Matthew Revert - The Tumours Made Me Interesting

“You won’t get anywhere rushing me, lad. Just show some decency and allow me my humble fancy”.

With the teacup held below his mouth, he quietly sang songs into his Earl Grey. I strained to make out the words and thought I heard something about break dancing. He brought the cup down and allowed the steamy curls of aroma to reach him. He exhaled deeply, made eye contact and said, “Okay… I am now ready”.

With an impatient hand pressed against the small of Arthur’s back, I guided him toward the meeting area.

“Were you a child, I’d find this endearing,” he mocked.

As he took his seat, his joints sounded off like fire crackers. We all partook in a communal wince.

“You try spending 30 years hunched over in a ceiling and see how your joints feel,” he said. “Standing is only achieved with ease if one is accustomed to standing.”

None of us dared respond. Instead I glanced at my Captain Planet watch, whose muscular arms, steadfast and true, told me the time. The second his jutted finger clicked over to 9:00am, Fiona burst through the door. The jolt of this gave us all a start. I stood to commence introductions but caught my belt on the arm of my chair and fell back down. Fiona gave me a dismissive wave so I just reached for a cigarette.

“Introductions won’t be necessary,” she said. “We will be meeting regularly and grow to know each other quite well.”

Fiona’s demeanor bled a dynamic dominance that entranced everyone immediately. She could have held a gun to their heads and they would have beamed smiles in response.

“At this stage,” she began, “who you are is insignificant. Who I am is of more import because I am going to be overseeing your actions until the conclusion of this project comes to pass.”

She circled us, completely ignoring the chair I’d prepared for her, which annoyed me, but not enough to vocalise it.

“As you are all aware, Bruce is in possession of cancer. What I’m quite sure you’re not aware of is the highly specialised nature of his cancer. Bruce has, what we call, ‘perfect cancer’. As I speak, tumours are growing within him that defy anything we’ve seen before. They are, without a shadow of a doubt, the best example of a disease we’ve seen.”

“So we’re here to help you make Bruce better?” asked Rhonda with palpable confusion.

“In a sense, yes…” she replied. “But probably not in the way you think. Our goal is not to rid Bruce of cancer. Our goal is to make Bruce the perfect vessel for the cancer. We have a rare opportunity here.”

My excitement was beginning to wear off. I no longer wished to be the centre of attention. My neck retreated into my sternum. What Fiona was saying struck me as ludicrous when said amongst a group. In the one-on-one space, without the judgment of others, it was easy to get swept away. The look of horror that painted their faces spoke volumes. This horror was punctuated by Arthur’s monocle, which slipped from its socket and landed with a splash in his tea. Fiona was prepared for this.

“Your collective reaction to this news is perfectly consistent with that of the general populace. We are taught to fear disease and respond combatively toward it. I will take this opportunity to stress to each of you that if Bruce had the slightest hope of surviving, we would not proceed with this course of action. This is a marriage of special circumstance and, it should be noted, one Bruce has agreed to.

“Is this true, Bruce?” asked Vince.

I coughed up cigarette smoke while giving quick nods, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“I want to stress,” continued Fiona, “that your cooperation isn’t mandatory, but, should you choose to help, it will be handsomely rewarded. Those unprepared to help change the world must leave now. Your presence will be most destructive and detrimental to the outcome.”

In the ensuing silence, I waited for those around me lift from their chairs and leave. Surely no one would partake in what was essentially assisted suicide. But no one budged. Although the silence continued, they remained firmly seated and altering their gaze from Fiona to me.

“Would you like us to help you, Bruce?” asked Belinda’s mother.

I stared at Belinda’s mother and then at Fiona, catching her right in the eyes. The intensity was staggering. Her eyes were firmly informing me that should I sabotage this, I would regret it. I thought about the care Fiona had promised to give my mother. It was the closest thing I had to assurance that she’d be okay after I was gone. I stared back at Belinda’s mother and nodded.

Arthur was the first to climb aboard. He stood up straight, serenading us with more cracking joints in the process. “I’m in!” he yelled. “I’m happy to help you out, dear Bruce.”

“Fantastic,” said Fiona, directing her gaze to the other, as yet undecided, members of the party.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You guys don’t have to. It’s a pretty weird request.”

Upon saying this, Fiona fetched a lipstick tube from her handbag and pelted it at my face. It left a grisly streak of Cherry Jubilee across my forehead.

“What Bruce means to say,” said Fiona. “is that each of you are a vital component to the overall foundation of this project. We would love for you to contribute and reap both the emotional and financial rewards befitting the effort.”

Conversing with their eyes, Vince, Rhonda and Belinda’s mother considered what was being asked of them. I was still considering what was being asked of me and I didn’t know what to make of it. The cigarettes I was smoking made it hard to see reason. The smoke was a suggestible fog filling my body; retarding my reason. Fiona had waved sex before me like a cracker and then she snatched it away, yet I was still here; still a part of this strange circus. The truth is, sex was only important in that it validated me. I didn’t need it, nor did I necessarily want it. What I needed was someone to trust me with their body — someone to entrust with my own. But I had something else now: I had the tumours. They trusted me. Nothing had ever trusted me more and I felt I needed to reward them for that trust. In so doing, I would help my mother. Whether I followed Fiona or not, I wasn’t going to survive this. One way or another, my mother would be left alone. It was now up to me to decide how I was going to leave her.

I was being offered the chance to finally be something. And while it was hard to know exactly what that ‘something’ was, I did know that the reaction my tumours had garnered from those enthusiasts was real. To them, I was that elusive ‘something’ we all try to be. It would be nice if we could always chose the areas in which we desired to excel, but sometimes they choose us. As I neared the home stretch of my life, I was being given the opportunity to do so in a meaningful way.

The makeshift family that had gravitated toward my home seemed significant. The presence of these people suggested intention. Maybe they were here to help me. No matter how cold or unpleasant Fiona appeared, I couldn’t fault her passion and commitment. That anyone would give up so much of their time for someone like me struck me as profound. I was as unreliable as mobile phone reception… I needed a support network around me to keep me from veering. This really was my chance to finally be interesting.

I stood up with conviction. “I would love for you to help me achieve the perfect disease,” I said.

Fiona approached me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I assume to her this was meant to exude support, but to me it felt like entrapment. My mind kept telling me to smoke the cigarettes , You’ll feel better, so that’s what I did. And the harder I sucked on the cigarettes, the better I began to feel.