by Natale Ghent
“Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll be all right.”
“I’ll tell Cid and Queenie to deliver your papers tonight. They know the route, right?”
“Yeah. They’ve delivered them for me before.”
Ma leaves the room. I can hear her drawing the bath. She comes back and sticks her head through the door. “Go on and jump in. I’ll bring you some tea when it’s ready.”
I really don’t want a bath or tea but I can’t tell Ma that. She’ll just poke and pry until she finds out why I’m really in bed. I lower myself into thesteaming tub, the water so hot it’s barely tolerable. That’s Ma’s way. She believes in the power of a good boil to heal whatever ails. I must admit, feeling the hot water against my skin does make me feel a little bit better. I splash my face, delicately at first, then more vigorously as I get used to the temperature. Finally, I sink right down in the tub until just my eyes and nose are sticking above the water like an old alligator’s.
Through the water I hear a bang on the door. I sit up with a loud splash. It must be Ma with my tea. There’s another bang on the door, but this time louder and angrier.
“I need to get in there!”
It’s Cid, wanting to perform some mysterious and lengthy bathroom ritual. I take the opportunity for a little revenge. I sink back into the water.
“I just got in. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“I need to get my things from in there.”
“Well, that’s tough! I’ll come out when I’m ready!”
No sooner do I say these words than the door is kicked open, sending the dead bolt flying across the bathroom. The door swings helplessly on its hinges as Cid marches across the floor like a queen. I can’t believe she would do this and I just sit there in shock, gripping the shower curtainaround me, my mouth gaping open. She gathers her things imperiously, then marches back out. She doesn’t even have the decency to shut the door.
Then Ma appears with my tea. “Who broke the lock?” she demands.
I wrench the shower curtain shut in disgust. “Can’t anyone have any privacy around here!”
Ma looks at me in surprise, then leaves the tea on the edge of the tub, closing the door on her way out. I sit in the tub fuming over how I’m going to get Cid back. I think about smashing all her little glass animal figurines that Dad gave her over the years. I think about cutting holes in all her socks, or putting glue in her hair, or something. I’m so mad thinking about how I’m going to wreck Cid’s life that I forget to think about Cheryl and Tyler. At least for now….
chapter 13
broken glass
By the time I decide what I’m going to do to Cid, my anger has cooled, for the most part. I can’t hold a grudge the way Cid can, and I can’t run crying to Ma the way Queenie does when her feelings are hurt. So I’ve learned to think my anger out and let it go. Looking at Cid’s little figurines all neatly arranged on her dresser, I can’t bring myself to actually smash them. So I wrap them in toilet paper and hide them behind her dresser. And then I wait.
I sit on my bed reading. It’s long past dark before I hear Cid and Queenie bustle in from delivering my papers. I hear them call out to let Ma know they’re home, then hear them tramp up the stairs. I wait like a spider for my victim. Cid and Queenie go into their room and it’s Queenie who first notices the figurines are missing. Cid figures out immediately that I’m at the bottom of this diabolical abduction.
“Nathaniel, you scumbag! What did you do with them?”
I look up from my book like I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Don’t play dumb! Where are my animals?”
“Your animals? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do, you liar! Give them back!”
“I don’t have them.”
Cid storms out of my room, and I can hear her opening and closing her dresser drawers in a frenzy, searching for the figurines. Suddenly she screams and starts kicking her dresser in frustration. I jump out of bed to try to stop her.
“Cut it out, you psycho!”
“Where are they? Where did you put them?”
She grabs me by the shirt but I knock her hand away. “I’m not going to tell you until you back off! And I want you to say sorry for kicking the door in today.”
She lets go of my shirt and folds her arms across her chest. She stares at me, her eyes burning with hatred. “Fine! I’m sorry. Now, where are they?”
I feel like making her grovel, but for some reason I think better of it. “Just keep your hands off me,” I warn her as I reach behind the dresser. I feel around for the toilet paper bundle and pull it out. “Here are your precious little animals.”
I hand the bundle to Cid, who quickly unwrapsthe figurines. But when she opens the bundle, the little animals are smashed into a million pieces. Cid’s jaw drops and then her face collapses. “My animals!”
“Oh, no!” Queenie gasps.
Cid looks up at me in disbelief. “How could you? How could you do it? My poor little animals.”
She sits down on her bed and starts to cry like I haven’t seen her do since she was little. I feel sick to my stomach again. I’m glad I didn’t make her grovel, at least.
“I didn’t mean for them to smash, Cid. Honest. I only meant to make you mad for a bit. I didn’t know you would go crazy and kick the dresser. We can fix them. Here. Give them to me.”
Cid just sits there sobbing, holding the animals delicately in their toilet paper shroud. I take the bundle from her and inspect the damage. The figurines are shattered beyond repair, with only a few horse and sheep heads still intact.
“I’m so sorry, Cid. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Cid doesn’t answer. She falls back on her bed and cries into her pillow. I look over to Queenie for understanding, but she just stares at me, and I can tell by her eyes what she is thinking of me. Ifeel like the biggest creep on the planet and there’s nothing I can do but leave the room in shame. I feel doubly bad because Cid had delivered my papers the way Ma asked.
Suddenly it doesn’t matter that she stole my best shirt and kicked in the bathroom door. It doesn’t matter that she’s a big boss all of the time and drives me crazy. None of these things matter, because what I’ve done can’t be fixed. All I can do is lie in bed and hate myself for the rest of the night.
* * *
I wake up the next morning with an idea in my head. It’s Saturday—only two days before Christmas. But I still have time to right the wrong I did to Cid. I decide to skip breakfast altogether so I can hit the road early. I leave a note on the kitchen table telling Cid and Queenie to go to the barn alone. Then I bundle up, grab my carrier bag and walk across town to the newspaper depot.
The back doors are open at the depot and I can see the papers flying in a giant newsprint ribbon on the machine. The men working inside quickly bind the papers into bundles as they come off the press, thumping them into tall piles at the front of the warehouse. The air smells heavily of greaseand ink. The machines are so loud that the men communicate through gestures and nods. One of them notices me standing by the door. He whistles to another man and points at me. The man walks over to where I’m standing. He’s carrying a clipboard. His hands are stained black with ink.
“Can I help you?” he shouts over the machines.
“I want to pick my papers up early. I don’t want to wait for the truck to drop them off.” I lift my carrier bag to show him that I’m legitimate.
The man gestures toward the stacks of papers. “I got a million papers here, kid. I don’t know which bundle is yours.”
“I need seventy-two. Just tell the driver I picked them up.”
“Which driver?”
“Bill. The old guy. He drives a brown van.”
“You think I know everybody?” He turns as though to walk away.
“Look, it’s just this once. I’ve got to get these papers out before the stores close. Please, mister.” I look at him with my neediest f
ace. I’m not sure if he will budge because he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who budges very often.
“My mom’s sick. I have to get to the store,” I say.
The man stares at me sceptically, then dismisses me with a wave of his clipboard. He rubshis head with his inky hand, then shakes his head. “Wait here.”
He walks over to the piles of newspapers, grabs a couple of bundles and hauls them back to where I’m standing. He drops them heavily at my feet.
“Thanks, mister. My mom will be grateful.”
“Yeah, whatever. Merry Christmas, kid.”
I use my house key to cut the plastic tape that holds the papers together. They feel warm and smell of fresh ink. I shove the papers into my bag, then hurry across the road and back toward my neighbourhood. My “people” are curious and happy that I’m delivering their papers so early—except for Mrs. Geeter, who’s grouchier than ever. She eyes me suspiciously and counts her money several times before giving it to me. But aside from her, pretty much everyone gives me a tip. I’m my most cheerful self, wishing everyone a “Merry Christmas” as I pocket the money. I count 15 dollars in tips alone. That’s almost 5 dollars more than last year. I practically run through my route, finishing in record time. I have to hurry to catch the bus to the next town. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and all the stores will close early.
I race over to the bus station and catch the bus just as it’s pulling out of the station. I hand the driver a 2-dollar bill and he hands it back to me.
“Exact change only.”
I pull out a handful of change from my collection money, then carefully count out the right amount. I throw it in the change box, the coins rattling noisily down its metal throat. The driver shuts the door behind me and steps on the gas, sending me flying before I have a chance to find a seat.
The bus is packed with holiday shoppers and their runny-nosed kids. There are people standing in the aisle, holding the metal rail that runs along the ceiling of the bus. Their faces are sombre, not at all what you would expect for the season. They swing back and forth with the movements of the bus, like meat hanging in a freezer truck. There is one seat free—a window seat next to a big, grumpy-looking woman with bags and boxes at her feet. She sighs as I apologize, stepping over her and into the spot. I could have stood in the aisle too, but I don’t want to look like meat in a freezer truck. I want to look out the window at the decorations and things.
All the houses and shops in town are decorated with lights and ribbons and ornaments. One house even has its door wrapped up to look like a Christmas present. In many of the house windows you can see Christmas trees standingproudly. I feel happy, despite everything that’s happened over the past few days. Then I think about the harness I was going to buy for Smokey with my collection money. That will have to wait now.
The bus leaves our small town behind and careens along country roads for about fifteen minutes. The air is stuffy and hot. The grumpy woman seems to be getting bigger by the minute. Her legs and shoulders are pressing me into the side of the bus. I can hear her breathing heavily beside me. She digs a candy out of her purse, her elbows stabbing me in the ribs. She rustles the wrapper loud and long before finally stuffing the candy in her mouth. I turn my back to her, just slightly, to let her know I’m uncomfortable. She takes the opportunity to take up even more space. I feel like I’m going to die by the time the bus finally pulls up to the mall and opens its doors.
Of course, the grumpy woman waits until everyone is off the bus before she struggles out with her parcels. When I step outside at last, I breathe deeply, taking in the cold fresh air. I see the woman struggling with her things, trying to juggle all the parcels. I watch her for a bit, then offer to get her a shopping cart, even though I justwant to get on with my own shopping. But it’s Christmas, I tell myself. She thanks me profusely, then presses a quarter into my hand like it’s a gold doubloon. I think of something smart to say, but just wish her a merry Christmas instead and light out for the stores before she asks me to push the cart for her or something.
The mall is packed with people. Holiday music blares over the sound system as bodies struggle to move from store to store. I am swept up in the stream, merging with the rest of the shoppers. When I reach the jewellery store, I break out of the flow. The store is lit up like a doctor’s office with shining glass displays and women who look like mannequins behind the counters. There are mostly men in the store, buying rings and things for their girlfriends and wives. A young woman with too much makeup and straight black hair to her waist smiles at me.
“Can I help you find something?”
“I’m looking for glass figurines.”
She motions me to the back wall of the store and points to a display of Royal Doulton figures. There are shelves and shelves of pretty young women in expensive Victorian dresses doing everything from gazing at birds to swinging on swings. I shake my head.
“I’m looking for figurines of animals. Horses and sheep and such.”
The woman thinks for a minute, then reaches below one of the counters.
“We have these.”
She holds up a tiny white glass greyhound with three tiny white greyhound puppies strapped together with a fine gold chain.
“Is that all you have?”
The woman nods.
“How much is it?”
She checks the small tag on the bottom of the figurine. “Twenty-five dollars.”
“What?!”
Ma would deck me if she heard me respond like this, but I can’t help it. Twenty-five dollars is more than I’ve got. And it’s not even what I wanted to buy for Cid. I was hoping to come home with several horses and things that she liked, not a bunch of prissy greyhounds tied together with a fancy chain.
“Would you like to think about it?” the woman asks me.
“Yes. I’m going to look around a bit. I really had my heart set on a horse.”
I move from store to store, manoeuvring through the holiday shoppers. I’ve become as desperate as the rest of them. The stores are practically empty, the best things already sold and gone. The horses and sheep that I do manage to find are too big and too expensive.
After an hour and a half of searching, I’m ready to give up. I’ve checked every store in the mall. At the last minute, I drop into a card shop—just in case. The store isn’t as busy as the rest. A white-haired woman arranges candles in one of the aisles. I scan the store quickly and decide there’s nothing for me. Great. I’m done. I’ll never find anything for Cid. Then I catch a glimpse of a tiny wicker basket on one of the glass shelves. I look inside the basket and discover a small porcelain fawn curled up with a tiny blanket as though sleeping. The basket with the fawn is so small it fits neatly in the palm of my hand. I don’t even check the price but bring it up to the counter, where the white-haired lady rings it in.
“Eight fifty-nine.”
I count out the money exactly and hand it to the woman. “Do you have a small box?”
“I have some tissue paper. Will that do?”
I walk out of the store with the fawn wrapped in tissue paper in a small brown bag. I’m so happy I found it, and happier still that I have enough money left over to buy the presents I want to getfor Queenie and Ma. I’ve been planning all along to buy both the black and silver hoof polish for Queenie. And Ma will get bath salts like every year, but I have enough money to buy her some nice soap and maybe a candle to go with it.
I see the bus pulling up to the stop so I run to catch it. I jostle with the other people, this time taking an aisle seat. It’s dark now and there’s nothing to see anyway. I’m so excited about the fawn that the bus ride goes by quickly. When we get back to town, the snow is falling again in big white flakes that dance in the light from the street lamps. I walk home slowly, enjoying the night, my newspaper bag still slung over my shoulder and resting against my thigh.
Walking in the snow like this reminds me of the time that Dad saved Christmas. He used to do all kinds of things
to amaze us, like light his hands on fire without getting burned, or peel the layers from a golf ball so we could play with the rubber ball inside. But the most amazing thing he ever did was make it snow one Christmas Eve. We were really little. We told Dad we wanted snow. He called the weatherman to tell him he had three kids who wanted a white Christmas, and when we woke up the next day, the ground was covered in a deep blanket of white. Wethought Dad had arranged it. We thought it was a miracle….
I stop at a red light and stand at the very edge of the curb, my tongue stuck out to catch snowflakes. I catch one, the flake cold against my tongue for just a second before it melts. The light turns green and I walk across the street to the alley that shortcuts to home. The alley is a dark tunnel. The garbage bags and cans are capped with snow. In the street at the very end of the tunnel, a red stop light blinks. I’m looking at the light when suddenly I see a silver Pontiac Parisienne zip across the opening like a giant phantom fish.
I know it’s my dad.
chapter 14
a slippery silver fish
I run down the alley as fast as I can. I have to catch that silver fish and see for myself who’s inside. The ground is slippery and I slide all the way along the dark tunnel. When I burst onto the street, I can see the car idling at the intersection. I run towards it, yelling at the top of my lungs.
“Hey! Hey! Wait!”
The car starts to pull away just as I reach the corner. I can’t make him out but I’m pretty sure it’s Dad. I haven’t laid eyes on him in years but I would recognize him anywhere. There’s a blonde woman sitting next to him and a small child in the back seat. They’re laughing about something and don’t notice me running and yelling after them.
“Hey, wait!” I shout, but the silver fish darts across the street. I make a snowball and whip it at the car. “Come back!” The snowball arcs smoothly, falling just behind the car. I throw another and another, running recklessly into the intersection. A car skids to a stop beside me, the driver cursing as I stumble past.
