The Peacock 1016

 Carl has just served us up some grilled cheese sandwiches, and they are delicious.  He has used some of the old English cheddar we bought the other day.  No one has said much of anything since we got out of the van.

"I thought you were taking the van in for servicing today?" says Francois.

"It can wait till tomorrow.  I have to get back to work on my article about Amanda."

"How far along are you?" say I

"I would say, near the middle of the beginning.  She is quite a fascinating study."

"How so?"

"Well, she is an accomplished mathematician.  She has a masters degree from McGill university, then she did world travel for over a year.  In Tel Aviv she had an affair with this guy, and became pregnant.  When she returned home she gave birth to her daughter. then quickly got married to this guy she had dated in high school, who quickly after fathered our own Tristan.."

"Are you doing interviews with her?" say I.

"Mostly we're doing emails"...

The Peacock 1015

 It was actually that same day that Greta caught us on the bed together.  We weren't having sex, this has never happened between Erik and me.  But we were both dozing side by side, fully clothed on top of the bed, Erik cuddling with me like a very trusting and very innocent child.  I don't know what Greta must have been thinking.  The next morning, while I was still on top of the bed sleeping, greta was gone.  Today when we are on Skype, I am going to ask him about it.  Well, I'm going to try.  Apparently, their mother was just about to pass away, and Greta wanted to conclude arrangements between us.  She had left on the table a document, signing over to me entirely the apartment, already completely paid for.  At least if I sell it now I can get full equity and that could come very close to a cool million.  And I can expect another five million on the sale of the house, which I am still not ready to sell.  The equity from the apartment can pay the annual property taxes as well as keep me alive otherwise....

The Peacock 1014

 No one at the team knows that I have stopped taking my meds.  Not in the last three weeks.  That is why I  have made so much progress in one short week.  Next week, if I can still hold my own I am going to tell Doctor Chisholm, no more meds.  I still have to tell Carl and Francois, but not yet.  Especially as things are moving so fast with us, I have to keep some things to myself, for myself, and only and exclusively for myself.  Carl's idea of unconditional openness and sharing is just way too much beefsteak too soon.  And I'm vegetarian, sort of. But even with my wild and unfettered emotions these days I finally feel fully myself.  Fully me.  And if I can negotiate this without doing anything particularly stupid, but this has been so intense and I want a break from intensity.  At least I'm sleeping well, much to my surprise, because Dr. Chisholm had warned me that no pills could cost me several good nights.

As we leave Burnaby Carl says, "Are you back on your phone again, Chris?"

"I haven't taken it out of my pocket since we left the café."

"You haven't been sleeping?"

"Bright eyed and bushy tailed.

"And still breathing."

"Yes, I suppose you could say I am still breathing..."

The Peacock 1013

 They sent me home from hospital with pills and a scheduled appointment with the mental health team.  Poor Erik.  While coping with his mother's coming demise, and his apparent inability to fly off to Sweden to see her and his sister (I later learned from him that Greta had ordered him to stay behind, to mind me), he became a constant presence with me.  Only to sleep or use the bathroom would he leave my side.  And then, one day, it occurred to me that here I was, swallowed up in self-pity over my mental illness, and my sense of absolute failure as a husband, and as a man.  And then, one day, I asked Erik about his Mom.  He had been on Skype with her the other day, but seemed very stoic about everything.  And then, as we were sitting at the breakfast table, facing me, his sister in young male form, but with warm brown eyes instead of cold impaling blue eyes, and then he went pale, began to shake, began to shudder, to tremble, and suddenly he was crying, and he sat there in front of his coffee, a weeping whimpering, streaming mess, and then I pulled my chair over next to him, and put my arms around him, and he let me hold him and go on holding him as he wept like he had never wept before.  and that was when my recovery began....

The Peacock 1012

 It was being married to Greta that triggered everything.  The third and last time we attempted sex.  It was going to be a failure.  She had initiated, once again, but I think more out of a sense of clinical curiosity.  That was how it was for her.  She looked at everyone and everything with that same cold, detached unwavering pale blue eyed gaze, as though the world for her was all contained in a petri dish.  I started crying, and continued crying like a baby, seated naked on top of the bed while she got dressed and left the room.  She went away and was gone for three days before I got a text from her in Sweden.  She had apparently gone first to a hotel here, then booked her flight and left.  Erik tried to be supportive, but mostly simply sat with me as I either cried or simply went so far into myself that nothing could retrieve me.  On my request, because I was feeling suicidal, he called 911.  He, as well as Dad, visited me every day I was in hospital for three weeks.  They got me on medications and when I came home I was feeling a lot calmer.  Dad wanted me to come home and stay with him, but I felt responsible for Erik, being alone without his sister.  When she returned a couple of months later, that was when she caught us both on the bed together, fully clothed, but sitll suspicious....

The Peacock 1011

 The ride back is quiet and uneventful.  We are decidedly avoiding conversation, all three of us for now.  no one knows what to do about the house and Carl has not mentioned anything further.  Neither have I told anyone yet that I am now unemployed.  I have an appointment for next week with the psychiatrist at the mental health team.  I called them in the café while I was in the washroom.  No one here knows anything about this, that I am a certified mental health patient.  Though I'm sure that, given some of my behaviour, they wouldn't find the idea to be at all far -fetched.  The thing is, except for that one period of three weeks of hospitalization I have been able to fake it, keeping my job, and my very limited social circle.  And now this.  Unemployed.  This big empty space waiting before me, but what is that empty space I am stepping into going to be for me? An open door that will lead me into new directions, experiences and adventures, or one gaping maw that will swallow me in a single gulp.  Maybe both?  I can talk to Erik about this, because he was living with us when I was in hospital.  He alone knows, and I'm still not sure how safe I should feel around Carl or Francois.  They will be okay but we have only known each other for one week.  And now we three have become inseparable....

The Peacock 1010

 "Who was that?" says Carl, looking up from his phone.

"Erik."

"Is he here?"

"He's on his way to his quarantine."

"Were you texting him in the back seat all the way here?"

"No."

"He was looking at porn", says Francois smirking.

"Oh you wish!"

"How is your ex brother-in-law."

"Not feeling his best.  He thinks he might have covid."

"The quarantine is just as well, then", says Carl.  "So, what were you reading on your phone in the van?"

"Chelsea's blog, when her mother had Alzheimer's.

"I imagine she's passed on."

"And it turns out she's a sex writer."

"No way!

Here  nom de plume is, get this, Geraldine Bang-Bang

"Oh my God", says François.

"And to think we're sharing her pussy with her", says Carl, and we all melt down in dumb male convulsive laughter.

The Peacock 1009

 My phone is ringing.

"Hello."

"Christopher.  It's Erik."

"Has your plane landed?"

"I'm in the terminal, waiting to be shuttled off to my quarantine."

I don't know how to respond.  "how was your flight?"

"It was alright.  I'm feeling super tired right now.  I even wonder if I've got it?"

"Have you been tested?"

"I was just tested here at the airport, and I should get the results tomorrow."

"Hang in there.  Do you want to talk in a little while?  I'm kind of busy right now."

"Where are you?"

"In a café in New West with Carl and Francois.  We were just looking at a house, a big haunted Victorian mansion in Queen's Park that Carl wants to buy for us all."

"Serious?"

"Serious is rather a big word for a small problem.  We should be home in about an hour, can I get you then on Skype?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay.  Hang in there, kid."

Hang in there, kid.  That is exactly what Dad used to say.  I think I know now why my moods have been so wonky.  I'm channeling the old man...

The Peacock 1008

 In the Waves coffee shop on Columbia Street we relax in the comfy armchairs in the back, each of us looking at our phones.  We're avoiding conversation.  I decided to skip ahead in Chelsea's blog as she continues about her mother's funeral arrangements.  The service was well attended, especially by regulars from their shop for they had built up a very loyal and faithful clientele, several of whom became lifelong friends and a regular presence at their dinner table.

Finally Carl puts his phone down on the table and says, "So, what do you think?"

"I'm not moving."  The words have just forced themselves in projectile manner from my mouth.

"Francois?" says Carl.

"Way too soon."

"I'm not going to live there alone." He pulls out the real estate agent's card.  Then he smirks and starts to laugh.  "Hey you guys, you want to know the real estate guy's full name?

"Maybe not", says Francois.

"Wei Willie Wang."  And now we're all laughing uncontrollably...

The Peacock 1007

 Twice Carl has said the words "fixer-upper", and we are still on the main floor of the house.  Everything looks old, tired, and ready to die, the dull stained walls, the chipped wooden trim, the hideous smeared linoleum.  "It would have been a real grand old mansion in its heyday", Willie has said already more than once.  It was built in 1892, and between the end of the Second World War and the early sixties was a home for unwed mothers. "A school of hard knock-ups", jokes Carl.  I alone am laughing.  Francois has gone ahead up the staircase and Willie doesn't appear to get Canadian humour.  As we check out the eleven bedrooms on the second and third floors Willie wants us to bear in mind that this house is not on any heritage preservation lists, and that the lot could be purchased for redevelopment.  What I find particularly striking about this real estate agent is he doesn't at all look like a greedy dishonest shark, more like a young international student recently abandoned here by his wealthy parents...

The Peacock 1006

 There is a parking space directly in front of the house.  It does have a certain Victorian grandeur with the queen Anne turret and gingerbread terrace.  Rather a sky blue in colour with white trim,  Looks like it's seen better days.  A young Asian man is standing on the sidewalk in front and waves to us, at first smiling, but when he sees us all emerge from the car he appears a little more restrained.  Well, we don't exactly look like wealthy property investors, though I trust he will have wet dreams after looking at Carl's bank balance.  He is dressed in a very well cut dark blue suit with an open neck white shirt, no necktie.  Rather on the short side.

"Hello", he says looking to me.  "My name is Willie, and you must be Carl."

"No, I'm Carl", says Carl.  "And these are my friends, Francois and Christopher."

Willy vigorously shakes Carl's hand, and for the rest of the visit treats Francois and I as though we are invisible....

The Peacock 1005

 And now this email from Laura, my supervisor:

"Hello Christopher

I hope you are well these days.  Just a heads up.  We have just closed the Haven because of covid restrictions, and will likely remain closed for at least another year or until conditions otherwise improve.  I understand that you have CERB benefits till October, so I would recommend that you seek another position.  This is for all of us very sad and disturbing news, and this pandemic has upended everything. I understand that some of the hospitals are hiring, so that might be an open door for you.

It was a huge pleasure working with you, you have such an amazing and intuitive approach with patients in distress.  You will be a blessing wherever you find yourself.  Count on us for a glowing reference.   Please keep in touch.

all the best

Laura

The Peacock 1004

 This is a tragic account.  The care facility locked down and made completely inaccessible to visitors and loved ones by the pandemic.  And the tortured lonely death of Joan without her daughter or partner present.  "I cannot afford this luxury of self-pity, knowing full well that I am not the only one to lose her mother this way, and also knowing that however painful for Dorothy and me, how much more frightening and lonely that must have been for Mom, dying alone like that, unable to breathe, basically drowning on dry land.  We could at least give her a proper burial.  She did not want to be cremated, and yes, we regularly visit her grave now, sometimes alone, but sometimes together.  To both our amazement, Dorothy and I have become close through this, and this is also what mother would have wanted...

I scroll down to the bottom where there is a link, Geraldine Bang-Bang dot com.  I click, and yes this must be Chelsea in another guise as a sex columnist, expounding on the pleasures of various toys and lubes.  I think I will save it for later...

The Peacock 1003

 The next several posts appear to be mostly random visits and adventures and vigils in the extended care unit where Chelsea's mother now is residing.  She has to share a room with three other women, but according to Chelsea appears reasonably content where she is, but they have to watch her constantly for her tendency to wander.  The mother has a name, by the way.  Joan.  It also turns out they are British minor aristocracy.  Her father's title is Lord Winston.  Which makes his daughter Lady Chelsea?  I am going to ask her about this.  She would fit right in with the piss elegant monarchists of St James.

"What I have had to  live with and bear as courageously as possible", she writes, "is that on three occasions my mother was taken from me.  When she paired off with Dorothy.  Then when she lost her memory and I became for her a benign if not benevolent stranger sitting with her for hours every day in the nursing home.  And then finally, when covid hit last year, and we lost her altogether..."

The Peacock 1002

 And now, just as we are entering Burnaby on Canada Way, this entry two months later:

"Yesterday Dorothy got a phone call from the Vancouver Airport Authority.  They had mom in detention and wanted someone to come and take her home.  She had booked a flight to London, and arrived at the terminal without luggage and her out of date passport.  This  just after again leaving the house with the stove still on.  Fortunately I was on hand to shut it off, since Dorothy and I have agreed to spell each other off whenever possible.  A bed has been found for her in an extended care unit.  Fortunately my hours at the salon are quite flexible, and I also have a respectable schedule of house calls for the following month, but this is going to impact on my income.  Amazingly enough, Dorothy has come around and offered me financial help wherever I'm lacking.  I never appreciated what a hugely great person she is until these last several weeks.  Mom really did hit the jackpot when she married her...

"How come so quiet in the back seat", says Carl.  "Still breathing back there?"

"I'm reading something."

"Must be pretty interesting."

"Real interesting."  And that's all I'm going to say.  This is something that I simply want all for myself.  I am not going to share this with anybody.  Not just yet anyway....

The Peacock 1001

 But yes, I will always remember clear as the wild blue yonder that critical meeting I had with Mom and Dorothy yesterday.  Mom had been becoming increasingly forgetful, not simply misplacing her glasses, but leaving the house with the stove elements on, forgetting to get in her car and drive to a dental appointment, but walking instead and ending up on the other end of the Patullo Bridge in Surrey instead of the waiting room in downtown New West.  Things like that.  And she was getting particularly irritable and short-tempered.  And sometimes just plain irrational.  I have lived in my own apartment nearby for the past seven years, but just a few days ago while visiting for dinner she asked me out of the blue, just after we sat down to eat, "Isn't it about time that you found your own place to live?"  Well, now we know what's wrong.  We are going to try to take care of her in place, but the doctor says the illness is advancing rather quickly on her, and it could be just a matter of months before we are going to have to have her placed somewhere...This is the season of dread.

The Peacock 1000

 Of course kids in school talked and snickered about my lesbian wicked stepmother.  Homophobic little rats, and fortunately a lot of them have grown out of it by now, but now there is this horrible conservative creep going on and the backlash against queer rights appears to be already starting to build.  Most unfortunate.  Dorothy and I were never really close, but her sexuality nor her proximity to my mama had anything to do with it. We were really like oil and water, plus, being younger than Mom, almost exactly midway between us in age, made her seem more like a peer and a competitor.  But there were never any scenes or meltdowns  No confrontations.. We were always cordial and more or less respectful with each other.  And I also admired her.   A lot.  She was and still is a force of nature as an artist, a clothing designer and an entrepreneur, the way she opened with mom that most incredible clothing and crafts shop on Granville Island.  It appears to be my mother's illness that has actually bonded us as friends...

The Peacock 999

 This next post seems quite telling:

"Mom is in good hands with Dorothy, her spouse.   That woman is a force of nature.  We are even beginning to like each other, finally.  A little bit anyway.  They were married just ten years ago, when I was twenty five, after being together since we all left the UK together  just shy of my fifteenth birthday.  I can't say that I approved or disapproved of my mother being a lesbian.  It was a bit of a shock, I must admit, given our very socially proper life in London.  She was after all the wife of a Tory member of parliament and we lived in a sumptuous house in Mayfair.  But my father was a serial philanderer, and then of a sudden decided to dump mother and daughter both for a young woman singer in a pop band.  Here is the thread of continuity.

Mom was swept off her feet by my father here in Vancouver in 1975.  He was fifteen years older, and already was involved in politics, and was returning to the UK and my headstrong mama was already twenty-nine and thought she must never be far from her one true love.  In London they lived together, then got married, and not long after I arrived as their little bundle of joy.  I was educated in the best schools in London, and then the shit came flying, Daddy ran off with his little pop singer, and mother fell in love with Dorothy, a Canadian woman working in London for Oxfam.  One year later we were the three of us flying out to vancouver together...

998

 She has written here:

"May seems to have always been a significant month in my life.  As well as today being Victory in Europe Day, it is also near the anniversary of when my grandmother came here to Canada as a war bride with my Canadian grandfather, a lieutenant in the Royal Canadian Airforce, just one year later in '46.  They had not yet tied the knot, but she was already carrying my mother inside her, still early in the first trimestre, and once they landed in Halifax, they sped off to the justice of the peace.  Five years later, after Grandma's bitter complaining about the eastern winters, they moved out here to Vancouver.  Back in those days, my grandfather's salary as a post office worker was still enough for them to save up for a down payment for the lovely home they bought out at UBC.  It was through the good fortune of his frequent promotions and salary raises that they were able to keep their lovely home and happily raise there their one and only child, my mother.

"And now, almost seventy years later, the dreadful news.  My mother has dementia..."

The Peacock 997

 I am curious about her business card.  Here is her name, Chelsea Winston, hair artist and pilgrim of life.  Her phone number.  Her email.  And a blogsite, tited "my mother's keeper."

I will tell them later, but I am curious about her blog.  Easy to find on my phone, but everything is easy to find on a phone these days, it contains absolutely everything, including my soul.  We are all quiet for now in the van while the City of Vancouver whizzes past us.  I really don't give a damn about this house that Carl wants us to look at, and as far as I'm concerned I am not moving anywhere and certainly not out to New Westminster.   I really feel, and likely am behaving, like a sullen, pouty and balky child being dragged along by dad.  not far really from some real childhood experiences.  He seemed to always want to to have me along with him, and I often spent more time in the church with him than what might be considered healthy for a growing child.

I have decided to scroll down to Chelsea's first post.  Two years ago, almost to the day.

The Peacock 996

 "So when are we inviting her over?" says Carl as we pull out of the driveway.

"Do you need a haircut that badly?" says Francois, smiling.  He is in the front seat as usual, partly on my insistence.  I want to keep sacrosanct my backseat privilege.

"Not as badly as you might be implying, young man:  But she seems nice and very interesting."

"Agreed", he replies.  I have no interest in participating in the conversation.  I suddenly am feeling ornery and misanthropic again.

"I'm going to ask her to give me blue hair", says Carl.

"You would be a vision of loveliness", says Francois.  "How about you Christopher?  Would you like blue hair?"

"Maybe purple or green."  I really don't feel like participating.

"How about pink?" says Carl.  "Or a flaming fuchsia?"

"Yeah okay."

"How about you, Francois?"

"Me?  I thought of living my life as a blonde.  But really, I prefer my hair its natural colour.  Black as the ace of spades."

Carl seems to find his remark funny.  I don't, but right now I don't find anything to be funny......

The Peacock 995

 "Have you just moved in here?" says Chelsea.  "I don't think I've seen you before."

"I grew up in this house.  My father passed it onto me after he passed away, and I've been living elsewhere.  But now it looks like I'm moving back."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.   About your father, I mean.   I've been here the last two months, part-time.  I was named executor of my grandmother's estate and I am here to close up the house and put it up for sale."

"I'm sorry", say I.

"Thanks, but no worries.  She was 101.  I am the last surviving relative, except my Mum who is living with dementia, so everything's in my hands now."

"Do you live in Vancouver?" says Francois.

"In New West.  Don't let my plummy accent fool you, I've been here for several years now.  but don't let me get in the way of your morning, you guys.  I just wanted to say hello and find out more about what Sheeba has been up to."

"Come by and visit for coffee anytime", says Carl, opening the driver's door to his van.

"I think that would be fun.  And you guys, please feel free to visit.  By the way, I cut hair for a living.  I work part-time in a salon in Burnaby but I also make house calls.  Let me know, will you?" she says, handing me her business card...

The Peacock 994

 Sheeba the cat has just made an appearance on the driveway and will not stop meowing and rubbing against my leg so aggressively that I am feeling a little bit creeped out.  Finally I pick her up and cuddle her, while Carl and François both come out to the car.    And now the young woman from next door is coming over.

"Is my awful kitty cat making a nuisance of herself", she rings out in a very posh London accent. She is tall, very thin, around thirty or thirty-five.  Her hair is short, tinted auburn with three hoop earrings dangling from each earlobe and the most intense, sparkling sapphire huge eyes I have ever seen.  She is wearing denim overalls rolled up enough to reveal rainbow striped stockings.  She is also wearing a magenta long sleeve T shirt.

"So she does have a home", say I. "We were wondering where she came from."

"I do hope she hasn't been a bother."

"On the contrary, we've all fallen in love with her.  In fact, if she ever needs another home, I would love to be considered."  And now I am gently handing the cat over to her mistress who takes her in her arms.

"Yes, let's talk about this.  My name is Chelsea", she says, extending her free hand to be shook.

"Christopher.  And this is Carl, and Francois..."

The Peacock 993

 From the sundeck I can see next door a young woman seated on a lawn chair on a patio, drinking what looks like coffee or tea with Sheeba the cat on her lap. She is reading a magazine.  So, that solves the mystery of our cat.  She already has a home, but I am also happy to share her if my neighbour doesn't mind.  I have never seen her before, and have no idea what happened to the old couple who lived there before.  If they're still alive at all, given they were already pretty old the last time I noticed them ten years ago  I don't remember their names.

Carl and Francois are just finishing the kitchen clean up.  They still won't allow me to do it, since they seem to want me to not have to worry about their being here,  Ha, if only.  But this is going to be for all of us an adjustment.

"Ready to roll?" says Carl while wiping the counter.

"Are you still going to bring the van in for servicing?" asked Francois.

"I was going to do that on the way home."  

"I guess that means we will be riding the bus part way" say I.

"We can get Uber"

"You can get Uber", says Francois.  "I want to learn the bus system."

"And I need to get used to it.  Which means you're outnumbered, Carl.  Unless you want to ride home alone in the backseat of an Uber car driven by some young dickhead who doesn't want to talk to you."

"Okay, you win.  Democracy.  Fucking democracy."

"Awww", say I.

"yeah", concurs Francois.  "Poor you..."

The Peacock 992

 "Has anyone seen the cat?" say I.

"Didn't she come in last night?" says Francois.

"She might have another home", says Carl. reaching across the table to put two more slices of bread in the toaster.  "Um, I think I put in one too many.  Anyone want the extra piece of toast?"

"I'll have it", say I, "unless Francois wants it".

"You go ahead, I already am working on slice number four."

""You're a growing kid", says Carl, smiling.

"Horizontally if I don't mend my eating ways.  What time are we leaving?"

"I say we get an early start and leave no sooner than nine.  Does that give us enough time?"

"Half an hour", say I.  "Sure."

"You're serious about buying that house", says Francois.

"I'm serious about looking at it."

"Curiosity?"

"you could call it that.."

The Peacock 991

 We're each getting our own breakfast, but we all seem to have congregated simultaneously in the kitchen.  Nothing fancy today, Shreddies for me, toast with jam and peanut butter for Carl, and Francois is busy frying himself a couple of eggs.  Carl has been scrolling on his phone since he sat down, and this I find extremely annoying.

"Hey Carl", say I after my first spoonful of cereal, "How about putting the phone away while you're at the table?"

"Oh, sorry, I was trying to get some information for a story."

"It can wait."

"Yes, of course", he says putting the phone in his pants pocket.

"What's the story about?" says Francois, carrying to the table his plate of eggs and toast.  "Hey, someone remembered to buy seville marmalade!"

"I'm just trying to get some more information on the church where Amanda used to attend."

"So you're going ahead with it?"

"Oh yeah, she is totally gung-ho."

"Better than a court date."

"How about if I invite her for a visit while Erik's in quarantine?"

"Don't see why not.  What do you think, Francois?"

"If she can handle sharing space with  three lunatics, I'm all for it..."

The Peacock 990

 "Well, you have to go back...and so do I.  My car is there you know.  So, what's the plan.  For your mom I mean?"

"She will run the house with Mel as a retreat centre, and with Robert, and whoever else wants to put their oar in", says Carl.

"What about the others?"

"The community?.  Well, the ladies are all getting ready to leave, they are poised to return to Maureen's house here in Vancouver.  Lazarus and Jason said they're done.  and George and Jeffrey.  I don't know about the rest of them.  hey, Chris, something else, I've been meaning to tell you."

"Spit."

"That Victorian era house we saw yesterday in New West, the one with the for sale sign?  I just got a call.  We can look at it tomorrow."

"What time?"

"Ten am.  Say you'll come?"

"I was wanting to spend the day alone tomorrow."

"you can spend the afternoon alone. "

"How about Francois?"

"We'll ask him at breakfast."

And now I am feeling sleep creep up on me and my eyes are closed.

"I guess I should go up to bed."

"Would you mind turning off the lamp for me please?"

He reaches across, turns out the light, then strokes my hair just once and says, "Goodnight, Chris.  Then he gets up, leaves the room and closes the door behind him....

The Peacock 989

 There is a knock on the door.  "Come in", say I, knowing it could only be either Carl or Francois, more likely Carl, and both of them are completely welcome here.  I reach for the night lamp.  I have been lying stretched out, fully clothed on top of my father's bed.

"Am I disturbing you?" says Carl, who walks in and seats himself on the edge of the bed next to me.

"I was just about to undress and climb under the covers."

"Don't let me stop you."

"Okay", say I, pulling off my shirt, then my socks, and then my jeans which I fold carefully on top of the chair next to the bed, then climb under the covers.  With Carl, I feel I can do this and still feel completely comfortable with him sitting there.  But he is not going to sleep with me, That is where the line is drawn, and we both seem to know and respect this.

"How are you?" say I, and he sits quietly for a bit, fiddling restlessly with his fingers.

He lets out a deep sigh  "I don't know", he says.  "I just don't know."

"How do you like being here?"

He smiles deeply and broadly.  "I love your house.  I am going to live here with you, if that's still alright, with you and Francisco both."

"Then what is it?"

"Are you happy.  I mean that I'm here.  That we're here."

"I would be lying if I were to say that it's not an adjustment.  This is, for me, an adjustment.  a very worthy adjustment.  I am hoping that you will both stay on with me.  But what is it?"

"The big house.  my sister.  my mother.  All that stuff.  And not just the material acquisitions, but everything.  Chris..I don't want to go back there.  I never want to see that place again..."  

The Peacock 988

 My second night sleeping in Dad's bedroom.  It is nice in here.  And my way of affirming my mastery of the house.  The House On Pooh Corner sits on the night table, unread.  I am too tired to read, but not sure if I am yet ready for sleep.  Tomorrow after breakfast I will wander out into the forest.  I don't know how long I'll spend there.  But I need time alone.  I have been with these guys constantly, except while asleep, and to everything there is a season.  I had hoped to leave behind the intensity at the mansion, but the intensity really is Carl.  He doesn't appear to have an off switch.  It looks as if I am going to have to accept that my life is going to go on being interesting.  I just got a text from Erik.  He would be boarding his plane by now.  He is not happy about having to quarantine for the next two weeks.  And then we will be transporting him along with Carl's mom and her two friends back to the mansion.  I should have driven my own car.  I don't want to return to that place...

The Peacock 987

"So", says Carl, as Francois hands him a few more of his luscious red grapes, "Has anyone here ever believed he has a uterus?"

"Not that I can remember", says François. 

"I used to sometimes wish that I could get pregnant and give birth", say I.

"No way", says Carl. 

"Have you ever craved pickles and ice cream?", says Francois.

"I didn't say I've ever been in the family way."

"Maybe you're a little bit trans", says Carl.

"Not exactly.  But I can't say that I really relate to being a male.  Or to gender."

"That is interesting", says Francois.  "And who is this Joan Rivers who directed that movie."

"The Rabbit Test?" I reply.  "She was a comedienne.  She's dead now.  She had quite a nasty reputation, she seemed to hate everybody."

"The Queen of Mean", says Carl.  You should have heard her Liz Taylor fat jokes."

"Who's that", says François."

"She would have been a little bit before your time.  

"She also had some choice things to say about Madonna", say I.

"Such as?" says Carl

"Touched for the very first time tonight.  The only thing that woman can do like a virgen is have a kid in a stable..by an unknown father." And now we are all roaring with laughter.