“Who wants to be normal?”
“I do.”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
All at once, I felt inexplicably sad. The marijuana amplified the emotion and the alcohol loosened my grip on it. I started to cry, quietly at first, but soon I was sobbing.
“Well, that’s no good,” the woman said. “Come here.”
She gathered me into a hug and I leaned against her, choking back a rush of aimless grief. The woman stroked my hair, hushing me, and I sobbed into her chest until the kettle started to buck and whistle.
“I need to get that,” she said, gently.
I dropped my head to my hands, sick and ashamed.
“Sure you don’t want tea?” she asked. I shook my head and wiped my eyes. She brought her cup over and gave me a tired smile. “Where are you from, sweetie?”
My tears receded as abruptly as they’d come, leaving a cool blankness in their wake. I felt under the blanket for my clothes.
“Did you grow up around here?” she persisted.
“No. I… Sorry, have you seen my pants?”
The woman smiled, as steam writhed above her cup. “You know, I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this, but I went to that bar tonight looking for you. Not someone like you. You. And here you are, sitting on my couch. Isn’t that funny?” She gazed at me intently. “We were like two magnets, sliding together…”
I had no memory of meeting the woman or making my way to her place. She seemed to have conjured me there, like a witch in a fairy tale. A cool draft swept over me and I shuddered. The step stool in the corner was just a step stool again. My limbs remembered how to move. I groped around the legs of the futon.
“What’s wrong?” the woman asked.
“Nothing. I’m just cold.”
“Why don’t you have some tea?”
I nudged something furry under the futon and pulled my hand back. The kettle whistled again. I looked around and saw that the stovetop was empty. Fear pricked at my scalp. The woman muttered something about magnets, how stubborn they could be. She lowered her cup to the table in slow motion. The whistling grew louder, higher in pitch. Then in a flash, I was on top of her, wringing her throat with both hands as she flailed and clawed at my back, her face going dark. I jerked out of the vision. The whistling had stopped. I hadn’t moved. The woman was still in the process of putting down her cup, but she looked stunned. Her free hand went up to her collarbone. “I think…” she said, “you’d better leave.”
“Why?” I said. “What did you see?”
She got up and opened a door onto a narrow hallway.
“That’s not me,” I told her. “Whatever you saw, that’s not who I am.”
In the light from the hall, I spotted my clothes balled up under the futon and grabbed them, quickly hauling them on. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” I insisted, as if the woman had contradicted me. “These things, they just come. I don’t know why…”
The woman remained at the door, saying nothing. I grabbed her by the arms and slammed her up against the wall. The scene collapsed. I was still standing on the opposite side of the room. I couldn’t have possibly touched her.
“Hank!” she called, an edge of panic in her voice.
A thick-necked bald man appeared in the doorway. “Everything all right?”
“I want this boy to leave.”
“You heard the woman,” Hank said.
“I didn’t do anything!” I shouted. “I didn’t touch her!”
Hank stepped into the room and the woman stopped him with a hand on the arm.
“Look,” she said to me. “I feel for you. I really do. But whatever you need, whatever you’re missing, you’re not going to find it here… So this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to count to three and you’re going to get the fuck out of my room.”
“But—”
“One.”
“I just—”
“Two.”
I hurried past her into the hall, turning to ask, almost desperately: “Do you still want to know my name?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t.”
She shut the door, leaving me alone in the hall with Hank, who shrugged and gave me a look that was not without sympathy. “Go home,” he said. My eyes were stinging. I wove down the hall to the front door and half-fell down the stoop. The sidewalk was dry but I felt like I was stepping in puddles. I hugged a streetlight and patted my pockets. No wallet. No keys. I did a slow turn, squinting at the surrounding buildings. The effort of remembering what door I’d come out of was too much. I vomited on the street without warning. Two women in short skirts went “Ohhhh!” and cackled as they passed me by. I staggered to an empty payphone booth at the end of the block. Every number I’d ever committed to memory scrolled through my head as I picked up the receiver. After a long moment, I set the receiver back down. There wasn’t a soul in the world I could have called for help.
CHAPTER FIVE
The apartment had never been neater: counters gleaming, the clutter gone, the recycling and trash in their designated receptacles. The previously bare walls had been filled with amateurish but original renderings of brightly coloured doors. The bathroom was spotless, a red toothbrush resting against mine in a glass on the sink. The bedroom was just as neat, dirty clothes in a hamper, the comforter on the bed, perfectly square. The telephone beside me rang and I picked up cautiously, with the tips of my fingers.
“Hello?”
“I’m on my way home,” Kim said, as multiple dogs barked in the background. “Have you eaten?”
“Um… I’m not sure.”
“Oh boy. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Strangely apathetic, I sat half-dozing by the telephone until it rang again.
This time a male voice greeted me.
“Just a friendly reminder. Eight o’clock at the university.”
“The university?”
“That’s right. I assume you’ll be leaving fairly soon? If you’re taking a cab, remember to get a receipt.”
I stood up to clear my head and bright spots bloomed on the wall.
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“It’s David Cavendish.”
“The agent?”
“Ye-es.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just a little… under the weather.”
“Felix… You’re not trying to back out on me, are you?”
“No,” I said, surprised by the aggression in his voice.
“Good. I know it’s not your favourite thing to do, but it’s necessary. Two hours of your life and it’ll be over. I’ll find you when it’s done.”
I hung up and looked at my watch. The hands wobbled and tipped, before resolving at their fixed points. Six-thirty. I couldn’t seem to wake up. I wanted to put on coffee, but the cupboards had all been rearranged. I gave up and stopped in front of the fridge. A dog-shaped magnet held an advertisement for a reading at the university auditorium, featuring me and a number of other authors. Before I could even think to panic, the door rattled and in came Kim, wearing dramatic makeup and a feathery looking skirt. Her smile fell when she saw me. “You’re not dressed.”
“Where are the coffee filters?”
“On the microwave. Why aren’t you dressed?”
“On the microwave? How am I supposed to find them there?”
“Felix.”
“What?”
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
“I’m sick.”
Her face darkened. She marched into the bedroom and brought out a pile of folded clothes. It seemed easier to obey than protest, so I stripped off my sweatpants and T-shirt and put on the collared shirt and slacks that she’d chosen. As she did up my tie, I stood with my arms at my sides, transfixed by the fleshy bud of her pursed lips, painted a jarring shade of red. She grabbed a sport coat and loafers out of the closet, then wet her thumb on her tongue and wiped at something on my right cheek. I suspected there was nothing there, that she was licking her thumb and wiping again, just below my eye socket, to prove some strange point.