Page 7 of Rhymes with Metaphor

M artin had been hoping to take Juliet in his car, with Reg driving Joel. However, Juliet had a car of her own and wanted to drive Joel herself, so Martin ended up driving Reg in his car, with Juliet following in hers.

“Will you stop waving at her?” said Reg.

“I don’t want her to think I’ve forgotten her,” said Martin.

“No chance of anyone thinking that. Will Juliet be staying in your room at the cottage?”

“Of course not.” Martin flushed purple and looked scandalized. “She’ll be in the room next to mine.”

“With Joel?”

“No. I’m putting New Bug in the room next to yours.”

“So, have you fucked her yet?”

“Jesus, Reg!” said Martin, the purple hue deepening. “Don’t be crass.”

“I’m sorry. Have you made love to her yet?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

“So, no. Roll on, Romeo.”

Martin started playing the Cross Country Checkup podcast.

“Please, no,” said Reg. “Not that.”

Martin increased the volume. “Got to keep my finger on the public pulse.”

When they arrived at the cottage, Juliet asked Martin to help her get Joel out of the car, as he was lying in the backseat, asleep. He was wearing grey scrubs today, Reg noticed.

They put him on the most comfortable couch in the all-season porch at the back of the cottage and finished unpacking. Then they all ate a dinner of cold cuts and deli salads on the porch, as Joel was too tired to sit up at the dining table.

“Nice view,” said Juliet.

As the trees hadn’t leafed out for spring, the lake was clearly visible.

“You’re not seeing it at its best in April,” said Martin.

“The grey heralds the green,” said Reg.

“How many years have you been coming here?” said Juliet.

“Since we were ten, when our families moved to Canada,” said Martin. “My dad bought this place so we could summer by the lake.”

“If you’ve been in Canada since you were ten, how do you still have British accents? You should have lost them if you came to Canada before you were twelve.”

“We don’t have accents,” said Reg. “We speak correctly.”

“We didn’t want to leave England behind,” said Martin.

“It wasn’t our choice to come here. And we go back to England in the summers and stay at Reg’s dad’s place, and when we were in Canada, Reg and I used to watch Britcoms on PBS, and we’d imitate the actors’ accents.

It was our way of holding onto home. I draw the line at yoghurt, though.

Reg pronounces it ‘yoggert,’ which is a bit much, in my opinion. ”

“One has to draw the line somewhere,” said Reg. “Martin draws his at Yoplait.”

“So,” said Juliet, “it’s not so much an accent as an affectation.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Reg.

“Case in point,” said Juliet.

“How long can you stay?” said Martin.

“A week,” said Juliet. “Joel should be starting his medical records job now, but we had to postpone the start date. Joel’s doctor said that the worst thing he could do right now is to push himself before he’s fully recovered.

He has this tendency to burn the candle at both ends.

Six courses and the MCAT in one semester.

I told him it was too much, but he wouldn’t listen.

” Juliet pushed Joel’s shoulder gently. “Would you?”

Joel didn’t respond. He barely looked awake, and he hadn’t touched his food.

Joel took a sip from his glass and grimaced.

“Throat still sore?” said Juliet.

Joel nodded.

“How bad is it?” said Juliet. “Is that why you’re not eating?”

“Not hungry.” His voice sounded terribly hoarse.

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” said Juliet.

“Sorry about that,” said Martin to Juliet. “Dinner was rough and ready. Tomorrow, I’ll take you out to the nice restaurant in town.”

“Whenever you got sick when you were little,” said Juliet, “I’d read you bedtime stories, and the only thing you’d eat was Combos, and the only thing you’d drink was root beer. And it had to be A&W Root Beer or nothing.”

“Why don’t we go to the convenience store now and get him some, Juliet?” said Martin.

“He shouldn’t be left alone when he’s this sick,” said Juliet.

“Reg can stay and keep him company,” said Martin. “Read him a bedtime story.”

Juliet refused to leave until she had swathed Joel in a veritable cocoon of multicoloured quilts. While she was doing that, Reg pulled Martin aside.

“What in the Mary Poppins fuck, Martin? A bedtime story?”

“I’ve got a copy of The Wind in the Willows in my bedroom,” said Martin.

“You want me to mollycoddle New Bug,” said Reg. “While you canoodle with his sister?”

“Could you, Reg?” said Martin. “I’d appreciate it awfully. I haven’t had a chance to be alone with her since Joel got sick.”

“We’ve only been here five minutes,” said Reg.

“And we’ll only be gone ten,” said Martin. “See you later.”

Reg went back to the porch and stood in the doorway. He considered going to his room and working, but guilt stopped him. That, and the way Joel lay there helplessly, like a caterpillar waiting to be trodden on.

Reg smoked a cigarette outside, keeping an eye on Joel through the screened window. The spring peepers were kicking up a righteous racket in observance to the mating season. And apparently, Juliet and Martin were extending their absence for a similar reason.

Joel scraped his throat with a nails-on-a-blackboard sound. Reg winced in empathy, recalling the time he’d had strep throat, the metallic taste that wouldn’t go away, pain flaring every time he breathed, let alone swallowed. No wonder Joel wouldn’t eat.

Reg sighed and went to the kitchen, got out the tub of the gourmet ice cream Martin had bought for the party he was throwing tomorrow, and scooped a generous amount into one of the giant football glasses Martin’s father collected, topped it up with some milk, found the emulsion blender in the back of the cupboard and blended it up.

He put in a straw, then he brought the concoction out to the porch.

He had to wake Joel with a nudge before he would take it.

He looked so innocent lying there, the glass looking enormous in his hand. He took ten minutes to drink the whole thing. Reg hoped that was more to do with the volume than how much it hurt his throat to swallow. Afterwards, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and Reg took the glass from him.

Martin and Juliet were gone for longer than ten minutes. Long enough for Reg to feel himself dozing off while the air in the porch grew colder.

“Come on, Joel,” said Reg. “Bedtime.”

Reg had to untangle Joel from the bedding, leaving Joel to follow him, while Reg went upstairs and spread the bedding out on Joel’s bed. When he came out a few minutes later, he found that Joel had fallen asleep face down on the stairs. Reg nudged him with his toe, but Joel didn’t respond.

Reg straddled Joel and put his hands gently around his body and lifted him. It was like picking up a roll of carpet.

At that point, Martin and Juliet came in, arms full of bags.

“Did you miss us?” said Martin.

“We bought out their entire stock of Combos,” said Juliet. She noticed Reg picking up Joel. “Be careful of his spleen, Reg.”

“His spleen?” said Reg, still holding Joel, a deadweight in his arms.

“Yes, his spleen could rupture,” said Juliet. “It enlarges when you get mono.”

Reg threw her a dark look.

“You know how spleens are, Reg,” said Martin, who hadn’t got a clue.

“I am being careful,” said Reg. “Try and get your feet under you at least, Joel.”

Joel stirred weakly and took some of his weight off Reg. Reg guided him up the stairs to his room, which mainly involved grabbing a handful of Joel’s scrubs at the back of his neck to stop him from falling forwards.

Juliet followed to put Joel to bed, and Reg left her to it. He came downstairs to the kitchen where Martin was putting the root beer in the fridge.

“You were gone long enough,” said Reg. “Where the hell did you go—Timmins?”

“Sorry,” said Martin. “We went to the harbour to watch the sunset. It was lovely.”

“Spare me. I’m off to bed.”

He did go to bed, but he didn’t fall asleep.

He kept turning over and over, haunted by a childhood memory of the summer the caterpillar population exploded, and they covered every inch of the sidewalks, and Martin was stamping on them and laughing at Reg trying to pick them up and put them back in the trees.

An image of a grey caterpillar obliviously inching its way towards Martin kept popping into his head, until Reg got up, switched on the light and scribbled a few lines to banish the image.

Then he turned the light out. More tossing and turning followed, then light on, and more words.

Then off again. Then back on again when more lines demanded to be written.

Then light off. And so on and so forth, until Reg had a draft of a new poem, and it was four o’clock in the morning.

The chair had better tap-dance on her desk for this one.

––––––––

T he next morning, as the weather was warm and sunny, Juliet suggested a picnic on the beach.

Much to Martin’s annoyance, she insisted on bringing Joel, to which Martin insisted on bringing Reg.

They went in separate cars, since Martin’s car wasn’t big enough for all of them plus the fold out lounge chair Juliet insisted on taking so that Joel could lie down.

“Why can’t he just lie on a towel?” Martin muttered as he and Reg carried the cooler from the cottage to his car.

“Perhaps she doesn’t want him to squash his spleen,” said Reg.

It was a fifteen-minute drive to the beach. As the season hadn’t begun, the beach and parking lot were deserted.

They got the folding chairs and picnic blanket out of the car. As they were setting up, Juliet pulled into the lot.

“New Bug won’t need any quilts today,” said Reg. “It’s scorching hot.”

“We could go for a swim,” said Martin.

“Did Juliet pack a bathing suit?” said Reg.

Martin blushed magenta. “I didn’t ask.”

Juliet got the lounger out of her car, and Martin went over to help her carry it and set it up. She went back to get Joel.