Touching Strangers Read online

  Aaron stood on the lawn, under the shaggy Willow tree,waiting for a youngish-looking mother in pink spandex shortsand a black tank top to shepherd her two purple-mouthed bratsout of their wagon and inside the house.

  “Mom! My tummy hurts,” said the boy.

  “Mom! Derek keeps jabbing his popsicle stick in my ear,” said the girl.

  “Do not!”

  “Yuh-huh!

  The mother didn’t say anything. She just kept sighing insuch a way as to suggest that the majority of her life was spentbreaking up fights, cleaning things up, and transporting her twohell sprites from one place to the next.

  “Mom! I’m thirsty.”

  “Mom! My scab came off. See?”

  Aaron remained under the tree, trying to decide if it wasbetter to wait until this circus of freaks had made its way inside,or to dart past them and get his name down ahead of theirs onthe appointment cue. Either way, he’d have to put up withthem in the waiting room. It was almost enough to make himturn around and head back home, but he really had to get hiscancer spots looked at, and he also wanted to tell Dr. Zilberabout the mystery disease that was turning the people in hisbuilding into zombies.

  The mother bent over and attempted to lift the boy, who’ddecided to play dead, out of the wagon.

  “Derek’s dead, Mom!” the girl said, brandishing her popsiclestick like a magic wand. “I killed him like this: Avada Kedavra!”

  Aaron made eye contact with the mother, who was nowdragging her son up the steps to the house, his heels bashingagainst the risers. She smiled at him—a warm, dimply smile thatcontained both embarrassment and hardened serenity—and said,“Never have kids.”

  Aaron smiled back, though of course she couldn’t see it dueto his mask. She was actually quite pretty, if a bit trashy. Therewas a grass stain on her shorts, and her shoulders were sunburnedand peeling. Her home was probably messy and filled with broken toys. Still, he pitied and even admired her, in a way.

  He approached the steps and said, “Do you mind if I slip pastand put my name in ahead of you at reception?”

  Before she could answer, the little girl shouted, “Hey!What’s wrong with your face? You got a disease?”

  Aaron looked down at her and widened his eyes in a way hehoped would come off as scary, but the girl just stood there, facescrunched, and crossed her arms.

  The mother said, “Devon, hush.” Then she turned to Aaron.“You go ahead. It could be hours before I get these two inside, andit looks like you need a doctor more than we do, so . . .”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, and shimmied sideways up the steps.

  Inside the house was the familiar smell of old wood and varnish. Aaron approached the front desk and saluted Doreen, theoctogenarian receptionist who’d seemingly been an octogenarianher whole life, or at least since he’d been a patient of Dr. Zilber’s,which was essentially his whole life.

  “Mr. Cordic,” Doreen said. “What is it this time?”

  “Cancer.” He helped himself to a squirt of hand sanitizer andrubbed it on his hands and up his arms. “Plus a few other things.”

  “Cancer? Oh my.” Doreen swivelled in her chair andreached for this file, which she had to lift with both hands. “Is itlung cancer like last time, or something new? My goodness, youdo have a tough go of it, don’t you my boy?”

  Aaron squinted at her. “Uh huh.”

  “Okay, have a seat. Dr. Z’s with a patient now, but it shouldonly be a few minutes.”

  He spun around and had a look in the waiting room. Thescene was typical: a couple of senior citizens who appeared to beon death’s door, a girl in her twenties who probably needed arefill on her birth control, and a woman in her thirties with apale, sniffling child. It could’ve been worse—much worse—though he knew they’d be joined any minute by the dimplefaced woman and her two insufferable terrors from outside.

  Aaron walked to the far corner of the room, took a packetof sanitary wipes out of his knapsack, and gave his chair a thorough cleaning before sitting down.

  *

  Doug Chisholm lay in a hospital bed, dreaming of hairsprouting eyeballs, his head stuck in a jar of lava, and featheredraptors eating his entrails forever on a beach of broken glass.

  *

  Samantha was losing her mind.

  It was the only explanation she could come up with for whyshe’d done what she’d done. She stood crying in the shower, virtually burning her skin off with hot water, and tried to makesense of her reckless actions. Like a maiden with a death wish,she’d lured a germ-ridden stranger into her germ-free apartmentand had sex with him. At the age of twenty-six, after having sleptwith only one person her entire life—her soul mate, her knightin squeaky-clean armour—she’d gone and had grunty animal sexwith a hairy-chested drudge she barely knew.

  And for what?

  She squirted a blob of cucumber body wash onto her loofaand replayed the scene in her mind. She hadn’t necessarilyplanned on sleeping with him. She thought maybe they’d justhave tea or something, and, while admiring his facial scruff andthe muscles on his arms, she’d convince him that the apartmentin which he was living wasn’t safe. Then he’d decide to moveout, or at least into a different unit in the building.

  But that’s not how things went down.

  She opened the door and he followed her inside. He commented that her apartment smelled like “a hospital or something”,which she found only mildly offensive. She was too nervous to beoffended, really. She considered holding their conversation in theliving room, but she didn’t want him to get his tomatoey scent allover the couch, which, in her estimation, was pungent enough tolinger for Aaron to notice later. So, instead, she led him to thekitchen and offered him something to drink: reverse-osmosiswater, green or herbal tea, organic cranberry juice, or pulp-freeorganic coconut water. Luca raised an eyebrow, asked her torepeat the options, then declined a refreshment of any kind.

  As Samantha emptied a capsule of Echinacea into her cranberry juice, Luca got up off his stool and wandered around thetiny kitchen, touching things. Even though her back was to him,Samantha felt goose bumps rise all over her body as he put hisdirty fingers on the napkin holder, the salt and pepper shakers,the porcelain vase by the window sill, and the soup tins in theopen pantry. It was disturbing but also thrilling. He was spreadinghis germs and epithelials all around her pristine kitchen, andalthough the thought of it scared her to death and made her feelvulnerable, it also made her feel alive—frightfully so—and therewas something erotic about that.

  “This your boyfriend?” he asked.

  Samantha turned her head. Luca was looking at the smallframed photograph of Aaron smiling proudly at the camera as heunboxed the air purifier they’d received last Christmas fromSamantha’s father. It had turned out to be bottom-of-the-line,stopped working within a few months, and had since beenthrown out.

  “Mmhmm,” she said, and brought her drink to the kitchentable. Luca joined her, and she tried once again to explain whyhe should vacate his unit as soon as possible. He had a smirk onhis face the whole time. She could tell he wasn’t really listening.

  Finally she said, “What?”

  He said, “I told you. I can’t take you seriously when you’rewearing a garbage bag.”

  Samantha growled and tore the bag off her body. She hadn’tthought about the fact that, underneath, she was wearing a tight,threadbare T-shirt with a faded image of Elmo from SesameStreet on the front, and no bra.

  Luca laughed, and again she said, “What?”

  He said, “Your boobs are distorting the shape of thatMuppet’s head.”

  She looked down and said, “This isn’t a Muppet. It’s Elmo,from Sesame Street.”

  He said, “Same thing.”

  She said, “Well—”

  And then he lunged forward and kissed her hard on themouth. He put his big hand behind her head and pressed her f
aceinto his, scratching her lips and chin with his stubble. Put histongue in her mouth and swirled it in unison with hers.

  Samantha considered pushing him away but she didn’t reallywant to. As sudden and foreign and forceful as this was, she realized she’d been waiting for him to do it since they walked in here.

  He lifted her off the stool and they stumbled around thekitchen, clutching and pawing at one another, exchanging saliva,bumping into things. He put his hands on her breasts andsqueezed them hard, hard enough for it to hurt, then let go andpulled her shirt over her head in one smooth, single swoop. Heput her nipples in his mouth and bit them lightly. She put herhead back and moaned. Her body felt like air.

  Suddenly she was in his arms. He was carrying her. Her foothit something. There was a crashing noise like glass breaking.She cared only for a second. The part of her that wanted messesto be cleaned up immediately was being smothered by the newlydiscovered part that wanted to be soiled, to be the mess.

  He brought her into the bedroom, heaved her fumblingly onthe bed. She tried to look up at his face, but in that precise momenthe pulled his T-shirt over his face and tossed it to the floor, revealing two large pectorals and checkerboard abs. There was a tuft ofwiry black hair in the middle of his chest. He moved closer and shebacked away instinctually. She could smell his rich, savoury bodyodor. She was intimidated and extremely turned on.

  He continued towards her, his eyes locked on her half-nakedbody, then grabbed her pyjama pants at the ankles and pulledthem down her legs.

  Samantha wasn’t wearing underwear. She rarely woreunderwear because she almost always wore pyjama pants. Herwild, untrimmed pubic hair was on display. She was too flusteredto be embarrassed.

  Luca yanked her flannels the rest of the way off and climbedup onto the bed. Again she backed away, keeping one hand overher pubic area, as if her tiny palm were enough to cover anything.

  He said, “You don’t want to do this?”

  She just looked at him, breathing hard.

  He laughed through his nose and shook his head. “All right.”He got off the bed and looked around for where he’d thrown hisshirt.

  Samantha heard herself say, “No, wait.”

  He looked at her face for the first time since the kitchen. Heseemed annoyed but also hopeful.

  Trying not to think, she crawled across the bed towards himand reached for his belt. He stood completely still as she unbuckled it, then took down his fly. His keys jangled like loose changeas his jeans fell to the floor, then he stepped back to kick off hisunderwear.

  Samantha was surprised to find that Luca’s erect penis wassmaller than Aaron’s. It was squat, the skin was darker, and it protruded somewhat diagonally from his groin. Still, it had a niceshape. He came forward and put it in her mouth. She closed hereyes and let him do what he wanted. There was no time for ashower; no time for mouthwash or a pre-coital genital inspection. There was only his salty penis in her mouth, here and now,and she acted accordingly. She felt compelled by danger anddeath, by the vulnerability of her own flesh. Everything was halfreal. She came when he closed his fists in her hair.

  Eventually he pulled himself out, went to his jeans, rummagedthrough the pockets, and took out a condom. Samantha fell backon the bed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Shedidn’t know how long she’d been fellating him. Time seemed to have melted, like butter in a hot pan, sliding in all directions. Lucaclimbed onto the bed, manoeuvred her onto her hands and knees,and propped himself up behind her. Facing the window, Samanthanoticed there was an opening in the curtains. It was sunny; theparking lot was almost empty. She swatted at the curtains butcouldn’t reach. She hoped nobody could see inside.

  Luca put his hands on her butt cheeks and spread them.

  She said, “Don’t put it—”

  “I won’t.”

  He fucked her slowly at first, running his hands up and downher back. She was glad they were doing it this way. She andAaron never did it doggy-style. It allowed her to sever this actfrom reality; to file it away as a fantasy, or better, a hallucination.It helped that she couldn’t see his face.

  As he started to thrust harder and deeper, Samantha sawsomeone walk out into the parking lot with a shovel, followedby a smaller figure carrying a garbage bag. She squinted: the manwith the shovel was Mr. Böröcz, and the woman with thegarbage bag was Martha Haggerty. They made their way to thelittle patch of turd-covered grass, and Mr. Böröcz started digging.Even from this distance, Samantha could see that he was sweatingprofusely, and he seemed a little wobbly on his feet.

  Just then Luca grabbed her hair and pulled it.

  “Ow, hey! I can’t see.”

  Pounding away, he said, “Huh?”

  “They’re doing something out there. I can’t see when you do that.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, it’s fine. Just don’t pull my hair.” Samantha continuedto watch the people outside. She was totally distracted now. Lucamight as well have been Adam Sandler, or the guy from the SlapChop commercials, or even an orangutan—just a body pressinginto her from behind. She wondered what was in MarthaHaggerty’s garbage bag.

  After a few more thrusts, Luca coughed and pulled himself out.

  “I said it’s okay—”

  “No, forget it.” He was making noises behind her, pickingup his clothes.

  Still looking out the window, Samantha said, “We don’thave to stop. It’s just—”

  And that’s when Mr. Böröcz collapsed. Martha Haggertydropped the bag, went to his side and shook him. No response.

  Luca said, “You know, I really don’t understand what—”

  “Come look at this.”

  “What?”

  “He just fell over.”

  Luca joined her at the window and looked out. She couldfeel his anger dissolve into confusion as they watched MarthaHaggerty flail her limbs, shouting “Help! Help!”

  *

  “Mr. Cordic? The doctor will see you now.”

  Aaron clapped his hands together and stood up. He lookedaround triumphantly at the other patients, doomed to at leastanother five or ten minutes in the waiting room with their crusty,out-of-date magazines.

  The boy with the upset stomach—the one he’d seen outside—shot him a sour, scrunch-faced look, and he shot the lookright back.

  Dr. Zilber was seated at his desk, scratching his bald spot andflipping through Aaron’s medical file. “Mr. Cordic,” he said in aslightly amused tone. “Back so soon?”

  Aaron closed the door, sat down, took off his mask and said,“I have cancer.”

  Dr. Zilber tried to suppress a smile. “You do? What type of cancer?”

  “Dick cancer.”

  Dr. Zilber just stared at him, so Aaron said, “Cancer of theforeskin, if you want me to be specific. The underside of theforeskin. You have to pull the skin back to—”

  “All right, Mr. Cordic, I get the picture. What makes youthink you have cancer of the foreskin?”

  “There’s a spot on it. A new one. Lake-shaped. Noticed itin the shower the other day.” He ran his hand through his hairand sighed loudly. “And, as if that’s not enough to cope with, afew people in my building have been taken to the hospital inambulances. Some kind of flu or respiratory thing. That’s therumour going around, anyway.”

  Dr. Zilber sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Okay, tryto relax. Have you been taking those anxiety pills I prescribed?”

  “Every day, doc,” Aaron lied. He’d torn the prescription tobits before dropping it down a sewer grate on his way home. Hewasn’t anxious or paranoid. He was fucking ill!

  “Well, we may need to up the dosage.” Dr. Zilber closedAaron’s file and said, “In the meantime, I guess I’ll have a lookat this alleged cancer spot. Take down your pants and have a seaton the exam table there.”

  Aaron removed his s
hoes, pants, and boxer shorts and took aseat on the stiff, starchy bed while Dr. Zilber slapped on a pair ofgloves. Aaron pulled back the skin and stared at a poster on thewall about STI prevention as Dr. Zilber put his cold hands on hispenis and examined the mark. He tried to distract himself withcomforting thoughts: a warm blanket, a clean kitchen, the magnified image of an antibody enveloping and destroying anunwanted pathogen.

  Then Dr. Zilber said, “Hmm.”

  Aaron looked at him. “Hmm, what?”

  Dr. Zilber stepped back and began removing the gloves.“Well, I don’t think it’s cancer, but it might be a good idea tohave a specialist look at it, just to make sure.”

  Aaron started to sweat. He felt woozy. “What?” Althoughhe’d convinced himself that the spot on his wiener was definitelycancer, he didn’t actually think it was cancer.

  The doctor said, “Don’t worry, Aaron. I’m sure it’s nothing.I’ve seen thousands of spots just like this one, and they rarely turnout to be cancerous. Now: I know a very good skin specialist inGuelph. Doctor Middleton. He’s a good friend of mine. I can getyou an appointment for next week, no problem. Would you likeme to do that?”

  Aaron swallowed. It felt like a moist dust bunny was sluggingdown his esophagus. “Guelph. Uh, yeah. Okay. My sister livesthere.”

  “Dawn! That’s right!” Dr. Zilber said. “How is she, by theway? I hear she’s recovering well.”

  “I think so, yeah,” Aaron said. He felt numb, dazed. “Imean, I don’t really know. I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

  Dr. Zilber patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you can visither while you’re in town. Now why don’t you put your pantsback on, and I’ll check your pulse and temperature and whatnot.Okay?”

  Aaron nodded and reminded Dr. Zilber to clean thestethoscope chest piece with a sterile wipe before pressing it tohis skin. It turned out his heartbeat and temperature were normal, his throat and ears looked great, his blood pressure was110 over 70, his lungs were healthy, and his reflexes were asthey should be.