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The People Who Love Her
Ever since Sephie arrived from Calgary I noticed things about her. She was quieter than usual, she looked tired and she had this new way of staring at me, like she was reminding herself why we were there together. She laughed at me when I suggested going to our old favourite Irish pub, said she’d rather go dancing. I hate all that f***g fiddle music, she said. Me too, I said. I just thought... It had only been six months since I’d seen her. There was a new club where all the Toronto kids liked to go, with two big muscular guys out front wearing tuxes and headsets over their bald, fat heads, where you couldn’t wear sneakers and had to pay ten bucks at the door. We drank a bottle of Jäger at my apartment while we were getting ready and then stumbled into a cab. At the club we drank martinis that looked like antifreeze and then we lost each other on the dance floor. At one point I looked up and saw Sephie dancing on a speaker, sandwiched between two Asian girls wearing matching silver miniskirts. She was much taller than them, and they slid up and down her, as if they were the strippers and Sephie was the pole. When I found Sephie again she was on her knees on the wet bathroom floor, retching into a clogged toilet while the two Asian girls sat on the counter smoking cigarettes. One of her shoes was missing, and her ankle was purple and swollen. I held her hair back and since there was no toilet paper I found her some paper towel, which she wiped across her mouth and then tossed on the floor. I took a drag from one of the girls’ cigarettes while Sephie splashed cold water on her face. When I looked in the mirror I realized my makeup looked like a drunk person had done it. What happened to your ankle? I asked Sephie. She stared at me blankly, an open tube of lipstick shaking in her hand. Your ankle. It looks like it’s sprained. She raised the tube to her mouth. Sometimes Albert hits me, she said. The two girls giggled. Albert? I said stupidly. I never thought of Albert as a hitter. Albert was old. He designed houses. He drove four cars at once. Not Albert. Yup. That’s how crazy I make him. She stared at the lipstick for a second, her eyes out of focus. Then she bit off the tip. When she opened her mouth again her teeth were caked with red. Gross, one of the girls said. They giggled again. Sephie looked down at her feet. My ankle really hurts, she said. Maybe I should go to the hospital. We sit in Cosy’s for three hours until the waitress tells us she’s closing. I pay the bill while Sephie struggles with her crutches. My heart is beating very fast and my mouth is dry. I cough loudly and the waitress gives me a dirty look along with my change. Once we’re outside, Sephie leans against a tree and lights a cigarette. I sit down on the grass next to her, looking up at her. I’ve just always done that. I wonder how I would know who I was without her. Are you going back to Calgary? I ask. Sephie stares at me. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I? She takes one drag of her cigarette and then butts it out against the tree. When we get home we each take two more of the pills. I start to feel calmer. Sephie hops around the apartment; her stuff is everywhere. The cat follows her, batting at her foot bobbing in the air. Your flight’s not until Tuesday, I say. You don’t have to pack yet. I know, Sephie says, zipping up her suitcase. I was just feeling, I don’t know, scattered. I’m sinking into the couch. There is a show on TV about sharks and I watch very closely until the rest of the world fades away. Sephie sits on the couch next to me, propping her feet up on the coffee table. I pull a blanket over us, even though it is still so hot. Under the blanket I can feel Sephie’s hip bone pressing gently against mine. On a chair on the other side of the room, the cat follows something with her eyes that I can’t see. It suddenly feels as if the room is teeming with things I can’t see, thick in the air around us, and, as usual, I am oblivious. |
