Read All My Friends Are Superheroes for Free Online

reassuring.
    ‘What are you selling?’ the Perfectionist asked.
    ‘I’m selling love,’ he answered.
    The Perfectionist leaned against the door jamb. The smell of cigarettes came from her hair and her clothes. She backed out of the doorway and he followed her inside.
    In the kitchen he set down his sample case. He tugged up his pant legs as he sat. He crossed his right leg over his left, revealing argyle socks.
    ‘What kind of love are we interested in today?’ he asked.
    ‘What kinds do you have?’
    ‘Well,’ he said. He stood up. ‘I’ve got the love you want, the love you think you want, the love you think you want but don’t when you finally get it ... ’
    ‘That must be very popular.’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘What else have you got?’
    ‘I’ve got the love that’s yours as long as you do what you’re told, the love that worries it’s not good enough, the love that worries it’ll be found out, the love that fears being judged and found lacking, the love that’s almost – but not quite – strong enough, the love that makes you feel they’re better than you ... ’
    ‘Stop.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I don’t want any of those.’
    ‘What kind do you want?’
    ‘I want the kind I had with Tom.’
    ‘And what kind was that?’
    ‘It was true love,’ the Perfectionist said.
    She locked eyes with the salesman. He swallowed. It made his eyes look sad.
    ‘Then you’ll need one of these,’ he replied. His eyes didn’t look sad any more. They sparkled. He dipped to his right, picked up his sample case, lifted it as high as he could and slammed it onto the kitchen table. He snapped the left clasp open. He snapped the right clasp open. He flipped open the lid, reached in and pulled out a vacuum.
    ‘You are a vacuum salesman?’ the Perfectionist hissed.
    ‘You don’t really believe true love exists outside one of these?’ he asked.
    The salesman stood motionless, holding out the vacuum. The kitchen was silent. His arms got tired. He lowered the vacuum and put it back in the sample case.
    ‘Thank you for your time,’ the Perfectionist said. She took his card and gently escorted him to the front door of the apartment.
    The Perfectionist returned to the kitchen and noticed her lit cigarette in the ashtray. It was half burnt. She reached out and extinguished it. She flipped through the yellow pages and phoned the first travel agency she saw. She purchased a one-way ticket to Vancouver.

TEN

TASKS #5 TO #7
    The Perfectionist wakes up. She watches clouds and mentally rechecks her ‘Things To Do Before Leaving’ list. Tasks #5 to #7 were all ‘call sister’ (#4 final mop and wax; #8 call airport to check for a flight delay). The Perfectionist replays these phone conversations in her mind. The first call (#5) was to her eldest sister, the Face.
    The Face was eight years old when she first noticed how photographs taken of her were slightly out of focus. When the Face looked in mirrors, even if she kept very still, her reflection was always blurry. During high school she was very popular but she had no close friends.
    After high school the Face studied at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Inpainting class the first assignment was a self-portrait. Holding her brush, the Face studied her classmates. They mixed colours and applied thick brushstrokes to the canvas. The Face’s brush was still. She didn’t know how to begin.
    That night she phoned three of her classmates and asked them to describe what she looked like. They all responded that she was the most beautiful woman they’d ever seen. But when she asked for details, they couldn’t provide any. They couldn’t tell her what colour her eyes were. They didn’t know if her teeth were straight, or if her hair was wavy, or if her lips were thick. They only knew she the most beautiful woman they’d ever seen.
    The Face submitted a blank canvas and got an A+. Everyone agreed it was the most beautiful self-portrait