Date: Fri, 23 Apr 2004 13:17:32 -0400 (EDT)
From: Sean Roberts <seanr_13@yahoo.ca>
Subject: The Silver Compass - 10

The Silver Compass - 10
Sean Roberts

All feedback is very much appreciated; please send to seanr_13@yahoo.ca

Una Cancion

When he was in class he nursed coffee.  Outside, he
smoked.  He sat at dinner with his family, eating
constantly, barely saying a word.  He would go to his room
immediately after, lock the door and drink.  The first
night it had been half a bottle of vodka.  It made him
sick, so the next night it was only a quarter.  Three
nights later, he was getting used to it and it went back to
half.

They never smelt it on him.  He showered and brushed
his teeth and drank water before bed.  In the mornings he
told them he was sick.  It lasted three days.

Through the walls Matthew heard a thump.  An empty
bottle of vodka was lying still on the floor, beside
Michael's body.  "Shit Mike," he whispered, running up to
his brother.  He tried to shake him awake, but to no avail.
He stared at Michael's face, trying to figure out what to
do.  He placed his hand on his brother's stomach.  He
pressed harder, somehow knowing that this would revive him.
He carefully shook Michael's shoulders with his left hand.
Michael did not move.  Matthew went quickly to get his
parents.

Michael awoke in the hospital.  His head was pounding
and his hip was aching.  He touched it.  It hurt more.  He
tried to sit up to figure out where he was.  "Thank God,"
he heard a voice say.  There was no light in the room but
the voice was familiar, comforting.  The voice of a mother.
She threw her arms around him and told him how much she
loved him. Her voice sounded like it was booming through a
loudspeaker.

"Not so loud mom," Michael whined.

"Sorry sweetie," she said.  She held his hand.  He
felt the wrinkles in her hand; she was getting older.  He
had always seen her as old -- she was his mother -- but never
this old.  He suddenly needed to sleep.  He held on to her
hand as he closed his eyes.  Almost immediately he was half
asleep.  As sleep took over even more he felt his hand
slipping away from hers.  He wanted so desperately to hold
on, but he was asleep, and his hand dropped.  His mother
ran to get the doctor.

He sat up suddenly and pulled off his shirt.  It had
become wet from the dream he couldn't remember.  He was
back in his room.  His head still hurt, but not as much.
For a moment he watched the shadows on his ceiling created
by the tree whose branches extended to his window.  He got
out of bed to use the washroom.  He was hungry, but he
needed a shower more than food.

He explored the refrigerator dressed only in the
bottom half of his pyjamas.  He found leftovers from dinner
the night before.  "How are you feeling?"  He spun around.
Matthew had come downstairs.

"I'm hungry," Michael said.

"So you ate your shirt?"

"Shut up."

"What's been going on with you Michael?"  He turned to
face his brother.

"If you're going to call me that, please just don't
talk to me okay?  I have a headache right now, and I'm
hungry, and I feel like shit.  The last thing I need..."

"Okay, fine, I'm sorry."

"Don't be.  I hate you as much as you hate me."

"I don't hate you.  God you can be a dick can't you?
I just want to know what's going on with you..."

"I told you.  Cameron, and Sarah, and you ... all of
you, you hate me for some reason, and..."

"I don't hate you.  And Sarah probably doesn't.  And
Cameron does.  But that's my fault."  Matthew was staring
at the floor.  Michael was watching him, confused.  "I
pretended to be you the night before we left.  I told
Cameron I wanted to end it...and he of course thought it was
you."

"You didn't by any chance happen to get his phone
number while you were at it did you?"  Michael asked
angrily.  Matthew did not respond.  "Fuck off Matthew.
Please, just get the fuck out of here and let me eat."
Michael sat down at the table with his food.  He took a
bite and began trying to figure out what bothered him more
-- what Matthew had done, or that Cameron wasn't able to
tell the difference.

*

It was eleven o'clock on Saturday morning.  His
parents and his brother would probably be home.   He went
downstairs hoping his parents were shopping for groceries
and Matthew was at hockey practice.  All three of them were
eating a late breakfast.

He sat down.  His mother smiled at him.  His father
passed him a plate and his brother ignored him.  The
tension of the inevitable questions Michael would be asked
by his parents at the end of the meal hung over the table.
Michael ate slowly, hoping to avoid the conversation for as
long as possible.

"Look, I've just been a bit down lately," he said
before they could ask him anything.  "I'm sorry.  I know I
shouldn't have done it, I swear I've learned my lesson."
They believed the look in his eyes.  His mother sighed and
his father looked worried.

On the desk in his bedroom he found a small piece of
white paper, ripped off the corner of a larger sheet.
"Cameron Black" was scribbled across the top, seven digits
below it.  It was Matthew's handwriting.  Michael ran to
get the phone.

They met that evening in a restaurant.  Michael did
not know if Cameron would show up.  He had not gotten hold
of him, but had left him a message, giving him the name of
the restaurant and the time.  No more information than was
absolutely necessary.  He did not feel like he needed to
beg; he was the one who had been wronged.

Michael did not expect him to come.  But he was being
escorted to a table by Michael's waiter.  They were both
wearing suits, meaning Cameron knew the restaurant.
Michael's was brown and Cameron's black.  Michael stood up
and they shook hands, for appearances only.  The white
tablecloths and soft lighting brought out everybody's best
manners.  They would not have been allowed in otherwise.
They ordered soft drinks and the waiter disappeared.

"The night before we left, it was my brother who came
to see you."  Michael's voice broke the silence and the
tension.  Cameron was staring at him, listening intently to
every word he said, though his lingering anger at Michael
was apparent on his face.  "It was him who broke up with
you.  I didn't know anything about it.  He told me
yesterday, or the day before, I can't even remember.
Cameron's face relaxed.  His dark blue eyes added colour to
his dark suit.  Michael stared into them.  He saw Cameron's
love returning.  "I'm going to kill him.  Although it's not
his fault.  What the fuck were you thinking?"  The anger
transferred from Cameron's face to Michael's.  "You can't
tell the difference between me and my brother?"

"Mike...you both look exactly the same."

"I can see who you are by looking into your eyes."

"It was dark.  We were walking, we weren't even
looking at each other.  I'm sorry Mike, I feel terrible.
Look, the only reason I came tonight is because I missed
you.  As angry as I was, I wanted to see you so badly.  I-
well, I didn't know what happened, and I was ready to
accept an apology.  But we're here now, together...no harm
done right?"

"There was harm done Cam, a lot.  Not your fault
though.  I haven't told you yet what's been going on."
"You know, Mike, I'm not really all that hungry.  Why don't
you tell me back at my place?  My parents are out for the
evening, Jules is too, she's with a friend."

He entered a second world and he forgot everything he
needed to tell Cameron.  Shelves with DVDs covered almost
every bit of spare wall.  Movie posters covered the white
paint in Cameron's bed room.  The shelf above his desk
contained school books.  All of his furniture was white but
the room had so much colour.

"You never told me you liked movies this much."
Michael felt like he could escape into the glamour of
Hollywood just by perusing the shelves.  It was like being
at a video store, deciding what to rent, trying to
visualize each movie by the picture on the cover.

The linen on the bed was blue.  Cameron turned on his
stereo.  "Remember that song we fell in love with in the
Dominican?"  Michael kissed him.  The song was beautiful
despite the impossibility of Michael understanding
anything.  They both closed their eyes when they threw
themselves into the ocean of Cameron's bed.  Michael let
Cameron feel his way around his body, pausing in certain
places and kissing them.  When Michael felt himself in
Cameron's mouth, his hand felt Cameron's hair.  He could
feel the sand and hear the music of the beach while he made
love to Cameron.