earthgirl

by Jennifer Cowan

  “There’s a bike rack right there,” I said, helpfully pointing out the circle-and-post version that took the place of the missing meters.

  “There aren’t enough,” Vray answered, slapping the glue-sopped poster onto the solar meter box. “Everything is about the almighty car.”

  “But you just said cars aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Neither are bikes and we all need to coexist,” he said as if that explained it all. “It’s all about emphasis, and always favoring cars doesn’t give the other guys a fighting chance.”

  “Hey! You over there!” A husky uniformed parking-ticket guy shouted from across the street.

  “Let’s go,” Vray said, casually turning to walk up the block in the other direction.

  Across the street, the rent-a-cop was looking back and forth waiting impatiently for a break in traffic. Vray had grabbed my arm and was towing me behind him like a little kid as I looked back over my shoulder toward the ticket guy who kept yelling at us.

  “You’re defacing municipal property,” he shouted. “Get back here.”

  Vray had started running and by extension I was running, too. He bobbed and weaved deftly around all the people and strollers on the sidewalk. Then he ducked down an alley and I scampered behind him, not quite sure what was happening since it was all happening so fast.

  He finally stopped behind a large dumpster that smelled like sour garbage and pee. I plugged my nose as I tried to catch my breath.

  “See what I told you about the getaway car,” Vray laughed, not even slightly winded. “You never know.”

  “It’s not funny. That was scary.”

  “C’mon Sabine, it was exciting,” he said, brushing my hair off my face. “Got your adrenaline pumping, didn’t it?”

  “Promise me you won’t do that again,” I said, practically begging.

  “What’d I do?” he asked innocently. “Those meter things are public property, and we’re the public.”

  “Just because I might want to make a statement and make things better doesn’t mean I want to end up in jail.”

  “And I do? Trust me, he’s got no power. The guy gives out parking tickets. He’s like an office drone without an office. Besides, this is not the kind of thing that they put you in jail for, and mucking up posters was your big idea anyway.”

  “Oh, what, and you’ve been in jail?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer if it was yes.

  “No. I like to think I’m smarter than that.”

  “Me, too,” I answered, hoping that he was, and I was, too.

  •••

  “It’s not a big deal,” Ruby assured me the next afternoon at the co-op. “My ex-boyfriend, back when I thought I was into boys, pulled stunts like that all the time.”

  “As bad, or worse?” I wondered, needing clarification for just how radical Vray was on the radical index.

  “Way, way worse. Like a few years ago we went to a W.T.O. thing in Quebec City and the minute we get there, the brainiac chains himself to the crowd-control barriers.”

  “What happened?” I asked, amazed at the lengths people would go to to be seen and heard. Vast distances I wasn’t quite ready to travel. Yet.

  “Nothing. The riot police came over, used bolt cutters and told him to get lost. That’s when he decided to swear at them using some pretty impressive French slang and he spent the rest of the conference in jail with a bunch of other protesters. That’s where he met Monique and, well, I realized he wasn’t for me after all.”

  “I’m pretty sure Vray is for me,” I sighed. “I think that’s what’s freaking me out.”

  “That’s awesome. I love that feeling,” Ruby said, doing a little twirl in the aisle. “Better than drugs. Love’s the elixir of life. Wish we could bottle it and give it away to everyone in the world.”

  “So then I’m not overreacting?”

  “I hate that expression,” she answered emphatically. “You’re not overreacting. You’re feeling what you’re feeling and it’s totally fine.”

  It was a huge relief to have Ruby support me when I really needed someone to talk to and make sure I wasn’t crazy. Even if Carmen and Ella had still been in my life, this probably wouldn’t have been the kind of thing I’d want to discuss with them.

  Not that I expected Ruby to fill the somewhat gaping friendship void. I mean, she was twenty-two and going to art school and had a whole other life going on. She wouldn’t want to pal around with some sixteen-year-old activist-in-training.

  It’s just that she was funny and calm and wise. Sort of like the big sister I never had. Plus she actually listened to me and talked to me like she sincerely cared and understood what I was going through.

  “That’s so like Matt to flirt with controversy but keep his hands clean,” Ruby laughed as she restocked a row of herbal teas. “Sometimes he’s such a dilettante.”

  “Matt? Who’s Matt?”

  “Matthew Rudolph, dolly, your boyfriend? Please tell me you didn’t really think his name was Vray Foret?”

  “Well, no. I just never really bugged him about it. He said he changed it formally.”

  “Smart girl. It’s probably a big reason he’s so into you. You don’t razz him about his big establishment roots.”

  “You mean his mom and dad? I haven’t met them yet, but they sound normal enough. He told me they teach at the university,” I said, trying to sound in the know, even though I was clearly not terribly in the know.

  “You mean his dad runs the university. He’s the president and his mom is an extreme scholar, plus Daniel’s already in the Ph.D program and he’s like only twenty-one or something, major genius.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew him so well.” I felt oddly left out and a little stab of jealousy to boot.

  “I used to babysit for him. Our parents have been friends forever. I remember when he wore his private school blazer on weekends because he thought it was cool, the dork. But don’t tell him I told you.”

  “So, you think he’s okay? I mean, Vray, Matthew, my boyfriend?”

  “He’s way beyond okay,” Ruby laughed, giving me a friendly rub on the shoulder. “If I were younger and boys were my game, I’d be all over him.”

  “I know, I can hardly keep my hands off him,” I giggled. “Or my mind, for that matter.”

  “He’s a good one, Sabine,” she said. “A bit unpredictable, but who isn’t?”

  She was right. I mean, look at what happened with Carmen and Ella who I’ve only known for forever. And so what if Vray was a bit unpredictable. Unpredictable was just another version of surprising. And surprising was intriguing. And intriguing kept you on your toes and made things interesting.

  And I was definitely in the market for more interesting.

  A lot more.

  e a r t h g i r l

  [ Dec. 12th | 03:03pm ]

  [ mood | sigh inducing ]

  [ music | warm | kinnie star ]

  Today my loyal and loverly friends, I give you something a little bit different. A brief survey of the holi-DAZE that is/are fast approaching.

  (a) I love all holidays without prejudice.

  (b) Holidays suck.

  (c) Enforced fun and frolic is neither.

  (d) Every day is a celebration.

  (e) All of the above.

  link read 8 | post

  Vague-a-bond 12-12 16:14

  That was way too easy. The answer is of course Zzzzzzzzzz!!!

  onederful 12-12 07:53

  I was torn between A and B. However, as an eternal optimist, I must choose D. Now please pass that half-FULL glass of eggnog and let’s toast to a grand old time.

  altalake 12-13 01:01

  The universal truth and beauty of holidays and celebrations is that even if they differ from culture to culture, country to country, planet to planet, universe to universe, one thing remains – everyone everywhere has ‘em. And someone somewhere hates ‘em. Or loves ‘em. And I’ll always take toast over eggnog.

 
twelve_

  As per tradition, the Solomon clan was bracing for the holiday onslaught by running away from it. Not a bad plan all things considered. This year our happy nuclear family intended to embrace the freakishly freezing weather by skiing in the Eastern Townships outside Montreal.

  Normally I’d be pumped but Clare and my parentals had been so grating lately, I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of us all squished in a hotel room doing the 24/7 thing. Plus Dad snored like a bulldozer.

  There were also my new concerns about acceptable activities for an eco-conscientious person. On the one hand, some environmentalists and First Nations folks took issue with the very concept of ski resorts. Like the gang who burned down the chairlift and chalet in Colorado or had a bugaboo or two with people using the Cayoosh in B.C. On the other, ski trails provided excellent black bear habitats and allowed people unprecedented access to the great outdoors, which belonged to everyone. It posed yet another quandary, as almost every choice or decision that popped into my path and life seemed to be lately.

  Geez, was anything straightforward and easy anymore?

  So after many heated closed and open door discussions between the units, I bailed, drooling at having the house entirely to myself for the very first time in my life. And yes, I am not ashamed to admit, thinking naughty thoughts of not being very by myself at all!

  “What’s Vray’s family doing for the holidays?” Mom asked after I’d negotiated my way through another of her carnivorous dinner extravaganzas.

  “Cuba,” I answered. “His mom’s got some conference.”

  “Sounds smart,” Dad said. “Throwing in a holiday and legitimate tax write-off. Nice work if you can get it.”

  “I don’t think that’s why,” I answered. “She’s a mucky-muck economist or something.”

  “Vray must be excited,” Mom said. “He’s a musician, right? There’s a thriving music community in Havana. Lucky him.”

  “Yup,” I nodded, purposely not mentioning that Vray had opted out of the trip days ago. The awesome creature that was him.

  “Thanks for staying for me,” I joked without joking when he shared the news. “Risking frostbite over sunburn is extremely romantic.”

  “You and the band,” he answered quickly. “We couldn’t pass on a chance to play between Christmas and New Year’s. Not that I buy into organized religion and all that ritual shit.”

  “So you don’t celebrate Christmas?” I asked, seeing a chance to learn more about his spiritual perspective and also wondering how to contend with the whole holiday giftie thing if he hated holidays.

  “Nope, I’ve got nothing against other faiths, except for all the dissension and grief they’ve caused for millennia. Mostly I’m for simple faith in humanity. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to party on other people’s holidays. Why not soak up some cultural karma where you can get it?”

  Indeed! This was going to be the best holiday ever! The gig meant he was now going to be around for the entire break and so was I. And, ultra-bonus, there weren’t going to be any parents! Or snooping sisters! Or parents!

  I was one lucky earthgirl. And Vray Forest, unbeknownst to him, was going to be a very lucky earthboy to boot!

  e a r t h g i r l

  [ Dec. 17th | 07:21pm ]

  [ mood | jolly ]

  [ music | maria | kathleen edwards ]

  Today I’m very pleased to present my holiday gift to you, my beloved pals and fellow procrastinators, a most excellent list of giftie suggestions for all your holiday (and everyday) gift giving NEEDS:

  Love.

  Affection.

  Happy Thoughts.

  Conscious Living.

  Hugs and...Never Ending Smiles!

  Happy holidays lovies!!! See you next year! (Love saying that!)

  My own holiday gifties were a moderate to substantial success. Even though morally and ethically I was against the fervent consumer sentiment associated with holidays and the extreme pressure to buy bigger, better and more and MORE, I did appreciate that togetherness (when limited to dinner and a movie) and a small token of affection went a long way, too. Never underestimate the power of being thoughtful, I say.

  As per my annual Channukah routine, Grammy Sophie got an excellent flowering plant, which she adored. She was always hard to get things for because she had enough picture frames to launch a business and, aside from me, was the biggest anti-consumer-type in the family (go Grams!).

  “I have enough, Sabine,” she’d say, waving her arms around her cluttered apartment. “A lifetime’s worth. What do I need with more things I’m just going to eventually give away or leave behind?”

  For Dad I got a fabulous hemp golf shirt and rechargeable batteries, both useful, yet not the kind of thing one buys for themself. Mom let out a little sniff when she saw her eco-cleaning kit complete with nontoxic nonchemical cleaners but squealed when she saw the gorgeous all-organic cotton waffle bathrobe.

  “It’s just like the ones at the Sunshine Spa!” she giggled as she kissed me on the hair.

  “What’s in it?” Claire demanded as she tore through my cleverly recycled newspaper comics wrapping paper to reveal the stylin’ rubber tire pouch I’d found for her. “It weighs a ton!”

  “Nothing,” I answered. “It’s just the purse.”

  “Oh,” she sighed, looking into the black emptiness and finding the shiny penny I’d left there for good luck. “It looks like a tire.”

  “It is a tire! Recycled. Pretty clever huh?”

  “No,” Clare muttered. Then again she was like that about every gift. Even the gift certificates Mom and Dad usually opted for so she wouldn’t whine that they didn’t understand her or know who she really was.

  As for me, I scored a Patagonia shell after many explanations of the company’s ethical mandate and quality, some quiet pleading (okay, begging) and not-so-casual around-the-house brochure placement.

  All in all a successful haul for our supposed holiday ambivalence.

  “You absolutely sure you don’t want to come skiing?” Dad asked in a last-ditch effort to twist my arm into forced family frolic.

  “Yep,” I said twirling around in my excellent new jacket.

  “No fair,” Clare wailed. “How come she gets Patagucci and I get the no-name special? She doesn’t even care about labels and I do.”

  “Your sister doesn’t grow out of things every week. Sabine, you can still reconsider and put that jacket to good use,” Mom said. “You can take a black diamond clinic if you think skiing with us is too boring.”

  “Nope,” I said as I took off my fab new winter wear.

  “I worry you’ll be bored here,” Mom sighed. “And lonely.”

  “I’ve got lots of shifts at the co-op,” I assured. “I’ll be fine.”

  “We appreciate you’ve got a part-time job,” Dad said. “But working through the holidays isn’t much of one.”

  “Oh, like she’ll be working,” Clare scoffed.

  I almost shot her the evil-eye, but realized it would be better to ignore her.

  “It’s just a few days,” I reminded them. “And I’m excited to be on my own for once. I mean, hanging with my friends.”

  Clare snorted. She was clearly way more on the ball than my parentals. Little creep.

  To avoid further interrogation or attempts at guilting, I kissed the units and thanked them again for the choice graft before bolting for my room. Enough with the family stuff already. I wanted to focus my energy and attention on Vray.

  Even though he said he didn’t care about ritualized holidays, I still wanted to get him a present. I struggled for something meaningful but not too full of meaning. I worried about a gift that made too much of a statement. At the same time, I worried I might end up getting one that didn’t say enough. It was a major league tangle for sure.

  Before I freaked myself out too much, I decided to enlist Ruby’s expertise because (a) she was very fashionable (especially for someone so crunchy and granola, but then she w
as an art student!) and (b) as a long-time family friend had historical insights into My Guy and (c) she actually had the insight and generosity to offer.

  On her very sage advice, I ended up buying him this beautiful leather lace with a bone amulet on it. It was shaped like a strange letter and the guy in the shop told me it was an Australian aboriginal symbol. Ruby liked it because it looked like the Hindu Om, which she explained signified the great power of the other and was chanted before yoga and meditation because the tone had a relaxing, mind and body calming quality.

  It was an excellent guy gift. Plus it was international and obscure with a hint of surfer dude, rockstar and tree hugger all rolled into something he could wear around his neck and close to his heart.

  But the real present was... me!

  Yep, I’d decided that the time was right, the guy was right, all was right in the universe.

  That everything had conspired to make this very moment the right one.

  thirteen_

  The front door was unlocked, so I let myself into Vray’s family’s old Victorian house. It was this amazing hundred-year-old red-brick place in Cabbagetown, the oldest neighborhood in the city.

  I’d already knocked and rung the bell so when he didn’t answer after a few long minutes, I tried the brass doorknob. I figured since he was expecting me, he must be home. He probably had on headphones or was in the shower, which also explained why he’d left the door open for me. Very thoughtful, really.

  Inside the place was stunning and unlike any of the suburbany houses, townhouses or apartments my other friends lived in. The windows were cut glass divided up by black strips, and the late afternoon sun threw these incredible rainbow slices of light on the taupe walls. The ceilings were high and the dark wood floors were shiny where they weren’t covered in beautiful, exotic-looking rugs. Everything besides the kitchen, which definitely belonged in a movie or on a cooking show with its sparkling pots hanging above the huge restaurant stove, seemed like it had lived a dozen lifetimes before it ended up there.