by Dede Crane
I looked at Mom who looked at me. Her jaw tightened and she headed straight into the living room.
Don’t mess with Sergei, I wanted to say. He was mopping the living-room floor, Dasha spraying the dining table with her old lemon-scented furniture polish.
“What are you doing?” Mom yelled, waving her arms.
Dasha turned her sad eyes on Mom. “The new spray did not work so well.”
“I have a sick daughter upstairs!” Mom grabbed the can right out of Dasha’s hand and shook it in front of her face. Sergei had stopped mopping. “This stuff makes people sick. I will not have it used in my house.”
“Whoa,” said Hughie beside me, glancing sideways at Davis.
“Why don’t you guys go downstairs?” I said, embarrassed they were witnessing my mom losing it. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Sergei had come up behind Mom and now he snatched back the spray can. Mom turned on him. I thought I was going to have to heave my crocheted net bags across the room, but he calmly announced, “We are leaving now. Come, Dasha.” They gathered up their mop, buckets, broom and toxic cleansers and left, Sergei’s bucket knocking my bruised knee on their way out.
I shut the door behind them, relieved to see them go.
“Whoa, Mom. You didn’t have to go ballistic on them.”
She whipped her face toward me. “Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel and act. Okay?”
“Sorry, I just thought you could have — ”
“Don’t ever tell me,” she repeated, her voice like a coiled spring, “how I’m supposed to feel and act.”
I backed off, went to put the groceries in the kitchen. I thought Mom and I were on the same team here, but maybe I was wrong.
“I have to walk,” Mom announced and left, leaving the front door open behind her, cold air streaming in.
I shut the door for the second time, then went upstairs to check on Maggie in case she’d heard Mom yelling.
She was asleep, a fat Harry Potter book face down on her chest. She looked even more pale than usual. Holding my breath, I went closer, stared at the book to make sure it was rising and falling with her breath. It was. I laughed at myself, but moved the book off her chest anyway, because it looked so heavy.
Downstairs, Davis asked in a quiet voice if my mom was all right.
I shrugged. “Yeah, she’s okay. Went for a walk.”
“She needs to seriously chill,” said Hughie. “That was nuts.” He screwed up his face. “She’s worried about furniture spray?”
I turned on him. “Yes, Hughie, she is. And so am I. And if you weren’t so ignorant, you’d know that your stinky antiperspirant has at least three carcinogens in it not to mention aluminum which causes dementia which is probably why you’re so feckin’ stupid. And that the eighty different chemicals in your hair gel — ”
“You’re even more psycho than your mother,” said Hughie, moving toward the door.
“Screw you, Hughie.”
“You screw you,” he shot back. He opened the door. “You know, you’re boring as shit now,” he said and left, leaving the door open behind him.
“Close the door,” I yelled. And when he didn’t, I slammed it shut.
* * *
That night I was supposed to work at the Cineplex. Instead, uniform in hand, I walked into the manager’s office and told him, “I quit.”
“We need two weeks’ notice, Gray. You know that.”
“So sue me.” Then I listed off the carcinogens in the food they sold. “I’m not selling cancer.” I dropped my uniform on his desk and walked out of there.
I, for one, was going to stop being a hypocrite.
13 Drop Out
At breakfast, I told Mom I’d quit my job and was also quitting school. She was making some macrobiotic casserole that smelled suspiciously like vomit.
“You quit your job? And what’s this about school?” She stopped chopping onions, looked at me as if she hadn’t heard right.
Dad came in to get his coffee.
“I can drive Mag this morning,” he said without looking at either me or Mom.
“Fine, but Gray here has decided he’s quitting school?” said Mom. “Is that right?”
“You got it.”
Dad did look at me now, eyes flashing. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not going back until they take the asbestos insulation out of the walls. And the benzene machines and the transfat machines. I mean, why am I going to a school that sets that sort of example? What am I supposed to be learning from that?” I’d had my little speech ready.
“First of all,” began Mr. Scientist, “it’s safer to leave asbestos where it is than remove it — ”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “I don’t believe anything you say anymore.”
Dad threw up his hands. “I think I liked it better when you spoke in single-word sentences.”
I gave him the finger only didn’t raise my hand.
“I’m going to work,” he said, filling his travel mug. “And if you’re quitting school, Gray, just know that you will not be living here rent free.”
“Ethan,” began Mom.
“You either go to school or you get a full-time job. That’s my rule.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” I said smugly.
“Good,” said Dad. “I’ll decide what to charge you for room and board.” He took his coffee out the door.
“Gray, let’s you and me talk about this,” said Mom.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to stop being part of the problem.”
* * *
I misjudged the distance to Happy Valley farm, and it took me over an hour to get there. The produce stand was empty and I pushed my bike up the path toward the house. There had been a shitload of hills on the way over and my legs were insanely tired.
I leaned my bike against a tree, scanned for that attack rooster and walked up the steps to the veranda. I knocked and inside, a dog went off like a truck horn.
The woman, Nacie, came to the door. She was shorter than I remembered, same mismatched eyes. I introduced myself, said that my mom shopped here twice a week.
“I know your mother and I remember you, Gray,” she said.
“And I remember seeing your Help Wanted sign. I’d like to work for you.”
“Oh?” She looked at me. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I lied.
“Who is it, Nace?” came a gruff voice from inside. This was followed by a huge woof that echoed in my chest.
“Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk. We’re just having lunch.” She smiled. It was a smug kind of smile, as if she had a secret. I only hoped it wasn’t something twisted.
The house was old. Wood floors. No carpets. I even think the walls were plaster, not drywall.
These people were doing it right, I thought as I followed her to the kitchen.
I stopped in the doorway.
“Whoa,” I said aloud. Ten feet away, the biggest dog in the world was baring his black gums and two-inch teeth at me.
“Not to worry. Litze’s just smiling at you.”
“Oh?”
Up close, this dog looked seriously mixed up. It had long flap ears like a bloodhound, a pointy collie’s nose and a huge fat skull like a St. Bernard’s. Its long legs were covered in shaggy hair when nothing else was. And the tail was one long pointy curl.
“Come say hi, Litze,” said Nacie.
The creature instantly lowered its massive head and wagged its way over for a pat, ear flaps swaying. Correction: ear flap. One of his ears was missing, a stump of transparent pink cartilage in its place.
This was the ugliest dog I’d ever seen.
“This is Litz
e, Gray. Litze, this is Gray.” Its shoulders came up to my waist.
“Hi, boy,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound afraid. I held my hand under his snout, then patted his ugly head.
“He’s part Afghan and part Great Dane,” she explained. “Maybe something else thrown in.”
“What sort of name is Litze?” I asked.
“It’s Norwegian. Means little one.” She smiled her sly smile again.
Norwegian humor, I guess.
Mr. Daskaloff hadn’t gotten up from the kitchen table. He had a long, slightly horsey face, broad and gently rounded shoulders.
“Milan,” she said. “This is Gray Fallon. Gray, my husband, Milan.”
“Mr. Daskaloff,” he corrected her, extending a weathered but strong hand, the middle finger nothing but a one-inch stub.
Was everyone missing body parts on this farm?
“Nice to meet you,” I said. He nodded.
“Gray wants to work on the farm.” She invited me to sit down, then collected a napkin (a cloth one), spoon and knife and set them in front of me.
“You’ll have some bean soup,” she said.
“Thanks.” I was starving, and it smelled great.
“Help yourself to a roll, butter’s on the table. Pass him the rolls, Milan.”
Mr. Daskaloff passed me the rolls.
“Thanks.”
Nacie gave me a bowl of soup, then sat down. The soup tasted like health itself, the roll still warm and both obviously homemade.
“So, Gray,” she began. “You’re interested in the job.”
“Yes, I’ve — ”
“He’s thin,” said Mr. Daskaloff.
“He’ll get stronger,” said Nacie as she buttered her roll.
“Pale.”
“The sun will take care of that.”
“Too young.”
Hello, right beside you, not deaf.
Nacie cleared her throat and turned to me. “So, Gray, maybe you could tell us what makes you want to work here.” She bit into her roll.
Since I was too thin, too pale and too young, I didn’t have anything to lose so I went ahead and told them about Maggie and how I believed her cancer was environmentally caused.
“You seem to live clean,” I said.
“Well we live simply — ”
“I want to live a life that doesn’t cause cancer. People think it can’t be done. Even my dad. I want to prove they’re wrong.”
“That’s quite noble. Isn’t it, Milan?” she announced as if this was great fun.
“It’s very hard work,” he answered, frowning.
“I can start right away. Today, tomorrow?”
Nacie was smiling.
Then I had a brilliant thought. I sat up straighter in my chair. “I was wondering…”
“Yes, Gray?” asked Nacie.
“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to live in your woods.”
13 Drop Out
At breakfast, I told Mom I’d quit my job and was also quitting school. She was making some macrobiotic casserole that smelled suspiciously like vomit.
“You quit your job? And what’s this about school?” She stopped chopping onions, looked at me as if she hadn’t heard right.
Dad came in to get his coffee.
“I can drive Mag this morning,” he said without looking at either me or Mom.
“Fine, but Gray here has decided he’s quitting school?” said Mom. “Is that right?”
“You got it.”
Dad did look at me now, eyes flashing. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not going back until they take the asbestos insulation out of the walls. And the benzene machines and the transfat machines. I mean, why am I going to a school that sets that sort of example? What am I supposed to be learning from that?” I’d had my little speech ready.
“First of all,” began Mr. Scientist, “it’s safer to leave asbestos where it is than remove it — ”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “I don’t believe anything you say anymore.”
Dad threw up his hands. “I think I liked it better when you spoke in single-word sentences.”
I gave him the finger only didn’t raise my hand.
“I’m going to work,” he said, filling his travel mug. “And if you’re quitting school, Gray, just know that you will not be living here rent free.”
“Ethan,” began Mom.
“You either go to school or you get a full-time job. That’s my rule.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” I said smugly.
“Good,” said Dad. “I’ll decide what to charge you for room and board.” He took his coffee out the door.
“Gray, let’s you and me talk about this,” said Mom.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to stop being part of the problem.”
* * *
I misjudged the distance to Happy Valley farm, and it took me over an hour to get there. The produce stand was empty and I pushed my bike up the path toward the house. There had been a shitload of hills on the way over and my legs were insanely tired.
I leaned my bike against a tree, scanned for that attack rooster and walked up the steps to the veranda. I knocked and inside, a dog went off like a truck horn.
The woman, Nacie, came to the door. She was shorter than I remembered, same mismatched eyes. I introduced myself, said that my mom shopped here twice a week.
“I know your mother and I remember you, Gray,” she said.
“And I remember seeing your Help Wanted sign. I’d like to work for you.”
“Oh?” She looked at me. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I lied.
“Who is it, Nace?” came a gruff voice from inside. This was followed by a huge woof that echoed in my chest.
“Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk. We’re just having lunch.” She smiled. It was a smug kind of smile, as if she had a secret. I only hoped it wasn’t something twisted.
The house was old. Wood floors. No carpets. I even think the walls were plaster, not drywall.
These people were doing it right, I thought as I followed her to the kitchen.
I stopped in the doorway.
“Whoa,” I said aloud. Ten feet away, the biggest dog in the world was baring his black gums and two-inch teeth at me.
“Not to worry. Litze’s just smiling at you.”
“Oh?”
Up close, this dog looked seriously mixed up. It had long flap ears like a bloodhound, a pointy collie’s nose and a huge fat skull like a St. Bernard’s. Its long legs were covered in shaggy hair when nothing else was. And the tail was one long pointy curl.
“Come say hi, Litze,” said Nacie.
The creature instantly lowered its massive head and wagged its way over for a pat, ear flaps swaying. Correction: ear flap. One of his ears was missing, a stump of transparent pink cartilage in its place.
This was the ugliest dog I’d ever seen.
“This is Litze, Gray. Litze, this is Gray.” Its shoulders came up to my waist.
“Hi, boy,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound afraid. I held my hand under his snout, then patted his ugly head.
“He’s part Afghan and part Great Dane,” she explained. “Maybe something else thrown in.”
“What sort of name is Litze?” I asked.
“It’s Norwegian. Means little one.” She smiled her sly smile again.
Norwegian humor, I guess.
Mr. Daskaloff hadn’t gotten up from the kitchen table. He had a long, slightly horsey face, broad and gently rounded shoulders.
“Milan,” she said. “This is Gray Fallon. Gray, my husband, Milan.”
“M
r. Daskaloff,” he corrected her, extending a weathered but strong hand, the middle finger nothing but a one-inch stub.
Was everyone missing body parts on this farm?
“Nice to meet you,” I said. He nodded.
“Gray wants to work on the farm.” She invited me to sit down, then collected a napkin (a cloth one), spoon and knife and set them in front of me.
“You’ll have some bean soup,” she said.
“Thanks.” I was starving, and it smelled great.
“Help yourself to a roll, butter’s on the table. Pass him the rolls, Milan.”
Mr. Daskaloff passed me the rolls.
“Thanks.”
Nacie gave me a bowl of soup, then sat down. The soup tasted like health itself, the roll still warm and both obviously homemade.
“So, Gray,” she began. “You’re interested in the job.”
“Yes, I’ve — ”
“He’s thin,” said Mr. Daskaloff.
“He’ll get stronger,” said Nacie as she buttered her roll.
“Pale.”
“The sun will take care of that.”
“Too young.”
Hello, right beside you, not deaf.
Nacie cleared her throat and turned to me. “So, Gray, maybe you could tell us what makes you want to work here.” She bit into her roll.
Since I was too thin, too pale and too young, I didn’t have anything to lose so I went ahead and told them about Maggie and how I believed her cancer was environmentally caused.
“You seem to live clean,” I said.
“Well we live simply — ”
“I want to live a life that doesn’t cause cancer. People think it can’t be done. Even my dad. I want to prove they’re wrong.”
“That’s quite noble. Isn’t it, Milan?” she announced as if this was great fun.
“It’s very hard work,” he answered, frowning.
“I can start right away. Today, tomorrow?”
Nacie was smiling.
Then I had a brilliant thought. I sat up straighter in my chair. “I was wondering…”
“Yes, Gray?” asked Nacie.
“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to live in your woods.”
