Take the Stairs

by Take the Stairs (retail) (epub)

  “No, we’ll take you,” she said.

  My head was probably lolling around on my shoulders as I drooled over her. Sue was way better than Jennifer. I had to get in with her. I wanted her, but I wanted her for keeps.

  “Sure,” I said to Sue. “You can drive me.”

  She pulled back her hand. “Great. Which way?”

  Valentine and Mickey were leaning in the windows, watching us with needles of jealousy in their eyes. Lome was ready for directions. My hand was still warm from Sue’s. I had to answer her.

  I pointed through the front windshield to the Building, which was just peeking over the trees. “Down the street then turn left,” I said. “The Monteray. 64 Wilnut Street.”

  Was I crazy or what? How could I let them drive me to the Building? What was I thinking? Why didn’t I just invite them both up to meet my grandfather while I was at it? He used to run a restaurant, so when anyone came to visit he would pile stuffed peppers and cold pizza onto our tiny kitchen table with only two seats and stand over them, calling out, “Mange! Eat!“

  * * *

  THE BUILDING WAS MORE GRAY THAN WHITE, even in the sunlight. Grime was caked onto the walls under the balconies where it had dripped after each rain. Three huge metal garbage bins stood out front, and the stench of rotten food made me close the Jimmy’s window.

  I hated the Building. I was going to get out of it as soon as I could, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t live there. Mickey and Valentine had seen to that.

  As we circled the drive, I saw Petra come out of the Building with Magda, a hunched-over Chinese woman who was almost too old to walk, and a younger Chinese woman who must have been Petra’s mother because she looked just like her, only scared. Petra and Magda were carrying suitcases over to a small rental van, followed by Petra’s mother clutching a thin gray cat. The van was white and pretty beaten up—the kind a million people have used to move their stuff and never cleaned once.

  I hadn’t seen Petra since she took off in the back of a truck last summer. I’d heard she was living on the streets. Flynn had said he’d seen her downtown once with a hat out for change. If Petra had something to run from, what was she doing back here?

  Then Crazy Tate jumped out at the Jimmy. What a maniac! His white hair was sticking up and he was swinging his arms and legs like a lunatic. I figured he was whacked out on something.

  “What the …” Lome began. Sue stiffened.

  Crazy Tate tried to climb on the hood of the Jimmy, screaming all the time, but he slid down the driver’s side so he just howled into Lome’s surprised face.

  “Get off the truck!” Lome screamed.

  Sue laughed. “You live here?”

  I laughed too, but for a different reason. Could this get any worse?

  Lorne swung his door open and stormed out with his face twisted and his fists ready.

  I knew Crazy Tate wouldn’t hurt anyone. He only wanted to scare. But Lome was probably afraid he would scratch his precious Jimmy.

  Then, just to add to the confusion, Petra’s Dad banged the door of the Building open so hard that I thought it might crack.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He was a tall white guy with a red face and arms as thick as my thighs. Petra and her crew stopped beside the van. He stormed over until he was right in their faces. Petra and Magda put down the suitcases. With the old woman, they moved in a circle around Petra’s mother. She whimpered and buried her face in the cat, which was now desperately trying to wiggle free.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said to Sue.

  “What are you …”

  I didn’t wait to hear what she was going to say. I had to get to Petra’s father. I knew that kind of look—that kind of guy. The kind that liked to bully people smaller than him. The kind that got power from it. Yet when a guy his own size came up to him, he’d never take them on. At least, that was what I was betting on.

  “Hey, Petra! Long time no see. Hiya, Magda,” I called out to them as I jogged the space between them and me.

  All eyes turned to me. Scared eyes. Mad-dog eyes. Magda took it up first.

  “Tony, hey.” Her voice was trying to be strong.

  I pushed in front of Petra’s father and glared into his eyes. His fists tightened. I turned my back to him, hoping he wouldn’t hit me. “Petra, can I help you load this stuff?”

  Her face was clouded. I think she was wary of me because of that hide and seek game when she disappeared. Maybe we did gang up on her, but it was just a game. I didn’t know her father could get like this.

  “Sure,” Petra said, although she didn’t move.

  I picked up two suitcases by the handles. The old woman went around to the driver’s seat and started the van. Petra and her mother, still shaking, opened the side door and got in—with the squirming cat.

  Petra’s father looked mad enough to punch in the side of the van. I loaded the rest of the cases then slid the side door shut and tapped it twice.

  “You’re set,” I called.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Lome had chased Crazy Tate off easily enough. Sue was still in the Jimmy.

  I watched the van pull away, feeling the waves of hatred from Petra’s father the whole time. I was careful not to get too close to him.

  “Now how do I get out of this place?” I sighed.

  Then Crazy Tate was beside me, bobbing on his toes. “Take the stairs, man.” He pointed to the stairs that lead down to the sidewalk and away.

  I laughed. “Yeah, right. Easy.”

  Was it that easy? Could I just leave one day, like Petra had?

  I noticed then that Lome and Sue were watching me with curious eyes. I perked up and walked casually back to them. Helping out Petra was feeling good now—better than a home run. Maybe good things could come out of this Building, sometimes.

  “What was that about?” Sue asked.

  Lorne was frowning and muttering about Tate.

  I leaned in Sue’s window, not so ashamed of the Building anymore. Of course, I still hated the paper-thin walls and the puddles in the elevator that smelled like piss, and I still wanted to get out as soon as I could, but I didn’t care what Sue saw.

  “The usual.” I shrugged. “If you liked that, maybe you’d like to come in and meet my grandfather.”

  What did it matter what I said? The worst had happened. Sue would have to take me as I was, if she wanted me at all.

  “What a place you live in!” Lome shook his head as he crawled back into his seat. “Is everyone this crazy?”

  I glanced behind me at the Building. Petra’s father was still staring down the street like a rabid pit bull. Crazy Tate bounced around him, but Magda had been smart enough to head inside fast. Then, the sun glinted off a Building window that was covered in tinfoil. The light caught my eye, like a wink, and I got this weird feeling, as if the Building were watching all of us, and listening, too. Like our sounds and smells had seeped into its walls. The good and the bad. The laughs and the sobs. All those scuffmarks and fingerprints, sandwiched between layers of paint. The Building held it all, then let it trickle slowly back to us, like a tribute.

  I shook my head to clear it. “Pretty much.”

  Lorne’s hand trembled as he put the Jimmy in gear. I think he wanted to get away from the Building, or at least away from Crazy Tate.

  Then Sue said, “So we’ll see you at the field next week?”

  She covered my hand with hers again, and her fingers brushed back and forth, like a whisper. My temperature soared as her candy-apple smell intoxicated me.

  I grinned at her. Lome may not think much of me now, but he only ever cared that I could play ball. But Sue … she wanted to see me at the game next week. I couldn’t believe my luck.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I waved as Lome peeled out of there. I knew the memory of her would haunt me all week.

  Acknowledgements

  I AM FORTUNATE TO BE PART of an active and supportive wri
ting community. The Ontario Arts Council generously provided financial support during the writing of this project. Peter Carver, Kathy Stinson, and Barbara Greenwood offered guidance through their writing workshops. The many participants of these workshops provided valuable feedback on the stories as they developed. As writer-in-residence at the University of Toronto, Sarah Ellis commented on an early draft. Margie Wolfe of Second Story Press recognized the value of this project and supported it with great enthusiasm. And Kathryn Cole utilized her considerable talents to make sure every word did its job. Thanks so much to all for your encouragement.

  On a personal note, special thanks go to my family. To my children, Paige and Tess, for sharing the fun and the challenges. And to Kevin—my partner in life, work, and play—for the many stories from his Buildings.