pyjamas and over the side of the bedâthin, bright yellow vomit, linoleum-hued, intermittently laced with liquescent kernels of blood.
I wanted to take him to the hospital, but Jos wasnât having any of that. He said it would be fine, Iâd see. He said heâd make us some Ichi-Ban Chicken Noodle and buy Rennie some Tylenol on his way home, and just not to freak out, cause it was a busy day ahead for him, and he didnât need any of my bullshit bringing him down.
Then he took off, leaving us entwined. Rennie still puking. Me sober and already a little shaky, gone hard, the way Iâd so often found it better to goâmore efficient. More effective.
Caught in the grip of some red dream, whimpering in my arms, Rennie seemed to sweat the rest of his pubescence out along with his humanity, while I slowly got straight for the first time in at least two years. Like his sickness had cured me, somehow, of mine.
And whenever it got almost too bad to bear, all I had to do was hug him tighter, hearing him husk:
Ro, it hurts, it feels like Iâm dyinâ. Oh, Ro, it hurrrts. Ro, man, whatâs happening to me?
At which point Iâd whisper back:
Iâm here, baby. Iâm here, Iâll never leave. Iâll always take care of you, Rennie. Always.
But always, as it since turns out, is one long Goddamn time.
* * *
I put the sheets in to soak, turned one of the Loons back into quarters and made some calls from the back of the Laundromat, doing a little business. Scouted out some of Josâ erstwhile friends, trying to line up future meals for Rennie; paid our overdue cable bill, using my Interac card and the Canada Trust Bankline. It was the second week of the month, and I had all the classic signs of impending menstruation: No appetite, lousy skin, a PMS headache thatâd been building at the base of my skull since the very early morning, finally coming to full, pulsing bloom whenever I closed my eyes. It was like a sparkler going off behind my lidsâopen them again, and for a split second or two, the whole world rained light.
Then it was an hour later, and I looked up from folding to find Leo in the doorway, already headed my way.
âRohise!â
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Leo Curran, burly ex-con Street Outreach worker-cum-superhero in his own private comic bookâ
Leo the Lionheart, Understanding Guy
, maybe; or:
How I Saved the World, One Reluctant Convert at a Time
!
He pulled out a nearby chair, settled his bulk into it. Looked at me over the rims of his sunglasses, all easy franknessâletâs you and me just have ourselves a little heart-to-heart and get our differences squared away right now, âkay?
âNice to see you, Leo,â I said, rolling the sheets back into a conveniently baggable size. âLike always.â
You big fuckinâ freak.
âI knocked at your door, a little while back,â he said. âYour brother sent me over.â
âOh yeah.â
âHe wouldnât let me in. Sounded like he was still in bed.â
I shrugged. âHeâs sick.â
Leo just smiled, and shook his head in a sad, slight way, clearly meant to imply: Well, of course youâd say thatâbut we both know better, now, donât we?
âSick?â he repeated. âWhen people are sick, Rohise, they get better. Somebodyâs been sick for eighteen months straight, what you do is you take âem to the hospitalâbecause thereâs obviously something genuinely wrong with âemâand you find out what the story really is. Or you cut âem loose.â
âUh huh.â I slung the bag over my shoulder. âWell, gotta go. Rennieâll be waiting.â
âIf heâs awake.â
I paused, squinting against the light. âMeaning?â
âStop me if Iâm wrong,â he said. âBut if your brother wasnât sick, you could go back to school, right? Get a job. Have a