By Lucy

I wake up too early on Sunday for how late I was up. Not too, too early, though.

The fact that there’s only 11 sisters continues to wrinkle my brain. I am the oddest duck. Most of them looked pretty tomboyish or androgynous; I’m probably the girliest, flirtiest one. Like some caricature come to life. Am I real?

My resting heart rate has finally started to sink back down, thank goodness. I’m still not quite sure what caused it.

It snowed on the south island, shut the whole place down. It’s, like, 3 inches, but no one in New Zealand ever bothers getting winter tires ’cause that’s two inches more than they usually get. Isn’t that weird, though, this time last year it was warm there. Climate change shutting down the Antarctic Circumpolar Current already.

I spend the morning futsing around on the computer, waiting for Paul to show up for our photoshoot. He’s opted to do the shoot in my living room with a bluescreen (although he neglected to bring the actual bluescreen in favour of a white sheet, which he regretted). He shows up around noon with bags full of props.

“Compliments of Candace.” He says, dumping them on the couch.

“She a Halloween fan or somethin’?”

Hanuman and Emily headed out already. Hanuman got a job, of sorts, last week. He’s always done odd jobs for a journeyman friend of his who owns a workshop, but lately he’s been doing 2 or 3 days a week. Supposedly the apprentices need someone to keep an eye on them. Anywho, the boss has loaned them a car, but it’s a standard, and Hanuman doesn’t have a license, so he’s been teaching Emily how to drive standard.

There’s some irony or perfect timing to Emily getting a car just as I am selling mine.

We have chores to do first as well. I need a few things for my costume.

We stop by Walmart; I hate shopping at Walmart, but I try to do one-stop shopping if I’m not the one driving. Unfortunately, Walmart has already torn down their Halloween section for a Christmas one!

“What are you looking for?” Paul asks.

“Black roses.” And a gold marker, and a gold ribbon, which I found already.

“Oh, me too.”

Strange minds think alike.

I decide to hit Party City next. My other goal is a crown, but I plan on modifying it. I need a cheap base crown to work off of, not something pricey like I’d find at Spirit Halloween.

No luck at Party City, but Paul finds a bunch of things he wants. He finds a bouquet of black roses he likes, and a pair of opera gloves with long nails.

Final destination; Michaels’. I’m not going to find the crown I want without it costing an arm and a leg, so I grab a piece of black, sparkly craft paper. They have some black roses with gilded edges, which is exactly what I wanted. Everything on my costume is going to be black or gold.

Paul stops by the print desk to ask them about prices. I gesture to the flower section of Michaels’, “If you ever need fake flowers, this is always here, all year ’round.”

“Good to know, ’cause Candance loves sunflowers.”

Back to my place. I spend far too much time modifying a pair of Maleficent horns I had already, then a short time drawing a rough crown and cutting it out. We decided to just tuck the ends of the crown under my horns and pin it in place.

I throw my corset and the gold ribbon at Paul. “Here, make yourself useful and thread this.”

Just as we are almost done getting ready, Emily and Hanuman get home.

The shoot was good. Paul later regretted a few choices we’d made, like the white sheet when the wings are nothing but holes and colour select was being finicky.

Once he headed out, I was wiped for the day and hopped back onto the computer.

The next day is the big day. Selling the car.

Last chance to back out.

The car means a lot to me. It’s the only thing that’s stayed the same in the last decade. My husband came and went, jobs changed, Covid happened, I moved cities, but the 200 was always there, always ol’ reliable. I even checked; the registration was completed on October 24th, 2016 – 9 years almost to the day. I know that car inside out.

Sigh.

The truth is, even if I was staying, I’d be better off selling the car and buying a new one. A Civic isn’t sexy, but it’s a lot cheaper to repair. And I could easily bus or Uber to any job within town, rustle up enough hours to get EI, and lives comfortably for the winter.

I arrive at the buyers house when I said I would. Unfortunately, he has not planned for anything, and he spends half an hour on the phone with an insurance company before deciding against them.

We go to the bank. He comes back with a stack of 50’s… great. I count out 3/4 of the price. He hands me another stack of 20’s… he’s 100$ short.

“I can e-transfer you the rest. My withdrawal limit is 3k a day.”

And you didn’t plan for that?

Christ. I feel like I’m selling my firstborn child for a pack of beer. I babied this car for 9 years. And now I’m selling it below market value to some kid from Brampton who’s probably going to wreck it in the next couple of years.

“So, I don’t have insurance yet. Could you leave the plates – “

“No.” I cut him off. There are few things more stupid than leaving some kid you don’t know with a car, registered to your name and on your insurance, and with your plates.

Off to Service Ontario!

I wanted to watch him register the car because I have concerns he’ll drive it around still in my name, but the Service Ontario clerk points out that he should have insurance before he registers it or it’ll be more difficult for him.

Last chance.

I drive down to the bank and deposit the money.

Sold.

I suppose, even if he does something stupid, being in another country is the ultimate alibi.

I drive him back to his place and use a screwdriver to remove my plates with shaking hands. Take the key off my ring and hand him it with the spare. Pat the hood one more time.

“Take care of it. It was my baby.”

Then I walk away on shaking legs.

I should walk back to the Service Ontario and turn in my plates, but I walk home instead. Sit on the couch and gulp back tears.

Nothing to delay for, now. School is over, the car is sold. Now I just have to get my butt in gear.

Finally, I turn on the computer to get some work done.

“My band is playing at BPP at 9:15 for the Hunger.” Kevin says in the group chat.

“Have they actually released the setlist for the Hunger?” I ask.

Lara posts it to the server. “Oh, thanks!”

I have to admit, I love the name; the Hunger. I experience a lot of my desires as a hunger. I love the idea of dark temptations.

Act,

On your impulse.

Swallow the bottle.

• Ellen Hopkins

I skim the list. I’m not much for a bar crawl – I’m not much for going to bars in general – but the point of the evening is to check out the different venues, and the concept intrigues me. Barrie would never do anything like this; I couldn’t even tell you the names of the bars in Barrie. Partially because the only bar I ever went to for events closed before Covid (the government tore it down to make a wildlife preserve).

Some bars are a write-off; nothing interests me. A few are hosting Aerial Silks Performances, which does pique my interest. Eric the Juggler will be roaming around. Fire-eaters and dancers. The Paramount is doing a “Funhouse of Hell”, Art House Sin Theatre, and a few drag shows, so I’ll check that out. I have to be at the bar Kevin is playing at right away at 9, cuz he’s opening. I scan the list for who else is there, in case I feel like sticking around.

Hmm… guess who’s playing after Kevin?

I shake my head to myself. My life is a string of weird coincidences.

Me and Paul were discussing the ‘female gaze’. The male gaze being the cold evaluation of the beauty of a woman, not analogous to the female gaze, which is more of a feminist lens. I want to argue that I can judge men entirely on their looks, but it’s not true. I’d like to argue that it’s not social conditioning, it’s just my brain; you can find any number of pretty men online, but I want to know there’s a tortured soul underneath or it’s no fun for me. You can see that happening in real time in the blog; I don’t comment on being attracted to someone until I notice there’s something more under the hood.

Women have their moments. I have one chuckle-worthy story from elementary school. We were given a week to prepare, and give a 5, minute speech to the class about a topic. I can’t remember what I picked, but the highlight of the show was this kid named Mason. Now, Mason was pretty and confident, if plagued by the usual pre-adolescent nerves – we were all 12 – athletic, with a head of blonde curls. He picked his speech about superheroes, and decided to dress up Superman style; tights, with underwear on the outside. He also made the unfortunate decision to wear his jock strap under his outfit, which… ahem… made it look like he was packing. I’m not sure any of the girls in the class actually heard a word he was saying because we all had the vapours. We were allowed to ask questions once each speech was done, and one girl actually asked what was going on below the belt, which was when he went bright red as he realized it was very noticeable, and admitted to the jock strap. He was very popular at dances after that.

We also get on a discussion about music. I’ve been listening to a lot of No Doubt lately, which irritates me.

Aah… that scene has never stopped being hilarious to me. For multiple layers. I mean, me and Rich laughed too hard at it when both of us enjoy punk and ska music (as part of a balanced diet of rock… I don’t recognize any of the bands she mentions). How relevant it is to abuse, too. Her pained “who am I” is both hilarious and chillingly accurate.

I make 2 packs of mac and cheese, with a can of peas and hot dogs cut up in it. A complete meal, enough for a couple of days.

Jeremy shows up for more Breaking Bad. He immediately consumes half the pot; he admits he hasn’t eaten at all today. Silly boy.

Well, I’m finally all out of alcohol, and I feel like I won’t need to buy more for a while. Y’know, except for Halloween shenanigans.

Writing all Tuesday morning.

It’s Rotary today, guess I should go.

Oh, wait, did they move the location? I call Chris, “Where Rotary?”

“The same location, the change was only for the one week. Want a ride?”

Sure, why not. I enjoy the walk, but I’d like to hang out with Chris.

At the appointed time, him and Susan arrive in the caravan. I hop in the back and we chat. I get an email from the cruise ship job; they’re not hiring me. I do find it curious, though, most jobs don’t bother to email you and tell you you didn’t make the cut. It kind of implies I’m on the short list for the next position.

When we get to the college, him and Susan take the usual spot and wander off to grab lunch. I do a round, catching up with everyone.

“Wow, Lucy! It’s been so long since you’ve been to a meeting!”

“Yeah, my teacher wouldn’t let me duck out of class to go.” Jerk.

Matthew is playing Christmas music on the overhead. I stomp over. “Stop that! It’s not even Halloween!”

“But the Jingle Ball is in two weeks! You’ll be there, right?”

Not if I can help it.

Well… to be honest, I am on the fence about leaving again. But then, I was also on the fence about leaving last time, and I ended up not wanting to go home, so.

“There is the Halloween event on Thursday! They still need volunteers!”

Really? Who do I ask?

So, I’m confused on names here. Her name is spelled ‘Marg’, but everyone keeps pronouncing it ‘Mark’. I’m unsure why. Anywho, I ask Susan to introduce me, and she writes down my number and email to send me the deets.

The meeting has a few hiccups. Our guest speaker is on Zoom, and accidentally hangs up on himself a couple times.

As we leave the meeting, I remember I can talk to Susan about my health problems. “I have day surgery tomorrow.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, repeat endo with anesthesia assistance.” Repeat, repeat endo.

“Who’s the surgeon?”

“Dr Sun.”

“Oh, I’ve heard nothing but good things about him. Well, keep us posted.”

After I get home from the meeting, I heat up some leftovers and write more. At 6-ish, I get ready to head out. Nerd Nite at Sleeping Giant Brewery!

Kevin is already there when I arrive. He looks like he’s busy talking to someone, but they melt away into the crowd when I go over to say hi. He offers to let me chose seats, but the only seats available are at the front.

Well, not that it matters. Kevin’s famous and the hosts here are all on a first name basis with him, so there’s no hiding in the back anyway. At one point the first speaker asked a rhetorical question and Kevin threw up his hand to answer, and she said, “Yes, Kevin, I know you know the answer.”

I loved the speech. It was a geologist giving a speech about geology and cheese, and I don’t need to tell y’all about how close those topics are to my heart!

The second speaker dropped out, so the host’s husband stepped up with a hastily written speech about galvanism. Which confused me, because the first thought that popped into my head is ‘galvanized nails’. Not dissimilar, both relate to electrical current, but in this context it meant the contraction of muscles when stimulated by an electric current. Basically, once ye ol’ Victorian scientists realized muscles move, even on a corpse, when a current is passed through them, their little minds went wild with the possibilities of defying death (which is how we got Frankenstein). Cue parlor tricks of beheading cows and then stimulating their heads with a current.

I realize there’s no way to do that ethically, but I kinda wish they still brought disembodied limbs in to theatres to shock them for giggles.

Trivia was hard… ish. The host was a super hyper man who practically vibrated when he couldn’t pace back and forth, speaking so quickly his tongue tripped over itself. A lot of his answers were the “for the lols” version, which my brain had a hard time wrapping itself around. I got fourth place. Kevin got second and gave me his prize, a t-shirt.

We stopped to talk to the first speaker who, despite knowing Kevin on sight, has never met him before because she sheepishly introduced herself. It was giggle-worthy to watch her being flustered by his attention.

“Now I just want cheese, and I don’t have any.” I grumble. Sleeping Giant doesn’t sell a lot of standard bar food, like mozza sticks. “Did you appreciate my joke about the chords below C?”

“Hm… That wouldn’t work unless you add more strings.” He smiles.

Confusing my piano and my guitar, clearly. “Well, Richard does have a 7-string.”

“Ooh, fancy!”

Kevin offers to drive me home, and I accept.

Shortly before I go to bed in the evening, my phone goes off. I presume it’s Bjorn – he’s the only one who proper texts me these days – but it isn’t.

It’s Garry.

I throw the phone across the room like there’s a spider on it. What the hell? I figured he’d deleted my number and I’d never hear from him again.

“How are you?”

Fine, thanks, after you… I dunno, got bored? Got distracted?

Sigh. I guess this is pretty normal behavior for one-percenters; text you only when it suits them. What prompted it now, though? As the conversation winds on, he makes it clear that what he really wants to do is confirm I’ll keep his bed warm if/when he comes back for shutdown next year. That’s a whole six months away, though, why now? All Hallows’ Eve prompting some strange behavior?

It’s immediately tempting. I wouldn’t have to find accommodation, or look for a vehicle; I could stay at his place and borrow his. He’d probably buy dinner most of the time, so it would be almost pure profit for me. The biggest obstacle is that I don’t want to spend the money to fly back. I wonder if I could convince him to pay for my plane ticket.

Bedtime!

I wake up slightly before my alarm. My only instruction for prep were “don’t eat after midnight’, so I figured I just need to wake up with enough time to get to the hospital and check in. The less time I spend awake and hungry, the better.

I arrive at the hospital in time for 7, and go check in. A lady named Holly waits in line with me, and we both gripe about doctors for a bit. When she gets called in before me, she stops to grab my hand and wishes me luck.

And I wait. And wait. 8 o’clock slips by. Then 9. People check in, go in, and come out while I am waiting.

Finally, around 9:30, a nurse comes out for me. She seems like a sweet old lady, but don’t be fooled; she gave me the most painful needle poke I’ve had in a while, and it didn’t fade once the tube was in. She finally had to take the tape off and adjust it because I was still white-knuckling the sheet.

“How are you getting home?” She asks.

“An Uber.”

“I’ll have to ask the doctor about that.”

Why? Most people have day jobs. I couldn’t think of a single person who could give me a ride, and what are they worried will happen to me in the Uber?

“My boyfriend might be able to come get me, if this takes long enough.” I say. It’s true, he goes on lunch at noon. Actually, I like the idea of waking up and his face being the first thing I see. There’s a lady sitting in the bay across from me, waiting for someone. I don’t think I’ve had that connection to anyone since I left James. The Vagabond refused to go to any of my appointments lest someone ask if he was my dad.

10:30 slips by. I read people mocking Twilight/ Fifty Shades of Grey – called sporking – for entertainment, and also as a grounding exercise. What sort of hay could they make with my book? This one line keeps coming up and it makes me laugh because I hate it when men can’t keep their pants on properly.

A nurse comes out and tells me the patient before me is “tricky”, but they’ll have me in within the hour. I’ve been here so long my saline drip is empty and blood is starting to crawl back up the IV line.

11:30 comes and goes. I could be home making lunch. I could be writing, or really anything. Looking for work. Booking a plane ticket. I’m not going to lament I don’t have my laptop; I’m too hungry to focus.

The man in the bay next to me is swapped for a woman who only speaks French. A nurse comes by to translate and admits they learned French on Duo. I’d offer to help, but I hope to be under soon.

Finally, at quarter after 12, the anesthesiologist comes by with a woman I assume is a nurse. He is so tall and gaunt all he needs is a black cloak and you would think it was the Pale Horseman himself. He didn’t speak much to me at all, just stared at me while the woman asked me questions about my medical history, as if he was transfixed by the notion that lil’ ol’ me could be so resistant to drugs.

“We’ll have you in soon.”

Yeah, I’ve been hearing that since 7 AM today.

True to their word, they come get me fifteen minutes later. They’re still disinfecting the room from the last patient, so I get parked in the hallway while they change my saline and rush around.

Oh, this is an actual surgical suite, not a day suite. I wasn’t expecting that. They’re gonna proper intubate me and everything. I start getting a little nervous… did the previous patient die? Not an auspicious day. Dr Sun walks by and shakes my hand before taking off again.

“Wow, they got the biggest gurney for the smallest patient.” One of the nurses says, wheeling me in to the room, under the sterile white lights.

I am not the smallest patient. I just look small… probably even smaller, now that my dark hair makes my skin even more fair. And hungry, and curled up under the blankets because surgical suites are kept ice cold.

They have me shimmy onto the slab and start strapping me down right away. The Pale Horseman grabs my IV and inject two things into it before the doctor even arrives – he’s not messing around. I experience the usual feeling of hornets swirling around the back of my head as the anesthetic grips me. One of the nurses removes most of the blankets and unties and untucks my robe… I guess so it isn’t digging in to my back? Hands slip under my gown to attach electrodes to me without a word; already just a slab of meat to them.

The doctors come in and do the usual pre-surgical meeting over me, asking me my name and date of birth.

“Alright, so we’re going to remove the big polyp in your stomach, and then check your duodenum to make sure we didn’t miss anything.” The surgeon says cheerfully.

Then a woman holds a mask over my face. Oxygen, to help knock me out.

“Take normal breaths and think of something relaxing.” She says.

Inexplicably, Landon’s face pops into my mind and my heart rate spikes on the monitor.

Doctor, I’m going insane
I’ve got a bad mind, give me a new brain

And then the world fades away…

---

The first person I see when I wake up is the Pale Horseman. Yes, not my doctors, not a nurse. He is standing at the foot of my bed, as if studying me, still perplexed by my existence.

“She’s awake.” He says.

They wheel me away, I’m back on the gurney. Return me to my bay.

I have a new nurse, thank gods. “How are you feeling?”

Pretty good, all things considered. I open my mouth to say “fine” and a coughing fit erupts. I cough for so long I struggle to sit up and hug my knees, coughing while reclined like this feels like choking. She hurries to help increase the incline on my gurney so I’m not struggling. She also hands me one of those bowls to vomit in, because my coughing becomes so intense it sounds like retching.

My throat feels wretched, like someone shoved a steel wire brush down it. I struggle to talk above a whisper. I ask for a drink of water – not cold – and she looks like she wants to decline it, but she agrees.

She comes back with some lukewarm water and a damp cloth. There’s a line of dried drool and blood across my cheek. When I try to open my mouth, my jaw resists and makes a clicking noise. I gargle the warm water in small mouthfuls before swallowing, and dab at the crust on my cheek. My untied gown slips off my shoulder, and she helps me adjust it.

“Your tattoo is really cool.” She says, indicating to the Majora’s Mask. “I like the tattoos on you kids. All the old men just have skulls and naked chicks.”

“Thanks.” I start coughing again.

“Well… I’ll let you sit with the water for a few minutes, and if you feel better I’ll bring you a drink and some cookies.”

I nod.

I woke up around 1:20 ish, so they really did only have me out for half an hour. Such a big deal for such a little thing. By the time I’m coherent enough to grab my phone, it’s almost 2.

I haven’t thrown up, so the nurse brings me cookies. I’m ok with the lukewarm water. It occurs to me that I have no food ready made at home. I didn’t think I’d be here so long.

“When is my throat going to feel better?” I wheeze.

“Oh, in a couple of days. Coughing up some blood is normal, but if it’s a lot, come back.”

Peachy.

“They’ll call you in 4-6 weeks with the biopsy results. They removed 3 polyps.”

Biopsy? Is there a point in biopsying it? We know I’m f*cked, right?

3 polyps? So, was there three in my stomach, or just the one in my stomach, and 2 in my duodenum?

Another nurse wanders by. “Hey, isn’t this, like, your third visit here? Did you cut your hair?”

When the nurses on the day surgery unit start recognizing you, you’ve been here too often.

When I’m ready to leave, the nurse insists on wheeling me down to the front door herself. “I’m really nervous about you going home in a Uride.”

“Does it help to know that my roommate is a nurse?” I say.

“Yes, actually, that makes me feel a lot better! Why didn’t you say that before?”

I dunno… ’cause I was stoned out of my gourd? Well, Emily and Hanuman are at work and won’t be home ’til late, but I’m not telling them that. I want out of here.

Actually, it occurs to me that everyone at the ambulance company knows Paul. I wonder if I could wander down to the ambulance bay and hop in a random ambulance and request to be taken home.

My Uride arrives and drops me off with no fuss. I go on Uber to order dinner. My usual Baconator doesn’t seem like a good idea today, when even water is scratching my poor throat. Noodles? I’d really love some pad thai, but Thai Kitchen isn’t on Uber Eats.

I text Kevin, “Can you grab me dinner?”

“I can do that!”

Yay!

I have to wait for him to get off work. I sit on the couch so I don’t fall asleep waiting. When he does arrive, he hands me the food and makes to leave.

“Wait! Don’t you want to… come in?” I dunno why, but I had some mental image of him bringing dinner for himself as well and us enjoying a meal together.

He freezes. “Uh, yeah, I guess I could.”

He sits for an hour and we chat a bit.

“Y’know, Winter and James would kill for what you did to me. Both of them tried so hard to convince me to go to live music and I always refused.”

He chuckles. “I’m converting you.”

Eventually it’s too much for my throat, and I release him.

I feel strangely hollow. 3 polyps carved out of me. I wonder if they just saved me from getting duodenal cancer in 20 years, like dad and Velma.

Maybe I won’t die at 60.

It’s a weird thought.

When Hanuman and Emily get home, I tell them what happened. Fortunately, Hanuman is always prepared and has some cough drops. I take the Dayqill I had leftover from tending to Garry. Maybe that will help with my sore throat.

I spent the next morning packing and sorting. I email the hall and ask to be on the out-of-work list; it’s been two weeks, I’m not waiting for more scaffolding work. I also email Chris and Susan to inform them how the surgery went. I walk down to the corner store to grab some more lozenges and some Gatorade.

The email asked us to be at Red Lion to set-up for 2:30, so at 2 I walk down to the bus. I wouldn’t mind walking, but I anticipate spending most of the evening on my feet, so I should save it. I wasn’t wearing my regal costume today; I figured, my boots and my dragon backpack match, I’ll just wear a pair of devil horns I have kicking around and call myself a dragon.

As I stand in front of the Red Lion, playing on my phone, I hear, “Lucy!”.

I turn. Susan is running across the street towards me, or as close to running as Susan gets. She wraps her arms around my midsection and I hug her back, slightly perplexed. “Oh, you poor girl!” She exclaims.

“I’m fine.” I wheeze through my destroyed throat.

“No, no you aren’t. I mean, I know you’re used to it, but you shouldn’t be.”

That’s fair. “Chris isn’t coming in, is he? I’m going to go say hi.” I say, gesturing across the street.

After I come back, we go inside. We are a bit early, but it looks like it was set up already. Some more Rotarians show up. I walk over to the wall of beers for sale and see “Flying Monkeys” on the list. I realize, with a start, that Flying Monkeys is no longer a ‘local’ beer, because we are a long way from Barrie. What a weird thought. I feel so comfortable being in Thunder Bay that I keep forgetting I didn’t live here for a long time.

Some guy named John shows up towards 3. Marg had a health appointment at 2, so she showed up at noon and got everything set up already.

Ok… so why didn’t she email us and tell us not to bother, then? I guess it wouldn’t matter to the car drivers, but for me that another 3 dollars and a half hour back home, and then another 3 dollars and a half hour back, so I might as well not bother.

Most of the other guys head out. Susan helps the president of the other club in Tbay set up the silent auction, which I am of little help with.

“Oh, Lucy, can you call this company and ask them what the value of this prize is?”

“Why do we have to call? Why can’t we just look it up?”

She puts her hand on my shoulder, “I forget, your generation doesn’t like calling anyone.”

Hey! Don’t bring my generation into this! My parents forbid me from using the phone until I was, like, 15, because I had no friends, and they didn’t want me using the phone if they weren’t home ’cause they didn’t want anyone to realize I was home alone and come over and molest me!

True story. These are the same parents that forbid me from talking to cops in case they were pedophiles pretending to be cops.

I sit with John as he eats a burger, and steal his fries.

“So, I’m still trying to figure out the connection between you and Chris.” John says.

Head tilt. Why does everyone find me and Chris to be a mysterious connection? He’s a nice old man who often recruits new Rotarians. “I crew on his ship.”

“Ooh, that makes sense. What do you do?” He says, with avaricious eyes. He’s also a skipper, although he’s had a hard time finding crew for his boat. It amuses me how often people will complain about Chris being a poor captain, and then that they can’t find crew for their own vessel, in the same breath. Like when Winter used to complain that she was a better guitarist than Grant, except we were at Grant’s show where he was being paid to perform. Babe, maybe you are better… but you’re also not the one on stage ’cause you can’t get your shit together. “Can I get you anything?” He gestures to a menu.

“Oh, I’m fine…” I am starting to get thirsty. I slip off my backpack and look inside for my wallet…. which isn’t there. Oh, shit! I hope it’s still sitting on my desk and I wasn’t robbed. “Actually… I forgot my wallet.” I say sheepishly.

(Yes, it was still on my desk)

We go up to the bar and I order a goat cheese burger (as in, the patty itself is battered and fried goat cheese) and a green tea. I tell John what I am trained on and he seems pretty excited about recruiting me.

I’m of two minds about it. On one hand, I do feel like I should crew on some other ships; make more friends, broaden my horizons. On the other… I like Chris.

At 5, John goes home to change into his costume, leaving me alone to watch over the prizes, as Susan also heads out.

Everyone shows up around 6. I’m on signing everyone in duty, along with another guy and girl.

Doors open at 6:30.

Basically no one shows up.

Well, it’s early yet.

They start picking up around 7, which is when Lara shows up. To be honest, I’m not doing much; I can’t raise my voice, so no one realizes I’m also signing people in and they just line up at the first girl. I call Marg over to tap out – she said one of the other girls was going to take over shortly, anyway – and go hang out with Lara.

Or, try to. Lara is having a melt-down even worse than at the drag show the other week. After half an hour, I leave her on a couch while I go order a drink (I still have my change purse on me, and enough change for a drink), and when I get back she’s split.

Eh. Whatever.

I go sit with Matt. He asks me why I’m not doing Jingle Ball, and offers me some of his appetizers.

“I’m gonna be in Fiji!” I exclaim.

“Oh, really? For a vacation?”

“Oh, I dunno. For a month or two.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, last year I did 6 months in New Zealand.”

He finds this terribly fascinating, and within half an hour I have an unsolicited friend request from him on Facebook.

At one point, the president of the other club swings by our table to say hi. “Oh, what are you drinking?” She asks me.

“The purple people eater.” I reply.

Then, without asking permission or even indicating she was going to, she picked up my glass and took a swig.

For a moment, I wanted to leap to my feet and scream at her, “What are you doing?”. I can’t even remember her name and I definitely don’t want her germs coming in contact with my torn up throat. But my objections die in my throat as everyone around the table ignores it, like it’s normal, so I swallow them and paste a placid smile on instead.

“You sure I don’t have cooties?” I ask sweetly.

“I’m sure you’re fine!” She replies with a laugh.

Really? ‘Cause I have been hacking up a lung all night!

I leave my drink at the table. It was mostly done anyway. What a weird thing to do…

Then it’s time for the costume contest. We all have to strut in front of the crowd, one at a time. Or, in theory. Most of the crowd are couples and go together. I swallow my pride and dance in front of the crowd by myself; the DJ is not helping, he put on Rihanna’s “My Life”, which is not a danceable song for me, unless I want to look like Sandra Bullock in The Proposal.

When I get back to the line, everyone offers me a high five; “You were so brave, going up there by yourself!”

Oh, thanks!

The club president goes up in some “cowboy” costume and lap dances on the judges laps. Good to know how silly we can get.

I don’t place in the top 3. Oh darn.

At 9:30, I call it. I checked the schedule and noticed a bus is due in 4 minutes, so I say goodbye and head out.

---

I dream of Luke.

I dream that I’m showing him around my cabin, with my goats and my rabbits, and he jokingly asks me if I know what to do with the fluff I brush off the rabbits.

“Of course I know how to spin a yarn!” I say indignantly, as he laughs, and then I show him on the spinning wheel that magically appears.

“I can’t wait until you visit again.” I tell him towards the end of the dream.

“Lucy…” He smiles sadly.

And then I remember he’s dead.

---

Oh… it’s Halloween again. 6 years he’s been gone now. I lay in bed for a long time, looking at the tattoo on my arm, and trying to fall back asleep. To claw my way back to my dream.

No luck.

Time to prepare for the Hunger.

It actually takes me a while. I have to finish my costume; there’s a difference between being pinned together for a shoot, and trying to walk around downtown for several hours while drunk people stumble into me. I ask Emily for a hot glue gun, and repair bits as well. A nail broke off last night (of the gloves, not my hands).

I also have a choice to make. Do I want to get all dolled up and ride the bus downtown, or get dressed at Jeremy’s and walk down?

I opt to go with Jeremy’s.

I shower and straighten my hair. It goes better this time, although I do laugh at the way my emo fringe flops in front of my left eye. I’m sure it looks cool and mysterious, but I hate having my hair in my face.

I debate if I should wear my dress there, or pack it and change. I opt to wear it. The dress is too voluminous to carry on the bus.

Pack up and away we go. On the drive, we pass by a group of school kids being taken out on a parade in their costumes.

Jeremy bought us alcohol ’cause I jokingly said we were pre-gaming, which is nice of him. We watch 2 episodes of Breaking Bad. We were down to the last 4, so Hank is dead now and I’m rejoicing. Also, the Charlie Rose appearance has not aged well!

“I can’t decide if I think Todd is a nice but awkward guy, or a psychopath.” I say.

“That’s what the director said.”

“You could ask the same thing about me. Am I nice, or a psychopath?” I grin at Jeremy.

“Both.” He replies.

“Excellent.” I enjoy Todd nonetheless. If he were real, I’d hang out with him.

After the episodes are done, time to get ready. I’m too cheap and lazy to buy make-up, so I use the same gold marker to outline my lips and eyes. Looks great!

Jeremy’s Halloween costume is a Tron mask and a scythe he bought on sale. I guess they go together.

“You can be Charon, my ferryman.”

“My name can’t be Sharon!” He protests.

My backpack doesn’t fit over my wings (it later occurs to me that I could undo the straps… oops), so I leave it behind. I just need my wallet, keys and phone anyway. And away we go, into the dark night!

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there!
He wasn’t there again today,
I wish, I wish he’d go away!

“One thing I love about Halloween is how, as the physical masks go on, the metaphorical masks come off.” Jeremy says.

It’s true. So many holidays are about family and love and BS. Halloween is one of the holidays sort of dedicated to debauchery, and the masks tend to come off.

“I agree.” I say, grinning widely.

“Like you,” He gestures to my dress, “This is the real you, isn’t it.”

“Of course.” I turn my slasher smile on him, curtsying, and he stumbles back a step. Hah! He wasn’t really expecting the real me.

I expected there to be a line-up around the block, but I guess 9 is a little early for a bar crawl, ’cause the streets are empty. We get to BPP and Jeremy discovers the front door is unlocked.

“Jeremy, they’re not open yet.” I say, laughing.

“But then why is the door open?”

Somebody sidles past us with a guitar. Obviously, so the musicians can come in and set up.

Uh oh. If there’s no back door for the bands to bring their gear in… that means…

We go wait in front of the main door, under the white overhead light, me shivering with cold and nerves. I knew I’d be highly visible in this costume and I’d resigned myself to that, but I didn’t realize I’d be front and center like this.

Ten minutes before 9, Kevin showed up in his wizards costume. He leans against the wall, facing the door, and I feel like I have to join him even thought it makes my face incredibly obvious, lit up by the white light.

Melody showed up shortly after and started punning and word playing immediately. She wanted to light up a joint before the show, but lost her lighter and went off looking for one to borrow. Another band showed up to drop off their gear before doors officially open.

I knew it was him even before I registered his face, partially hidden by the hood of his dark puffy winter coat. His eyes slide past mine without a flash of recognition, but I’m not sure I trust that. I’m still wearing my carpenter’s sweater, the white logo glowing against the black fabric, if nothing else. He’s got a good poker face.

Melody comes back with a lighter; she traded it for a spare joint. That’s an expensive lighter. If she’d waited a moment longer I could have yelled at Landon to borrow his lighter and made things really awkward.

Krish showed up with his new girlfriend, Erin. I was bracing for her to be annoyed at me because of how much Krish talks about me, but the opposite occurred; she was super excited to meet the absolute god Krish is always talking about.

“Hey, what happened to that other girl?” Krish asks me.

“Janessa?” I say, but Erin’s interest piques.

“Janessa? Janessa [Redated]?” She asks.

“Yeah…?”

“Oh, we went to high school together! We were besties!”

One degree of separation, here.

Then the doors opened. I fumbled with my wallet and finally gave up and took my gloves off. Standard operating procedure at the Hunger is that you have to show ID when you purchase the wristband. Makes sense, I guess; then you don’t have to keep checking ID’s.

Jeremy grabbed a drink immediately. I eyed the sign saying “cash only”; I hadn’t brought much. I debated asking Kevin or Jeremy to buy me a drink, but I decided to hold off for now.

We found a spot near the wall to stand. I don’t like being a wallflower, but I figured it is kinder to the crowd to keep my wings to a wall so I’m not whacking people. I watched Landon try and fail to slink unnoticed across the front of the stage, shoulders hunched to make himself smaller, except he was easily the tallest person in the room. John is 6’4 and I think Landon might be taller than that.

“What kind of music do they play?” Jeremy asks.

“The set list says ‘goblin folk’.” I reply, because I’m not sure how to explain what it sounds like.

“What?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it.”

I thought that Melody was lucky to score the opener, but as I surveyed the light crowd, I realized the opener doesn’t mean much at the Hunger. No real crowd ’til ten, they were the ‘killing time’ band. Still, I enjoyed the show. Melody was fun and goofy; between songs, she said “I’m taking my hat off, it’s getting hot in here,” popped off her top hat to reveal a smaller top hat, and threw the smaller one into the crow. Other little bits like that.

I always enjoy her shows and I wish some of her stuff was recorded so I could listen to it on my own time. Kevin’s a good drummer, like always, but I get the feeling he’s just doing it out of a sense of obligation and not because he really wants to be on stage.

“You’re right, I do like it!” Jeremy says halfway through the set.

My throat being all destroyed is a special kind of hell. I can’t sing, I can’t cheer, I can barely raise my voice enough to be heard over the speakers. What excellent timing.

“Hey, I love your tattoo!” A random drunk guy yells at me. “Majora’s Mask!”

I smile beatifically. “Aww, thanks!”

“Are you supposed to be Albedo? From Overlord? It looks spot on.”

“Ah, no, I just threw this together.” Albedo? Isn’t that the word to describe how reflective a surface is?

(Also, I looked up Albedo later and my costume looks only vaguely like her)

That ended up becoming a theme of the night, people trying to guess what I was dressed up as. Maleficent is common, which is fair because they are technically horns for Maleficent costume, but some, like Albedo, were just people projecting.

After Kevin’s set was done, I asked him what his plans for the evening were. Basically nothing, whatever I wanted.

Ah. I almost hoped he’d have an plan, to save me from myself, or to abandon me to my own devices. Now I have to decide.

We decided to go to the Paramount. There was supposed to be all kind of arthouse nonsense there; drag, a bug eating show, some sort of strip-tease with an angle grinder (subtitled ‘sexy sparks’), burlesque. Downstairs was a rave, but I wasn’t going to do much dancing when even walking threatened to yeet my crown across the room. I should have hot glued it to my scalp.

We got in and grabbed seats. Pink Ivy was still on stage, which was concerning when it was already ten minutes past when her show was supposed to be over. Eventually the schedule slip got so bad Paramount cancelled half the shows and the angle grinder sexiness didn’t happen (lame). They were having technical difficulties.

Jeremy disappeared early in the show; his buddy James called him. Krish and Erin disappeared about halfway through; she wanted to go dancing. I’d seen the line for the NVM, I’m good, thanks.

Molly hops up on stage, “Please stay in your seats for the show! The dancers may interact with you, but don’t touch them without their explicit consent! Consent is sexy, and if you are male, it is the bare. F*cking. Minimum!” The crowd cheers at the last part.

The truncated drag show was good. Molly danced to ‘The Dead Dance’ again. Devin Divine did a strip tease, which included hopping off the stage to dance on people’s laps, and an especially vigorous dance move that involved throwing themselves to their knees and is presumably the reason they were wearing knee pads! Ivan Love performed a Michael Bublé version of Disturbed’s Down With The Sickness, with two female back-up dancers, one of whom had a fashion accident and lost her ill-fitting corset. Oops!

(Credit to Keegan Richard, obviously)

After that, they had a crowd participation show where people went up on stage to lip-sync and dance to a random song. The one girl on the far right was obviously some sort of professional dancer. The people seated behind us were obnoxiously enthusiastic about their buddy being picked and kept kicking my horns.

As me and Kevin sit in the dark theatre, deciding what to do next because the show after the drag show didn’t interest us, I get a text from Jeremy. He’s back at BPP, for some reason. I thought he was at Red Lions?

“Jeremy’s back at BPP, should we go there?” I ask.

Kevin smiles, “It’s almost time for the hot teacher’s band, isn’t it?”

My cheeks burn. He knows his name, he knows the band’s name, he chose to phrase it like that to make me blush. “I know you looked at the band list, don’t play coy!” I slap his arm. “I’m not lying, Jeremy just texted me!”

Kevin laughs a deep belly laugh, “Sure, we can go back to BPP.”

As we leave the venue, a photographer stops to snap a photo of us. After he wanders off, I look down to zip up my sweater and notice my corset has made an escape attempt… which is now immortalized forever in the photo.

There’s a line for BPP now. Kevin could skip the line with his band pass, but he opts not to. The line does go pretty quick. As we get to the door, Trenton is leaving, dressed as a vampire. He recognizes me immediately and offers me a wordless fist bump and a grin.

Good to know I’m recognizable.

We find Jeremy at the back by the pool table, sans scythe and James, who has gone AWOL on him.

Krish catches up to us. His girlfriend is good and drunk and he asks me to keep an eye on her while he goes to the bathroom and grabs drinks. I get a Mike’s, might as well have some alcohol.

The current band finishes up and I’m not sure what to do when the next band starts. Keep sitting here? Drag the others to the front? Take off by myself and see if they follow me? A group of extremely drunk guys try and fail to play pool, whooping and being noisy.

Then the first guitar notes hit. I don’t even have to look up to know the other guy is playing bass today; Landon’s on guitar, I can feel the strumming in my soul.

I resist moving for about half the first song, then the guys playing pool annoy me by being drunk and stupid and raucous, and I get up and stomp off closer to the front.

The band dressed up medieval; stealing Kevin’s style. The drummer is a knight in a hilarious giant helmet he probably can’t see out of, the bassist’s a bard, the singer’s a Lady, and Landon’s a knight in a cheap plastic hauberk with a hood that conveniently hides his face from the crowd.

They’re just grinding away again, nailing the songs, no heart…

Kevin wanders out. He’s going back to the Paramount to see something. I wonder if he’s leaving me to my vice and I feel kinda shitty about it. Jeremy comes over to stand with me.

They start playing ‘Teen Spirit’ and Landon’s starting to loosen up. Most of the way through the song, they hit a break for a guitar solo and he steps forward, still being shy but killin’ it.

And the crowd goes wild! Under the hood, I can see his teeth glint as his feral grin comes out.

There’s the rockstar Bjorn knew.

I turn to Jeremy, “Landon’s on the right.”

He nods, smiling drunkenly, “He’s good.”

He is. Too good to be in this band, honestly. It would be interesting if we could get him, Kevin and a better singer in the same band… might be something worth selling.

Once the song is over, they roll right into the next one, Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. I’m amused by the sight of Landon singing along with it, but he’s fully loose and in the moment now. He manages to get another guitar solo in, this time putting his foot up on the amp and throwing his head back to bathe in the crowds screams.

No breaks, right into a third song; “You Spin Me Round”. Damn, they are on fire tonight!

At one point I think I caught his eye, but maybe he was just staring vaguely into the crowd, or trying to look at something behind me.

Towards the end of the set, John texts me. I tell him where we are and he shows up after the band has ended. That’s good, I can’t stand more teasing. John’s dressed up in full Cloud cosplay, and he looks good… he could probably pick up a chick tonight if he wanted.

Jeremy’s friend is at Red Lion, so we walk down there. We can’t find him; turns out Jeremy was so drunk he told James’ we’d meet him at the Paramount, then told us to go to the Red Lion to meet him. On the walk, we lose John somehow.

I meet James and his girlfriend. They seem like normal people. They want to dance, but I can’t really dance in this, and my crown is starting to really annoy me. The Paramount cancelled the rest of the show upstairs and Kevin offers me a ride home ’cause he’s done for the night, so I accept. The regular people are all starting to head home and it’s just the drunks soon anyway.

We walk back to BPP to grab Kevin’s gear. Some 1% patches show up and park their bikes in the middle of the sidewalk. Where are they from? That’s odd timing… I spare a thought for the idea that Garry sent them to check up on me. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, though.

Me and Kevin have a deep conversation on the walk up to his place, the sort of conversation we haven’t had for a while. For a moment, I debate asking if I can stay the night… but I shouldn’t. I should start disengaging myself now.

A happy ending is boring, isn’t it? People have observed that in fiction for some time, although the most recent example is Taylor Swift’s new album. Tortured Poet’s Department was about a whirlwind romance with a mercurial man, and it did gangbusters. Life of a Showgirl is about a content Taylor in a healthy relationship, and it got middling reviews for being serviceable pop but not ground-breaking.

When I get home, I grab a handful of food and take my hammer outside and use the claw to dig a hole and bury it. I say a prayer for Luke.

I don’t get much sleep that night.

When I finally give up and crawl out of bed, I have a few choices for my day. The thing I really want to do is go to Jeremy’s place to grab the stuff I abandoned there the night before. It turns out he headed out after I did, which is annoying, because if he had told me that I could have had Kevin swing by and grab it before taking me home. Oh well.

Jeremy is down for more Breaking Bad, so why not. Hop on the bus and head over.

The end of an era. Now I can look up stuff on the show without Jeremy yelling at me about spoilers!

Parting thoughts on Breaking Bad; one of the things I respected about Josh is that he actually got better when he had a kid. A lot of junkies get like Spooge and his old lady, or even if not that bad, it doesn’t change them for the better. Josh was good at rationalizing a lot of his bad behavior until his son came along, and that seemed to throw a lot of his assumptions out the window. He was sort of the inverse of Walt; he wanted to rule an empire, until he realized the simple pleasure of sitting down to dinner with a family… something he didn’t have, growing up.

As always, I hated Hank and he never grew on me. I mean, objectively I loved his character arc, and the realistic way the show treats his injuries, but subjectively, he was too much of an unrepentant loud mouth to ever redeem himself in my eyes.

The show was good; stylish, thematic, but realistic in a rare way. I appreciate that the final season was way better than the final season of Sons of Anarchy, who’s villain protagonist kept winning because of the anthropic principle and not because you wanted him to.

Kevin mentioned there was a party that night, but he wasn’t replying promptly to messages, so I hopped on the next bus – noting the bus before and the bus after had been cancelled for lack of drivers – and headed home.

Sofia has been trying to organize a SIBs meeting. I’m glad someone is. I would, but obviously I won’t be here to make it happen. I support her as much as I can, with suggestions and helpful tips.

The bus tossed me off at Lakehead. Technically the bus changes from one route to another at Lakehead, but the bus I’m on usually becomes the next route so it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. Today, he was shutting ‘er down at Lakehead, which is fine. I can walk.

Kevin finally gets back to me and says the party starts at 7, so I flake on the couch, but 7 comes and goes and he still hasn’t arrived to pick me up. He doesn’t head out until 7:30.

We finally arrive at the house, dark but for a few Halloween decorations. Kevin parks down the road and we walk up to the house. He ignores the front door and lets us in the backyard, then the back door, into a laundry room.

Despite being an hour late to the party, we are the first ones there. We kick off our shoes and a couple femme-presenting people and one masc one greet us.

“This is Lucy, my partner.”

What? He never introduces me as a partner! I’m tongue-tied as my brain processes what he just said. I guess it’s different here.

The house is super dressed up for Halloween and I imagine it looks like this a decent chunk of the year; goths. We got through a kitchen to a living room. Kevin takes a seat on a couch facing the door and I curl up next to him.

They start unpacking bowls of chips and candy. I’ve gathered that one of the femme’s is a co-workers of Kevin’s as they talk shop. There’s an old schlocky movie playing on the TV; Night of the Demons, which is obviously cribbing on Evil Dead.

Surprisingly for a low budget horror movie from the 80’s, no one starts getting naked until the movie is mostly over.

“Yeah, but it’s Linnea Quigley, she was always going to take her top of.” The masc person says.

We all laugh, “That’s like knowing a porn actor!” He blushes.

After it’s over, they put on Gremlins 2, which has either not aged well or aged spectacularly depending on your mileage. It’s basically a 2 hour indictment of the 80’s culture, filled with random asides and cameos (like Hulk Hogan), except their main target is Donald Trump, and the rich bitch CEO is a copy-paste of Trump in the 80’s, when he was both ‘successful’ and still the joke.

Some more people start to arrive. A couple people arrive in Covid masks and I want to clarify that I’m not sick, my throat is just torn up from surgery, but that would also prompt a bunch of questions I don’t want. I’ve been mostly going with ‘quiet and mysterious’ at this party, watching Kevin interact with the other people. Despite Kevin’s reputation, a lot of curious glances have been thrown my way.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you can go socialize if you want.” I tell him. Some of the people have been hanging out in the kitchen since they arrived; the living room is stuffed full.

He squeezes me tighter. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

Happy noises

The last guest to arrive is dressed as a vampire. He clearly knows Kevin personally, and his eyes light up when he sees him in attendance.

“What are you drinking!” He exclaims, gesturing to Kevin’s beverage.

“Oh, this? It’s some sort of spicy pickle beer.”

“Can you even tell what tastes good anymore, or are you just trying to mess with all of us?” The guy says with an incredulous snort.

“Oh, I’m like a Cenobite.” Kevin laughs.

Unable to tell the difference between pleasure and pain, just experiencing sensations? Yeah, that checks out. I debate making a joke about not kissing him later, but then I might be forced to put my money where my mouth is by the curious crowd.

I think Mr. Vampire is the most interesting person here, besides Kevin of course, but I get a feeling I should stay away from him.

One of the other people in the crowd is an archaeologist with Lakehead. They talk a lot about their work, as we tease them about their goofs.

The crowd starts to thin and we start getting a little tired. Kevin decides we should head out.

“Me and the vampire go way back. We were stuck in a love triangle… well, more like a love square, because the woman didn’t tell us she was still with her ex-husband.” Kevin says on the drive.

I snort. “She must have been legendarily good in the sack, or something.”

He chuckles at this.

“You guys seem friendly now.”

“Friendly enough.”

Like Vox and Alastor?

“Thank you for inviting me out.” I say, as we pull up to my place.

“Thank you for sharing the experience with me!” He smiles.

“Always.”

“What is a poet? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music…. And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’ – that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.”

• Soren Kierkegaard