I'm Not Scared of You or Anything Page 5
I am a forty-three-year-old teacher’s assistant in Montreal — a backwater city of sorts — which is in Quebec, which is in Canada at the present, which is north of where you are in South Carolina. My work consists of hours of relative tedium — interacting with students, marking papers, and completing various tasks and doing so with a kindness and humbleness that was instilled in me from my earliest of days by my parents, Constance (that’s your name, too!) and Jack Carberry. And almost beaten out of me by my dear, but particularly violent older sister, Gwendolyn. But, to this day, I assure you, I remain kind and humble. It’s what sets me apart from other jerks. I often fear that assisting a teacher is not the most interesting of callings to most people but equally assured since you listed scholarship as one of your interests in your ad. Oh, the countless days I spend as an assistant to a pedagogue! Oh, the feats of administrative dexterity! I suppose if I were truly dexterous or computationally nimble, I would know the exact number of days, wouldn’t I? Never the matter!
When you listed “watching over children” as another one of your interests, my heart leapt out of my chest and did a cartwheel. (Obviously, this didn’t happen or I would surely be dead, but I felt it was a charming enough expression of my excitement, and upon my third edit of this letter, have decided to include it.) You see, one of the great joys of my life is my weekly visit to Laurier Park where I feed the pigeons (another shared hobby!) and watch the children play on and in their various play structures. Sometimes I fear for the more adventurous ones as they swing to and fro like our distant relatives, the monkeys, but you would be surprised at how few mishaps I have seen over the years. (Or perhaps you would not, since you have a children-watching habit of your very own!)
Oh, Constance, how the felicity multiplies! How many things we have in common! I wish I could will your response into my mailbox this very instant! I need your immediate response like oxygen!
Your new pen pal,
Winston Carberry
Winston Carberry
4650 Park Avenue
Montreal, QC
H2V 4E9
Dear Winston,
How nice to hear from one of our neighbors to the north. How is the socialist safety net treating you? I jest! I have never been to Montreal! Is it quite cold? It is warm here in South Carolina, and often hot even!
I am a tad concerned about something in your last (first!) letter. You claim that we have a similar hobby that is watching children. I wish to clarify that the children I watch over are my nieces and nephews. I am the designated babysitter for my family as I have no children of my own on account of my being incapable of getting pregnant. So, while I applaud your interest in the young people of your country, I am concerned that perhaps you may be doing something inappropriate by simply going to a park and watching random children play. Can you perhaps clarify what it is that you precisely mean and also what you aim to achieve by your children-watching activities? With the appropriate response, I can see no reason why we couldn’t indeed become pen pals of a semi-regular variety and perhaps learn more about each other and indeed the human condition through our correspondence. Because isn’t that always the way?
I await your clarification,
Constance Waterfield
Constance Waterfield
115 Ash Street
Goose Creek, South Carolina
29445
Dearest Constance,
I would like to take this opportunity, as I put pen to paper for the second time in the name of our correspondence, to clarify that, indeed, and without fail, I do not have any sexual predilection toward the youth of my nation, or any nation for that matter. I simply have a desire to keep children, particularly the shy, timid and weak ones from being hurt.
You see, as a child, I suffered from many beatings and tauntings. I have been told by many people that I am simply not very likeable. I remember countless recesses at school, where, in order to avoid eye contact and the resulting beatings, I would hide away. I had some interesting hiding places. My favourite hiding spot was underneath the large slide in the adjacent playground. There was a crawl space of sorts and I would huddle up there, hear the laughter and feel the weight of other children on my back as they came to the bottom. That brief anonymous contact made me feel like I was a part of things. It has been a difficult life in many ways. But I say this not for sympathy or to invoke a sense of pathos into this missive. I say this in order to bring you to the point of understanding why I watch the children in Laurier Park. I am a self-appointed civil servant of sorts! O, Constance, I constantly and vigilantly watch the children in order to protect the meekest of them from the most predatory!
When I visit the park, I make sure the children know, tacitly or explicitly, that they had better not engage in any form of bullying. I hope this clarification is the first step into the expansive world of ink-and-paper-bound camaraderie!
Eagerly,
Winston
PS: How long have you been barren?
Winston Carberry
4650 Park Avenue
Montreal, QC
H2V 4E9
Winston,
This is a difficult letter to write. I find that you write a very pleasing letter, aesthetically speaking. Your diction is quite unique. The content of your letters, however, is not as pleasing. Let me be clear. I don’t think you should, in any way, engage children in any form of physical altercation. I am afraid I am going to have to terminate our Penpalship.
Constance
Constance Waterfield
115 Ash Street
Goose Creek, South Carolina
29445
My Dearest Constance,
I will miss you. Please reconsider. I am not a bad man.
Winston
Winston Carberry
4650 Park Avenue
Montreal, QC
H2V 4E9
Please cease and desist from any further communication.
Constance Waterfield
SYSTEMA VLAD
One block north of my house on St. Denis Street, there was a dojo, or training centre, or something, and it had a big red cursive neon sign that read: Systema Vlad. I had always been curious about the place. There were hardly ever any people exercising in there, but often late at night when I would return from a stroll, I would see a man, presumably Vlad, lying on top of someone, always a different woman, on a gym mat. Being the meek and shy sort, I decided to write a letter asking for more information about what exactly Systema Vlad was. A package arrived a week later with a DVD and a signed black and white 8 x 10 glossy of Vlad himself!
I popped in the DVD. The man on the television screen was an older Vlad than the one in the photo. He looked slightly out of shape, fairly hairy, but definitely formidable. He spoke in a very odd Russian accent. “Privyet! I’m Vlad from Systema Vlad! Thanks for watching my DVD, entitled “Systema Vlad: How to Learn Systema From, Me, Vlad.” In this video, I, Vlad, will discuss the topics of Systema: the Russian Martial Art of Fighting and Subduing People, Dissenters, or Bears. But first, watch this kick.” He kicked into the air. “Ugh. Pretty cool right? You could kick like that too, if you study with me, Vlad. We will cover such topics as, Defending Yourself from Attacks from People, Dissenters or Bears, Attacking People, Dissenters or Bears, Throwing Large and Medium-Sized Shovels at Walls and Other Targets, Holding Someone Down on the Floor so They Can’t Move whether They Are Friend or Enemy, and The Six Vital Parts of the Body to Attack that Will Hurt Most when Attacked! What are these six body parts you ask? Not so fast, droogy! That’s Russian for “friends!” You can take a good guess but first you should come down to 5456 St. Denis in Montreal for live demonstration by me, Vlad, or one of my assistants, Guillaume or Stacy. Can you believe that Stacy is actually man? With name like Stacy? Well, he is! So, don’t you worry! The cost is fifty dollars. That’s not so many rubles, mofo! Now I will use my assistant, Guillaume, to show you more kicks and moves that will entertain you and make you want to study the system of Systema
Vlad!”
Vlad seemed like a magician as he threw Guillaume about. I had to learn this magician’s secrets. I vowed to myself that I would attend a free demonstration, and if it were as awesome as it looked, I would sign up.
His first words to me were: “Hold me!” So I held Vlad with an intensity that I had not been able to muster since my days of holding people. I had Vlad pinned to the ground, at my mercy. Or so I thought. Within seconds, Vlad had quickly shifted his weight and disturbed my balance. Then Vlad slipped out of my hands and reverse-pinned me, rubbing my face against the sticky blue gym mat.
“Yes! Very good!” exclaimed Vlad as he popped up onto his feet. “I have now shown you superior technique you can use on people weaker and less clever than me.”
“That was very impressive.”
“I am very impressive!”
“Yes, you are.”
“I have just illustrated a famous Russian technique of being strong and fast!”
“What’s it called?”
“Systema Vlad!”
“No. I mean the technique. What is that particular technique called?”
“It is called Systema Vlad! I am Vlad! You are Jesse, which is totally a girl’s name like Stacy! It appears your entire culture is really into giving girls’ names to men. No wonder it is so easy to be superior physically to you. I will be gentle, Jesse girl.”
Vlad took me by the hand and dragged me over to an area of the gym where there was a wooden slab on the wall with various red and black dots. “Now is the time for the forceful throwing of shovels! Stacy will show you.”
“I’m not entirely comfortable with shovels,” I said.
“Don’t be pussy. Hey, Stacy! Come here and meet another man fellow with a girl’s name. This is Jesse. He desires to be strong like a tiger and not weak like fucking pussy!” A strapping, ponytailed, hairy man in tear-away track pants and a black muscle shirt swaggered over. His brow glistened with healthy sweat. I extended my hand and received a sideways high-five. Stacy then gestured that I make a fist, as he had done, and I complied. Stacy tapped my knuckles with a light-yet-firm amount of force.
“Fist bump, dude! Terrorist tap!” Stacy smiled.
“Very good,” I said softly.
“OK, dude. Here’s the deal. If you have the need to throw a shovel at some motherfucker, this is how you do it.” Stacy gripped the handle of what looked like a gardening shovel with a sharpened tip. “You take the handle, and grip it like so. Tight. And then you isolate your target with your eyes. Your eyes are the key here. You throw with your eyes, not with your hand. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“No. There is no ‘think’ about it, dude! Why would anyone ‘think?’ Bro, it’s all about eyes and target acquisition and grip. Grip is important too.”
“Well, you grip with your hand, right?”
“No. Dude. You grip with your eyes. Grip and rip! Got it?”
“Umm ... got it.”
“OK. Watch.” Stacy flicked the shovel like a knife effortlessly and it landed smack dab in the middle of one of the many red dots on the slab. “Dude! Did you see that? Smack dab in the middle of a red dot! And not just any red dot. That was the red dot. That was my target, dude!”
“But you didn’t identify that as your target, so there’s no way I could really know that. I believe you and everything, but I’m just saying.”
“Oh! Bro-dude! Bad move. Bad fucking move — questioning your master instructor of Systema.”
“I didn’t mean to offend.”
“The only one you have offended is yourself.”
“What?”
“Check it out dude. Up against the wall.”
“What?”
“Get up against the wall. Now!” Stacy shoved me and then pinned me up against the giant wooden slab.
“Please don’t.”
Vlad peeked his head above Stacy’s left shoulder. “Lesson you learn now is very important. Will you be pussy or tiger? Meow or Roar? Choice is yours unless you choose badly.”
“Be cool. And you will step into the world of manhood,” Stacy said.
“Hey, yes. Be extra super cool here as a favour to me, Vlad,” Vlad said.
Stacy plucked the shovel out of the wall, took ten paces back, and held the shovel high in the air. “With the eyes!” he screamed.
I was drenched in sweat and trembling. “With the eyes,” I whispered.
Stacy let the shovel fly and it tore right through my T-shirt sleeve. I felt nothing. And then I felt relief, until I saw the blood spurting out of my right arm. Vlad yelped. Stacy was laughing for some reason. I slumped to the ground.
“Wake up,” Vlad said.
“We will be friends forever,” I said with a heavy slur.
“Haha! Yes! The best! I will buy you slice of pizza!”
I can’t remember much after that. I had been drugged and was sewn up. I remember looking down at my slice of pizza and thinking that it looked like the saddest slice of pizza in the world. I signed a waiver.
As the months rolled by, and I grew to appreciate Vlad and tolerate Stacy, and I became fairly proficient at the martial art of Systema. I figured I could toss or wrestle even the strongest of dissenters, maybe even a bear. Vlad took me out for ice cream and vodka on Sunday afternoons and we would often sit in an unpopular café on St. Laurent and play chess and discuss matters of Systema, world politics, and the heart.
“My advice you should take is this: have sex on top of many women! Let your seed plant inside of them and then they will be pregnant. Then go away as fast as you can! This way you will have your choice of many women and children to settle on!” Vlad said.
I advanced my bishop in order to threaten Vlad’s rook, scooped a glob of strawberry sundae into my mouth and took a sip of Troika. “I don’t think that’s right for me, Vlad. I kind of don’t even want sex so much. It’s just belonging that I want. Belonging and security. You know, like just knowing someone is waiting at home for you, waiting for you to arrive with groceries and maybe then you will cook her a nice dinner and watch a movie or perhaps she will invite a friend over and have sex in front of you?”
“Jesse! This is not man’s job! Cooking dinner!”
“Well, I like it.”
“Gross. Well, listen my strange friend, you are one weird fellow. Consider knocking up ladies. Stacy does it all the time! It makes him legend!”
“Doesn’t he owe a lot of child support?”
“Not if he changes addresses lots he doesn’t!”
“I don’t know if that’s responsible, Vlad. You know, I really care about the welfare of children.”
“Ha! You are square! That’s you!”
“Vlad?”
“Yes, my girlish friend?”
“Whatever happened to your other assistant? Guillaume?”
“Ah. Funny story. Guillaume doesn’t exist anymore!”
“You mean ... he’s dead? What happened?”
“All I can tell you is it was funny story.”
At Systema Vlad, I sparred with Stacy. My determination and confidence had improved exponentially. My moves were fluid as I lunged, ducked, and juked my way through my training. Stacy was impressed and slightly threatened. It felt like I was training him. I noticed Vlad slip in the back door and watch quietly as I pawed at and gripped Stacy. Vlad smiled. “Excellent mastery of Systema!” he yelled and slowly clapped. I foolishly looked over to Vlad and smiled. Stacy took advantage of the distraction and sucker-punched me in the gut. I clenched and dropped.
“But, Jesse, you can’t distract yourself from menacing danger!”
I held my stomach and nodded. I looked up at Stacy and said “Time out.” As soon as he nodded and turned, I tackled him and held his head against the mat, digging my unkempt nails into his neck. “If you ever sucker-punch me again, I will destroy you. Do you hear me?”
No response.
I applied more pressure, breaking the skin. “Do you hear me?”
“Very awesomely executed! The key to all of Systema is to fight without honour! OK, fellows. Let’s take five minutes!” Vlad said as he pulled me aside and handed me some stale water in a Gatorade bottle. “I need to be asking you one query, Jesse. Do you have driver’s license, major credit card, and valid passport and also sense of adventure?”
“Well there are a lot of queries in that one query, but at this point I can honestly say yes to all of them.”
“Very well then and good. We will go on an adventure. A road trip to Big Apple to find you woman! A soul maid!”
Within three days, the Prius was rented, the bags were packed and Vlad and I were on our first ever road trip. Brooklyn-bound. We made our way toward the American border. The snow was falling in slow, heavy flakes, Days of Our Lives style. And with around twenty minutes to go before entering Vermont, Vlad cranked up the Kenny Loggins and spoke the truest words ever spoken.
“In 1986, Kenny Loggins traveled back in time to Vienna, 1781. He consulted with Mozart. The result was ‘Danger Zone.’ OK, that probably didn’t happen, but as you listen to this tune, it really feels like that is fucking fact! If I had to choose one defining characteristic of the Danger Zone Loggins is singing of, I would have to go with Danger. If you think about how many zones there are, it can be little overwhelming. But relax. There’s only one Danger Zone. That’s what matters, Jesse. And remember: almost every song ever written sucks precisely because it’s not ‘Danger Zone’.”