Everything Turns Away

Chapter 2

2.

Helen says, “I think Sophie is depressed. She doesn’t look good to me.”

“She looks good to me,” Allan says. He burps loudly. All that beer. He didn’t want all that beer, but he likes bugging Sophie. “She’s a fine-looking woman.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean that she doesn’t look happy.”

“Who’s happy these days?” Allan holds up his hands, throws them into the cooling air. Helen looks up into the air at what Allan is indicating. There is nothing but more high-rises, an airplane way up high and no stars. Pollution. They are on Bloor Street, walking towards home.

“She is pretty,” Helen says. “You are right there.”

“I’m right here, honey.” Allan laughs. “And I feel sick. That chicken was gross.”

“The rice. My God, you’d think they’d know how to cook rice after all the goddamn dinner parties they have.”

Helen is leaning into Allan as they stagger down the street. They left Sophie and Paul’s house over an hour ago but they stopped at the Irish tavern on the Danforth and had another drink. It is getting late. The babysitter must be worried. At least Helen thinks she must be worried. Helen can’t imagine that she may just be talking to her boyfriend on the back porch, whispering things like, “Do you want to touch me? Where? Where do you want to touch me? Oh God. Not there,” and laughing. When Helen was sixteen years old she didn’t have a boyfriend. In fact, she didn’t have a babysitting job. Her mother didn’t let her do anything. She stayed home every night and read books. No wonder she f****d the first boy who took her to the movies in university. Back seat of his car. Typical. Maybe if her mother had let her out more she wouldn’t have lost her virginity in a silver Mustang with dog hair on the seat covers.

Allan is talking. Saying nothing but talking. Helen looks at him. She looks up at the condos around her, the office buildings, the closed storefronts. Some people walking, scattered out, on the street. Toronto at midnight. Lights on above, in the apartments, blue flickering lights, people up there watching TV. Everyone is always watching TV. Helen can’t figure it out. TV doesn’t interest her. That’s one good thing about her mother. Helen likes books. Lots of books. Any books. She reads all the time. You wouldn’t know it, she thinks, by looking at her. At least that’s what everyone tells her.

“So then Paul said that Sophie won’t let him touch her toes. She gets this freaky feeling when he touches her toes. That they’ll fall off or something. That Paul will pull them off.” Allan laughs. “That’s kind of a turn-on, don’t you think? Don’t you think, Helen? Are you listening?”

Everything is a turn-on for Allan. Especially after drinking all night. He can’t wait to get Helen home and undress her. He can’t wait to take off her b*a. He loves doing that these days, unclasping the back and letting her breasts pop out like two round eggs. Ever since she had the implants put in he can’t help but think they are like eggs. Perfectly symmetrical now, perfectly round and formed and hard. Hard as rocks. As eggs. Allan has to pee. He’s in agony.

“Why was Paul telling you about Sophie’s toes?”

“I don’t know. I was telling him about your breast implants.”

“God, Allan. Do you have to tell everyone?”

“I wanted to know if he noticed.”

Helen walks a little more quickly. Her heels catch in the sidewalk occasionally. She stumbles a bit. She must look a sight, faltering down the street in her long coat and high heels. Her breasts. When Helen couldn’t breastfeed she got angry. What’s the use of breasts when they aren’t useful? she’d thought. So she decided to do something useful with them. Implants. What’s wrong with that? If they aren’t being used, she thought, why not make them useful in another way? Why should she be embarrassed by the fact? But she isn’t sure now if she did the right thing. In fact, she knows she didn’t do the right thing. She looks ridiculous now. She feels ridiculous. Everyone looks at her differently now. It makes her sad.

“Did he notice?”

“He said that he noticed something was different about you, but couldn’t put a finger on it.”

“What did you say?”

“I said he should put more than a finger on it, more like a hand. Squeeze.” Allan reaches over and squeezes Helen’s breast. She almost falls.

“Allan.”

Allan laughs. Then he walks into an alley beside a building. Helen follows. Allan unzips and pisses beside the garbage dumpster. Helen watches the stream of liquid steam in the cool air. She steps aside so that none of it gets anywhere near her.

“That felt good,” he says.

“Lucky you,” Helen says.

They walk on down the street. Suddenly Allan stops. “f**k,” he says.

“What?”

“The car.”

“What about the car? Our car?”

“We drove to the dinner, Helen. Our car is in front of their house.”

Helen stops walking. “You are kidding me. You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I picked you up at the house after the nanny went home and the babysitter came. And we drove over.”

“You’re right. God, you’re right. Now what? We can’t go back now and get it. They’ll see us.”

“So?”

“They’ll see us sneak back after over an hour” – she looks at her watch – “and climb into our car. We told them we had to leave early to get back to the babysitter and now we’re still out. We’ve been to a bar. Besides, you’re drunk. You can’t drive anyway.”

“I can’t just leave the car there. I need it for work first thing tomorrow morning. Oh s**t, I can’t believe I forgot the car. We’ll get a ticket.”

“You can and you will,” Helen says. She pulls on Allan’s sleeve. “Let’s go home. You can get it in the morning.”

“No.” Allan takes his arm back. “I need the car now. I have to get the car.”

“Come on.” Helen begins to walk in the direction of home. “Men and cars,” she growls. Allan turns and walks back towards Sophie and Paul’s. “Jesus, Allan, come on home. You can’t let me walk the rest of the way by myself. It’s dark. And you have to walk the babysitter home. If you go, who is going to walk the babysitter home?”

“I want my car.” Allan remembers his new cellphone is in the car. Also the new CD he bought on the way home from work yesterday. He hasn’t even listened to it yet. What if someone breaks into the car and steals his phone and his CD? He keeps walking away. Away from Helen, away from the direction home, back towards the dinner party.

Helen stops walking and turns and watches Allan as he disappears into the dark night. “Oh,” she whispers. She looks around. There is suddenly no one around. Not a soul, she thinks. She’ll probably get mugged. r***d. Helen tiptoes in her high heels down the street, towards Spadina and across, towards her house, towards her baby, her babysitter, her little goldfish named Pepper. She thought the night was fine. A good night. Even with the dry chicken and sticky rice. But now it’s crappy. Plain crappy.

If she’s quiet on her heels then she won’t wake the muggers. The rapists will think she’s wearing running shoes and can move fast ahead of them. That she can run into the night.