Recovery
by Robert Reese, 2004
It's hard to say how long he would have kept running if he hadn't started coughing up blood. As it was, he stopped running in the middle of lap one-sixty-three around the indoor track upstairs above the basketball courts. The only witness, a jogger, passed a quick glance at him and immediately left. When the coughing finally stopped, Richard looked as though he was going to begin running again but suddenly walked off to the side and grabbed his towel instead. He knew he was in pain. He had to be, even though he couldn't feel it. Something inside told him to stop running, that he had run as far as he could, and that he would not be able to run away from what he was running from, especially not on a circular track. He left through the double glass doors.
Down two flights of stairs, he entered the locker room. Right two to twenty, left once to eight, right to fifteen. He opened his leather attaché and pulled out a small bag of coke and his wallet and used his black AmEx to form two lines on the wooden bench. Two men that came in while he was snorting the second line walked past their lockers and pretended not to notice. He put his wallet back in the attaché next to a worn copy of the October 14th Los Angeles Times, and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter. He lit a cigarette, closed his locker, and walked out of the locker room. He had not showered or changed out of his running shorts. His mink coat was still lying on the bottom of the locker.
He left the health club--not before receiving a verbal notice of the no smoking policy from a greasy kid in a polo shirt--and took a cab to Chinatown, still wearing his running shorts and a gray t-shirt with the word Banff and a silhouette of a moose embroidered on it. After paying the cabbie, he began walking west and, after a few blocks, realized that he was cold--not because he felt cold, but because he looked down and saw that snow was sticking to the sweat on his shirt. He lit another cigarette and kept walking. He passed a dry cleaner, a pub, a tobacconist, a dollar-a-slice pizza joint, and a vacant storefront. While waiting for the signal to change to Walk, Richard decided to head back to the pub.
The pub was dark, cavelike even compared with outside. Rich mahogany paneling covered the bottom half of the walls; pine green paint covered the top. There was a scattering of pennants on the walls, all local teams, and a framed photograph of the owner standing next to Stan Smyl, autographed. There were a handful of tables scattered throughout the pub, most of them empty. When Richard walked in, the people sitting at them turned to look at him. A couple of them paused conversations, others changed the subject. Richard did not notice. He walked up to the bar and ordered a Guinness and waited while the bartender poured the pint. "Four-fifty." Richard set down a twenty, picked up the pint and walked to a vacant table in the corner by the front window. He drank it slowly.
There was a big Chapters across the street from the pub. Richard watched people going in and out. They all seemed in a hurry and none of them came out without a shopping bag. He blew on the glass so a circle fogged up, then drew a star with his finger. He glanced down at his watch (Movado, which he did not take off while running) but did not see what time it was. There was a moose head hanging on the wall in between the two washrooms. Its eyes were glassy and seemed to be staring at nothing. Richard, after glancing around the bar, abruptly got up, walked out the door, and crossed the street.
Last minute holiday shoppers packed the bookstore. There was a line that stretched back to the coffee bar. Tension and exhaustion overwhelmed the faces of waiting people, all compulsively checking their watches. Richard headed up the stairs to the music section, browsed through Rock/Pop until he found a couple albums from Sting, Ashlee Simpson, and Bruce Springstein, then turned and headed back down. He paused at the base of the stairs and scanned the store. Magazines were to the right. He walked over to them and picked up Teen People, Seventeen, and Martha Stewart Home Living. The line was now stretched past the front of the coffee bar and along the back wall. The end of it was all the way back by Religious Books.
A picture of Jesus stared at Richard from the cover of a large, ornate King James Bible as he waited in line. It was the kind that had the extra pages at the front so people could fill out their family tree and keep it through the generations as a relic. Richard turned and faced the other way, but Jesus kept staring at him. He started fidgeting and was suddenly aware that he was very warm. The frost from his shirt had melted. He turned around and picked up the Bible, looked at it for a moment, and put it back on the shelf backwards. The little boy in front of him in line was watching intently until his mothered noticed, gave Richard a quick, sharp look, and moved the boy to the other side of her, using herself as a shield. Richard felt that Jesus was still staring at him, even though he knew Jesus was actually staring at another, identical Jesus. The line wasn't moving and the uneasy feeling became so strong in Richard that he relented.
After paying, Richard left the bookstore carrying a thick plastic bag filled with gifts and a shrink-wrapped Bible. He stopped on the sidewalk and lit a cigarette. The streetlights had come on and transformed the snowflakes in to slowly falling mini-lamps. Richard crossed the street and went back into the pub. He walked up to the bar and was about to order when the bartender said, "Hey, boss. What'll it be? This one's on the house."
"Guiness."
"All right. Say, aren't you a bit chilly there?"
Richard looked down. He was still wearing his red running shorts and Banff t-shirt. The sweat had dried, but there was new snow on the shoulders. He shrugged. The bartender finished pouring the stout.
"Here you go." Richard picked up the glass and headed toward the back section of the pub, behind the moose's stare, and sat at a table in the corner. He finished the pint quickly and then left again.
The snow was falling harder. Robson Street, about two blocks away from the pub, was unusually quiet. As Richard reached it, he looked around and Club Monaco was the first store he saw, so he went in. There were no other shoppers. The associate looked at him and said, "Hi. How are you?" He didn't respond. She waited, then sounding annoyed, she asked, "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Yes. I want an outfit. Shoes, socks, trousers, briefs, belt, shirt, and jacket."
She glared. "What kind?"
"I don't care. Pick something that looks decent. Like that mannequin over there." He pointed.
"I need your sizes."
"My tailor never asks for my sizes."
"Well, I'm not your tailor." Her voice had lost even the fake friendliness it had before. "I need your sizes if you want the clothes."
"Just take a fucking guess. I don't know." He leaned over and looked at the tongue of his running shoe. "Nine on the shoes."
She left and was gone for several minutes. He sat on a sofa that had been placed in the middle of the store. She came back with shoes and handed them to him. He tried them on while she went off again to get everything else. The shoes fit. She came back and gave him the clothes. "Do you want to try them on?"
"I'll pay for them first so I can wear them out." As he finished his sentence, the jacket lying on top of her pile caught his eye. "I don't want the jacket."
She dropped the jacket onto the sofa and carried the rest of the pile up to the register. He paid with his Visa and then followed her back to the fitting rooms so he could change. His new outfit consisted of black leather, rubber-soled boots; charcoal wool trousers; black leather belt with a silver buckle; and a cream turtleneck cashmere sweater. He left his running shorts and t-shirt in the fitting room.
It was still snowing hard back out on the street. He wandered past a few stores and stopped in front of an upstairs sport's bar. After a moment, he went up. The place was packed and the music was loud. The quiet, cold street seemed worlds away. Richard made his way up to the bar, found an open stool and sat down. The bartender came over after a few minutes and yelled over the noise, "What you want?"
"Kokanee."
The bartender filled a frosted mug and handed it to Richard. "Five dollars," he yelled. Richard gave him a ten. The Canucks were beating the Sharks 1-0 on every screen in the place. Canucks jerseys were everywhere. The bartender came back with change. Richard waved him off. He watched the rest of the first period over another Kokanee. The score didn't change. A woman sat down next to him right as the second started, but he didn't notice her. She stared at the screen in front of them intently until the period ended. Then she turned to him and said, "Hi. How are you?"
Richard looked over to see if she was talking to him and when he saw that she was, he responded, "All right."
"Hell of a game, eh?"
"I suppose so."
She waited for more of a response, but didn't get one. Eventually, as if afraid that she was losing the interest of this well-dressed, athletic man to a deodorant commercial, she said, "You're not very talkative."
"I'm tired," he said.
"Everybody's tired, it seems."
He didn't respond. The deodorant commercial changed to Budweiser. A man on the other side of the bar stood on his stool and screamed, "The Sharks are fucking pansies!" A hearty round of applause and loud cheering saluted his impromptu speech.
"So, what do you do? You look pretty dressed up for watching a hockey game at a sports bar."
"I'm in business."
"Oh really? My uncle's in business."
No response. The man on the other side of the bar tried to deliver an encore but fell off his stool. The guy standing next to him could have caught him, but didn't. There was a general moment of laughter. Richard and the woman didn't laugh.
"So, what's your name?"
"Steve."
"I'm Anna."
He nodded. The intermission report came on and Richard pretended to be interested. Anna stopped talking. After the highlights from around the league, commercials came back on and Anna started talking again.
"You a big Canucks fan?"
"Sure," he answered.
Anna quit talking momentarily and started drinking. During the third period, she had four gin and tonics. The Sharks scored a goal early in the period, but the Canucks answered it and went on to win 2-1. Anna and Richard were still sitting next to each other. During breaks in the game, Anna had questioned and Richard had responded with terse answers. Suddenly, after the game, just as a shaving cream commercial was beginning, Anna turned and asked quickly, "Want to get out of here? The noise is giving me a headache."
Richard turned and looked at her for the first time. She was cute enough; she had blonde hair, seemed to be in good shape, still had a hint of a summer tan, and was well dressed. "Yeah, let's get out of here." He smiled.
They left the bar and walked down to the street. Anna was leaning heavily on the rail, trying not to slip on the snow that hadn't been cleared off the steps yet. She would have been leaning heavily on the rail even if the steps were dry. There were a couple cabs waiting at the curb. Richard walked up to the front one and opened the door for Anna, then got in after her.
"Where to?" the cabbie asked.
"The Sutton Place Hotel."
The cabbie looked back, then nodded to himself, and started driving south. He pulled over about forty seconds later in front of the hotel. "Here you go. That'll be three dollars."
Richard gave him a twenty and got out. Anna followed him up to the hotel. There was a massive revolving door, but Richard opened the small glass door next to it and went through. They quickly walked through the luxurious foyer to the back elevator. The door opened and Richard pressed 19. Anna seemed impressed. The elevator arrived and they went left down the hall. Anna was talking; Richard was ignoring her; she was pretending not to notice. She waited over-eagerly as he opened the door; then she skipped inside and plopped in the middle of the king size bed, instantly bounced up and walked over to the window, commented on the gorgeous view of the city, and went into the bathroom. Richard slowly set down his attaché and Chapters bag on the floor, walked over to the minibar and pulled out a Heineken. He opened it in front of the window and stood following a snowflake on its path down as far as he could see it, then looked up and found another one. Anna came out of the bathroom wearing the bathrobe that came with the room. Richard didn't turn around. She walked over to him and started rubbing his shoulders. He turned his head and she kissed him. She was pulling him toward the bed. He set the beer on the nightstand as he fell on top of her. She undressed him. He took off her robe.
It was quick. He said nothing. She moaned but it didn't sound real. After he stopped, she asked, "Is that all?" She looked irritated.
"I've got a lot on my mind."
She just looked at him.
"Let's go down to the hot tub," he suggested, "then we'll come back and give it another shot."
"I don't have a swimsuit here."
"There's a store downstairs."
She agreed and they put on robes and headed downstairs. In the gift shop, Richard picked out a red and white bikini with a maple leaf on it. Anna protested, but he told her that was the only one he would buy. The cashier asked him for his ID when he paid with his American Express, and commented on how exciting California must be when he pulled it out. He didn't respond. They left the shop and walked toward the pool area. Richard said he'd meet her by the hot tub after she changed. He went into the locker room and walked up to the mirror. He stared in it for a minute, then turned around and left through the same door he came in. He walked to the elevator and rode back up to the nineteenth floor. Arriving at his room, he unlocked and opened the door, then took the "Do Not Disturb" placard and placed it on the doorknob. He locked the security bolt. The Heineken was only a little warm.
In his attaché, there was a framed photo of Richard's family standing on the beach holding surfboards. It was a couple years old. His daughter looked about six. He had pulled it out and was staring at it, sitting on the bed and sipping his Heineken. A knock on the door broke his attention. He glanced at it, but didn't get up. Instead, he pulled the coke out of his bag and used his Visa to make two lines on the nightstand. The knocking paused, he snorted a line, it started again, he snorted the other line. The knocking stopped and it was quiet. Richard rolled over and grabbed the shopping bag. He glanced at the covers of the magazines, then tossed them onto the table. He pulled out the Bible and Jesus began staring at him. This time, Richard didn't mind; he was expecting it.
Richard left Jesus shrink-wrapped on the bed, staring at the ceiling while he finished the last swallow of his beer, lit a cigarette, and walked to the bathroom to pee. When he came back out, there was more knocking at the door. "Steve, you asshole! Open the door!" He looked at Jesus then turned on the television without using the remote control. The local news was on. "My fucking clothes are in there! At least let me get my clothes!" Richard grabbed the Bible and freed it from its shell, then placed it on top of the dresser on its spine and let it fall open. It was as if he was letting God pick out what today's lesson was. "I'm going down to the fucking desk and I'm going to make them open your fucking room so I can get my fucking clothes!" He lit another cigarette with the end of his first one and looked at the door. The Bible had opened toward the beginning, to the book of Leviticus. "I won't even say anything. Just let me have my clothes... Please." He began reading at the middle of the page.
Or if his sin, wherein he hath sinned, come to his knowledge; he shall bring his offering, a kid of the goats, a male without blemish: And he shall lay his hand upon the head of the goat, and kill it.
He turned around and looked at the painting above the bed, a print (14 of 85) of the sun coming over the mountains behind the city. The knocking stopped and it was quiet. Richard went over to the door and looked out. Nobody was there. He grabbed Anna's clothes and set the pile on the floor outside his door then walked down the hallway to the elevator carrying his repacked attaché.
The elevator opened into the basement garage and Richard stepped out methodically. A valet approached him, asked for his room number, then went off to get his car. Richard sat on a bench and gazed blankly towards the tunnel leading outside. When the valet came back with a Porsche Boxster, Richard did not get up. He was expecting his Escalade. The valet got out and approached him, and only then did he remember. He shook his head while walking towards her old Boxster. The valet was standing next to the car, expecting a tip, but Richard did not notice. He shifted straight into second and accelerated up the ramp to the outside.
The drive south to Tsawwassen took just under thirty minutes; there was no traffic. When Richard arrived at the ferry house, he learned that the next trip was not until five o'clock, so he got back in the car and watched the snowflakes hurl themselves against the windshield like Kamikaze pilots for a few hours. The radio was off. There was still no sign of light when the ferry began loading. Richard's car was the first in line and, after he parked, he climbed to the upper deck and walked out to the front of the ship. The snow was falling steadily and a cold wind was blowing in from the west. Other passengers huddled inside bundled with coats, scarves, and hats and cast glances in Richard's direction. The entire voyage, he leaned on the front railing of the ship, smoking cigarettes and watching the streetlights on the approaching island slowly come into focus.
When the ferry had docked, Richard drove off the boat and onto the Island Highway. After a few miles, he saw a livestock feed store to the left. Just as he was pulling into its parking lot, the owner flipped over the Open sign. He stopped to look at the shiny little car that had driven into his parking lot so early in the morning and held the door open. "Mornin'. Can I help you?"
Richard looked past the old flanneled man, into the store. Then, after a lengthy pause, answered, "Do you sell goats?"
The old man chuckled. "Are you serious?"
He half-nodded.
"Yeah. What you want a goat for?"
"A gift."
"A gift?"
Richard did not respond. The old man, after realizing that a response was not coming, turned around and led the way to the back of the store that opened into a barn. There were chickens on the left, all still sleeping, and pigs and goats on the right. They were also asleep, except for a young white goat that was standing by the edge of the stall waiting impatiently to be fed. Richard saw him and pointed. "That one."
"All right. You gonna send someone to pick him up?"
"No, I'll take him with me."
The old man doubled over at the belly, laughing. Then after a minute, he looked up at Richard's face and asked, "Seriously?"
Richard asked if the store accepted American Express. The old man said they did and then asked how the hell he was going to get a goat in that little car. Richard asked for a leash. The old man picked out a red leash and collar, then went over and put it on the goat. The goat refused to move, so the old man dragged it across the floor by the leash. Richard bought some oats and led the goat out of the store and into the passenger seat of the Boxster peacefully. The old man stood by the door shaking his head and chuckling.
Richard and the goat drove south down the highway and arrived in Victoria just as the sun was rising, a tiny yellow smudge behind the snowflakes. The goat, which had fallen asleep on the heated leather seat, raised his head when Richard made a sharp turn off the highway. Just as it decided to lay its head down again, Richard stopped the car in front of The Empress. He left the car running and went inside to get a room. The receptionist told him that check-in was not until four o'clock. He said he'd pay for this morning too. She looked at him with idle curiosity and then booked his room for two nights. Richard took the keycard and went out to park his car because there was no one out front yet. Down in the parking garage, there was a valet and Richard pulled up to him. He saw the goat and quickly said to Richard, "Sir, animals are not allowed in the hotel."
Richard looked at him and calmly replied, "I can't just leave him in the car."
"Sorry, but he can't go in."
Richard pulled out his wallet and slid a fifty-dollar bill out into his palm. "Are you sure?"
"It's hotel policy. No pets."
Richard pulled out another fifty. "You never make an exception to the policy?"
The valet looked around and then took the money, but didn't say anything. Richard led the goat to the elevator with more oats.
Up in the room, Richard sat on the bed and watched the morning news while the goat wandered around, sniffing everything. During a commercial break, Richard opened up his attaché and pulled out the picture of his wife and daughter. He set it on the nightstand, next to the lamp. He stared at the picture for a while, then out the window, and then he pulled out the folded Los Angeles Times and opened it to page six. There was a picture of an upside-down SUV lying behind an ambulance. Two stretchers were being loaded into the ambulance, but there were sheets over them so the bodies were hidden. The news came back on and he stared at the set for a while, then called the goat up onto the bed. He pulled a pocketknife out from his bag and sat there with it open in his hands, staring at the goat and rubbing the blade with his thumb. The Bible was still in Vancouver; he forgot to pack it. The goat was silent. A gust of wind blew in from the harbor and caused both to look up at the window. Snowflakes were smashing into it with suicidal intensity. Richard put his left hand on the goat's head and held it back, rearranging his grip of the pocketknife in his right. He raised his arm, then paused. He was staring at the goat. He let go of its head and jabbed the knife into his own wrist. It went deep and he pulled back with it as hard as he could. He switched hands and pierced his other wrist then fell backward onto the bed. The knife dropped to the carpet silently. The goat, spotted with red, curled into a ball next to Richard and went to sleep.