over and pointed at my head.

“Youch. Should I slip next door and get the scotch?”

“Go ahead, if you want, I shouldn’t. Painkillers. I don’t take pills very much. I told my mother you were coming
over to make sure I don’t slip into a coma and drown in the bath or something. She thinks I should be staying at my ex-wife’s place tonight. With her new girlfriend.”

Hector shook his head, sympathetic. “That would never do.”

“Exactly.”

“How’d you do yourself in like that? You trip?”

“I wish. It was way weirder than that. I kind of … fainted, I guess. The doctor thinks I had a panic attack. I don’t know. I’m supposed to go get checked out fully tomorrow. It’s never happened before, so who knows. I didn’t think I was that stressed out. But my dad died from a heart attack four years ago, and I guess everybody is freaking out.”

“As they should, probably. Stress can do terrible things to a body, let me tell you.” Hector tapped his temple with a square-nailed fingertip. “Power of the mind. I had to learn that one the hard way, unfortunately. I lost a bunch of hair, all at once, years ago, when my wife died. Got an ulcer, too. You’ve got to watch the stress, Joseph.”

“Maybe I will have a little belt after all, Hector.”

He went next door and came back with the scotch, a heating pad, and a frozen gel icepack wrapped in a clean towel. He poured me just a sliver, left the bottle on the table. Passed me the towel and ice pack.

“Put the ice on your head. Ten minutes on, ten minutes off.”

“What’s the heating pad for?”

“Your feet. It feels good.”

“You’re not having a drink?”

“You probably need to just rest for a bit. I’ll come by later with some dinner. I’m in the middle of a chapter anyway. Can’t stop now. I’ll be back in two hours.”

I held the towel and ice pack up against my scalp, which felt crispy and hot. Turned the TV on with the remote. I watched about three and a half minutes of the news anchorman talking about an assault on Falujah, then crashed out, on top of the covers.

I woke up in the dark, sweating and heavy headed because I had cranked up the baseboard heater before getting into the tub and forgotten to turn it down. Hector was tapping at the door. I opened it, fanning it back and forth to let some cold air in.

“I don’t know if saunas are recommended for those with a head injury,” he said, offering me up a steaming plastic bag of take-out. “I hope you like lasagna.”

“Lasagna is great.” I held open the handles and looked inside. He had brought me a fork, and napkins, and little salt and pepper packets, too. “Thank you, Hector. Let me give you some cash to cover this.”

He waved his hand. “I won’t hear of it. How does the head feel?”

“I feel okay. Not even much of a headache.”

Hector was still standing in the doorway, smelling like aftershave. He had changed his shirt.

“Come on in, I’m sorry. Have you eaten?”

“I’m actually going out to meet a friend. I’ll call you later, though, and make sure you don’t need anything.”

I watched him through my fogged-up window, twirling his key ring around and catching it in his palm as he crossed the parking lot and climbed into his truck. Watched his tail lights turn onto the ramp that led to the highway. He looked kind of spiffed up. Like maybe the old guy had himself a date.

The phone rang. It was Ally. I gave her the same line as
I gave Hector, and promised I’d call her in the morning.

I sat down on the straight back chair. My eyes caught the edge of the cello case in the mirror behind the TV. It had been leaned up against the closet door for two days, untouched. I took it out, pulled the stringed instrument manual out of my bag. The lowest string sounded odd when I plunked it, and I fiddled with the peg that tightened and untightened the string, experimenting with how it changed the sound. Dug around in my brain for what little I had absorbed about music in band class in grades nine and ten. Mostly I had just fucked around with Jimmy Baker, the other trumpet player, and Owen Price on trombone, emptying our spit valves on the girls who were trying to play the flute on the riser below us.

You can only play one note at a time on the trumpet, but you could play up to four at one time on the cello. I knew I had to tune the strings, but I needed something to tune them to. The manual suggested a piano, or a tuning fork, or a pitch pipe. I dug around in the bureau drawer for the phone book to look up music stores. So far I hadn’t accomplished any of the things I had come to Calgary for: no cello teacher, no cowboy’s wife. I was even still driving around with Ally’s stuff in the box of my truck. That wasn’t like me.

Again there was a knock on the door. It was Kelly, in jeans and white boots, a baby blue jean jacket. She was holding a clear glass bowl full of green Jell-o cut into squares, with a dab of half-melted whipped cream on top.

“Hey, you. Hector told me you bashed your own head in. I brought you some dessert, leftover from me and Raylene’s dinner. Hey, I didn’t know you could play anything.”

She pushed past me into the room, bringing with her
a cloud of hairspray. She whipped the Saran Wrap off the bowl and pulled a teaspoon out of her back pocket. “Eat up. I need the bowl back for cereal tomorrow.”

Of course I couldn’t tell her I hated anything flavoured green: Life Savers, Kool-Aid, key lime pie. Always had. I sat down and dutifully spooned Jell-o cubes into my mouth, even though I hadn’t even touched the lasagna yet.

She watched me eat every last bit, then took the bowl and rinsed it in the sink. Put it on the bureau by the door, with the spoon in it. Then she leaned toward me.

“So let me see the wound.”

I bent down and let her have a look.

“Gross. It doesn’t even look real. Looks like a makeup job. Weird. Wanna play me something?”

“I really just got the thing. Just learning. All I can play is the first ten notes or so, from ‘I Found My Thrill on Blueberry Hill.’”

“My grandpa used to totally love that song.”

Maybe she wasn’t even twenty yet.

“How old are you, Kelly?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. Just making conversation.”

“Twenty-one. You?”

“Just turned forty in June.”

“You look a lot younger. You still have all your hair and stuff.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Anyways, I just thought I’d bring you over some dessert, and also, I kind of have a favour to ask you. You totally don’t have to say yes or anything, but I just thought I’d ask if you would mind watching Raylene for me tomorrow night. I have my dog grooming class on Fridays,
and my friend from work who usually takes her has to go to Canmore because her dad got a hernia operation and can’t cook or anything. It’s only for three hours, and Raylene’ll probably sleep most of the time. She’s hardly any trouble at all, especially if she doesn’t know you. It would be a really big favour. I’ll cook you dinner on Sunday cuz that’s my day off, if you’re still gonna be here.”

“I’ll be happy to watch her for a bit, if that’s okay by her.”

“She’ll be fine, I promise. It’s my teacher who’s giving us the puppy, so Raylene is cool with me going to school. She’s into it. I told her she could come to work with me one day, when I’m working with all the animals. She loves animals. Tony was allergic to everything. Only ever let her have goldfish.”

“What time is your class?”

“Seven-thirty. Thanks so much, Joey. I knew you were a nice guy. Remember, I said I could always tell. I’d ask Hector, but Raylene says his eyebrows are creepy. Kids are harsh sometimes. She doesn’t know too many older men, and I think Hector reminds her of Tony’s dad. He was a drunk, and used to take out his false teeth and chase her around with them. Thought it was funny. Then he had a stroke and drooled when he talked. Freaked her out, I think. ”

“Bring her by. I’ll make sure I’m home by around seven then?”

“Can it be closer to six-thirty? I have to take the bus to my class.”

“I’ll be here.”

“You rock. Do you like pork chops with mushroom sauce? It’s me and Raylene’s favourite. I always make it on Sundays.”

“I love pork chops.”

“Cool. I’ll let you get back to your music then.”

“I was just going to put it away. It’s getting kind of late.”

“Nobody can hear you on this side, except maybe the old gin lady, and she’s probably passed right out by now. Hector’s not home. He had a big date.” She winked.

“I thought he looked dressed up. I’ll have to get the scoop from him tomorrow.”

Kelly looked at me. “I doubt he’d tell you much about that.”

“Why not? He’s a pretty talkative type. He’s a writer, they like to tell stories, don’t they?”

“Just about other people. That’s why he always asks so many questions. He’s going to put everyone in his book. He even told me so once. Anyhoo, I should get back. I’ll talk to you tomorrow? Thanks again, Joey.”

“Thanks for the Jell-o.”

She picked up the bowl and pulled the door shut behind her, clicking it softly. She left a waft of hairspray lingering, and something cinnamon, smelled like gum, or maybe it was lip gloss.

I
fooled around on the cello some more after Kelly left, liking the way the strings whistled under the callouses that were beginning to bud on the tips of my fingers. I had the TV on real low in the background, one of those Bollywood-type movies was on, where the rich young bachelor wants to marry the beautiful maiden from a lower caste, but her father threatens to kill her if she marries him, and castrate him and all of his brothers and nephews, meanwhile every ten minutes or so everybody breaks out in a killer musical number. I sat with my butt cheeks right on the edge of the mattress and just scronked along with the music.