Paper Stones

by Laurie Ray Hill

  Went around the circle and checked on everyone’s week. Tammy’s husband ain’t blew up yet. We can hear him ticking like a bomb. Except Tammy. She still thinks things are going good. He’s a little touchier this week. He did kick the dog’s teeth in. But he hasn’t laid a hand on Tammy or the kids. He promised her last time that he would never do that again.

  Oh right. I’m sure. I’d like to know what’s changed since last time.

  I wish to God Meredith would tell her to get out while the getting’s good. Of course she won’t. Alls Meredith does is ask Tammy if the incident with the dog seems acceptable to her.

  Tammy says the poor dog was only barking at a rabbit.

  Josie pipes up. Says even her dog, who was a Chinese philosopher in his last life, will bark at a rabbit.

  (Meredith gives Josie the look. Josie’s a bad girl for speaking out of turn.)

  The Asshole broke one and a half of the dog’s teeth. Tammy wanted to take it to the vet, but he says he’s not paying for that. Tammy, she’s got a bit of money coming in, of her own, from a disability pension she has on account of her bipolar disorder. But Asshole grabs the cheque every month, makes her sign it over, and Tammy never has a penny of her own to spend. Has to get his royal permission if she wants to buy Matthew or Meghan a new-to-you winter coat from the second-hand store. I’m so sure he’s going to pay for a doggie dentist.

  Tammy’s feeding it aspirin and wondering what to do about the half tooth. She tried pliers, the way her dad used to do on them at home. (He’d put his knee on their chest and twist.) She got bit. Zippy won’t eat.

  Meredith steers back around to the point about whether this behaviour on the part of her husband is acceptable.

  How is Tammy supposed to know about “acceptable”? Her dad didn’t believe in dentists. Stuck his knee on her chest and twisted with the dirty pliers out of the shed.

  As usual, I’m working on not hearing too much. I think about the hotel dining room. All them pretty tablecloths. Soft pink, blue, yellow. Fresh and clean and smooth. Water reflections from the lake rippling over the silverware.

  I was what Meredith calls “Escaping into Fantasy.” But I still say you got to do that sometimes.

  Josie makes light of things, when it’s her turn. Says she’s doing great.

  Meredith looks at her bruises. But Josie sticks to her guns. Nope, she’s doing awesome.

  Meredith says (not to nobody in particular), she says that admitting we have a problem can be the first step toward healing.

  Josie knows damn well that Meredith’s talking to her. But she won’t admit a thing. She’s having a hunky dory Christmas season. Everything’s dandy.

  Meredith gives up. Moves on to me. I want to tell about the boss, but I don’t want them to know I’m a dirty whore so I say I had a good week.

  Meredith asks a couple of questions about the man who is living with me.

  “Dave,” I say. (I told her ten times already.) “His name’s Dave Smith.”

  “And has this Mr. Smith been contributing money for expenses?”

  I can see she thinks that’s a made-up name, like nobody’s really called Smith.

  “He puts in more than his share.”

  “Oh.” That surprised her. “Good. And his behaviour is acceptable?”

  I told her Dave’s behaviour was fine.

  “And how do you feel about this man living in your space?”

  “I feel … safe.”

  That hit a nerve! I’m telling you, there was a sigh went around that table. Leaders and all, they looked at me like I was waving a million-dollar lottery ticket. A man who makes me feel safe!

  Meredith breathed in short like I’d socked her in the gut. She might just as well have told me that whatever big shot she’s with don’t make her feel that way.

  Meredith would never look twice at a guy like Dave in his ball hat and his plaid coat from Zellers and his worn-down work boots. And Dave, he’d be scared to talk to a woman like Meredith. Just even her manicure fingernails would make him nervous. The way she talks, he’d be afraid to sound stupid.

  Dave is not stupid, mind you. He asked the landlord if he could take a try at fixing the old fireplace in my apartment.

  Landlord says, “That thing’ll never draw worth a tinker’s dam.”

  Dave, though, he got her going. Brought home wood, and piled it neat in the mud room. He lit a fire in the evenings. I put up our Christmas cards on the mantelpiece. Jenny made us a card with cotton wool glued on for snow. You can bet that was front and centre.

  Dave says, “Look at how good she drew that tree! That kid could grow up to be an artist.”

  How was Sally’s week?

  Sally said it was good. Meredith wanted to know what she’d been doing.

  “Not much.” Sally was mumbling, talking to her lap. So Meredith got the idea that Sally was having trouble and back to sleeping all day.

  Sally was doing excellent. She just didn’t want to tell Meredith about the tablecloths. That was the first time anybody in Group ever lied to hide how good they were doing.

  We all sat there, trying not to laugh, listening to Meredith asking Sally if she could identify what she was Avoiding. Sal went red in the face. Didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t going to tell Meredith she was sewing dining room linen for a hotel that was all in our crazy heads.

  Meredith moved on to Marg. Now Marg, she’s got her hands full with a court case. Her cousin’s finally charged Marg’s father with molesting them all when they were kids. About time they shut down that old man. Marg’s got to go and testify in court. She’s scared to death he’s going to do something in the meantime. He’s out on bail, mad as hell, threatening everybody that’s got anything to do with it. He’s twisted. Set a fire before. He’s got a gun.

  Then we got to this week’s exercise. We got a sheet to fill in. Childhood Guilt, it says at the top, and they’ve got all these boxes to check. You’re supposed to put a checkmark for people you feel guilty about. (Think what you’d put, if somebody give you a sheet about your guilt to fill in.)

  MOM. Jeeze. I checked that. (My saint of a mom, sneaking me jars of ointment for where my cunt was tore, even though it was her husband I was having sex with. Also I broke her heart when I quit school and left home.)

  DAD. I checked that. (I never go see him.)

  SISTER (Name). I wrote in Sandra. (Should’ve took her with me when I left home.)

  There was room for guilt about three more sisters, if I had’ve had them. There was room for guilt about four brothers. Seven blanks. Thank God no more of us was ever born!

  Okay, next section: Check responses that describe what happened when you felt guilty.

  When I felt guilty, my mother usually:

  •Never knew

  •Reinforced my guilt by blaming me for things I did not do

  •Made me feel even more guilty

  •Other.

  I sat and bit my pencil. Started picking out a carpet for the hotel. How about dark blue to match the drapes? The girls from where I work would call up and offer to clean it. I’d treat them kind.

  Meredith says, “Rose, do you need help?”

  I say, “Sorry. No.”

  I try to think about my mom. What did she do when I felt guilty? The fact is that I always felt guilty. That was the basic feeling of being me. And Mom did make it worse. One time she walked into the kitchen and she heard what my father was telling me about my little hairless pussy. I can see it yet, the hurt look on Mom’s face as she’s reaching up for her pill bottle in the cupboard. Then she turned around and walked out without a word.

  I checked off: Made me feel more guilty.

  But then I felt guilty for putting that checkmark. I was screwing Mom’s husband and she never said a word. She looked so hurt. But not on purpose to make me feel bad.

&
nbsp; We had to fill in the same questions about Dad. Poor old man. He’s up in years now. All alone. I should ask him over sometime or go see him. I should forgive and forget like my sister does. She’ll have him over, see that he’s fed. I never do.

  I used the Other space for him. I wrote, “It’s not his fault.”

  Then I wondered why I’d put that. Tried to rub it out.

  Looking at it now, I’d say I was Deeply Confused. (That’s what the shrinks are kind enough to call it when you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground.)

  We had to read this next part called, Accepting Powerlessness as a Child:

  Because children have limited mental, physical, and emotional resources, a major part of parenting involves physically and psychologically protecting the children—allowing them to be safe. As children, we need security, love, happiness, and honesty in order to grow and feel good about ourselves. Yet in many homes we find parents who are not able to provide for these needs. … Not only do parents often ask children to take responsibility for things for which adults should normally be responsible, they often insinuate that their children are the cause of their (the adults’) problems. Children oftentimes become confused. They have a distorted view of their own power and believe they can affect far more than they truly can.

  I read that over again. Did you ever hear a living person open their mouth and say “oftentimes”?

  ...Children are the cause of their (the adults’) problems.

  I’m not a fast reader. I don’t get it. I underline to be safe.

  The next page wants you to write something you feel guilty about that wasn’t your fault.

  Meredith says to do that for homework.

  Sally gets a Question to Think About. She’s to figure out what she’s avoiding by sleeping so much.

  Marg glugged. A Marg laugh, eh, but she tried to let on it was a belch. Josie laughed right out. Which started Tammy giggling. Sally goes stop-sign red, glaring at them all to shut up. It was the look on her that set me off.

  In the hall, Sally scolds us, “Do yous want Meredith to find out about the tablecloths?”

  Marg’s still grinning. “It’s a crying shame how bad you’re doing, Sal,” she says. She give Sally a pat on the shoulder.

  We all walked Marg to her car, kept her in the middle of the huddle in case her old man was hanging around anyplace there behind the post office or the Dollarama.

  Josie jumps back out of Marg’s car and gives Sally a big hug, made-on-faith tablecloths and all.

  6.

  I COULDN’T GET JOSIE on the phone Friday night. Saturday morning, I hiked through the snow, over to her place. Her philosopher-in-its-last-life dog went nuts. Jumping up, yapping, clawing. Ripped her curtain that she’s got in the window beside the door. There’s Josie, twisted funny, on the floor! I call Dave. He come quick and broke the lock. We seen she wasn’t just sleeping. Got her to the hospital.

  I’m sitting with her the next day, eh. After they’d pumped her stomach and gave her an IV. She’s dehydrated. Alcohol poisoning. Rib broke that they figure is from where she hit the table and a goose egg from where she hit the floor.

  She was trying to whisper something. Her mouth was all dry and cracked so I went and got a lip balm for her from the volunteer shop. I greased up her lips.

  “What lights?” I says. I couldn’t hear her.

  “Northern,” she whispers. “And elks.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Took me five minutes, with my ear to her mouth, to figure out that it’s this new angle she’s got for the hotel. People from the States and like Europe and Japan are going to come to see the northern lights and the birds and the big game.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Messy, short hair out in all directions, she’s white as a sheet, except where she’s still yellow from last time. Skin and bones, lump sticking out of the side of her head. Foot in a cast. Needle in her skinny arm with the skin purple all around it. She can’t hardly breathe. But eyes like the blue part of a fire.

  I says, “There’s a lot, is there, that will go that far out of their way to see a elk?”

  She’s sure. People that are made of money. Nothing better to do than fly around looking at things they never seen yet. They are going to beat a path to our hotel.

  I felt like talking sense. Told her Dave had to break her lock but he was going over today to put a new one in.

  “He can be the handyman,” Josie says. For the dream hotel.

  “You watch,” she tells me. I’m leaning my ear down to hear her. “He’s going to be a handyman. It’ll be a new start.” She got hold of my arm. “Dave will be okay then, Rose. I seen it. He’ll build things. He’ll be a wonderful man for you.”

  She’ll never explain it to you, this stuff she “sees.” I don’t think she knows, herself.

  Sure seems to be something to it, though.

  That Sunday afternoon, when Josie had fell asleep, I Ieft my number with the nurse and went on home.

  Dave, he was back from fixing Josie’s door. He had a fire going. Josie’s dog was flopped in front of it, snoring. Hind foot going. Chasing after Plato in his last life, I guess.

  I’m telling Dave what Josie said. He gets a kick out of her and her hotel. He laughed when I told him she’s got him picked out for the handyman.

  I said, “She tells me it’ll be a new start for you. You’re going to fix things. She can see it in the air. Says you’re going to do wonderful.”

  Dave was in the middle of chuckling at that when the phone rung. It’s the landlord. Says he’s impressed with how Dave fixed the chimney. Would Dave like to come over tomorrow morning, take a look at a couple of handyman jobs he wants done?

  Dave, he sets the phone down and looks at it. He’s by a window. Where the sunlight’s catching his left forearm, I see the skin raised up in gooseflesh.

  “Ain’t Josie weird?” I says.

  “Just seen me today, starting in to be a handyman, did she?” Dave give his head a shake, like to shake off the weirdness.

  We took our time making Hamburger Helper—and love—that Sunday afternoon. It was snowing outside.

  When it quit, we took Josie’s dog for a walk. Everything looked like little Jenny’s Christmas card, fluffy and white. Bike racks, newspaper boxes, garbage cans, fences, roofs, all white as if some sweet kid had been playing at making them pretty.

  Dave was feeling great. “Even that’s nice.” He was pointing out a garbage can. It had a big white hat on it and daubs of fluff up one side, and a smooth drift swirled around behind it like a wedding dress.

  I thought about Ken at work in the supply room. Felt like I was the trash can. I might look nice to Dave right now, but there was garbage froze inside.

  Monday, Ken caught me again. There was nobody in the kitchenette at work. I put my pea soup in the microwave. I turn around and there he is with the door locked and his pants open. He tells me again that I better not give him trouble, if I want my job. I think about giving him hot soup where it would do the most good. But, shit, if I can’t pay the rent next month, what am I going to do? I went off welfare when I got this job. I don’t know how long it would take to get back on. The landlord would be pissed and Dave wouldn’t get to do his handyman work.

  I did Ken fast.

  Didn’t want my lunch after that! Even just the smell of pea soup, ever since! Threw it down the toilet.

  I sold five carpet-cleaning specials that afternoon, which ain’t bad. A lot of people, they like their place cleaned up nice for Christmas. Ken was happy. Said something must have got me pepped up on my lunch break. Thinks he’s funny.

  You know, the boss there, Ken, he truly don’t get it. It’s no big deal, the way he sees it. He gives me a job. He wants a little job done for him. No clue that his behaviour is what Meredith would call unacceptable. It’s th
e way his own dad carried on, most likely, and everybody in his family since cavemen days. He knows that women make a fuss about it, but, the way Ken sees it, you can’t worry about the women. He thinks like what my father always said: “Women should have their mouth shut and their legs open.”

  On the way home, I was thinking, Ken’s the only kind of guy I deserve. Knows what I am. Don’t say nothing about me being a good person, the way Dave does. Ken, he already knows I’m a piece of garbage.

  This thing with Dave was too good to be true. He was going to find out about me. Or he was going to get busted. Or maybe he was just going to snap someday. I hadn’t saw much wrong with him yet. Kept wondering when he was going to beat me up or break something or take off with another woman. He had never even swore at me.

  I was so sure I didn’t deserve such good treatment that I kept thinking, every time I was on my way home, he’d have took off. Coming around the corner, I’d brace myself every day for no truck.

  Truck was there.

  Dave’s by the fire, reading one of his adventure stories, some guys climbing a mountain, that he tells me what’s going on in. “They’re at a chasm,” he says. “They maybe could rig a bridge but they…. What’s wrong?” He put his book down. Took me on his knee.

  I grabbed his soft plaid shirt in two handfuls and held on. How was I going to tell him, when he was so good to me, how bad I was being to him?

  We made supper and he brung me up to date. He was excited because the work the landlord had for him wasn’t just some half-a-day job. He’s got at least three weeks of solid work for Dave, and he knows a guy that’s looking for somebody after that. “If I do good, he says it could lead to something steady. They’ve got a couple of lots and they’re going to put up houses.”

  After supper, I got around to the homework for Group tomorrow. Sat at the kitchen table.

  Homework sheet said, Now write about anything you might feel guilty about that was not your fault.

  Rest of the paper blank. Room for piles of guilt. Fault? Was I ever mixed up about whose fault was what!