Going Down Swinging

by Billie Livingston

“Oh,” and she got quiet a second. “I’m calling because I wanted to tell you that I saved up some money and I’m going to come back to Toronto for a little while. Day after tomorrow. Maybe we could go to the zoo or something, like you said in your letter. Or maybe we could go to the museum and look at the dinosaurs. And no, I’m not mad at Mum. Your letter sounded all worried.”

  I looked at Mum heaped in the sheets. The two of them together. If I could just have them separate. “Um, where will you stay when you come?” I felt guilty or more like mad, I guess, at my dad for making us move so we didn’t have Charlie’s room any more.

  “Well, I don’t know. Your place is pretty small now, eh? I think I might stay at a friend’s place.”

  “OK. But you’re going to phone right as soon as you come, though, right?”

  “Of course, baby. I miss you so much.” Her voice went funny and she took a breath for a second. “Well … um … can Mum come to the phone?”

  “Mmm, she’s sleeping.”

  “OK, well, you can tell her, I guess. So, uh, so then I’ll see you. Wednesday, OK?”

  “OK.” Mum looked practically dead. I whispered “I love you” to Charlie.

  “Oh.” Her voice went warbly. “I love you too, baby. So much. OK? I have to go now.”

  On Wednesday afternoon, Charlie showed up full of piss and vinegar. She was excited since we talked on the phone because of her plan to come help Mum and help me clean up the house a bit. Mum was still in bed, but she was talking more now and eating. They seemed OK so far, no fighting: hugs and kisses, and kind of mushy. Except for when Mum said that Charlie’s jeans were so tight they were crawling up her arse. Charlie looked like she wanted to leave almost. She changed the subject to how messy the house was and said we’d have to scour it from head to toe. I nodded. Mum reminded Charlie that she was sick, so she couldn’t help it being messy.

  Charlie was all weird like a super-peppy maid or something, and she wasn’t there an hour before she had the kitchen floor all swept and me filling buckets, hunting for a mop and cloths, going to the store for Dutch Cleanser and Mr. Muscle. When the floor was done she started on the dishes, then changed her mind and opened the fridge. “Maybe we should take a break and have a sandwich or something.” She leaned in and her fingers went squeamy from everything they touched. “Grace, there’s nothing in the fridge but mouldy old crap! God. What’ve—The milk is sour, it’s two weeks out of date.” She handed me the bottle and I dumped the lumps down the sink. “What have you been eating?”

  “I don’t know, hot dogs or fried egg sandwich sometimes, or there’s cinnamon, I make cinnamon toast and I know how to make french toast now, you know, and—there was other milk, it’s just that I finished it, and there was other stuff, there’s Dad’s oatmeal cookies, and maybe some Dr Pepper left from last night and apples. And bread, I think.”

  She took the bread off the top of the refrigerator. “Grace! It’s mouldy, look at the crust, it’s blue!”

  “Well, some of it’s still good. At the front slices and the back ones you can cut that stuff off—and there’s wieners in the freezer. And relish and ketchup. And canned something—Mum was trying to get me to eat those Bing cherries in the can, but I don’t like them. Anyway, sometimes we just order pizza.”

  Shadow skidded into the kitchen, playing with a cork, slapped it into Charlie’s foot and crashed into the brown paper bag she’d set up for garbage beside the fridge. Charlie grabbed the cork off the floor, looked at the tip, all pink from wine, and threw it in the bag. She hucked the bread in after it and wiped her hand hard off her forehead. I picked Shadow up off the floor and held him a second; the room was sticky-hot. “It’s OK, I can go to the store. I just forgot. Plus it’s almost time to get cat food.”

  Charlie swooped past me into the middle room. She stood over Mum with her hands on her hips and said in a nicey-nice voice, “Are you ever going to get out of this bed and try looking after Grace or are you just going to lie there until she starves to death?”

  Mum’s eyes flicked open. “What are you talking about?”

  Charlie grabbed an empty bag off the floor and crumpled it up. “Nothing.”

  “No—what did you just say?” Mum’s voice was coiling up like a mad snake.

  Charlie chucked the bag on the dresser. “You! You should be charged with neglect, that’s what—goddamn house is a pigsty, place smells like cat piss, there’s no food in the fridge—not even milk. What the fuck is she living on?—wieners and chocolate bars? Do you give a shit about anything in this world but men and booze!”

  Mum struggled her head off the pillows. “Look who’s talking! Grace is fine, no thanks to you. Coming and going whenever you damn well please—why don’t you just stay the hell away so she doesn’t end up crying for a month because you fucked off again. She’s healthy and fine now and I don’t need you barging in here trying to run the show. Person can’t even be sick in their own home. Nobody asked you to come here, so why don’t you just get the hell out of my house.”

  “Christ you’re a bitch—kid’s seven years old and she’s looking after herself while you—”

  “Get out! I want you out of my house before I damn well kill you. I swear to Jesus, I’ll kill you!”

  Charlie’s face went white. “Grace! Grace, go get the knives.”

  I was in the doorway between them and the kitchen. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Grace, do what I say.” Charlie looked crazy-scared.

  Mum hollered over her, telling her not to order me around and to get out of the house before she had to get carried out. Charlie screamed louder, “I hate your guts—you should be locked up! Grace! get the knives, get all the knives and scissors out of the drawers and hide them in the backyard.”

  I didn’t move. Charlie backed away from the bed. I couldn’t believe either of them. I mostly couldn’t believe anyone believed Mum’s killer threats. She could hardly make it to the bathroom, never mind stab someone. I tried to explain. “But Charlie—”

  Mum dragged her back up off the bed, her chest crumpled forward on her thighs, until she got up the strength to dump her feet over onto the floor. Charlie screeched, “Grace, get the knives!” and she chased me back to the kitchen. Mum’s voice came after us. “Get out of my house. I mean it and if you touch one hair on that kid, I’ll kill you.”

  My sister yanked open the silverware drawer and started pulling dirty knives out of the sink, shaking and stuttering, “Where’s the scissors?” I shrugged. “Well, where’s a dishtowel?”

  I grabbed one off the counter and she wrapped all the sharp stuff she could find in it, handed them over and said, “Here! Go. Take them out back and bury them.”

  I took them from her, trying to move faster so she wouldn’t get mad.

  Bury them? I walked out into the long grass in our backyard; the cherry tree took up most of it. I could hear their screams going over each other in the house and I dropped the stuff in the grass and sat down. There was a butter knife, a couple paring ones, ones with edges for cutting meat and the scissors—the scissors that were too dull to get through the cardboard in the back of Mum’s pantyhose packages. I wondered if Mum even got off the bed yet. I pushed myself up and kicked through the grass to the back door.

  The place was quiet. Shadow was hiding behind the kitchen door and Mum was sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands and her back shaking from crying inside. I could see the open front door from where I was, so I creeped back out and around the side of the house.

  Charlie was out front, sitting on the broken old fence that separated our place from the sidewalk. Streetcars rattled past us. She jumped when I touched her arm, and her face was red and clenched up. “Can you please go back in the house and get my leather jacket and my bag.” I nodded and walked up the porch steps.

  Mum’s feet were still at the side of her bed; she said my sisters name before looking in the front room at me. Then asked me if Charlie left. I said yeah, that I was just get
ting her stuff. So she croaked, “Yeah, well you tell her—Nothing, don’t tell her anything. And don’t you go anywhere with her either!”

  “I’m not. Leave me alone.”

  “Hey … watch yourself.”

  I went back out the front door to Charlie, handed her her stuff and sat down on the fence. I didn’t know what to do, so I held her hand and squeezed it to keep from crying. “I’m sorry about not changing the cat-pissy litter box. Do you have to go back to Vancouver?”

  She made a weird smile and pressed her fingers against her eyes and held that way a few seconds. I looked at her lipstick. It was practically the same as Mum’s. Or maybe she was just tall like Mum so stuff only seemed like Mum. Really they didn’t even look the same—Mum didn’t have big deer-eyes or hair like a horse mane. Maybe it was just that they said my name the same way, it melted out of their mouths like warm chocolate—not like my dad or other people who ever lived with us. And we were holding each other right now and I could crawl inside Charlie the way I could Mum. Charlie wasn’t drunk or sick and she wasn’t crying, like normal. She was something else. I looked at her jeans tucked into her big black boots that my dad got her when we were still all together. She looked like she could kick the crap out of someone with those boots. Like she could bleed and smile.

  She said, “Yeah soon, I guess. I have a couple friends I know here that I’m going to visit. … We could still go to the zoo or something.”

  “I’m not allowed.”

  She shook her head and laughed sort of clunky. “Oh yeah. Perfect. What the hell. Wh—OK, well I guess I better go. I’m sorry, baby. I’m really … sorry. That you’re still here in this.”

  “It’s OK, you know, she’s just in a bad mood and she has the flu and plus Daddy moved us down here and she really hates it so she’s not feeling good. And plus, me not changing the litter box and everything. You just caught us at a bad time.”

  Charlie laughed again and folded her leather coat over her arm to go. I felt bad for her, having to carry a coat in that heat.

  HOFFMAN, Anne Eilleen

  7.7.73 (L. Barrington) Received letter from CPA Vancouver regarding Eilleen Hoffman and the welfare of daughter Grace, born 11.24.65. The letter was sent by Lilly Darling, case worker of Mrs. Hoffman’s older daughter, Charlotte (in care since 1970), who has had a roller coaster relationship with her mother over the last several years. After a recent trip to visit her family, Charlotte returned deeply concerned over the well-being of her younger sister.

  7.9.73 (L. Barrington) After several failed attempts to contact Eilleen Hoffman by phone, I went to the residence for a home visit. There was no answer at the door and a neighbour from the other side of the property (dwelling is a side-by-side duplex) came out. I informed her of my purpose there. Neighbour is Arlene Kensit, 1418 Gerrard St. E. Her daughter apparently plays with Grace Hoffman. Mrs. Kensit informed me that she wx was not surprised, that it was “only a matter of time before the Child Protection got involved.” She told me that Mrs. Hoffman wasn’t much for looking after Grace, that the child is often unkempt-looking, face dirty, uncombed hair, T-shirt on backwards. She told me that various men come and go from Mrs. Hoffman’s home at all hours of the night and confirmed that Mrs. Hoffman is an alcoholic and often bedridden by her frequent “benders.” She recalled a day when Mr. Hoffman, who owns the property, came by to pick up Grace. Mrs. Hoffman had company, two men with whom she was drinking on the porch. Mr. Hoffman tried to come up the stairs and Mrs. Hoffman slurred out that her rights as a tenant stated that the landlord would have to give her 24 hours notice before appearing on the property. Mr. Hoffman said he wanted his child. Mrs. Hoffman told him that Grace wasn’t home and as he tried to climb the stairs, one of Mrs. Hoffman’s companions pushed him back down. Mr. Hoffman left saying he’d be back.

  Incidents such as these can only be damaging to a child. Apparently, Grace was not there to witness this as she was playing out back with the Kensits’ daughter, Pearl. But Mrs. Kensit says she has already seen evidence that Grace is becoming “messed up.” She told me of seeing Grace tie her cat to a skipping rope and swing him round and round out back. This went on for a considerable length of time until Mrs. Kensit went to knock on Mrs. Hoffman’s door. There was no answer and Mrs. Kensit again expressed concern over the lack of supervision with Grace. Mrs. Kensit also mentioned an incident where Grace pushed another child down on the sidewalk. At this point in the interview, the Kensits’ daughter Pearl came outside and interjected that Grace was retaliating over a name the other child had called her. Nevertheless, I feel these incidents speak of maladjusted aggressive behaviour, common in children of severe alcoholics and/or children in violent family situations. Will attempt another home visit tomorrow.

  7.10.93 (L. Barrington) Knocked at Hoffman’s door at 9 a.m. to no avail. Returned at 11 a.m., knocked louder, calling Mrs. Hoffman’s name. This time, daughter, Grace, answered the door in her pyjamas. She seemed to be very protective of her situation and closed the door to get permission to allow me in. Mrs. Hoffman was in a nightgown still and asked me to wait outside until she was dressed. I had the distinct impression that this is some sort of game Mrs. Hoffman plays with those she perceives as authority figures.

  When finally allowed into the home, I was shocked to see the disarray —the kitchen mess, the floor filthy, a litter box that must not have been changed in weeks. The bathroom seemed to be a part of the kitchen although curtained off —can’t imagine that this is legal with respect to health regulations. Living-room floor covered in crumbs am and dirt. Mrs. Hoffman obviously is in no shape to care for a child in her state. She seemed to be hungover, the previous night’s makeup still half on, breath sour.

  The child was very reluctant to leave her mother in order that Mrs. Hoffman and I might talk alone. Both mother and child seem very anxious and protective of each other. I spoke at length with Mrs. Hoffman about the complaint received by CPA and her current situation. The idea of putting Grace into care while she received help seemed to be disastrous to her. She sounded somewhat dependent on Grace, who found several excuses to come back in and eavesdrop in the half-hour I was there.

  Mrs. Hoffman has been in and out of AA and claims recent illness to have kept her from meetings lately. She agreed to begin attendance right away if we found her transport. I insisted on the importance of removing Grace from this situation until we could get the house back into shape and her mother into some sort of detox program. We settled on the idea of my contacting Mr. Hoffman regarding Grace’s care and Mrs. Hoffman seemed to have no problem with his involvement whatsoever.

  7.11.73 (L. Barrington) Met with Daniel Hoffman today, Grace’s father. He was tidy and well-dressed, his manner quite congenial and aple apologetic regarding his wife’s condition. He said he would have her in a detox program immediately but that he would not be able to keep Grace in his apartment as it is too small and he will be away on business as of this Sunday. He has suggested Gloria Carnegie of 337 Greenwood Ave., who is his first wife, and apparently a good friend of Mrs. Hoffman’s as well. Gloria Carnegie is single with one son and is quite fond of Grace. Mr. Hoffman will be making arrangements as soon as possible to have Grace stay there. Spoke with Eilleen Hoffman. She is comfortable with this arrangement.

  7.12.73 (L. Barrington) Spoke with Mr. Hoffman again today. Grace is now staying with Gloria Carnegie and Mr. Hoffman has contacted a treatment facility where Eilleen Hoffman can be admitted this week. Assuming the situation improves before summer’s end, Grace’s schooling shouldn’t be an issue.

  7.14.73 (L. Barrington) Made arrangements yesterday with the chairman of the Gerrard East Group, an AA group that meets every Tuesday and Thursday night. A member will be picking up Eilleen Hoffman tonight to take her to the meeting. Spoke with Mr. Hoffman today. Grace is well and happy at his former wife’s home. There are apparently many children her age in the area. Will contact Gloria Carnegie tomorrow to check situation.

  7.17.73 (L. Barrington) M
et with Miss Carnegie today. House was very clean and bright on a nice tree-lined street with many children about. Miss Carnegie herself was very clean and bright though a bit hard-edged and with a distinct cynicism regarding Daniel Hoffman’s involvement in Grace’s care and well-being. She told me that Mr. Hoffman dropped Grace off the other day without so much as a word about when he’d be returning or even staying a while to make sure she was okay. He brought next to nothing in terms of clothing: one extra outfit in a paper bag and a teddy bear. Miss Carnegie went shopping for Grace the following day and called Mr. Hoffman after the fact to ask for reimbursement. He apparently showed up the next day with cash for her, and, as she put it, “He barely said a word to Grace, didn’t sit down with her, didn’t so much as take her for an ice cream.” She added that this incident has caused her to lose all respect for Mr. Hoffman. What Mrs. Hoffman lacks in cleanliness, she said, “she makes up for in love of that kid.” Miss Carnegie is, indeed, quite fond of Grace.

  Eilleen Three

  JULY/AUGUST 1973

  NODDING AND NODDING to yourself, pacing around the house, thinking and making shaggy zigs and zags, trying it out in negative then positive, blueprints and tooth-crushing nothing—Here’s the thing—the thing is, is, they’re going to keep your kid if you don’t do something. That’s all there is to it. They’ve got her, but at least they’ve got her where you want her, where you can find her, just can’t go near her that’s all. Gloria’s got Grace. Say that a few times to calm your guts. Gloria’s got Grace. Sounds almost pretty almost.

  Had to be Charlie, Charlie called them—who else would’ve? —mean-hearted bitch. Fuck-fuck-fuck. Charlie came, Charlie saw, Charlie phoned. Phoned the fucking Child Protection. How could she, how could anyone do that to you? Why didn’t she just go rip the belly out of the sky and let it all drain white. Doesn’t have to now, she’s done it to you—you are the symbolic sacrifice to all her demons. They showed up at your door—Well, one did, just one of them came to the house. Wretched old bat showed up first thing; eleven Monday morning. And you and Grace were still asleep. That really got her. She came bustling in, that barn-door arse of hers bursting at the seams, said she was Mrs. Barrington from Child Protection, that she just wanted to have a look around, which she did and immediately set about risking and fuming, saying things like dreadful and hmm and This isn’t good, Mrs. Hoffman, this is just no good.