Toss

She has a body like her mother's: thin, angular, very white, big breasts but while her mother has a very real touch of elegance, Gurdy is all skank: too thin, like she's on drugs; too tired; too worn out — too unhealthy. I was surprised there weren't tattoos all over her and piercings; she now seems the type. It wasn't supposed to work out this way.

I could just see the top of her bowed head; her dirty blond hair was badly dishevelled and greasy. She was nervously scratching at a stain on the table with a broken fingernail. "Your mother told you about me, didn't she?" As a kid she was always defiant, not giving a shit what other people thought. Except me.

"She didn't say much. She told me where you were; asked me to get in touch with you; said you could use a friend."

She didn't look up. "But you know."

"I've heard things."

"They're true — maybe not all of it but most of it is."

I had nothing to say. Twenty-five and already a ruined life.

Her coffee, untouched in front of her, was growing cold. She looked up, but barely. "I'm ashamed. Does that matter?

"To me? No. It's your life."

She straightened, pissed off. "So you don't care?" The defiance again.

"Of course I care. You're better than this."

She shrugged, indifferently. "I guess I'm not."

No, I guess she isn't. But she was. When I left home to go to college she was there in the house like she was always in our house, over from next door, over to compete, to argue, to fight, to do everything little tom boys do with older boys. As neighbours, two years apart in age, we had been inseparable for years until that afternoon ten years ago when I left home to go to college, left home while she stood in the living room fighting back the tears. "You'll never pass," she said, competitive to the end.

I remember kissing her on top of the head and lightly punching her arm. "Now I have all the incentive I need." And I was gone, gone from the home my parents would soon vacate, gone from my adolescence, gone from her life. It felt traumatic and exhilarating as I drove away: I was heading into the future. With each mile she became more of a distant memory.

And, now, over the months, after hearing a few stories about her it was a memory I didn't want to be reminded of.

But recently, concerned, my mum insisted I get in touch with her, so I finally did, or tried to. She had moved from the address I was given, moved five times, or more accurately, changed couches. It took me three days to track her down. For what? So I could participate in her misery? In the coffee shop I'd taken her to, I intended only to touch base, wish her luck and get out of there.

But I couldn't. The woman needed a meal ... and during that meal it became obvious that she needed a lot more from me. I was thinking about how I could help her as I walked her home when, at the door, her friend held out a garbage bag filled with her clothes and said, "Your turn." Then promptly shut the door.

I'm a lawyer, I've done well. I like my life. I just moved into a new condo six weeks before; I finally had the place set up and had the routine I wanted: lots of work and plenty of recreation: running, walking, hockey, baseball — I had the perfect balance. I was 27, totally self-centred, with little interest in girls. Now one was moving in.

You could never call Gurdy Johanneson pretty. As a kid she had looked good as a rough and tumble tom boy, but at 25 she just looked rough and tumbled with large black, very sad eyes, short dark brown hair looking like it was self-cut with dull scissors and as thick as her eyebrows ... and as lifeless as her lips which seemed perpetually pursed in a pout. To me Gurdy looked like an over-age street urchin and it was tearing my heart out. Once, she was like a sister.

If she was glad to find a safe harbour in her personal storm it sure didn't show. When she entered my place she seemed more angry than pleased. And sullen. I threw her garbage bag of possessions on the bed in the once spare bedroom and already started planning on how to get her out of there.

Not that I took much notice of her. In that first week I stayed late at the office, recreated longer than usual after work and, as a consequence, spent as little time as I could with her, which, I thought, suited her just fine.

She said she was ashamed and she should be. From what my mother told me she fell apart soon after I left town and continued the decline over the next five years until, after graduating high school and after a little time in college, she landed on the streets, used and abused. How bad did it get? Her parents and friends had all abandoned her; she had entirely bottomed out.

So you'd think she'd show some appreciation for me taking her in. But no. She did no cooking, no cleaning and made no effort to greet me with anything other than disdain when I came home each day. She was always lounging in pyjamas on a chair, a book in her hands, utter indifference on her face.

I stocked the fridge hoping she would dive in during the day and start to fatten up a bit. But she didn't — an apple, some cheese, a little bread, that was all she'd have. She ate a little of whatever I prepared each evening but never finished it. We didn't talk. I tried a little but got nowhere so gave up. I was living with a zombie who took up no space, made no demands and, as far as I could see, had absolutely no future ... the little girl who was once tethered to my hip had no tomorrows.

What do you do? I had no idea until instinct took over and I thought of recreation. On a Saturday morning eight days after she had moved in I told her we were going for a walk. I was surprised she complied ... in body only: she sullenly and soundlessly got ready. We had breakfast on the way to the city skirts and were on the trail by 10 and off it by 11 without a single sound from her, other than the odd grunt and a groan when she got into the car.

But something seemed to have happened, I wasn't sure what but as I drove home I could feel a diminished tension, maybe because she was too tired to be sullen.

Encouraged, we went for another walk on Wednesday night, not so far because it started to rain, but it felt good, too and I was realizing why. Our relationship in the distant past had always been physical: we constantly did things together, from chores to skating, biking, hiking — all kinds of things; we were always on the go. This was an extension of that. After an interregnum of 10 years we had revived our natural state of being and it was working for both of us.

The next Saturday afternoon, after lunch but before heading for a trail I took her to a large sports store and told her to get what she needed, which was everything — she had been hiking in all the wrong stuff and with really crappy running shoes. She objected of course, I knew she would, but not very vigorously. I over-saw the purchases offering helpful suggestion until she was fully equipped from the skin to the outer shell, even throwing in a high-tech daypack with built in hydration system. Then, I insisted she put on the stuff before she left the shop.

She looked good and I think she felt good: there was a little colour in her cheek now and an extra spring in her step; she was just as quiet but there was more energy in her stride and more purpose, as if she was there not just to follow me but to enjoy herself.

But follow me she did, uncomplainingly until we had hiked past the two-hour mark and she was beginning to wilt. I knew she wouldn't complain that she was getting tired — the old Gurdy would never have conceded a victory to me, but it was obvious that she was too gutted to continue much further.

"We'll just hike to my favourite lookout, another half hour tops, then we'll turn back." The joy I got out of saying that was shameful.

I pressed on, she followed but she made it clear she wasn't happy ... until, in another ten minutes we rounded a bend and arrived back at the parking lot. She didn't figure it out at first, she was too tired for that, but when I unlocked my car from a distance she couldn't help but see the lights flash cheerfully and for the first time since we re-met, she grinned.

It had been a bit too much. She was tired and sore and quiet and when we got back home she immediately took a bath.

I was just starting to prepare supper when she called out from the bathroom asking me to bring her a glass of wine.

I did. Tentatively, careful to hand her the glass without any undo intrusion.

"You never look at me," she said, coldly.

"You're in a bath tub," I sneered.

"You never look at me wherever I am. You're ashamed of me."

I was just heading out when she said this so I kept on going but I was back in a minute with a beer in my hand. I sat down on the toilet seat angled away from her. "And why shouldn't I be ashamed of you? You've made a complete mess of your life. Sure, I'm disappointed in you, I'm disgusted with you. You're a lot better than this, Toss."

"And I'm disgusted with you. Not even a card. He'll send me a present on my birthday, he always gives me a present, a fun present; he knows I love to get them from him. Nothing, not even a card. That was two months after you left. Nothing. And then your parents moved and I knew I would never see you again, I knew you had left my life forever — I was nothing to you, all those years and I was nothing to you, just a little kid you once had a little fun with."

"I got busy."

"I got lost," she snapped back. "The one rock in my life rolled away and I had nothing."

"You had wealthy parents and a nice house."

"You knew my parents and you knew how I felt about that house. But I stayed there to graduate, I hated every minute of it but I stayed there and went to nursing school, that's where it all started to unravel, really unravel ... it started in high school but there it got a lot worse."

"Why? I don't get that. You were so strong."

"I had this huge hole in my life, I needed to fill it. I tried to find friends, I never cared about them before, I had you, so I didn't know how to get them. I used my body, guys would call me, I went to parties, I got popular, sort of, until I wasn't, I was just being passed around. Then it just got steadily worse ..."

I couldn't find the compassion she was looking for. "You dropped out of college and couch surfed. Brilliant."

"Did you ever care about me? Ever? LOOK AT ME!" she shouted. "Did you?"

I looked over at her, careful to find only her eyes. "You knew where I was. If you wanted my help why didn't you contact me? I would have done for you what I could."

"Like now?" Her eyes flashed with anger.

I turned away. "Ya, like now, I'll do whatever I can for you, of course I will."

"Get me some more wine."

I slowly turned to look at her, this time not caring if my eyes took in more than they should ... and I glowered.

"Please," she finally added.

I got the wine and another beer and sat down again. "So what are you going to do, Toss? You can't just hang-out here ... I won't let you do that — it's not sustainable. You've got to have a plan."

"You want me out of here?"

"You're not going to just hang out here, I guarantee you that. I'll help you get back on your feet but I can't make you do that ... that has to come from you and if it doesn't I'm not going to be an enabler — trust me on that: you've got all kinds of value, piss it away somewhere else."

"How long can I stay?"

"As long as you're making an effort. Why should I do all the cooking and cleaning and buying and ..."

"I don't have any money."

"Ya, but you've got a few skimpy muscles. You can clean. And you can cook at least as well as I can — I might not want to eat it, but you can cook ... I'm not going to be your butler, Toss, trust me on that. You're going to have to do at least as much around here as I do and you're going to have to work or study, those are your two choices — they're everybody's two choices ... and you're going to have to clean yourself up ..."

"I'm in a bath tub for fuck's sake ..."

"... a decent haircut and some clothes. You look like a street person."

"I AM a street person."

"Not here, you're not," I didn't disguise my anger. "You're living in my house — I'm giving you a chance here — you're going to start looking and acting like you deserve it."

I was looking away from her but I could hear her submerge. She stayed under for as long as she could then she sputtered to the surface. "What kind of a friend deserts another, Pint? Answer me that."

"An asshole. Would it help if I apologized?"

"It would help if you understood what you meant to me and what your fucked-up ignorance did to me."

I got up and was about to leave but stopped. "It's your life, Toss. If you let guys like me fuck it up for you that's your choice. Or, you could let guys like me help you when they offer and you can try like hell to get what you can out of us. You have some decisions to make. I've made mine. You can stay here for as long as you're working hard to get somewhere. If you don't, that's your choice and I won't be a part of that. I'm your friend, Toss, I'm not your keeper. I don't actually owe you anything."

I'm not much of a cook and begrudge every moment I spend in the kitchen, so I was at least fast. It was ready when she came in. "Put a bra on, Toss." It was obvious she was naked under her thin, threadbare t-shirt.

"It was soaked from the hike, I washed it. Live with it."

"The other one."

"It's toast."

"You're going shopping tomorrow and you're getting a haircut, ... don't argue, you're going. And if you're going to live here you're going to look after the food ... get it, make it — I'll give you the money. I hate cooking."

She stood looking at me like a pissed-off daughter looks at an angry father. "Anything else?"

"Your plan. You've got two days to come up with it. No plan, no roof, no bed. I mean it."

She sat down and forked at her food, not eating.

"And you're going to eat what's in front of you. You're too skinny, you look emaciated. If you're going to stay here you're going to get healthy, join a gym or something."

"I kept up to you on the trail."

"You did not. I had to loiter every mile to allow you to catch up."

She ate her food, which, admittedly, wasn't very good and when she finished she cleared the plates and put them in the dishwasher. I watched her wondering if there was any chance she could pull her life together. Once, it would have been unthinkable that she could have been this weak, now I had no idea if she had the strength to pull out of it.

When she finished I stood up and gave her a friendly shove. "I'm watching, Toss. Effort, roof, no effort, street. I deserted you once, I'll do it again; I can be a prick that way."

I wasn't feeling very good about myself when I went to bed. I was only beginning to realize that I really did desert her. She should have expected more from me; I had been an asshole, not deliberately, I had no idea I had meant so much to her ... but that was bullshit, too. I had heard things weren't going well for her, I mattered, I knew that ... but she was in a different city ... I was busy — the old story. I would do what I could now. If she would help herself, I would help her.

I read for a couple of hours but when I was drifting off to sleep her breasts behind the light t-shirt jiggled in my conscience and an erection slowly grew. I shut it down: thought of work, planned my next week — I have always mastered my domain.

The breasts were the first thing I thought about the next morning, which was troubling because it should have been my guilt, like it had been every other morning since she showed up. I banished the image as quickly as I had last night but it came back the moment I saw her in the kitchen.

"Your bra must be dry by now," I said, with a touch of anger.

She looked at me strangely. "I'd bet on it. It's a quick dry sports bra."

"So it's dry enough to wear."

"I don't wear quick dry sports bras to bed. Actually, nobody does."

"You're not in bed."

"So this is bothering you?"

"Ya, it is."

"Well, I'm not going to wear a bra to bed just to please you. Maybe I should sleep in my jacket? Would that hide me enough?" She grabbed the coffee I had poured her and quickly left the room.

One more day. She had to have her plan ready in 24 hours.

I knocked on her door an hour later and told her we were going shopping. She put up no resistance. We went out at about 10. At the mall I gave her a credit card and a sticky with my pin number on it, then I handed her an old cell phone and showed her how to call me.

"So you aren't coming in with me."

"You're shopping for clothes. Why would you need me?"

"To take an interest ... or see if I'm buying the right things ... or if I'm running the bill up too high."

"Buy what you want ... and what you need, then call me, I'll pick you up. Take your time, I have lots of work at the office."

She didn't look at all pleased when she whirled around and headed into the mall which didn't make me all that pleased either. No one has ever given me a credit card and told me to go off and enjoy myself.

Three hours later she was standing on the sidewalk when I drove up; she was surrounded by bags, five big ones. "I needed a lot," she said by way of explanation as she bundled the bags into the car. We stopped on the way home at a supermarket. "When is the last time you've been in one of these?" I thought to ask on the way in.

"Been awhile."

"You're going to buy the food from now on. We can go together when you need a car but otherwise you do all the day-to-day stuff. Got it?"

She didn't say anything, she just followed me so I looked back, remembering that as a kid whenever she hadn't actually agreed to something she never did it. "Got it?" I repeated.

"I don't know what you like ... you've changed so much." She had a sneer in her voice.

I stopped. "It's not me who has changed so much, it's you. OK?"

She shrugged.

"OK?" I said, more insistently. "There's a food store close to our place."

"Our place until you decide that I'm a waste of space."

"Good point." I turned around. "If you haven't got a viable plan ready by tomorrow night there's no point in stocking up for two." I headed out of the store.

She caught up to me as I neared the car. "What about the clothes? Maybe I'd better not wear any until after tomorrow."

"No, you can keep those, I have a suitcase you can use if it gets to that." I turned on her. "Is it going to?"

"You mean am I going to live the life you approve of?"

"Are you going to live a life that is sustainable?"

"Sustainable," she repeated with destain.

"Ya, sustainable — you know, a life that doesn't require ex-neighbours to bail you out all the time."

I had gone too far and I knew it. When I got into the car I expected a tantrum but I didn't get it. "Is that what I am to you? An ex-neighbour?"

"It was a poor choice of words. Sorry."

"Who are you close to, Pint?" She said this calmly as she did up her seat belt.

"Never mind."

"No. Who? Not your parents, you don't see them very often. Have you got any girlfriends? There aren't any pictures of people in your place, your phone never rings."

"Never mind."

"No, seriously, I want to know. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Why not? You're passable looking, good body on you, you've got money; ya, you're a bit of a prick but all girls are used to dealing with those. Why not?"

"Not a priority."

"Got any guys you hang out with ... drinking buddies?"

"I don't drink much."

"No one? Guys at the office? Guys you like to work out with?"

"I like to work out alone."

"So, you haven't changed all that much, have you? You didn't much want any people in your life when you were in high school either, did you?"