Heartfelt Baloney

Whenever Elena was asked why she wanted to become a doctor, she said the same thing: “This world is full of hate, and I want to spread love.”

In high school, her go-to answer had been, “I’ve had a passion for medicine since I was a kid,” but that, she found out, was everybody else’s answer too. She needed something more creative, more memorable. Something with chutzpah.

The comma in the middle had been her father’s idea. It marked a pause, where Elena would look down, breathe deeply, then look up again. Short enough to seem natural, but long enough to have an impact.

This world is full of hate, and I want to spread love.

Heartfelt baloney.

That’s what Elena was thinking about as she fiddled with the sleeves of her black hoodie, seated on a cold bench in a park. Above her, the dark leaves rustled, and the breeze smelled of wet autumn. Moonlight shone through the shivering branches, camouflaging Elena behind its dancing web.

This world is full of hate…

Her chem and philosophy R scores were guaranteed 37s, just as they had been in her first year of CEGEP. If she were lucky, she might even get a 38 in math. Sociology, though, was another story. She would have to screen-record the Zoom review sessions. Pray that the class didn’t do too well.

… and I want to spread love.

If only Gabe hadn’t gotten that internship. That Internship, with a capital I. Helping kids fight leukemia at Sainte-Justine was ridiculously good. He had talked to the right people, had found the right website at the right time. There was no skill in that. It was unfair. Now his resume was better than hers. In the marathon of applications, he had a head start.

Elena stuffed her hands in her pockets. The October air was biting. She breathed in slowly and kept her eyes open for her target.

Laughter echoed through the city, young, drunk, and free.

“Ella?”

Sandra stood on the sidewalk with another girl. She was wearing purple eyeliner and black lipstick, and with each movement of her head, her big golden hoop-earrings jingled.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

Elena rose from the bench sheepishly, scratching her forehead and trying to think of a plausible excuse.

“Oh, nothing. I’m taking a walk.”

“Big walk,” Sandra said, pointing at the bench Elena had been sitting on.

They both laughed, then hugged.

“It’s been a while,” Sandra said. “Come with us! We’re going to Le Gris.”

Elena instinctively took a step forward, then stopped herself. She was there for a reason. She had a job to do.

But … maybe she could go in and out quickly. Have a shot, dance a bit, and come back. 

Memories flashed in her head—the freedom of dancing terribly, of letting her body do its thing, lightheaded in the heavy pulsing pink and green lights. Feeling the bass shake her bones. Losing herself in the intoxicating smell of sweat and Fireball whiskey.

A few minutes inside wouldn’t hurt. The night was young, and her mission wouldn’t take long.

“You know what?” Elena said. “Hell yeah.”

Sandra jumped in place excitedly. “Yay! Alright, the rest of the group is coming here in like ten minutes.” Then her face assumed a serious expression. “It’s been a long time, Ella,” she said. “What have you been up to?”

Elena shrugged. “Not much. School mostly.”

“Still wanna go to McGill?”

Elena nodded. “I’m trying to build my resume. I’m head of the CASPer prep committee now.”

The trees seemed to shiver in unison, as if they doubted Elena’s account. Sandra’s friend put an orange vape to her lips and breathed out a white snake. Bored, probably.

“You know what we should do some day?” Sandra said, putting her hand on Elena’s arm. “Go to that Thai Express on CDN. You know, like we did in sec 2.”

Elena’s heart sped up. “Oh yeah?”

Sandra laughed. “Yeah. Remember what you used to do? With the finger-tapping and the ants?”

The coincidence of Sandra bringing up the finger-tapping on this particular night made Elena’s stomach lurch. 

“We were kids.”

“No shit,” Sandra said. “But I believed it back then. I thought you had superpowers.”

“You did believe it,” Elena said, with a lightness in her voice that she did not feel.

Superpowers. Elena looked at the Gris and wondered if her mission was worth it. Maybe it would be best if she just danced with Sandra all night.

But it was too late. Too much had happened, too many things had changed.

“How’s Gabe?” Elena said.

Sandra rolled her eyes. “He’s good. But he studies too much. You guys will be best friends in med school.”

“How’s his internship?” Elena said, her mouth as dry as cotton.

“Great. He’s making friends with this big researcher guy. I forget his name. He’s from Harvard or Oxford or something like that.”

“Is he coming tonight?”

Sandra nodded. “Yeah. He should be here any minute now.” She checked her phone. “He hasn’t texted, I think he’s driving.”

Suddenly, Elena’s stomach felt as empty as a black hole. Her ears were ringing and her vision seemed blurry. Gabe would be there soon.

“Ella, are you okay?”

“Sorry, I just remembered, I have something. It’s super important. We can go clubbing next week, yeah?”

Sandra looked surprised. “Oh. You sure you can’t stay just a bit?”

“I’m sure. Sorry.”

Sandra pouted her bottom lip. But she leaned in for a final hug before leaving with vape-girl.

Elena sat back on the cold bench. Her mouth tasted of something bitter and oddly familiar. Blood? Dark chocolate? Tequila? She closed her eyes. All she could think of now was Gabe’s reference letter from a Harvard hotshot.      

She would accomplish her mission that night, and nothing in the world would stop her.

***

It had taken two months of psychotherapy to finally crack. She’d started her weekly meetings in July. Every Tuesday at 2pm, Elena walked past the Jewish General Hospital to psychologist Catherine’s house, sat on a brown leather sofa, and spent an hour talking about her feelings. It was awkward at first—shameful, even—with long silences that seemed to last forever.

Elena hadn’t wanted psychotherapy. It had been her mother’s idea. Elena had agreed to go so that she would stop worrying so much. But gradually, Elena had warmed up to Catherine.  It felt good to be listened to, to be heard, even if she was talking about nothing at all.

The session that cracked her open began like all the others. She sank into Catherine’s brown couch, declined the usual offer of water, and braced for the routine. But this time, instead of starting with small talk, Catherine asked: “How do you feel, Elena?”

“Good,” Elena said. “I quit work, so that’s fun. I’ve had it up to here washing dirty plates.”

Catherine laughed. “What about school? You start on the 30th. Is that stressing you out?”

“No, not at all. I’m looking forward to it, actually.”

That was the honest truth. Elena missed her heavily highlighted agenda, the hustle-and-bustle of exam season, lunches with her friends. School gave her something to think about.

“Are you still planning on applying to McGill in the winter?”

“Absolutely.”

“Is that stressing you out?”

“Not really,” Elena lied.

Catherine nodded silently, terracotta nails tapping against her glass of water.

“I saw Sandra yesterday,” Elena said, breaking the silence. “We went clubbing again.”

“How was that?”

“Good. Well… Sandra ended up making out with Gabe.”

Catherine’s eyebrow raised. “That Gabe?”

“Yes, that Gabe. I don’t know what she sees in him. But aside from that, it was fun.”

“I’d like to return to something you said last week. You said, ‘My dad will kill me if I don’t get into med school.’ Can we talk about that?”

Elena’s hands kneaded the sofa. “No, well, that was an exaggeration. He wouldn’t be that mad. He wouldn’t scream or anything.”

“But he wouldn’t be happy,” Catherine prompted.

Her dad’s face flashed in Elena’s mind. She imagined the scene often, the terrible What If. Him staring at her with his sad puppy eyes, his thin lips pulled down into a frown. You had the grades. What happened? he would say. He would be cold and distant for months, maybe years. 

“He’s a good guy.” 

Catherine said nothing.

“I swear he is. I’m making it sound worse than it is.” 

“Can I ask you a question?” Catherine said. “And you don’t have to answer.”

Elena nodded, her stomach fluttering.

“Why not Sherbrooke? They have an excellent medicine program. And your French is fantastic.”

“Because…” 

Because I’ll be a disappointment.

“I like McGill’s campus better. And I know people who are applying there.”

Catherine didn’t look convinced. She asked another question, but Elena couldn’t pay attention. Her mind was numb and hot and fuzzy and a strange mass was forming in her throat.

“Elena?”

Elena snapped back to reality. “Sorry?”

“I asked why you wanted medicine? I know I asked the question before, but I’d like to hear your answer again.”

This world is full of hate,

—comma from Dad—

and I want to spread love.

The mass in Elena’s throat grew and grew, and suddenly she exploded.

“I just want to help others,” she said. “I couldn’t stand some cold-hearted fucking corporate job, I want to be there for people, I want to help people get better and watch kids grow up and watch people walk again. It makes me feel like it’s all worth it. School is draining. It’s so draining.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. 

“Is that all, Elena?” 

“I feel like I’m afraid of not being accepted more than I want to be a doctor. And life is hard, I need money. If I could spend my life having fun with Sandra, I would. Doing shit I want to do. But I can’t. I’m 19, I can’t anymore. My dad says houses are expensive now, I want my kids to have a house, and to be able to go to the school they want. I looked it up, good internships are super hard to get. If I don’t get into McGill, I…”

You had the grades. What happened?

“If I don’t get in, he won’t look at me. And I don’t know if he’ll pay for my tuition if I don’t get in. My mom said she would, but he said nothing, and I love him, I really love him, and I know he loves me, but…

“I just want to be happy,” Elena sobbed. “That’s all I want.”

***

The silver Porsche pulled up in front of Le Gris in one fluid motion. Orange street light reflected on its metal surface, giving it a ghastly aura.

Elena’s heart pulsed in her throat. Every breath she took felt shallow, like she wasn’t inhaling air at all.

The driver’s door opened and out slithered Gabe, wearing a white flannel shirt and dual Cuban chains. He dapped a guy in black button-up with rolled back sleeves, showing off his dimples.

Elena hoped she was invisible enough. 

She’d known Gabe since elementary school. They’d been co-captains of the sixth-grade handball team. Friends, if she were being honest. In high school they grew apart. Elena racked her brain, trying to remember why. Was it because he joined the rugby team? Because he started drinking so early? Because he didn’t have to study for his grades, while she spent all-nighters to get straight As?      

There had to be something bad about him—something dirty—to justify her seething hatred.

Through the wail and rustle of autumn, Elena could make out the club music. Le Gris’ heartbeat. “We be burnin’, not concernin’ what nobody wanna say,” Sean Paul’s voice whispered through the bass, as Le Gris’ windows shone pink. Unts, unts, unts, unts…

Sandra emerged from the club, kissed Gabe, and dragged him inside. The guy in the black button-down crushed his cigarette and followed.

Gabe was born into wealth. His dad was a big-name manager, and his mom was a cardiologist. He didn’t have to work the way Elena had to work. Elena’s parents had no connections. They’d had to work overtime to pay for her textbooks in CEGEP. Elena had to find her internships herself, make Harvard friends herself. It wasn’t fair.

Elena cracked her knuckles and waited.

***

She’d started the finger-tapping in sec 1. It was a tic at first, something she did when she was stressed—and God knew with her new workload, she was stressed. Sometimes she’d stare into empty space and tap, tap, tap: thumb against index, pinky, and ring finger in quick succession, focusing on each movement, on the choreography of digits, trying to forget about geometry and orals and what would happen if she failed a test.

She discovered its effects on ants by accident. At first she thought it was a coincidence, so she tried it again and again, and every single time it worked. She showed it to Sandra at lunch when they snuck out to eat on Côte-des-Neiges. She’d drop a shrimp from her pad Thai by the railing to attract the ants, watching as they flocked to it, covering it in little black dots. Once a good mass had formed, Elena would tap, tap, tap. She and Sandra would watch the show, giggling.

Eventually, she tried it on songbirds. Then on squirrels.

Tip, tap, tip, tap… and the violin string would snap.

Until that night in sec 3, when she tried it on her neighbour’s cats. Then, disgusted, scared, and shaking, Elena decided to stop finger-tapping altogether. She told Sandra it didn’t work anymore and stopped looking for help on Reddit and Quora. 

If she didn’t think about it, maybe she would unlearn it. 

***

Gabe emerged from the club at half past eleven. Even from her vantage point fifty meters away, Elena could hear his slurred speech, see his red and soft face. He waltzed down the steps with his arm around black button-up’s shoulders. They walked to the side of the club and leaned on the brick wall.

Elena stared at them like a prowling lioness. Gabe was isolated, far from Sandra, and drunk. Now was the time.

She tapped her fingers together and focused—thumb against index, thumb against pinky, thumb against ring finger—slowing her breath like a hunter about to shoot. She concentrated, tipping and tapping and tipping and tapping. The buzz of the world turned to the hum of a violin string.

Suddenly, both the string and Gabe snapped.

Gabe lunged forward like a rabid animal. He pinned his friend on the pavement and punched savagely with both fists.

By the time the bouncers pulled Gabe off, the other guy was curled on his side, jerking spasmodically. He was unrecognizable. Roadkill.

***

The SPVM came quickly. Two patrol cars parked behind the Porsche, drowning the Gris in red and blue. Voices rang out through the wailing sirens, the chatter of radios. Sandra ran down the steps, sobbing, wailing, screaming. The ambulance came soon after.

Elena took the 138 West bus home, sitting in the back with her head pressed against the cool glass. The bus was quiet at this time of night, with the rumble of the engine as the only background noise. Drunken nightlife gradually transformed to wide boulevard, then silent street.

Elena missed her stop. Then the next. She sat with her eyes closed, fighting the dizziness. She felt like she was still sitting on that park bench in the dark.

It was over; her mission was done. She could move on anytime now. Yet all she could think about was Sandra crying, that poor guy lying in the street, and Gabe’s wide-eyed face, like a confused toddler.

She’d never have gotten into McGill with Gabe in the way. It was self-defense. She told herself this—again and again—as the bus moved through the night.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket—her father. She put the phone to her ear.

“Elena, where are you?” 

“I’m on my way home,” she said faintly. “Twenty minutes.”

“It was a long meeting.”

“Yes.” Elena massaged her forehead. “I ended up talking with a guy from UdeM med.”

“Did you get his contact information?”

Elena wanted to cry.

“I did.”

“Good. I’m going to bed. Don’t be late.”

She hesitated, then said, “I love you, Dad.” But he had already hung up.

Elena felt a sharp pain grow in her chest, a needle stab to the heart. She wondered if at McGill she would finally breathe freely.

This world is full of hate…

She raised her hands to her face—then dropped them in disgust and shoved them into her hoodie pockets. And all at once she began to sob, her chest shaking with the force of it.

…and I want to spread love.