“Is there somewhere we could go to talk?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “I’m stuck here for the next five hours.”
This response stung. I wasn’t expecting it. In all my new found confidence I assumed this woman would jump at the chance to talk to me. I imagined her dropping whatever drink she was serving and bounding over the bar. But no… she still saw the old me.
She was no longer paying me attention. That honour had been given to a man further up the bar who looked like an underwear model. I really wanted to hurt him. She was laughing at whatever he had to say.
"Pay attention to me", I muttered.
My eyes were glued to the two of them as they engaged in that sickening, mindless flirtation. I fumbled for my cigarette packet and nearly threw up in fear when I saw there were only two left. I popped one in my mouth, leaving the other shivering in isolation. I set it alight and sucked it down in two long drags. I churned my insides in that special way that enabled the silken smoke to absorb and assimilate. The tumours were moving around like fish scurrying for food.
I kept staring at tent girl. She was still talking to that sexy fucker like I didn’t exist. Who was he? What I was growing inside me was far more beautiful than he’d ever be. She continued to laugh at whatever banal crap he was spewing. The movement of the tumours intensified in response to my jealousy. They were pushing against me, desperate to get out.
You deserve better than this, they told me.
My fists were balling and my eyes were welling with tears.
“Talk to me!” I yelled.
No one listened.
Don’t let them do this to you, said the tumour queen inside me.
My eyes remained glued to tent girl. She was leaning forward and letting that handsome fuck scratch her nose. That was our thing.
You’re too important, said the tumour queen.
I stood up, swiping empty shot glasses from the bar as I did. They smashed and popped on the ground. I was finally starting to get some attention. I pushed my way toward my goal, pushing anyone who dared obscure my path. I could hear people yelling but I didn’t care to make out the words. She was looking at me now, concern painting her eyes. The Fabio reject stood up and turned to face me. His arms slowly crossed, in what I assume was meant to be an act of intimidation. His lips curled into pure smarm. Someone like me wasn’t supposed to fuck with someone like him. I was causing a tear in the social pecking order. I kept advancing under the loving direction of my beautiful tumours.
“Tent girl!” I yelled, slamming my fist on the bar for emphasis. “I have a question and you are going to answer it.”
“What?” she stammered.
“The last time I was here, something happened between us. I need to know what.”
Her brow furrowed in a mixture of fear and frustration.
“Nothing happened. You were drunk. I dragged your arse out of the bar because you were pissing off the other customers.”
I shook my head.
“No… that’s not it. Something else happened. I kept getting these flashes the next day.”
“Leave her alone, pal,” said the underwear model. “Maybe you should leave before I throw you out.”
I turned to face him and watched his pupils breathe in and out. I met his gaze.
“Fuck you,” I replied.
I turned back to tent girl and pointed my finger.
“Did we fuck?” I asked bluntly.
She fell silent for a while as my words sunk in. Her face scrunched in confusion and then broke into laughter.
“No! I did not fuck you! I would never fuck you. Besides, you’d shit yourself, you freak.”
Her reply broke my focus. I became aware of the rapt audience our confrontation had attracted. All eyes were boring into me. There was total silence. Even the jukebox had decided to shut up and watch.
“Don’t lie to me,” I stammered.
Jerry’s hand fell on my shoulder, warm and firm.
“We should leave, dude,” he said. “This is getting sticky.”
I shrugged his hand away and persisted with less confidence than ever.
“Don’t lie to me,” I repeated.
The expression on tent girl’s face turned sour. She tore at the tent that enclosed her, slowly revealing her body to the bar. It was stunning. The kind of body you only ever see in Photoshop.
“Look at me,” she said. “Do I look like I’m in your league? I would never lower myself to your level.”
The underwear model started to snicker with self-assurance. Faint laughter blossomed from the crowd of onlookers. The laughter grew in volume and fervor. It made me dizzy and assailed me from every direction. I reached for my last cigarette and sucked like a baby.
Don’t let them treat you like this, said the tumour queen. You’re better than them.
“Fuck you!” I screamed. “I’m better than you people. I’m special. I’m not what you think I am.”
The underwear model took a step toward me and removed his shirt. He began to flex and grunt.
“You’re absolutely nothing, pal,” he said with confidence.
The onlookers clapped in response. My stomach clenched like a thousand fists, knocking me to the ground. The tumours began to pound from the inside. They barked and moaned. I rolled onto my stomach and flailed my arms like I was drowning.
“Somebody call an ambulance,” came a voice from the crowd.
If you won’t do anything, we will, said the tumour queen.
I winced in pain as my bowel inflated. A scream escaped my mouth and flew through the front window. People ducked to avoid the shards of glass. A tumour was leaving me. I tried to clench my arse but it pushed against the resistance. It shot out of me like a potato gun. People panicked and cowered beneath tables. The pain was gone.
I rolled onto my back, trying to snap my vision into focus. Tent girl was standing, mouth agape in shock and staring at the underwear model. He was standing upright, rocking back and forth very slightly. Jitters pulsed through his arms. Where his obnoxiously attractive face used to be was now a gory cavity. Blood and meat sloshed out in a sloppy soup. Moments later he slumped to the ground and the jukebox started again.
“We really gotta go, man,” said Jerry. He grabbed my leg and dragged me toward the door.
3.
I was sitting on Jerry’s bed as Jerry paced in front of me.
“This is fucking wild, man!” he said. “You have fucking super tumours or something.”
“I need a cigarette,” I said.
“Want me to go out and get you some?”
My body fell back in defeat. “It’s no use. I need the special cigarettes Fiona gives me.”
I studied the ceiling in Jerry’s bedroom. It was plastered with posters of naked men tattooed with naked women. One of the women tattooed to the arm of a burly sort looked like my mother before she got sick. I hadn’t seen my mother in a month. Fiona wouldn’t allow it. The money we were making would ensure her care was the best available. I was told that my constant micro care was robbing her of the independence everyone deserves. I was stifling her, enslaving her to utter dependency. I believed every word because it was true. I stopped viewing my mother as a mother a long time ago. Although I loved her more than I could ever love anything else, she only existed via her illness. I was her caregiver, her one salvation. Ever since my father was carried away by a falcon when I was nine, there was only me. The situation made me feel important. I empathised so thoroughly that I became her. She fell into a cycle of helplessness — a cycle I was only too happy to facilitate.