Both of Me

by Jonathan Friesen

  “But you did say you could. We agreed on a price for a working aircraft. So let’s see those parts you are going to put on her.”

  Kirby removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Thinkin’ more on it now, time gone by and all, I can’t quite recall their exact location.”

  “So the plane doesn’t work . . .”

  Kirby furrowed his brows. “Well, maybe we can come down a bit on that price.”

  I sighed. “Jolly well time —”

  “No, sir.” Elias interrupted. “I took you as a man of your word. I want my functioning aircraft.”

  “Persistent kid, aren’t ya? You remind me of my own. Listen, son. Maybe I let my enthusiasm tilt the truth a little. Here’s the honest of it. The vert stabilizer and the rudder are smashed to bits. There, I done said it.”

  Elias folded his arms. “I needed those. I trusted you. It’ll cost me tens of thousands for those parts alone. We shook on it . . .”

  And in that moment, Elias’s insanity turned to brilliance.

  “And a handshake seals the deal,” I added.

  Elias nodded. “It should, so I don’t feel right going back on you. I tell you what, I will let you sell it to me, with all the parts but those two, for forty thousand.”

  I dashed inside the shop, grabbed Kirby’s handshake sign, and returned to Elias’s side. Kirby read his own undoing, glared at me, and faced Elias with a sigh.

  “And as long I’m bein’ completely above board, I haven’t seen the other wing or its flaps for some time. Not the propeller either.”

  “Hmm. Well, I wish I knew that earlier.” Elias winced and shook his head. “That wing plus flaps? Even used, an easy twenty grand. Five grand for the propeller. Five more to patch the fuselage. I really shouldn’t be so generous, but if I subtract those items?”

  “Elias, you did shake on it,” I said.

  “You’re right. It wouldn’t be right to go back on a deal.” He turned to Kirby. “Okay, I’ll do it. You may sell it to me for ten thousand.”

  My, but Kirby was red-faced. “Nose wheel! Top of the engine cowl! Both elevators! But that’s all that’s gone. The engine is solid, all there.”

  “Great.” Elias turned to me. “Clara, allowing for those pieces, it looks like we owe Mr. Kirby one thousand dollars for this functioning piece of aeronautical machinery. But I was also looking at that steel-framed trailer out back. What do you want for it?”

  Kirby’s foot began a furious tap, and his jaw muscles bulged and loosed.

  “Oh, shoot. A hundred bucks for the trailer and get yourself gone. And don’t think me or mine’ll help you move either piece of trash.”

  Kirby spun, paused, and looked back over his shoulder. He offered me a quick nod, his eyes twinkling.

  I walked up to Elias. “Impressive.”

  “Yeah, only if we can get this secured on the trailer. I need you to go into the next town and find some help. Big guys. I’ll need a bunch of them.”

  “You’re asking me to leave you. What if . . .”

  He gently took my face in his hands, held it softly. “I’m solid.”

  “Solid. Right. I’ll be back soon.”

  SALEM

  Unincorporated town

  I sped into town, swung a sharp right on Antioch Road, and came to a complete stop. A Citgo, two vacant buildings, a row of homes, and that was it.

  “Hardly the metropolis.”

  I eased forward, looking for where blokes might congregate. Finding boys had not been a problem this last year. Extracting myself had. But now the fluttering feeling I had for Elias made my concerns irrelevant. I needed lads. Lots of them.

  Elias could already have slipped back beyond my reach, and if he did, he would not hesitate to set out alone.

  I pulled into the Thrift Trip car park and hurried to the door. I shoved, but it wouldn’t give. Three shoves later, the neon open sign still mocked me, and I pounded on the window.

  “Push a little!” a voice muffled out from inside.

  I’m trying, you daft idiot!

  The door flew open and a man stood in my path. Thin, gaunt — not the type I was seeking.

  “I need to find some men.”

  His eyes roamed me uncomfortably up and down. “Don’t think that’ll be too hard.”

  “Can you tell me where I should look?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  He pointed toward the door, and gestured beyond and to the left. “Siebert’s Pub. I’m thinking you’ll find what you’re lookin’ for.”

  “Guys?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I forced my way out the door and drove across the street. He was right.

  Blasted boys spilled out of the pub, a beautiful cream-coloured two-story with white fencing and a large porch fronting Antioch. They joked and jostled, beer in one hand, trouble in the other, and I felt a pang of worry.

  These were the scenes to avoid, the places to turn and flee. I knew this. I’d experienced it. But there was no choice. Elias gave me no choice.

  I zipped into the park and exited the car. A group of twenty blokes gathered on the porch.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “I need a favour.”

  It took five seconds for the porch to empty and the circle to reform around my Fiat.

  “Favours.” A voice cawed, dark and ugly. “I’m good at favours.”

  “Why you?” Another laughed.

  “I’m just sayin’, the girl needs something, and I’m the one to give it to her.”

  And just like that, I was in the middle of a small riot. Normally, I’d have watched it play out, but I hadn’t the time.

  “Don’t you want to hear what I need?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “I need the strongest of you. I bought an aeroplane, and I need it hoisted onto a trailer of sorts.”

  “A plane?” The loudest of the lot stepped forward, held out his beer, and when I shook my head, took another swig. “You bought that old pile a junk plane near Emerald Grove? Where you gonna fly to, girl? Why leave so soon?”

  “Is there anybody else other than this inebriated cabbage who might feel inclined to do a kind thing?”

  The majority fell into a confused silence, but not the blowhard. “What was those words you said? Was that some type of insult?”

  I pushed by him and out of the ring, and marched straight into the pub. The age of those collapsed over the bar put me at ease.

  “Excuse me!” I raised a chair and let it thud to the floor. “I need a hand moving an aeroplane, and those boys outside don’t seem too interested in helping.”

  “Yeah, well, they don’t mean much harm. This town doesn’t give ’em much to do. Exceptin’ the obvious.” The voice came from above, and I walked to the stairs and climbed.

  I stopped on the second floor, face to face with normal. A normal man, wearing a sensible shirt, sensible jeans, and sporting a sensible attitude.

  He glanced at me with a safe glance. “Now that I look at you, I see the problem. I’m Haller, by the way, proud owner of the quieter establishment next store.”

  I peeked out the window. “Chubby’s Pizza?”

  “No, no.” He smiled. “Look past that. The Ranch Sweet Shop and U-Haul.”

  I wandered by him. “And this place up here?”

  “The old boarder house. Back in the day, the train depot was below and folks’d stay the night up here. Still can.” He smiled. “If you can get by the wanderers below. There’s nothing else in Salem left of what was. An abandoned jail. An old silo. But the rest is gone.”

  “Haller, I really do need moving help.”

  “Probably won’t find it in this town. Not now.”

  “Then I need to get back.” I hurried down the stairs, and out into the thick of competition. The lot of them had set up picnic tables, with the loud mouth locked in an arm wrestling battle with a larger lad.

  “Hey! England girl!” The cabbage winced and grunted.
“You want to know who’s the strongest?”

  I didn’t slow. I hopped into my car and gunned the engine. The crowd parted, and I squealed back down the road, saw the Sweet Shop, and screeched into the turnaround. I had to reach Elias quickly, but my nerves placed me in no condition to help, I was starving for moments with a rational mate.

  I grabbed my computer and my uplink. I needed FFA.

  Help Support Children of Incarcerated Parents

  500 Days of Wandering, 500 Days of Hope

  Day 246

  Still in Wisconsin. Somewhat desperate. I need to find help rather quickly. Keep me in your thoughts. I’m losing time, and I never know how much time he has. He fades in and out, and when I last saw him, he was solid, but that could change in an instant. Last time I slept through him. We passed in my dreams, and when I woke, he was gone. Now, I’m in another town, and I don’t know what to do. It’s just a stupid aeroplane. This makes no sense. I know. But nothing does anymore.

  Send.

  FFA: Marna is ill.

  Me: She often is. Fevers and the sort. Wait, how do you know the state of my sibs?

  Me: Hello? I demand an answer!

  FFA: Very ill.

  I took a deep breath.

  Me: Go on . . .

  FFA: I stopped in yesterday.

  Me: You have just crossed a line about which we have never spoken!! You know where I live? How long have you known??

  FFA: I’m on Upper Marbury. You’re on Lower. But that doesn’t matter. Marna is ill.

  Me: Never write me again!!!!

  I’d never raged at FFA before — he alone had been my constant friend across five continents. Try as I might, I couldn’t hate him now, even after his intrusion. Somehow, he had become . . . necessary.

  I stared at my blinking cursor. He wasn’t writing. I couldn’t bear it.

  Me: Listen, she just needs rest. She’ll scam out of a school for a few weeks, and then she’ll look almost human. She’ll return to classes and her teachers will rip into her. Everything will be set to rights. She doesn’t need you. Dad can handle it.

  FFA: Marna won’t stop crying, at least yesterday. Is it always like that?

  Me: I said she doesn’t need you! Stay away from my family. And if you tell my dad where I am, I will fly home and strangle you.

  FFA: I just thought you might want to know . . . If I’m honest, it’s not the first time I’ve stopped in. Your dad, your sibs — Clara, it’s a mess. You might want to come . . .

  I slammed shut my computer and stepped out of the car. Upper Marbury? So he was wealthy. Sure, he lived in London, just not my London. Upper Marbury was home to spacious gardens and fancy boutiques, and at least one do-gooder. FFA probably was assigned charity work in school, and Lower Marbury was a great place to find the desperate.

  Marna’s ill. I need to be there. I could be in twelve hours. I could be wiping her brow with a damp face towel the way I had for Mum. All I’d have to do is leave Elias.

  “England girl!” A cabbagy voice, ugly and familiar from down the street.

  “Everyone, just sod off and leave me alone!”

  There had to be somewhere in this town to think.

  I strode fast and strong and angry through the streets of Salem, my new country. Thoughts entered, slipped free, and new thoughts took their place: thoughts of a lurking lad who looked after my family and a sister lying in a bed and never getting up.

  Ahead was the silo and the prison, and my legs carried me to the latter. A one-room cinder-block building with curved roof and wooden doors. Bars still filled the two small windows, and I peeked into the blackness and ducked inside.

  It, too, was filled with junk, and so seemed a suitable spot for me. I stepped over a wheelbarrow and crawled to the back of the dank and dark and spidery room, where I plunked in the corner, drawing my knees up to my face.

  What was Dad doing? He certainly wouldn’t know how to care for Marna. I alone had seen her through her illnesses. Now that Dad and FFA were besties, they probably played cards while Marna coughed up a lung.

  And I rocked, and swore, and rocked until no more words came.

  Afternoon turned to evening and then to night.

  Through the small window, stars came out, maybe the same ones Mum watched from the other side and Dad saw from London.

  Marna or Elias. What do I do?

  I hummed the lullaby Dad used to hum, and felt my mobile vibrate.

  Clara, I need u. Been using Drew’s car a lot for lots of things, u know? He always put on the brakes, until last night. Nobody here to talk to. I need you. Come back. K.

  I stared at Kira’s text. Flippin’ everybody needed me, and no matter who I helped, I would be letting others down. Marna. FFA. Now Kira.

  Real people with real problems.

  I was still stuck in Wonderland.

  CHAPTER 15

  I have just spent an entire night in prison! On purpose . . . I have decisions to make . . .”

  I slammed shut the door to the sweet shop and stared at Haller. He took off his glasses and set them on the counter.

  “So that’s where you went. It’s a rough old jailhouse.” He shook his head. “Your crime must have been heinous.”

  I squinted, shielding the sunlight with my hand. “Which crime? The long-ago one? The best friend one? The sister one? What if she doesn’t recover? How could I lose another? Then there’s the Elias issue.”

  “I’m not sure of all your offenses, but I do know even prisoners get hungry and thirsty. I can take care of that.” He straightened. “Besides, sure sounds like your thoughts have been punishment enough.”

  I’d actually done precious little thinking over the past day. I was too busy feeling, feeling as I hadn’t allowed myself to for months. Most criminals leave prison harder, tougher, but this abandoned jail had the opposite effect on me.

  Haller gathered an assortment of chocolates and boiled sweets while I looked around the place.

  It was cluttered inside, but cluttered in a manicured fashion. A red-and-white tablecloth hung smartly over a small table; behind it, plants and shelving and stuffed animals lined the walls. The Abominable Bumble from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer guarded the calendar, and straight ahead was the most charming little ice cream shop/soda fountain I had seen.

  “All hand-dipped in the back, mind you. You’ll not find a better chocolate, and you look like you could use a few.”

  I stared at myself in the mirror. In the days since my arrival in Minnesota, I had narrowed, stretched.

  I looked like Mum.

  “Here you are.” He rounded the corner of the counter and lay out a row of candies. “An assortment of ten, no cost to you.” We sat at the table and I devoured the chocolates. “Where you from?”

  “London.”

  “Can’t say as I remember a Londoner in these parts.”

  I continued stuffing. “It’s a peculiar story. This is Salem, right?”

  “Technically. But like I said, this is only a remnant of Salem. The heart of it has died. The bustle. The railroad. Gone. Not many who remember what was.” Haller rubbed the stubble on his face. “So what’s this about an airplane?”

  Elias.

  “Blast, I should probably check on the lad . . . I need to go.” I pushed back from the table.

  “You’re sure free to leave. I just can’t help wondering what’s gotten a girl like you in such a confusion.”

  I pause. “Have you ever run from reality? Have you ever run because reality was too much, too suffocating, too . . . just too? And then you find a fiction. And the fiction feels more real than the real ever did. Have you ever felt like that?”

  Haller took a deep breath. “No. No, I can’t say as I have. I do know that fiction . . .” He picked up an empty chocolate wrapper and tossed it into the trash. “It eventually becomes a mighty poor substitute for what’s real.” He popped the last chocolate into his mouth.

  “I really can’t stay any longer,” I said.

&
nbsp; “Off to it. Find your fiction.” Haller pointed to a picture on the wall, his eyes wistful. A woman. His love, I was sure of it. “Sometimes fiction is all you’ve got, and however long they stay, well, who am I to provide counsel on reality. Does this fiction warm your heart? Does he make you feel alive?”

  I paused. “Half the time.”

  “And the other half?”

  “I’m using him to try and get information I want.”

  He sighed. “Not so foreign after all. Young lady, as we say ’round here, looks like you’re in a heap a mud.”

  “A heap of mud,” I repeated, pushing back from the table. “My heap is waiting.”

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of the Antique Barn. The plane was gone, the property silent.

  “Elias!”

  I burst through the door, noted the “handshake” sign glued and returned to its original place. “Elias!”

  I ran around back. “Mr. Kirby? Elias?”

  It’s been too many hours.

  “Follow the path, young lady!” A husky voice came from the woods.

  I veered down the dirt road and into a shack, and there stood Elias and Kirby, with the aeroplane resting on the trailer; Elias’s face one big grin.

  “I was hoping you’d come back soon. I’ve done all I can with parts from the shop.” Elias hopped down off a wing. “We owe Mr. Kirby another two hundred. Sorry, we shook on it, so it’s a done deal.”

  I stared at the plane, patched and fixed to the trailer. It had a fresh coat of paint, and for a one-winged craft, it was actually rather beautiful.

  “But how did you . . .”

  “Turns out Mr. Kirby is quite a guy. Comes from a family of ten.”

  “A mighty strong ten.” Kirby straightened. “Ah, shoot, your boy won me over. Nobody can call me unreasonable, and watchin’ him slave alone? Well, the whole brood pitched in to move the thing.”

  “Clara, there’s something you need to see.”

  Elias took my hand and led me toward the back of the fuselage. “I told Mr. Kirby that Bessy sounded too bovine. I needed something wild and free. He hand-painted it.”