We both stared at my emaciated body and burst into laughter.
“You seem chipper,” he said with delight. “What happened to the downer we all know and love?”
“I tell you, Jerry. This cancer is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It turns out this is what I’m good at.”
He sat at my bedside and rubbed my leg in an unwelcome way. “I tell ya, Brucey… we’re all good at something. You’re lucky you found out what it was before you died.”
He held up his hand for a high five, which I tried to return, but succeeded only in falling out of the bed and hitting my head on the floor. While trying to help me up, Jerry stepped on my face and slipped backward, falling through the bedroom wall and bursting a pipe. Water gushed into the apartment. While nursing our recently acquired injuries, we rolled around laughing.
Belinda came running back from the other room and saw us laughing on the ground and the water pouring down around us. “Think the pipe’s broken,” she said.
“Blame Jerry!’ I yelled.
“Nah… blame Brucey’s face.”
We continued laughing.
“Well now I don’t know who or what to blame. Should we try and fix it?”
Jerry helped me to my feet and I fell to the bed. “I don’t know how to fix pipes,” I said. “Do either of you?”
They both shook their heads so hard that Belinda’s quail flew away. She went chasing after it, forgetting about the broken pipe. “Think I’ll just leave it,” I confided to Jerry.
“Yeah… fuck that! Plumbers are expensive and they steal all your underwear.”
We both sat on my bed, the apartment slowly filling with water, flotsam floating around our feet. We spent some time practicing our high fives — this time slowly and gently to avoid further carnage.
“Hell!” said Jerry. “I nearly forgot. I actually came here for a reason.”
It was strange to hear Jerry say this. Until those words left his mouth, I had forgotten he had ever arrived. In my mind he had always been there, in this room. My mind really was starting to slip.
“I came to take you out tonight. Ever since our last adventure, I’ve acquired a taste for partying with you. What do ya say? Feel like getting fucked up and hitting on some women?”
With my newfound confidence buzzing about inside me, I didn’t want to refuse. I knew exactly where I wanted to go. I was a little concerned though. Fiona had expressly forbidden me to leave the apartment without her. She claimed that in my condition I was liable to wander aimlessly into oblivion, never to be found again. But this was different… Jerry would be my guide and keep me safe.
“Let’s go to the Tent Bar again,’ I said.
Jerry slapped his thigh. “You have balls man! Not too many jump at the chance to return to the scene of the crime, if you get my meaning.”
Whether I had balls or not didn’t interest me. I had my mind on one goal — talking to tent girl. I had to know what happened between us that night. I didn’t even know if she’d still be there or if she’d even recognise me. It didn’t matter. I had nothing to lose.
The water continued its slow rise, displacing whatever it came into contact with. Dead insect husks floated to the surface and tickled my toes.
“Oh shit!” blurted Jerry, “I nearly forgot. I have a note from work they wanted me to give to you.”
I watched as Jerry jammed fingers down his throat and foraged around. He was mumbling spit-soaked words that meant nothing to me. Along with strings on internal slop, he retrieved the letter. It was warm and wet in my hands and tore as I unfolded it. It contained the unmistakable, almost Arabic looking, handwriting of my supervisor, Kerry:
Salutations, Bruce,
It has come to my attention that your illness (bowel cancer) has achieved an irreversible state. This news has hit me very personally as I once watched a movie about a man suffering from cancer. It was harrowing and I’d be lying if I said I appreciated the memories your condition has stirred within me. I’m more than willing to forgive the inconsiderate nature of your actions in the interest of harmony. It takes two to tango, after all.
As you know, your position was to remain intact, waiting for your eventual return to the workplace. The meerkats we had replace you are doing a marvelous job and performing their daily duties with a previously unthinkable efficiency. With your death imminent, we have decided to let you go. This has been a very difficult decision and once again, I’m rather upset that you forced me to make it. From what I understand, you were a dependable employee. I’m also led to believe that you refused numerous technology upgrades. We need go-getters, Bruce and your pathological desire to maintain the status quo doesn’t gel with our mission statement at The Nipple Blamers.
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits.
The words dove into my consciousness and drowned. I couldn’t help but laugh with joy. My job — that horrible spectre of my previous life was now officially gone. I never had to go back. When I glanced at Jerry, it was no longer as a co-worker, but as a friend.
“What does the letter say?” asked Jerry.
“Open your mouth,” I demanded in reply.
With his mouth wide open, I proceeded to jam the letter back down Jerry’s throat. “It’s nothing. Let it become shit. Swallow the fucker down.”
His face turned bright red as he momentarily choked on the paper before forcing it down his gullet.
“When do we leave?” I asked.
I felt like a teenager sneaking out at night in order to experience mischief. I held Jerry’s hand and together we crept through the lounge room. Just as Belinda had said, everyone was hypnotised in front of the television playing Kid Icarus. Their eyes were unblinking squares of jelly as they focused on the 8-bit sprites. Belinda was busying herself with the quail. She had foraged a small tuxedo from her hair, which she was forcing on the little bird. With the exaggerated steps of a cartoon character sneaking up on its victim, we reached the door. After a brief game of rock, paper, scissors, played in order to ascertain who would be tasked with opening the door, Jerry turned the knob. A short time later we were out and ready to live it up.
2.
Jerry had to carry me for most of our trek to the Tent Bar. My legs weren’t very reliable anymore. My energy levels were fluctuating to the point where one minute I’d feel like I could run a marathon, and the next, I’d be flailing around on the ground. The second time I fell over, Jerry scooped me up without warning and flung me over his shoulder. I didn’t fight it. It was like I was flying. Like I was a superhero — Cancer Man! We must have looked a little odd as we made our way up the crowded city footpath. We attracted more stares than a fisting demonstration. I felt amazing. I reached out my hands, attempting to solicit high fives. Nobody felt the desire to give me one. All that time I’d previously spent practicing with Jerry was starting to feel like a bit of a waste.
Jerry placed me down at the entrance. “You’re on your own from here, man.”
I gave him a goofy thumbs up before falling through the door. Jerry shook his head in disbelief, picked up my leg and dragged me toward the bar. Des’ree’s ‘Life’ seeped through the jukebox in slow motion. The neon lights cut through the dim murk in furry swathes. This was the tent bar I remembered.
From the sticky ground, the bar looked so high. A mountain I needed to ascend. My one hope was that the summit would reveal my precious tent girl. I could already picture her in my mind, waddling about behind the bar, trying to pour drinks; that awkward costume getting in the way. Jerry was already seated. His arse crept around the edges of the barstool. The sight elicited a giggle. I began my climb. Rigid hands clung to whatever was available. My body lifted ever so slightly. My inner audience applauded the achievement. I took a mental bow. I found Jerry’s leg and used it to gain leverage. I lifted a little more. I decided to take a break and smoked a celebratory cigarette. My tumours purred in appreciation. The packet was getting a little empty. This concerned me. I pushed it from my mind. It didn’t matter right now. This was all about getting off the ground and finding my tent girl. I spat the diminished cigarette from my mouth and continued to climb. My fingers clung to the edge of the bar. I was nearly there. I flexed every muscle and furrowed every brow in concentration and lifted. With the aid of flatulence, I found my footing. I was there. I was on my feet. Triumph coursed through me like electricity. The triumph evaporated like the confidence of a jilted prom date when I finally turned my attention behind the bar. She wasn’t there. I wanted to cry.