“But I thought you left with those midgets,” I replied in protest.
“There were no fucking midgets, dude. Fuck… I wish there had’a been. The only person I left with that night was you. Let’s just say, I’ve done better.”
I ran through the series of events in my mind, but the intoxication of that night only allowed the vaguest imprint to remain. One image that wouldn’t abate, no matter how much reason I tried to apply, was that of me sucking on the breast. That had to have happened.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “I’m sure I sucked a breast. I can even feel the residual nipple in my mouth.”
Jerry shuffled uncomfortably before standing up. He began pacing back and forward, stopping every so often to check the bottles littering his carpet for signs of remaining alcohol. After this proved unsuccessful, he stopped dead and directed his eyes right at mine.
“Look, dude,” He lifted his shirt, “does this look familiar?”
I stared at his man breasts, paying attention to the thick curls of hair circling his nipples.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“You sucked my tit, dude. You were one insistent fucker about it too. You kept going for me during the whole taxi ride home.”
“Bullshit!”
“It’s true! I have no idea why you wanted to suck my tit and I have no fucking idea why I let you. I kinda wasn’t planning on telling you.”
Jerry and I stared at each other for some time. Awkward silence smothered us both. I let my mind drift away from Jerry, not wanting to linger any longer on his revelation. Without distraction, my body started kicking up a violent stink about the absence of nicotine. My body tensed and my tumours howled at invisible moons.
“I’m going to see my mother,” I yelled over the howling. “But first, can you drop me off at home? I need some cigarettes.”
My home had changed a lot in 12 hours. The burst pipe had now filled the apartment with a foot of water. Everyone was wading through it, refusing to acknowledge it as a hindrance. I shuffled my way through the lounge room, trying my best to avoid the numerous objects that floated past.
“I need cigarettes,” I said.
Within seconds, the Stotson’s, Arthur, Belinda and her mother were holding cigarettes within centimeters of my lips. I snatched them all and crammed them into my mouth. They each held their lighters up to ignite the godly sticks. It was like sucking on an exhaust pipe and the blast of smoke knocked me backward into the water. It was beautiful. Each cell in my body stretched in relaxation. The tumours fed like starving dogs, leeching every nutrient they could. My limp body slowly drifted in the water, knocking into things like a pinball. The ceiling rotated above me.
“Fiona’s going to be so pleased you're back,” said Rhonda. “She’s so excited.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t be a big silly! A tumour left your body, love. This is big news. It wasn’t very polite to leave like that without telling anyone, but I think the results were worth it.”
I flailed about in the water, trying to find my footing. I didn’t really feel like seeing Fiona at the moment. I desperately wanted to go and see my mother and having Fiona anywhere near me, was not wise.
“When is she coming over?” I asked.
“I just gave her a call,” said Vince. “She’ll probably be here in 15 minutes.”
I swore to myself and waded toward my bedroom. The burst pipe continued to spew water into the apartment, filling it bit by bit. It wouldn’t be long until it reached the ceiling. It wouldn’t be long until all my possessions were destroyed. The others weren’t terribly interested in leaving, almost like they were prepared to drown for no good reason. Belinda’s tuxedoed quail swam by, kicking its feet and billowing steam in little whistles. I motioned to pet it, but it snapped at my hand so I let it be.
All of my clothes were soaking wet. It almost wasn’t worth changing, but I wanted to look nice for mum. She used to knit me jumpers before she got sick. Each jumper bore the same basic design of a ninja turtle. They were poorly made, but I couldn’t part with them. The coarse wool she used always made my arms and neck break out in a painful rash. They were torture devices more than clothing, but I loved them. I imagined my mother’s able hands working the needles. These were important relics of my mother’s flirtation with health. I slid one of these jumpers over my head and felt the wool scratch at my skin.
I waded toward the front door.
“Where are you going in that dreadful jumper?” asked Arthur.
“It doesn’t matter where I’m going,” I replied. “I’ll be back soon. Just tell Fiona I had to pick something up from work.”
Arthur stood before me, pan flute in hand, gearing up to give me a performance.
“Look, my lad… don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t believe you. Where are you really going?”
The others joined Arthur and crowded around me, refusing my exit. Even Belinda seemed intent on stopping me.
“What are you guys doing? Let me out.”
“Fiona wouldn’t like that at all,” said Belinda’s mother.
“I don’t care what Fiona would like. I have a right to see my own fucking mother.”
I swore to myself again, absolutely livid that I let my true intentions slip so easily.
Vince approached me with a length of rope dangling in his hands.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce,” he said. “I think you know full well that we can’t let you do that. It goes completely against the rules.”
They all restrained me as Vince slipped the rope behind my back. I fought against it, but my physical deterioration was such that the fight was fruitless. Regret danced about their faces as they manoeuvred me into a chair. Arthur contained my arms while Rhonda worked on my legs. Vince wrapped the rope around and around until it squeezed me like a hug from grandma. Belinda climbed on my lap and placed a lit cigarette between my lips, which I sucked upon gratefully. The coils of smoke stung my eyes as it rotated toward the ceiling.
“I don’t understand how you could do this to me,” I said. “We’re like family.”
The cigarette fell from my mouth and rolled down my chest before landing with a fizz in the water.
“It’s quite simple,” said a calm, familiar female voice.
Fiona was standing over me with that slight grin I’d come to know and dread. The others left my side and stood behind her like she was the leader of something I didn’t understand.
“The tumours have reached an evolutionary stage I didn’t dare hope for, Bruce,” she said. “By leaving your body they have shown a propensity for autonomy. The tumours aren’t yours, Bruce. You merely incubated them. You’re little more than an environment.”
“What does this have to do with my mother?”
She remained silent for some time. The sound of splashing water infused the silence with anxiety and foreboding.
“Your mother loves you too much, Bruce and you love her. Her positive influence over you wasn’t good for the tumours. She wants you to be well. Every thought is of your wellbeing. She can’t understand how important your ability to grow the illness is because she’s blinded by love. You’re a weak man. You’d fall victim to this, just as you fell victim to me.”
The part of me that wanted to escape was being beaten into submission by the part of me that wanted to hide. My vision had devolved into blinking pastel blurs. I tried closing my eyes, but they were like broken blinds and just kept springing back open. The tumours were barking and screaming, trying to get my attention.