Part 12 (1/2)
That was Reg, calling from his apartment over near Lonsdale. He just wanted to talk. Jason's disappearance has left him as bewildered as it's left me. And I must say, it truly is hard to imagine Reg as the ogre Jason's always made him out to be.
Okay, Heather, be honest. You know darn well why Reg changed: losing Jason was the clincher.
He also got royally dumped, just after Jason disappeared - by Ruth, this woman he'd been seeing for years. And not only was he dumped, but she really laid into him when she did the dumping.
The essence of her farewell speech (delivered in a Keg steak restaurant as a neutral s.p.a.ce) was that Reg was the opposite of everything he thought he was: cruel instead of kind; blind instead of wise; not tough but with skin as thin as frost. I didn't like Ruth much the few times we met; she had judgment written all over her face. In real life, it's always the judgmental people who get caught robbing the choirboys' charity raffle fund.
I think I'm the sole mortal friend or contact Reg still has, which is odd, as I'm not at all churchy.
He sure doesn't have friends at work; the day Ruth dumped him, he was rummaging in the plastic spoon drawer in the coffee room, and found a voodoo doll of himself covered with pins made from straightened paper clips; the head had been burned a few times.
”Heather.” The sound of his voice just now - his soul was sore.
”Reg. How're you doing?”
Pause. ”Okay. But just okay.”
”I haven't heard anything from the RCMP today.”
”I doubt we will.”
”Don't be so glum. Don't. And you know what? Chris has mapped Jason's face from an old photo.
So at least he's in that index now.”
”Heather, how many people are in that index, anyway?”
”I don't know. Maybe a few hundred thousand. But it's a start.”
”Fah. A few hundred thousand . . .”
”Reg, don't be so negative. It's a start. And the index is only ever going to grow.”
”He's gone.”
”No, he's not gone, Reg.”
”He is.”
I lost it here. I said, ”Reg, you either have to have some hope here, or you stop calling, okay?”
Reg was silent, and then: ”Sorry.” ”It's hard on all of us.”
”Heather?”
”Yes.”
”Let me ask you a question . . .”
”Okay. Shoot.”
”If you could be G.o.d for a day, would you rule the world any differently from the way it's being run now?”
”Reg, you know I'm weak on religion.”
”Well, would you?”
”Reg, have you eaten lunch? You need to eat.”
”You didn't answer my question. If you were G.o.d, would you rule the world any differently?”
Would If ”No.”
”Why not?”
”Reg, the world is the way it is because - well, because that's the way it is.”
”Meaning?”
”Reg, Jason and I once discussed this. Sometimes I think G.o.d is like weather - you may not like the weather, but it has nothing to do with you. You just happen to be there. Deal with it. Sadness and grief are part of being human and always will be. Who would I be to fix that?”
”I forget that sometimes. Me, of all people. I take things too personally.” He went quiet again, then: ”How are the boys?”
”They're downstairs, wasted on sugar. Kelly from next door gave them KitKats, and I could just throttle the woman.”
Reg was fis.h.i.+ng here. ”Reg,” I asked, ”would you like to come over for dinner? It's five o'clock already.” He paused just long enough to make a dinnertime call seem casual. And so he's coming tonight for dinner, around eight, and I just heard one of the twins crying downstairs . . .
Sat.u.r.day afternoon 6:30
Sometimes I think the only way to deal with turbocharged kids is to give them even more sugar and lock them in a room with a TV set. As I know zilch about kids, this is my first (and last) means of coping, and it seems to work just fine.
I was setting the table when I heard a cartoon bird character on the TV squawk - and suddenly I was back on my first official date with Jason. I thought I'd jot it down here quickly.
The day after we met, Jason and I were headed to look at birds in the pet shop at Park Royal - he was thinking of buying a pair of sulfur-crested c.o.c.katiels - but in the store I had a rapid-onset itching fit, allergies, and I had to get some cortisone for my elbows. I work as a court stenographer and am somewhat in public all day, so my skin needs to be in relatively okay shape, and lately my eczema has been a real problem.
So we were standing at the counter at London Drugs when I burst into tears. Jason asked me what was wrong, and I told the truth, which was that it was the most unromantic beginning of a date with the most lovable guy I'd ever met. He told me I was being silly, and gave me our first kiss, right there in line-up.
He didn't get any birds, but he did buy me three small, anatomically correct rubber frogs, the size of canapes, who soon became Froggles, Walter and Benihana, three more characters for our imaginary universe.
I must be coming across as a basket case here. Frogs and giraffes and . . . Well, we all create our private worlds between us, don't we? Most couples I know have an insider's secret language, even if it's just their special nicknames for the salt and pepper shakers. After a while, our characters were so finely honed that they could have had their own theme parks in j.a.pan, Europe and the U.S. Sunbelt, as well as merchandise outlets in the malls. After his life of silence, I think that our characters were Jason's liberation.