by Marina Cohen
Jake stopped short. His brow crinkled. “Hurt you?” He stared at her as if she had three heads. Then he glanced at the other customers who were sitting stock-still, watching him wide-eyed. Suddenly, it occurred to Jake what they must be thinking. He took a step back and waved his hands in front of his face. “You’ve got it wrong. All I want is a phone book.”
The woman’s fingers tightened their grip on the tongs. “A phone book?”
Jake nodded. “I need to borrow one. It’s urgent. Have you got one?”
She paused for a second, gaping at Jake as if she couldn’t quite decide if he was an idiot, a maniac, or a little of both. Without taking her eyes off him, she reached below the counter and hauled out an enormous book. It landed with a thud in front of Jake. When he reached for it, the woman took a step back.
Although the cover looked new, it already had numbers scrawled all over it and even a doodle in the shape of two hearts. Jake opened the book midway and flipped through chunks of pages at a time: K, L, M … Ma, Mabley, MacArthur, Mackinnon … MacRae.
Jake’s heart plummeted six storeys. There must have been a hundred of them.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman dialling the phone, but he was so focused on his task it didn’t register.
“I’ve gotta find it,” he muttered to himself. He gripped the page and tore it clean out. “Sorry,” he said to the woman, but she was too busy talking on the phone to acknowledge him. Jake left the shop as quickly as he’d entered it.
Standing on the curb, he scanned the length of the page. It wouldn’t be listed under his mother’s name, and there certainly wouldn’t be an entry for Pigeon MacRae. Jake wracked his brain. He’d heard his mother mention their previous address a few times. He remembered the street had a name that reminded Jake of fish. Trout Street? Tuna Lane? He searched the list, thinking so hard that he didn’t even hear the sirens.
“Sammon Avenue!” he shouted. “That’s it!”
The sirens were getting louder.
Pleased with himself, Jake took a deep breath and a good look around. The lady and the two customers were standing right up against the window of the shop, gawking at him. He almost gave them a friendly wave, but his brain jump-started, and it suddenly dawned on him — the sirens were approaching, police sirens. That lady had called the cops!
Up the street, Jake saw flashing lights. Whatever he decided to do, he had to do it quickly. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong, but what in the world would he say to the police if they questioned him? Yo, dudes. Don’t mind me. I’m just some guy from the future. Best-case scenario: his butt would land in a mental health facility. Worst-case scenario … well, there was no time to contemplate that. He had no wallet. No ID. No home. No one to call. No matter which way he looked at it, there was only one choice he could make — run!
Shoving the paper into his pocket, Jake bolted behind the coffee shop and into an alley. He hopped a fence and raced through someone’s backyard and onto a side street. Jake could hear the police sirens blaring. They must have reached the coffee shop. He flew down the street until it wound around back onto the main road.
Jake stopped running to attract less attention. Across the street a large grocery store welcomed customers. He ducked into it and took a deep breath once he reached the produce section where people calmly sifted through the various fruits and vegetables. Jake was pretty sure the police had better things to do than to conduct a full-blown manhunt for some crazy, confused teenager who’d stolen a page out of a phone book and freaked a few people out. Still, with everything that was going on, Jake couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jake stood across the street from the house. It looked nice. A nice little house. It had beige siding and brown shutters that gave it a cottage feel. A large pine tree loomed in the centre of the lawn, partially obstructing Jake’s view of the front door. A vision flitted through Jake’s memory. Warm sunshine rained down on him. He was collecting pinecones — his arms so full that for each pinecone he picked up, three slipped through his grasp. How old could he have been? Three? Four?
Two hours ago Jake had been so sure he wanted to see this place. He had asked everyone in the grocery store if they knew where Sammon Avenue was. No one knew. He asked a few people if they had a BlackBerry or an iPhone. They looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. Finally, a woman said she kept a map in the glove compartment of her car, and together they located the street. It was a quick jog down Victoria Park and then a long walk across O’Connor.
And now here he was at the exact place he wanted to be, and yet, for some reason it felt … wrong. Jake was alive ten years ago. He was four years old. What would happen if he came face to face with himself? He’d once read a book where someone changed something really minor in the past and that change rippled outward with horrible repercussions. What if coming face to face with himself created some sort of cosmic paradox vacuum and he and his four-year-old self ended up cancelling each other out of existence?
Jake’s thoughts swarmed but then scattered when the front door of the house swung open. A figure appeared. It took Jake a moment to recognize his own mother. His pulse quickened. Until now everything had felt like a crazy dream — a nightmare — but for the first time it all became painfully real. Tears pooled in his eyes.
Even at a distance she looked so much younger. Her hair was styled, her face less drawn. Her movements were lighter — nothing weighed her down. His mother bent to pick up a newspaper that lay on the front step. She looked up, and her gaze settled on Jake. He wanted to charge toward her, throw his arms around her, and scream, “It’s me, Mom! It’s Jake!” But he bit his lip. Her eyes lingered on him a second longer, then she grasped the paper, stepped back into the house, and pulled the door shut.
A chilly gust of wind swept the street. Jake felt colder than he’d ever felt before. He shouldn’t have come here. What had he hoped to gain? They wouldn’t know him. He would be a stranger to them — a crazy stranger.
Jake turned to leave. He had only taken a few steps when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door open again. He turned around. This time a man stepped out of the house. He walked down the driveway toward the street. For a second Jake thought he was coming to confront him, but then the man turned sharply and headed in the opposite direction.
It was his father. Jake was sure of it.
Without thinking, Jake did an about-face and began trailing the man. Each step he took shuddered through his body like a warning. This was wrong. Really wrong. He shouldn’t meddle with fate. Yet his desire to meet the man — the phantom — who had haunted his mind for ten long years was too intense to dismiss. Jake couldn’t stop himself.
As he stalked his father, Jake started to calculate. The timing was right. Could it be? Could this be the day his father left home for good? He had no suitcase with him. No bags of any kind. Dressed in a regular pair of jeans and a regular jacket, there was no neon sign on him flashing: LOOK AT ME! I’M DUMPING MY FAMILY. Then it occurred to Jake. Maybe that was why it had hurt his mother so much. Maybe that was why she could never talk about it. Maybe there was nothing to say. No big fight. No grand finale. No bells ringing the curtain down. Maybe she never even saw it coming.
At the main road Jake’s father headed south. Jake followed, staying close enough to keep him in sight, but far enough to remain unnoticed.
Time didn’t pass — it melted. Slowly, steadily, like a Popsicle in the sun.
At an intersection Jake’s father halted at a red light. Jake stopped at the curb right beside him. His heart in his throat, Jake stole a sideways glance. His father couldn’t have been more than thirty, and he didn’t resemble Jake at all. In fact, his father looked a lot like Drew. Part of Jake had hated the thought of resembling the guy who had abandoned him, but part of him clung to that idea, as if it was the one
tie his father couldn’t sever. Disappointment draped over Jake’s face like a dirty dish towel.
Where was this man going? To work? To visit a friend? He could be going to buy ice cream for all Jake knew. Anger sloshed around the pit of Jake’s stomach, churning to bile. He could just as easily be a pigeon flying the coop.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jake had lost all sense of time and place when they walked into the subway station. Following his father mechanically, Jake lost sight of him once as he stopped at the ticket booth. Jake felt in his pocket. Luckily, he still had the change from the five bucks Mr. Borrelli had given him, but was it enough? Jake handed the attendant a handful of coins. The man frowned and then sifted through the pile until he’d counted a dollar forty. Fares were a lot cheaper ten years ago. Jake took a transfer and scrambled after his father.
A train came quickly, and Jake got on it without thinking. Time and space ceased to exist.
Jake plunked himself into a seat across from his father. He kept his eyes trained on him the entire time, scrutinizing the man’s every move. Every scratch, every tilt of his head, every shift in position told a story Jake had been longing to hear.
Inside Jake’s head a battle raged. Should I talk to him? Should I say something? What should I say? Why do I even want to talk to him? I desperately want to talk to him and I hate myself for it.
Curiosity gave way to anger. Jake couldn’t help but think about all the missed opportunities. They had never played basketball. They had never watched a hockey game. His father hadn’t been there to help Jake with his homework or flip out at him about his low grades. He hadn’t been there the time those older boys had stolen Jake’s toque and pushed him into the snowbank. He hadn’t been there to teach him how to ride a bike or throw a football or play poker or …
Jake’s father stood up and walked to the subway doors. Jake followed as though drawn by an invisible string. He stood right behind him, tasting his musky cologne. Jake wanted to grab the guy and spin him around. He wanted to shake him. To punch him. To hug him tightly and never let go.
The doors opened. His father stepped off the subway and strolled calmly toward the escalator. Consumed with conflicting emotions, Jake didn’t even notice they had arrived at St. George Station. They rode the escalator up side by side, and suddenly Jake felt his father’s eyes on him, staring at him as if noticing him for the very first time. Jake’s heart tunnelled through his ribs. It was now or never. Should he say something? He’d be taking a huge risk. Just like in that weird sci-fi book he’d read, the effects could be devastating. Jake chewed his lip. It wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. Jake had to let it go. Let him go. Jake took a step upward when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Do I know you?”
Jake nearly lost his balance but grabbed the railing and steadied himself. He couldn’t bring himself to look his father in the eye. He swallowed a boulder-sized lump in his throat. “N-no … I don’t think so …” he stammered.
“Because you look really familiar,” continued his father in an infuriatingly kind voice.
Jake shook his head, keeping his eyes to the ground. “You got the wrong guy …”
They had reached the top of the escalator. Keep walking, Jake told himself. Walk away. Jake moved through and around clusters of people toward the southbound platform, his father glued to his side watching him — the hunter now the hunted. Jake stepped toward the edge, standing right on the yellow warning strip.
The sign straight ahead read: MIND THE GAP.
“I’m sure we’ve met before,” said his father. “I never forget a face.”
Like the last drop of water that split the dam, Jake couldn’t hold it together any longer. All the things he’d ever wanted to say to his father, everything he’d kept bottled up inside him all those years, gushed out of him in waves of incomprehensible blather.
“I can’t believe it’s really you. You shouldn’t have gone. I hated you for it. We all hate you …”
The smile faded from his father’s lips.
“Why did you do it?” Jake continued. “Where did you go? How could you? How could you just up and leave like that … like you’re doing right now? You’re going, aren’t you? You’re not planning on going back home, right?”
Jake’s father took a step backward. He looked at Jake the same way the lady in the coffee shop had. Jake moved closer to him, his accusations relentless.
“Do you have any idea what it did to Mom? I’ve never seen her happy. Not ever. You shredded her heart, you know that? Because of you she cries every night. Because of you …”
Jake’s father stood on the yellow warning strip close to the edge, his expression clear — he thought Jake was unstable.
“Look, kid, I was wrong. I don’t know you. I’m sorry …”
“Know me?” Jake moved closer to his father, who was backing up along the yellow strip. “Of course, you don’t know me! You left before you got a chance to know me. I’m Jake! Your son! I slipped through some kind of tunnel in time, and I’m here to tell you you suck, man! You suck big time!”
Jake’s father’s eyes were as wide as chasms. “How … how do you know my son’s name?”
“I know his name because I’m him! I know how crazy this sounds, but it’s me, Dad, it’s Jake! I’m fourteen freakin’ years old, but it’s me!”
A yellow light radiated from the tunnel, growing brighter by the second. The platform trembled. A train was approaching. Jake glanced around. None of the other people on the platform seemed to notice.
“You’re crazy,” said his father. “I don’t know how you know my son’s name, but I’m warning you —”
Jake laughed like a lunatic. “You’re warning me? What a joke! Your threats mean nothing. Your words mean nothing!”
Thunder rumbled down the tracks. The light was so bright that Jake had to squint. He refused to let up, though. This was his one chance to say everything he’d ever wanted to say.
Jake’s father turned his back. He started to walk away.
“Just like the red toboggan!” he shouted over the roar of the approaching subway. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Jake’s father froze.
“And just like the promise that came with it! You said we’d go out together on the very first snowfall. We never did. We never went because you dumped me. You dumped us all!”
Jake’s father swung round to face him just as the old Gloucester came barrelling into the station. It was exactly twelve o’clock, and suddenly it became clear to Jake what was happening. The old train flew by, its rush of stale air pressing Jake’s eyelids shut. When he opened them, the doors were ajar. The same weird people were crammed into the car, laughing and partying. No one else on the platform even appeared to see the train, let alone its passengers. Just Jake. It had come for him. This was his ride home. No matter how much he wanted to stay, he knew he had to get on.
Jake stepped inside the car, but just as the doors began to close he felt a hand grab his arm. He spun round. His father stood on the platform, staring at Jake wide-eyed, trying to pull him off the train. Everyone in the car started to laugh — a horrible sound like the noise a bunch of wounded animals might make.
“Let go!” Jake cried. But even as the words left his mouth, he saw the three-inch gap between the subway and the platform double, then triple its width. Jake’s father clung tightly to him, as if he recognized Jake and wasn’t going to let him go.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Jake shouldn’t have talked to his father. He shouldn’t have had any contact with him. The doors remained slightly ajar. Jake could see the gap between the platform and the train getting larger and larger. A great black hole opened up like the mouth of a mythical beast.
“Let go, Dad!” he screamed. But it was too late. His father had slipped
off the platform and was dangling over the abyss. He clung to Jake, nearly yanking him off the train in the process. Jake grabbed his hand and pulled with all his strength, but his father was too heavy. He was slipping. Jake couldn’t hold on much longer. Then, for one fleeting moment, it was as though the station inverted and it was Jake who dangled over the abyss and his father who stood on the edge of the platform, holding on to him with all his might.
The vision altered just as Jake felt his father’s hand slip through his grasp. Jake watched in horror as his father spiralled down, down, into darkness.
The doors to the train sealed shut, and it began to roll. Jake pounded on the glass. He kicked at the doors, but it was too late. His father was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jake sank to his knees. “Stop the train.” He pounded on the old doors until his fists were red and raw. “Stop …” But the station was long gone. The subway was already at top speed, winding through the black tunnel like a runaway freight. Jake finally gave up and collapsed to the floor. With his back against the doors, he closed his eyes.
Jake could sense the penetrating stares of the passengers. He could hear their wicked whispers echoing all around him. Still, he refused to look up. Even after he opened his eyes and wiped away his tears, he just sat there, gazing at his hand — the hand that had failed him, the hand that had let his father slip into oblivion.
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“What’s your problem?” asked a familiar voice.
Short-Shorts stood in front of Jake, a huge grin plastered across his face. He looked different somehow. Jake hadn’t remembered his eyes being quite so dark and sunken. The old pot lights lit his spiky hair, and Jake swore he could see patches of scalp.
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you? You wanted to see your father and you did, right? So join the party. It’s just getting started.”
