Downside Up

by Richard Scrimger

  “I miss Dad,” I said.

  “Ah,” said Elvira.

  —

  We stood in the rain, staring at the open sewer grate like we were at a funeral. Elvira held a yellow umbrella. Izzy had a red one. I had my hoodie up.

  “Are you guys sure you want to do this?” said Elvira.

  I was already climbing down. I had to know if she was right. Her idea made sense, sort of. But I wasn’t sure. There was an inch of water at the bottom. Oh, well.

  “Coming, Izzy?” I called. I had my hand in my pocket.

  “Wait!”

  She tried to climb down holding her umbrella. It wouldn’t fit. She started to fold it up, but it got caught on the edge of the opening. She struggled for a moment, then swore and threw it away. A moment later we squeezed together on the lowest rung of the ladder. Water trickled and dripped and ran.

  “It’s a puddle down there,” Izzy said. “My running shoes will get soaked if I jump.”

  I held out the deodorant I’d taken from Mom’s drawer. I didn’t have anything from Dad—a something that called Dad into my mind as strongly as Casey’s ball called him up. But the smell of his deodorant had brought me to tears. When Elvira had asked if I had a memento of Dad to match Izzy’s runners, I thought of the deodorant stick.

  “Hey, you kids.”

  We stared up. The dark edges of the sewer grating framed Elvira’s face like a picture.

  “You two have fun with your dad,” she said. “And remember to come back, okay? It’s five o’clock now. Have dinner, stay the night if you want. Just remember that your mom will be back tomorrow night.”

  What a babysitter.

  “I don’t want to do this,” Izzy said suddenly, grabbing a higher rung on the ladder. “I’m getting wet. This is stupid.”

  “What about Dad?” I said.

  “I don’t care. I don’t believe you. This whole thing isn’t real. You and Elvira are crazy. I’m going home.”

  She climbed up a step.

  “Look,” I said. “You miss Dad. Do you want a chance to see him again? To say good-bye? To tell him things? I do.”

  “Fine. You go.”

  “I need you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes I do.”

  I couldn’t see Dad. It was the stupidest thing. I’d stared at the picture on the piano and I could not make out his face. I was afraid he’d walk by and I wouldn’t know him. That’s why I needed my sister to be with me.

  I could feel her trembling.

  “Are you scared that this won’t work,” I said. “Or that it will?”

  “Shut up,” she said.

  “All those times you kept telling me to cheer up. Snap out of it, you said. Well, now it’s my turn. You miss Dad more than anything. You’re still wearing his shoes even though they’re wrecked. So let go of the ladder and jump down. Do it.”

  “When did you start talking so much, Fred?”

  She sounded angry. Scared. Hopeful. I dropped the deodorant and grabbed her hand. We jumped together.

  It was a relief to be falling again. I’d got used to the second reality. I liked things upside down. I—this sounds strange—I trusted upside-down world. It was such a freaky idea that I felt there had to be a reason for me to be there. I looked forward to seeing Freddie and Casey. And Dad. Especially Dad. Actually, I was scared about seeing him, but I knew that I wanted to, more than anything.

  I reached out, found what felt like Izzy’s ankle. She screamed from up above—yup, her ankle. I held on, said her name, and mine. I pulled her down toward me, told her she was okay, that everything would be okay, that I was glad she was there. I had to shout over the noise of the wind rushing past us. She seemed to calm down for a bit. I thought we’d hold hands on the way down. Cute or what? But before I could find her hand, I felt a blow to my ribs. And another, to my stomach.

  My sister was punching me. Not in my face—she’d learned that much.

  “I…am going…to kill you,” she panted.

  And then we landed with a thump and a rattle, bodies twisted together on the hard, rocky floor.

  This was not the bottom of a sewer drain. We were in a perfectly clean, dry shaft, cut sideways like a tunnel. There was a round opening large enough to walk through about ten feet away from us. The sun shone in through the opening. There was a continuous rumbling overhead.

  I didn’t know where we were, which maybe should have worried me. It didn’t. I felt too awful to worry. I heaved a couple of times, picked up my stick of deodorant off the ground, did not feel better. But I knew the feeling—the same one I’d had the first time I’d traveled here. I climbed to my feet slowly.

  Izzy was on her hands and knees, hair hanging over her face. She moaned. Her letter from Dad was by my foot. I picked it up and put it in my pocket with the deodorant.

  “Come on,” I said, heading toward the opening, trying to ignore my stomach.

  “No.”

  The opening was a circular grate, head high, with wide-spaced bars across it. We’d landed in a storm drain. I slipped easily through the bars and found myself staring out at the—wait! Whoa! Was the sky up or down? I’d forgotten that feeling of falling off the world. I crouched for a second, fighting the anti-gravity fear. I was in a dry ditch below a highway. That rumbling was traffic going by above. Beside me were some biggish hills, below me a valley with a forest in the distance. The sun was sinking toward the tops of the trees.

  No idea where I was. No idea at all. For sure it wasn’t Toronto.

  “Fred! Fred!”

  Panic in Izzy’s voice. My poor sis crawled through the grating. Slowly, grabbing onto the bars for support.

  “Fred, I’m falling. I’m sick.”

  “I know,” I said. “Me too.”

  “But it’s so weird. I’m…scared. I can’t stand up. I feel like I’m about to float off into space.”

  “Yeah. You won’t. You’re getting used to being upside down.”

  “This is your fault,” she said. “I’m sick. I threw up in the tunnel there.”

  “I feel crappy too. You’ll feel better when you see Dad.”

  “Daddy?” She scrambled forward. “Is he here? Have you seen him? Have…”

  She stopped, swallowed and sank down onto her knees. She grabbed onto my leg. Her hair was stuck to the side of her head. There was a bit of sick on her cheek.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know,” I said again.

  “I hate you, Fred.”

  We climbed to the shoulder of the highway, Izzy hanging onto me like a lifeline. The highway was two lanes each way, trucks rumbling past in a steady stream, kicking up dust. On the far side of the road was a steep slope, a kind of junior mountain, with flecks of shiny rock catching the sun. Warm air, a few clouds. It was a beautiful afternoon, wherever we were.

  I got an idea.

  “Do you have your phone?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  Her face was greenish. I was pukey too, but I knew more about what was going on than she did. I knew that we weren’t going to fall up into the sky. And that the sick feeling would pass. Also, I was in charge and that made feel me different. I don’t know. Stronger.

  She had her phone out. Her hand trembled.

  “Call Dad,” I told her.

  “Call—”

  “He has a cell phone. Call it. I bet the number is the same.”

  I had a vivid memory of walking into Mom’s room late at night and seeing her with the phone to her ear, talking to Dad. She was sitting up in bed with her hair in a ponytail. Her skin was fresh, scrubbed, shining. It was snowing outside. I had a cold and my nose was stuffed up. Very clear, the memory.

  Izzy was shaking her head. “I took Dad off my phone,” she said.

  Well, I guess that made sense.

  “Do you remember the number?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I
don’t know anyone’s number by heart.”

  I took the phone from her and punched our home number. I couldn’t help noticing her screen picture was still Harry the Horse. I wasn’t sure the phone would work at all, so it was pretty cool when the auto-voice came on and told me that the number I was calling was long distance. Upside-down world had the same phone signals as right-side-up world. The auto-voice told me that if I didn’t want to hear this message again I should “add one to this phone number.” I did and the connection happened. I heard a ringtone and then a faint hello. Mom’s voice. I had to bite down not to say hi.

  “Could I…ah…speak to Freddie, please?”

  “What?” said Izzy. “Who’s that?”

  “Shh.”

  “Hello?”

  “Freddie! It’s me. Fred.”

  “Who—oh…uh, hi there!”

  He sounded awkward. “How you doing, uh, Mike?” he asked.

  A cattle truck roared by. What a stink. My stomach lurched. I swallowed.

  “Mom still in the room?” I asked.

  “You know it,” said Freddie.

  “Okay, listen hard. I’m here in your world, but I don’t know where. Can you help me?”

  “Sure, Mike. Let me get my, uh, math homework…” A muffled conversation, a few seconds of silence. And then, loud and happy, “Fred! Hi there!”

  “Hi.”

  “I’m in my room now, so I can talk. Great to hear from you, man. It’s been a long time. You know, everyone’s still talking about the basketball game. They want to know when I’ll be able to play again. Lance Levy turns away every time he sees me. I feel sorry for the guy.”

  He laughed. There was a bit of a bend in the highway where we were standing. A big orange truck drifted sideways as it passed us, and its back tires caught the shoulder. Dust plumed and rolled away from us.

  “So where are you, Fred?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the thing. We went through the storm sewer like usual, but we ended up somewhere strange.”

  “What? I can’t hear you. You’re cutting out.”

  “We’re not in Toronto,” I said louder. “I had to dial long distance to get you.”

  “Wow. That’s weird. I guess these portal things go more than one place. Maybe they link up.”

  He said something else, but I didn’t hear it.

  “…a sewer system running through our two universes.”

  Elvira’s well beside her place in Barrie, Sorauren Park, here. It made sense. Freddie had figured it out faster than me. Smart kid, that Freddie.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “We? Who’s we?”

  “I’m here with my sister. This is her phone.”

  He laughed a long time. “Izzy? What a riot! I didn’t know you could travel in groups like that.”

  He said something else.

  “Freddie, wait. You’re cutting out. I got to ask a big question. Where’s Dad?”

  Beside me, Izzy was very still.

  “Dad? That’s not a big question. He’s working, like usual.”

  “Yeah, but where?”

  “I don’t know. Someplace east. Kingston, Ottawa, maybe Montreal. You know Dad—he never goes into details.”

  No I don’t, I thought. I don’t know him at all.

  “Where’s he stopping tonight, Freddie? We can get there and wait for him.”

  “I don’t know.” Silence. “I can ask Mom.”

  We were somewhere in Ontario right now. The traffic going by had Ontario plates. Yours to Discover. Who thinks up these slogans?

  Freddie said something, and then, “I’ll call you back.”

  “And can you find out Dad’s phone number too?”

  The line went dead. I took a deep breath to calm my stomach. Still felt like I was going to float away.

  Freddie seemed different to me now. He had a dad. All the time I’d known him, walked with him, played with him, he’d had a dad. Never occurred to either of us to talk about him—me, because I didn’t know he had one, and him, because he didn’t know I didn’t. We were the same in a lot of ways, but he had a dad and I didn’t. Lucky guy.

  “So where are we?” Izzy asked. “And where’s Daddy?” She was sitting on the metal barrier by the side of the road. Hanging onto it. I gave her back the phone.

  “Freddie didn’t know. He’s going to ask Mom and call back.”

  Izzy moaned.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get walking. We’ll come to a turnoff sooner or later.”

  I grabbed her elbow and we started off. The road bent to the left, still hugging the side of the hill. The sun was behind my shoulder now. Izzy tried to stand up straight. Around the next bend there was a gas station with a restaurant attached. Cars and trucks were parked in a gravel lot. Was one of them Dad’s?

  Izzy’s phone rang. She answered it without thinking. Then choked and grabbed my arm. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah hi, it’s me. I-I mean…Yeah, me too.”

  She handed me the phone with a shudder.

  “It’s you,” she whispered.

  “Wow, Izzy sounds just like herself,” said Freddie.

  “I could hear her and Handsome Harry talking downstairs at the same time she was talking in my ear. Was that ever weird. Hey, sorry for taking so long to get back to you. But when I punched your number, Izzy’s phone rang downstairs here.”

  Of course, I thought. It was the same number.

  “I got her to turn off her phone. We’re okay now.”

  He began to break up again. It was a lousy connection, either because of the hills or the alternate universe.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  A truck rumbled by us. The words FAST FRATE were painted on the side. Freddie’s voice skipped. “Mom said…get to Bobcaygeon tonight.”

  I’d heard of Bobcaygeon. “That’s Ontario, right? D’you know where?”

  “No.”

  “Did you get his number?”

  A pause.

  “…didn’t hear you,” he said.

  “Dad!” I shouted. “Phone number!”

  “…couldn’t,” he said. I didn’t know if he meant he couldn’t get the phone number or couldn’t hear me. Damn. The phone line was dead. Damn again.

  I punched in the number but didn’t get through. No service, said the screen.

  I handed Izzy back her phone.

  “I thought you and Harry weren’t going out anymore,” I said.

  “We’re not.”

  —

  I scanned the parking lot of the truck stop. Three or four semis, a van and a couple of small, rusted somethings. None of them looked familiar. Dad drove a—used to drive a—used to—what kind of car? What was I looking for? I made a serious effort to remember, as if remembering the car would make it appear. It didn’t.

  Izzy’s memory was clearer than mine. “Daddy’s not here,” she said. “And I need a bathroom.”

  We went into the truck stop. The restaurant had booths and big windows looking out at the gas station. Izzy went to the restroom. The waitress poured water and called me honey. When I said we didn’t want to eat anything she frowned.

  “Well, you can’t just sit here. You got to order something.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I said.

  I found a crumpled five in my pocket. Enough for a bowl of soup. I was starting to feel better, I noticed. The idea of soup didn’t make me want to throw up.

  The old lady in the next booth got to her feet. She wore a buttoned shirt and jeans, and a baseball cap with a C on it. Her hair was white and stuck out all around the hat. She checked me out before heading over to the counter to pay.

  Izzy came back taking deep breaths. Her color was better. “I think I’m getting used to this place,” she said. “I could actually eat something.”

  “I hope you like soup,” I said. We smiled at each other, first time in a while. I took a breath and let it out easily. Huhhh.

  That’s the best feeling, eh? Your stomachache going away. Or your headache, or what
ever. It’s a better feeling than opening a birthday present or scoring a goal. Better than laughing or falling asleep or sitting in the sun or putting on clean socks. You know when you really, really, really have to go to the bathroom—and then you do. Pretty amazing, eh? I felt that now, in the middle of all the weirdness.

  —

  Izzy hadn’t sat down yet. She was staring out the big window, openmouthed. A green car with writing on it—a company car, four doors—was pulling away from the pump. Izzy pointed.

  “Daddy!”

  Of course! This was his car—our car. Something had fogged my memory, but it was clear now. I even remembered the company name—STAFFORD PLASTICS. White writing on the green door panel.

  Izzy turned and ran. My heart skipped a beat. Dad was there. Right there.

  Izzy wasn’t used to how fast she moved here and slammed right into the glass door without opening it. I had better control of myself and pulled on the handle, and we raced through the parking lot. Dad’s car was on the highway now. I pelted after it, covering giant amounts of ground with every step, waving and shouting. But he wasn’t looking, and I couldn’t run the speed of highway traffic. I gave up and went back to the gas station. Izzy was crying.

  “Didn’t you see him,” she asked, “when he was gassing up? Didn’t you notice him? Or his car?”

  “No.”

  But I should have realized something was going on, from the way I’d started to feel better. Same thing had happened when I first saw Casey. Really, I should have been on the lookout for Dad all along. The weird portal system would take us close to where he was.

  “What are we going to do now?”

  I said I didn’t know. She cried some more. I felt like crying too. This was our chance to see Dad again, and we’d blown it. I’d blown it. The world was more in focus now. But I felt worse inside.

  We stood in the middle of the parking lot. I tried to get Izzy to stop crying by saying that we could always go back home. She told me to shut up.

  An air horn made me jump. A truck cab pulled up beside us. There was writing on the door. BELLE. The driver’s side window was down. It was the old lady with the baseball hat.

  “You two kids miss your pickup?” she asked in a gravelly voice.

  I nodded.