To The Pips

 

“You can visit us on Sundays,” Gordon said. 

Pip looked at the pointed toes of his shoes.  “I’d rather not,” he said.  “I’d be in your way,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Gordon answered.  “Stella already knows about you, so we wouldn’t have to pretend.”

Pip's bulldog face had first loomed into view at Gordon’s bedroom window just as he was about to start primary school. Gordon had woken up one morning and there he was. At first only his knitted cap appeared, but once his mouth was visible over the high windowsill he hadn't stopped talking.  He didn’t tell his own stories but asked a lot of personal questions to get to know Gordon.  What was his name, how old he was, his favourite food, what things he hated, and a lot of things Gordon hadn’t thought about before like whether he liked his mother or father better.  Once they got to know each other, Pip started giving advice, not all of which Gordon agreed with.  “Why don’t we go to the playground instead of school?” or “Think of the sweets you could buy if you took the change out of your father’s coat pocket.  He wouldn’t miss it.” Gordon had told his mother about Pip and all she had said was “That’s nice dear.”  She wasn’t so forgiving when he blamed some of the trouble he got into on Pip.  “You must choose your friends more carefully dear,” she said, not realizing that he hadn't chosen Pip.  Pip had chosen him.   The kids at school hadn’t been so forgiving if he boasted about his friend who seemed to know so much more than he did.  “Weirdo. Freak.  Mental case,” they had called him.  Gordon didn’t understand.  He dressed like the other kids, had two parents who loved him, and wasn’t deaf, dumb, or blind.  It was true he wasn’t the best looking kid in school with his oversized glasses, and his tight shirt tucked into his high-waisted trousers, and his fair curly hair that grew in all directions.  He began to suspect that Pip was the reason he got in trouble. It had started early.  After the first day of school, Pip had suggested Gordon get rid of the bowtie his mother made him wear, and unbutton the collar of his shirt.  Gordon didn’t think it was fair of Pip to criticize too much because his own clothes were on the strange side. Gordon had tried to get him to change in the past, but Pip wouldn't hear of it. He was fine with the pointed-toe shoes, knee socks, shorts, and a loud boxy jacket with a white collar that he kept buttoned up to the neck.  He always wore a sort of knitted beanie hat that made his pointy ears look less pointy.   He was touchy about them and got angry if Gordon made fun of them. Whenever Gordon insulted Pip, either accidentally or on purpose, Pip wouldn’t speak to him for a couple of days.  Gordon would say he was sorry and Pip would agree to be friends again only if Gordon took his advice sometimes.  It often seemed like Pip was everywhere, hanging around Gordon’s shoulder, whispering things into his ear, things like “Watch out for that boy up there.  His aura is purple so he’s about to go on a rampage,” or “Don’t forget your mother’s birthday.  You know she turns blue if you don’t pay enough attention to her.” Gordon didn’t have any friends besides Pip, so sometimes he tried out some of Pip's suggestions and found out they were actually good ideas.

 Now that Gordon had finished high school and was about to go to University, he was more of a man than a boy. Pip had convinced him to ditch the big glasses for contacts, loosen up his shirts, wear his trousers lower, and get into casual footwear.  One afternoon when they left the barber shop and Gordon was looking handsome and groomed, Pip smiled with pride, showing his slightly wonky teeth.  

“Don’t you think that’s better?” Pip asked.  “The girls will be all over you,” he laughed and then regretted what he had said.

“Speaking of which,” Gordon said.  “Maybe you didn’t notice, but that girl who stopped by the barbershop with some new magazines was Stella from high school. You might not remember her. She was always nice to me, but this time she raised her eyebrows and smiled at me.”

“I have seen her,” Pip said, “Bit I was too busy making sure the barber didn’t mess up that cowlick on your head to be looking at girls.”

“I think she likes me,” Gordon said.  “Maybe next time I should ask if I could call her.”

“Next time,” Pip said, already bored with the subject.  “Why don’t we go to your place and see if your dad left anything to drink lying around.”

“You know I don’t drink,” Gordon said, annoyed that Pip would suggest  something that hadn’t crossed his mind until now.  

“It could be the right time to start,” Pip said.  “Most men drink.  Otherwise you’re still a baby.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Then don’t behave like one.  You need to have your own mind, assert yourself, try out a few things.”

“I’d like to try out Stella.”

“Please,” Pip said.  “Get your mind out of the gutter.  I’m sure your dad has left whiskey around there somewhere. He’s been looking red lately, which probably means he’s having a hard time at work so he’s drinking more.  We can get tanked!.”

Not all of Pip's ideas were good ones and Gordon often regretted listening to him.  They did find the whiskey and drank it all.  Gordon threw up on the dinner table when his mother put a plate of rare roast beef in front of him.  The smoking went just as badly.  Pip mixed up the tobacco with some cannabis and Gordon thought he was floating, until he landed too hard and smashed the glass coffee table.  Luckily Pip realized that Gordon’s life was in danger if he kept on bleeding so much and made him call an ambulance.  He caught it in the neck from both of his parents, from his mother because he could have killed himself, and from his father because of the cost of a new table and the impending hospital bill. 

“You’ll see when you’re out on your own how things really are,” his father had said.

Once he finished High School, Gordon’s parents paid for him to rent an apartment in the city where he had chosen to go to University.  He was an only child so they could afford it, but he soon learned that his father was right, that every time he turned around he was expected to fork over money from his allowance.  His parents paid his tuition, but there were books, clothes, meals, movies, drinks with friends, and most importantly, dates with Stella.  She had accepted his advances because she thought he was cute and interesting, though a little strange.   

“I’ve been trying to tell you for years,” Pip said, “that you need to exert self-discipline if you want to get ahead.  This Stella girl is taking up too much of your time.” 

  “Don’t tell me how to live my life,” Gordon said.  “Or I’ll self-discipline you right out of existence.”

“You wouldn’t,” Pip said.  “You couldn’t.”

“Push me too hard and you’ll see what happens.” It had only been since he met Stella, that Gordon realized how much Pip dictated to him.  He was a bossy friend who had an opinion on everything and didn’t hold back from saying it.  He had been company when Gordon was growing up, but lately he wished that Pip would shut up and mind his own business, and he told him so.  Pip was hurt and sulked, until his next bright idea for getting them in trouble came along.

Since he started going out with Stella, Gordon had found ways to exclude Pip but he had to be firm about it because Pip didn’t like taking advice no matter how readily he dished it out. “I just don’t want you with me all the time,” Gordon said.  “Today is one of those times.”  Pip was put out, but he obeyed. Gordon wanted to be alone with Stella because she had been increasingly physical with him, touching him in ways and places that excited him, and inviting him to skip classes and spend the  afternoon with her at her parent's house.  As Gordon explained to Pip, “We won’t exactly be going to the zoo so it wouldn’t be interesting for you.  And I sure don’t want you perched on a chair watching us like you were a spectator at a football game.”  There wasn’t much Pip could say, but the more time Gordon spent with Stella, the more sullen Pip became.  If Gordon asked him what was wrong, he’d look away and stroke his hairless chin.  A few years into adolescence, Gordon had seen the first signs of a mustache on his face and expected Pip would be the same, but his friend’s face never changed.  He had the same smooth skin, pointed nose, bushy blonde eyebrows, steady hazel eyes, and tight judgmental mouth he always had.  And there was that stupid beanie on his head.  Gordon wondered if the hat ever got washed.  It didn’t do much to hide his unusual ears no matter which way he wore it.

The night when Gordon suggested Pip could visit him on Sundays,  was the night everything changed.  Pip didn’t want to hear about wedding plans and wouldn’t discuss them with Gordon.  On the contrary he would lead Gordon astray every chance he got.  “Let’s go out for a few beers,” or “That girl Cindy looks like she’d be happy to eat you alive,” or “Swallow one of these and you’ll dance like there’s no tomorrow.”  Gordon suspected the distractions were planned to get him in trouble with Stella, and it worked.  He’d already had to apologize and be suitably contrite when Stella lectured him about his childish behaviour. 

“Must you do everything your friends do?  Would you jump off a cliff if they said it was a good idea?”  

After another day of skipping classes to spend time with Stella, Gordon had come home and announced to Pip that he was getting engaged.

“And what am I supposed to do?  Where will I go?” Pip asked.  

“You’ll find somebody else,” Gordon said.  “I know you’re good at convincing people to do things.  You’ve done that with me my whole life.”

“But we’re friends.” Pip looked as pained as Gordon had ever seen him.  The outside ends of his eyebrows drooped, and where they almost met in the middle, they were as steep as a roof pitch in the Swiss Alps.  “You know I don’t make friends easily,” Pip pouted.

“Obviously not, since I’m your only one.  You can be very controlling, and I think it's time I struck out on my own.”

“Is that what Stella says?”  

“She does, but I agree with her.”

“And what am I supposed to do?”

“I”m sorry, but you’re not my responsibility.  You’ve been a friend, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“Your aura is very green,” Pip said.  “That means you’re conflicted.”

“Not as much as you,” Gordon answered.

“I’ve got nowhere else to go.”  Pip looked sorry for himself, but he didn't cry.  He never did that. 

“You can visit us on Sundays,” Gordon said.

The wedding day was set. Gordon was filled with a sense of rightness, completion, and had great expectations, but he kept his joy under control when Pip was around.  Although Stella and Gordon had already consummated their relationship, Stella  wanted each to leave from his own residence and meet up at the church.  Pip had already announced that he wasn’t going.  He was even quieter than usual and Gordon wasn’t surprised that he felt left out and offended.  Once he accepted that Gordon intended to go through with the wedding, he seemed to keep more of his thoughts to himself, something he didn't usually do. Once Gordon and Stella were married, they intended to move into a place they had rented together, so Gordon could give up the apartment his parents had been paying for.

“You’ll have to find somewhere,” he told Pip, cutting through one of their awkward silences that were now common. If he had been able to see auras like Pip could, he would have said that his friend’s aura was the colour of bitter black coffee.   

“I’m not going anywhere,” Pip said.

“Suit yourself,” Gordon said, tired of having to justify what he knew were truly right and wonderful emotions, to a cynical person like Pip.  If Pip had to be removed by force in the end, it was his fault for being so stubborn.  People change, and Pip wasn’t ready for the one that Stella had made in him.  The less he saw of Pip, the more sure he was of himself.

The night before the wedding he went to bed feeling nostalgic, as it would be the last night as a single man. He could hear Pip out in the living room huffing and puffing and swearing.  Every once in a while it sounded like he dropped something and then launch into a barrage of curses. 

Gordon had long since gone to sleep, but came partly awake when he felt something touch his face. As if in a dream he waved his hands to scare away whatever was there.  He opened his eyes to see Pip leaning over him.  “What do you want?” he asked.

“You can’t leave,” Pip said.  His voice was slurred like he had been drinking.  “Without you I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry it hurts you Pip, but that’s the way it has to be.   I have to move on.”

Pip leaned closer to him and although Gordon couldn't see it, something inhibited his breathing.  He reached out to Pip, thinking he was the reason for the feeling of suffocation. Pip climbed onto his chest and sat there squeezing the air out of him. Gordon clawed at the air to push his friend off but his hands found nothing to grasp.  He tried to roll over but Pip's weight kept him pinned on his back as the air was slowly pushed out of his lungs.  

“You can’t!” He tried to shout but there was no force behind his words.  “If I die, you’ll die.”

“I don’t care.”  Pip sounded like he was crying, something Gordon had never heard him do. “If I can’t have you, nobody can.”

Gordon heard the sound of a heart monitor in the distance, but instead of going away it got louder and faster. When the beeping sound suddenly stopped, his arms, too weak to fight, dropped back to his chest, and the panic left him.  When he didn’t show up at the altar, his parents checked his apartment and gingerly opened his bedroom door. He was still in bed.  

"Gordon!" his mother called. "Have you forgotten what day it is?"  

"Probably went out on a stag with some of those crazy friends of his," Gordon's father said.  "How could he leave that poor girl standing there?  It's unforgivable."
       "Gordon!  Get up and get dressed this very minute," his mother said, as if he was late for school.  

Gordon's father pushed past his wife and approached the bed.  He was surprised to see his son sleeping with his mouth open.  "Must've been a helluva bender," he muttered.  

"Come on son," he said.  "Get up."  He lifted one of the pale arms that crossed his son's chest, but dropped it like it was hot.  "Something's not right here mother," he said, backing away from the bed.

"I have to do everything," she tutted, and moved in beside her husband.  She put a hand on her son's forehead, but pulled it sharply away. "He's cold," she said, but sounded like she didn't believe her own senses.  She clapped a hand over her mouth and backed away from the bed.

"What do we do?" she asked her husband, who seemed as shocked as her. 

"The ambulance," he said.  "The police.  Where's the damn phone in this place?  Somebody's done for our boy, mother." 

The police found no evidence of forced entry to the apartment and the coroner found no signs of a struggle on Gordon’s body.  The conclusion was that  Gordon had died in his sleep.  The coroner suggested that something might have temporarily had blocked his airway, perhaps an ice cube, and in his panic and struggle to breathe, he might have had a cardiac arrest, but there was no object present to prove the theory. 

At the funeral, a pale and drawn Stella gave the parents a frail hug.  The event seemed to have sucked the life out of her.

"I'll never forget him," she managed.

Instead of an answer, Gordon's father squeezed her shoulder.

"Do the police know anything new?" Stella asked.

"Why honey," Gordon's mother said.  "There's nothing to find out.  He died peacefully in his sleep," she sighed and dabbed a handkerchief to her cheeks. 

"Did they find his friend Pip?  He might know something."

"They won't find him," Gordon's mother said.  

"Why not?" Stella stood up straight.  "If they can't, maybe we should call the FBI."

"Ha!" Gordon's father said.  "Lot of good that would do."

"They're very good," Stella insisted.  "They have ways we don't even know about."

"Don't you be calling no FBI," Gordon's father said.  "Let it go."

"Why not?  I loved Gordon.  I can't believe he died just like that.  Fine one day and gone the next.  I'm sure this Pip had something to do with it."

"My dear," Gordon's mother put a hand on Emily's forearm.  "There's something you don't understand.  There's a reason why you can't call the FBI."

"I don't see why not."  Stella was petulant.

"You tell her," Gordon's father said, and walked far enough away he was out of earshot.

"It's my fault," Gordon's mother said.  "I never should have indulged him all those years.  His father said I'd live to regret it one day."

"I don't understand," Stella shook her head as if she was trying to understand a Martian.

"Pip showed up before Gordon was in school.  The poor boy had no brothers and sisters so he started talking to Pip. I thought he'd grow out of it one day.  Didn't he tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Stella was frustrated.

"That Pip wasn't real.  He was a friend that Gordon invented as company for himself. It was my fault.  He was an only child, you see."

"You told me." Stella's face was so bloodless that the blue veins in her temples showed.  

"I thought he'd grow out of it,"

"So you said."  Stella seemed confused about where she was, and slowly backed away as if she didn't know the people she had been talking to.

As she left, Gordon's father approached his wife. “I told you that boy's creepy friend would come back to bite us one day,” he said with the snide tone of a man who was accustomed to not being heard.