Over Our Heads

by Andrea Thompson

  Grandma kept talking. Not really saying anything, just making noises to try to make them feel better. Rachel didn’t want to feel better. She wanted to take every plate and cup and glass in the cupboards and smash them one by one on the kitchen floor. She closed her eyes and thought about her hand connecting with the side of Maggie West’s face. She started to hope that someone would try to mess with Emma again, just to give her a good excuse. Next time she’d keep her hand in a fist instead.

  “Did you call Sam?” Rachel stood up. “’Cause he’s going to want to know about this. You better call him right away.” Maybe if they told Sam, he’d come back home. There was Wanda’s room empty now. Sam could move in there. Rachel thought of the alternative, of Wanda’s room sitting like an open wound while they all waited for her to come back, and shuddered.

  “Rachel, stop that,” Grandma said suddenly. Rachel didn’t realize that she’d had her hand on the light switch.

  “Why do you do that all the time?” Emma asked, and Rachel couldn’t help it. She really didn’t mean to, but her hand reached out anyway and smacked Emma on the side of the head.

  “Rachel!” Grandma yelled, and yanked her hand away. Even though she was yelling, you could tell she wasn’t angry by the way her eyes finally spilled over.

  Rachel sat down. She felt very tired and way too old for someone who wasn’t even a teenager yet. “Sorry,” she muttered in Emma’s general direction.

  “It’s okay,” Emma said keeping her eyes low. She rubbed her head with one hand, but kept the other flat on the table, firmly planted.

  26.

  EMMA’S FIRST THOUGHT as her eyes opened the Friday morning of her grandmother’s funeral was that she’d forgotten to order the flowers. Her second thought was that she had just been dreaming about Big Jim. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what he had been doing in the dream. The screen was blank; she couldn’t conjure any details. But with her eyes closed, she could still see him – his wise, weathered face, long grey hair, blue jeans and denim shirt. Emma opened her eyes. She could tell from the angle of the sun that it was around eight o’clock – she still had a few moments to write before she’d have to get dressed and deal with the flower situation. She reached over and pulled her notebook and pen off of the bedside table.

  At the top of a blank sheet she wrote: Big Jim, then she put the pen down and stared at the blank page. What could she write? When she thought of her memories of him, the telepathic communication, the animal medicine, and the Chinook legends – was it Chinook or Cheyenne? Emma remembered Chinook, but maybe that was because they were a West Coast Nation. Maybe he was really Cheyenne. Now she wondered if any of it was real. Maybe Emma had imagined all of it, made up an imaginary friend and her kind, wise, old grandad after watching something on TV. Even the turtle pendant they gave her now seemed like a fiction Emma invented to make herself feel loved.

  Who cared if she had made it all up? That didn’t have to stop her from writing about it. Big Jim and his words had lived inside Emma for years, and for some reason, her subconscious decided that before she said goodbye to her grandmother, she needed to try to get Big Jim down on the page. Emma picked up the pen, closed her eyes and brought him back into focus. Then she put the pen down again, closed the notebook and frowned.

  I can’t write that, she thought. I can’t write what he looks like – it’ll sound disrespectful, a stereotyped cliché. Emma picked up the pen and closed her eyes again. Forget the description, she’d focus on what Big Jim had taught her. She thought about how he taught her to call in the Grandmothers of the Elements when she needed extra protection and help. She started to write:

  First stand facing north

  placing palms down on soil

  sending out a call

  to the nurturing endurance

  of rock steady solid

  Grandmother Earth

  Then turn

  taking in the vista behind

  raising hands to the sky

  retrieving, receiving

  sweet solar blessings

  sent forth in careful doses

  from the red-hot belly

  of feisty Grandmother Fire

  Then turn

  facing east

  inhaling deeply

  practising patience

  with each exhalation

  feeding each cell in my body

  the mind-enlivening oxygen

  offered by Grandmother Air

  Then turn

  to greet the current

  submerge in surrender

  to Grandmother Water

  and rise, baptized

  Emma stopped writing, frowned again, crumpled up the sheet of paper and threw it across the room. The Big Jim poem was doomed. It stunk of inauthenticity and cultural appropriation. She couldn’t write about a tradition not her own. Emma wasn’t a medicine man or woman or even related to one. What claim did she have on the information? For a minute it saddened Emma – all those times she’d been called Indian, a Paki, a nigger, and yet still she had no right to speak on behalf of anyone but herself. She’d suffered the racism, but had no claim to any of the perks of belonging. Emma was free to be anything, but she was also rootless. She didn’t know what she was, and nothing in her features would give it away for sure. All she knew for sure was she was brown, mixed – a nation unto herself. Sitkum siwash.

  Emma closed her eyes, then opened them suddenly. She had almost forgotten – today was a new moon eclipse in Gemini, Wanda’s sign. The eclipse wouldn’t be visible in North America, but its effects would still be potent. In the old days, people used to cower in fear at the time of an eclipse, but new moons were gentler. They had less focus on the door-slamming finality of a full moon eclipse, and more undertones of possibility and new beginnings. Emma remembered reading that this particular eclipse was forecast to be emotional, escapist but also ultimately healing, due to a square to Neptune, and a trine between Saturn and Venus. A small blessing for the day, but a blessing nonetheless.

  By the time Emma finally got out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs, Lester was already sitting at the kitchen table with Sam. They were wearing black suits, drinking coffee and smoking. They looked smart, serious and slightly unscrupulous, like characters in a Quentin Tarantino movie. “Oh hey, Emma,” Lester said. “Don’t tell Rachel, eh?” he said, holding his cigarette up. Sam just smiled.

  Emma poured herself some coffee. “I think she’ll figure it out, guys.” She opened the window above the sink. “Where’d she go?”

  “Coffee cream,” Sam said. “It wasn’t on her list.” He looked at Lester and they both laughed. Emma wanted to punch them. She wanted to punch them both so hard it left bruises. Assholes. Rachel took care of everything for everyone, and there they were doing nothing. Making jokes in their stupid suits.

  “We forgot to order flowers,” Emma said, joining them at the table.

  “Other people send them. I put the address in the obit,” Sam said.

  “You did? You sent the notice into the paper? I thought Rachel did that.” Emma should have known. Every time she got on her high horse, karma knocked her down. Instantly.

  “Yeah, she left her list on the table, so I crossed it off. Did it myself. She never even clued in,” Sam said, draining the last drops of coffee from his mug. “She’s not doing as well as she looks, Emma. When I told her on Wednesday that you and I would look after the service, she didn’t even argue.”

  Emma looked down into her cup, and suddenly thought about Grandma. Then she heard it through the window. A car was idling outside with the radio blaring. Emma recognized the singer’s voice immediately. The “Banana Boat Song,” by Harry Belafonte. It was a message from Grandma. Emma smiled.

  “You’ll never guess who called this morning, Em…” Lester said.

  “Lester, do you mind?” Sam said, stan
ding up and walking over to the sink to rinse out his coffee cup. “Nina called.”

  “Nina Buziak?” Emma asked.

  “Fletcher,” Sam said. “But whatever, yes, Nina. Emma, she found Wanda.”

  Emma looked at Sam, then at Lester, who nodded.

  “Where is she?” Emma asked, sitting down in a chair, putting her palms face down on the table.

  Sam sat back down across from her. “She’s back out west, Em.”

  “You’ll never guess who she’s shacked up with!” Lester said, jumping up out of his chair.

  “For fuck sakes Lester, do you mind?” Sam asked. He reminded Emma of a bear for a moment, showing a side of him she didn’t often see: protective and territorial.

  “Shit, sorry, Sam,” Lester said, sitting back down.

  “You remember your foster father, Em? Jack Marshall?” Sam asked.

  “Just Jack? Yes, I remember him. Why?” Emma felt like she was in a dream. Or like she was watching a movie she had seen before, but had forgotten. Everything was unfolding as if it had already happened, like an extended déjà vu.

  “Well, it seems that Wanda and him became friends when she first went out there to get you,” Sam said.

  “Wanda’s friends with Just Jack?” Emma asked.

  “They live together,” Sam replied.

  “Wow.” It boggled her mind for Emma to think of the two of them together, but she was also comforted by the thought.

  “Well, I told you how him and Shirley broke up after that whole fiasco when Jack made out with Nina. Apparently that’s all it was. He never had sex with her, thank God, I mean she wasn’t even of age then, for Chrissake,” Lester blurted.

  Sam shot him a look.

  “Okay, okay,” Lester said. “Sorry. I’ll butt out. Family stuff. I get it.” He left the kitchen, and Emma’s heart sank. Even with the news of Wanda and Jack settling in her brain, she couldn’t help but feel for Lester in that moment. Family stuff. He should be so lucky.

  Sam waited till Lester left the kitchen, then he continued. “I know a lot of stuff happened back there when you all lived together, Emma.”

  “Like what sort of stuff?” she asked.

  Sam took a deep breath. “Nina and I have been talking a lot the last couple of days. I called her to see how the search was going. I wanted to take that off Rachel’s plate, and saw Nina’s number on the fridge.”

  Emma saw the truth on his face. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “I do. I did from the first moment I laid eyes on her. Who knows why or how it happened. What I do know is that she isn’t who you think she is, Emma.”

  “Who is she?” Emma asked, wary.

  “She’s someone who’s been tossed around like garbage from the moment she was born,” Sam said. “You know how she ended up in foster care?”

  Emma shook her head.

  “When she was six years old, she was left alone in her apartment, for days sometimes. She said she’d get so angry, she’d start to throw things off the balcony, and one of the neighbours noticed and called the police.”

  “She told you all this?” Emma asked. This wasn’t the Nina Buziak she remembered at all.

  “Yes, she told me a lot of stuff,” Sam replied. “Seeing you and Lester again and then learning about Jack out west with Wanda, I think it hit a nerve inside her. I think she told me some things so I would tell you. I think she needed to get it off her chest.”

  “Get what off her chest?” Emma asked, even though she wanted to change the subject now, and find out more about Wanda, but it seemed like Sam wanted to tell her everything in a certain order, one bite at a time.

  “Emma, I know she was terrible to you. She said she bullied you for years. But what you didn’t know is that just before she came to live with you and Lester, she was in an institution. She had been in another foster home before that, and the foster father had been molesting her for years, until one day she had enough and lost it. She stabbed him. With a fork, I think she said.” Sam laughed.

  “Shit,” Emma said. “I remember that story. She told me it was her best friend, some girl named Suzy something or other who got sent to Woodlands. That was Nina?”

  “Yeah, that was her, Emma. She’s not who she was back then. She has a daughter now too – special needs.”

  “Nina’s daughter is retarded?” Emma blurted out.

  Sam shot her a look. “Don’t be an asshole, Emma. She’s autistic. I thought you were supposed to be the sensitive one out of all of us?” Sam’s face softened. “Nina does advocacy work for her. Her daughter is her life now.” Sam picked up his cigarettes, and put them in his pocket. “You never know what sort of shit people are carrying around in their hearts, until you give them a chance to tell you who they are.”

  Emma sat in silence, letting Sam’s words sink in for a moment, before she asked, “And what does Nina have to say about Wanda? She’s really living with Just … with Jack now? What about Rachel? Does Rachel know?”

  “No,” Sam said. “I haven’t told Rachel yet. I want to see how things go first. Mom … Wanda is supposed to be coming out for the funeral today, but it’s still iffy if she’ll make it. Nina’s going to go to the airport and make sure she actually got on the plane. If she did, she get her just in time to make it. Jack’s all for it, but apparently Wanda’s dragging her heels. I don’t want to get Rachel all worked up if Wanda doesn’t end up coming. Nina said that she’s…”

  “She’s what?” Emma asked.

  “Well, she said Wanda’s got some sort of issues with mental illness. You know, it sort of makes sense now. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but she was always sort of all over the place, you know?”

  Emma nodded, suddenly remembering the screaming woman she had seen on the streetcar earlier that week. She had been a premonition, a messenger. She had somehow prepared Emma for this moment. Other than the reappearance of Just Jack, nothing Sam was telling her felt like a surprise.

  “So let’s just keep this between us for the time being,” Sam said, standing up from the table. Emma stood as well. “When we’re sure Wanda’s going to show up, we’ll tell Rachel. In the meantime, we’ll try to just keep everything chill. Funerals are hard enough, eh?” Sam said, with a laugh, patted Emma on the shoulder and left the room. Emma stood up, alone in the kitchen, letting Sam’s words sink in. Wanda had been found, living with Just Jack. And Nina Buziak found her. Wanda would be at the funeral, Emma knew it. That was the message behind the Belafonte song. Somewhere inside her, Wanda wanted to go home.

  27.

  IT WAS ALWAYS AROUND DAWN when Emma dragged herself out of bed during that last year at Garden Avenue Public School. She didn’t need an alarm clock; her body knew what time it was. It had been trained to know that survival meant abandoning the pleasure of sleep and dreaming if it was to make it to school without pain. As soon as she woke, Diana Prince started asking for breakfast, as she stretched out at the end of Emma’s bed. Rachel always brought the cat into her own room at night, but Diana Prince knew that Rachel couldn’t understand her and Emma could, so she’d sneak over to Emma’s room as soon as Rachel was asleep. Emma liked waking up with Diana Prince. It was good to see a friendly face before she braved the outside world.

  The echo of Rachel’s slap behind the portables had lasted longer than Emma had expected. Maggie West had waited for Rachel to graduate, and then took up the mission of getting her revenge. It was the turtle that had saved Emma that day, and in the days that followed. As soon as Maggie snatched it, Emma had known that she wouldn’t get away with taking it. It had been no surprise that Rachel showed up out of nowhere and got it back. Maggie had been cursed.

  Jenny didn’t use the word curse when she gave Emma the pendant that last time they had seen each other on Columbia Street. Jenny had just said that nobody would be able to mess with Emma if she was
wearing it.

  “Turtles carry their house around on their backs, so they’re at home no matter where they go. Grandpa says that turtle medicine keeps you safe too. I thought it would help you with your new life out east,” Jenny had said.

  After the fight, Maggie had stayed away from Emma for the most part, but every once in awhile she’d give her a taste of vengeance. Twice during the winter, Maggie the Abominable waited for Emma behind a snowbank, and pounced, shoving a handful of sleet into Emma’s face. Once, in the spring, she caught Emma crossing the muddy football field. In seconds, Emma was on her knees in the cold wet earth – the words “nigger” and “dirty” leaving her caked with shame.

  After every incident though, Maggie would get hers. The first time, she got the flu. The second time it was the measles, and she was off school for a week. Emma knew Maggie wouldn’t get away with pushing her into the mud that day in the football field, and she was right. Three days later, Maggie broke her arm skateboarding. Emma felt a little bad about that one. After all, it wasn’t really Maggie’s fault. She was a Scorpio.

  Astrology was Emma’s new passion ever since she found a copy of The Astrologer’s Handbook down in the basement. Emma had been in the laundry room, looking for her white T-shirt with the big yellow happy face on it, when she an insistent scratching from under the furnace.

  “Just a second,” Emma said to sound of claws on cardboard as she continued rooting through the pile of clean laundry on top of the dryer. The scratching got louder.

  “Okay, okay. Geez Louise.” Emma giggled to herself, hearing the echo of Mamma Shirley in the laundry room. Mamma Shirley, the sparkly giraffe lady. She had slowly begun to fade without Emma noticing. All of that time on Columbia Street had become like an old photo left in the sun.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Emma walked over to furnace, hoping whatever animal it was that was making the noise wasn’t injured, or she’d have the problem of trying to save it. She hadn’t wanted any more problems that day. That was why she was looking for the T-shirt in the first place. It had been the kind of day where she would need a smiley face as well as the turtle. Extra protection. A reminder that Emma wasn’t a threat – that was what was needed. As soon as she heard Rachel’s door slam open against the upstairs hallway wall, Emma had thought smiley face, that would do it.