wednesday, six days later
the incessant ringing of the phone, the splatter of water in the shower, the gurgling of a coffee maker. indie reluctantly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and fumbled for the phone.
“hey, nitro, dude, ya gotta get an answering machine; i’ve been ringing for hours. anyway, just wanna say what a cool chick last night, though her face was like, demolished. sorry for ragging on you earlier about the homo thing.” a californian surfer voice babbled before indie could stop him.
“um, hi...this isn’t nitro; nitro’s in the shower right now. maybe you could call back later?” indie offered helpfully as soon as the other end paused for breath.
“whoa, didn’t think that you’d be there, man,i mean, spending the night chez nitro, but that’s cool, just tell him that i’ll catch him later, okay? thanks dudette.” the line clicked and surfer boy disappeared. indie wondered what he had meant by the homosexual thing; surely nitro wasn’t gay, was he? and if he was? if he was in fact homosexual, indie would have found him more beautiful, more attractive, more unattainable for it. it made sense, in a weird way; it would explain his behaviour the previous night, it would fit into the stereotype of gay male artists. indie wondered if it would be impolite to ask about it, and wondered about the night after orchid’s party. the shower made a metallic clank sound as it turned off and a few minutes later nitro emerged, clad in a towel, his hair wet. the idea that he might possibly be gay made him more desireable in indie’s eyes; he would be perfect and surreal, untouchable and unattainable. indie remembered something about lemmings commiting suicide; wanting something that one can never have was always suicide.
“who called?” nitro asked, pulling clothes out of his closet and disappearing back into the bathroom.
“some surfer guy; he apologizes for accusing you of being gay. what did he mean by that?” indie asked.
“oh, him. don’t know how it started, but there’s a rumour going around the circuit that i was gay. god knows where they got that idea. sorry if i’m brutally honest, but i think subconsciously i took you around yesterday to prove it. hope you don’t mind. of course you wouldn’t; you still owe me for that time when i had to pretend i was your boyfriend for a week.”
“what? i don’t remember that.” indie said uninterestedly, getting out of bed and looking at the books haphazardly balanced on each other on a post-modernistic shelf.
“back when i was in, hmm, i think it was grade 13, then you must’ve been in eleventh...anyway, that guy, self-pity, didn’t he ask you out? and you said that you already had a boyfriend, that it was me. by the way, what did happen to self-pity?” nitro poked his head out of the bathroom and held up two ties. indie paused for a moment.
“the blue. and self-pity is alright, haven’t seen him in awhile, though, mostly cos i haven’t been around.” indie realized how much school she’d been skipping lately. the idea of dropping out altogether struck her. she recognized one of the books; it was a yearbook. she flipped through its pages and found her picture. she looked so different in grade 9; could it really be her? she remembered her ambitions when she was in grade 9, to finish school, get into university, maybe become a doctor. what a foolish, naive child she had been. she turned to the grde 11 section; nitro looked different too. she tried to remember how they met.
“how do i look?” nitro broke into her reverie. nitro was wearing a black suit, white shirt and a blue tie.
“all dolled up and no place to go.”
“nah, gotta job interview this afternoon. what about you? school?”
“ah, the $64 000 question...probably not. i’ll head back to my place and see what’s happening. i’m thinking of dropping out, maybe. don’t scold me, papa, but what’s the use? i’ll get a job somewhere and make myself useful. after all, i do have 30 credits and can get my diploma.”
“whatever you say, obi-wan. hey, if you want, i could get you an interview somewhere. nothing big, of course, but something decent.”
“yeah, thanks. what’s your interview for?”
“some company in scarborough. they pay better than the ‘zine i’m working for now, and they’re looking for an art editor or something. so i sent in a resume, got an interview. and maybe i could work for the chronicles part time, who knows? coffee’s done, want some?” nitro strolled into the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee. indie held the steaming cup, warming her hands. she took a sip, found the coffee too bitter and put it back down.
“i’m going to get dressed. it’s only 7:30 anyway, and didn’t you say your appointment was in the afternoon?” indie asked. nitro nodded, slurping his coffee and reading a day-old newspaper. going back into the bedroom, indie looked at the unmade bed and wanted to cry. her life had become a cliche.