Cin City

Vancouver

In the few days I had with Jimmy in Victoria he'd taken me to one place. Some gardens up north of the city. I'd asked why. He said because it would make my mum jealous. It did. That night when I spoke with mum it was all about the gardens. I got it. I understood. An O.E. shouldn't be about tennis alone. It was important to see stuff. The other people at the gardens seemed to enjoy it. One old biddy especially:

"How can you see this garden and not believe in a just and loving God?"

She had people with her, yet her question was for everyone in earshot. Jimmy grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and frog-walked me off before I could say anything. It was worth it for that alone.

We also ran, Jimmy and me. And for the first time ever I managed to run him into the ground. It took a while. In fact, it took us from Oak Bay all the way to the harbour where the Coho had docked, and back again. I'd never made it as a runner – not like Jimmy. I didn't have a sprint. I could keep a solid pace in an 800-metre race and hold a good position until the other runners kicked for home. I had the oxygen exchange down fine. Trouble was I was a metronome. One speed. Like a tractor.

So Jimmy and me ran kilometre after kilometre until I wore him down and he had to stop. When I poked him in the belly I thought he was going to throw up. He didn't, but even so. Next morning I heard straining and groaning coming from his room. He was either masturbating or doing sit-ups. When he emerged he was covered in sweat – so it could have been either – or both.

We did the run again. On day three I made us do half the distance – because my tournament was almost on us. By the time we took the ferry to the mainland Jimmy had dropped three kilograms and was doing his compliment of sit-ups without looking like he had just tossed himself off. I hated that Jimmy could do that. Let himself go then get himself back. I respected it too, his bloody-mindedness. And he had always been like that. Bloody minded. At least since I'd known him. I wondered what he had been like before the crash. Before he became my not-quite brother.

"You need a haircut."

"You need to not worry about it."

The mainland rental car was a bit more normal. Some middle of the road Toyota. What in North America they called a compact; we called it a car. Jimmy rented us two rooms at a Bed and Breakfast near English Bay and across the road from Stanley Park. I liked Vancouver. I liked it a lot. I wondered if the other Vancouver was better. We checked in – then drove across the harbour bridge to the Tennis Centre. The northern suburbs backed against mountains. I had Google Earthed it weeks ago. Jimmy nodded at one of the mountains.

"It's that one."

"Have you done it?" I'd never done wilderness running, or mountain running either. But I figured Jimmy wouldn't be able to resist giving the Grouse Mountain Grind a go. It would be so very him, running up the side of some hill for fun.

"Yeah, before I headed to Victoria."

"And?"

"It's fun, you'll love it."

"And?"

"Half an hour, give or take."

"What's the record?"

"A shade under twenty-three minutes."

"Man you're slow." I knew Jimmy would bump me away, like as if we were kids again. I ended up in a heap against my window. "Are we nearly there yet?"

"Soon," said Jimmy. His fingers twisting my earlobe. "What's up with you?"

"Oh you know, fucked in the head.  You?"