Going Down Swinging

by Billie Livingston

  I swallowed, “Yeah, but Mummy—”

  “Mummy nothin’. Goddamn prick. Ten bucks. From now on you tell me if he calls here. I don’t want you alone with him, and if he ever comes to your school, you don’t go anywhere with him.”

  I kept stuffing my face. “Why not? He’s my father,” and she said nothing. “Mum!”

  “Because. I said so.”

  “Why!”

  “Because he might just grab you—that’s why. Kidnap you and take you back to Toronto. You think you’re so smart but that kind of stuff happens, you know, men stealing kids from their mother and nobody hears from them again.” She reached for the wine and knocked a bottle of aspirin on the floor.

  “He is not going to grab me. He didn’t even hug me. He can’t just grab me—I could escape! Nobody can just grab. You’re being goofy.” I scooped the rest of the rice up in my fingers, dropping some down my shirt and on the bed.

  “I mean it, Grace, I mean it. I’m telling you, if I ever lost you, if you ever disappeared, if anything ever happened, I’d die. I. Would. Die,” and her eyes welled up. “Just please do what I say and don’t be a smartass … please.” She hugged the side of her pillow. I finished the rest of the plate.

  The buzzer went. It was Doreen. Again. I didn’t want her here. “Mum’s just sleeping right now.”

  “Yeah, sweetheart____” (static scratched through half of what she said) “____OK, so I just gotta come up for a sec.” I wiped my mouth and thought a second, then buzzed her in, listening by the door before I opened it. There were other feet; she wasn’t alone. She was bringing people over? Fine, then—she was going to get the big kiss-off like the guys on the phone. I opened the door to her and two cops.

  The cops smiled and scrunched their leather. Doreen’s smile looked all like she felt sorry for me or something. “Let us in, sweetheart. You see this,” she said to them and flapped her hand at me. She yanked one of the cops by his sleeve and I moved out of the way. She waved her arms and her silver coat around, yapping away in that voice of hers that sounded like a crow with a hangover. “She’s got a little girl here and she’s taking pills and booze—she’s trying to kill herself. She’s gonna end up dead and this little one here—just come on and take a look at this place, she’s trying to kill herself.” And they all clunked down the hall to the bedroom. My heart started going and I couldn’t figure out how to stop them. Too many people. And there shouldn’t be cops. And they shouldn’t be looking at her when she’s sick. I ran after them. Wishing Sadie and the Shut Up Lady would scream their guts out at them all.

  One cop moved in to the head of Mum’s bed, talking all slow and dumb, like she was about three. “Hi there, what’s going on? You’ve got some people pretty concerned about you here. Have you been drinking?” And he picked the empty bottle that the yellow pills used to be in off her night table, while the second cop poked around and Doreen blabbed about dying and the child and pills and booze.

  I yelled over her and the cop, cuz they were acting like I wasn’t there—“She has the flu, she’s just taking 222s. It’s just, it’s for a—she’s trying to sleep and she had a headache.” The second cop backed me out and took me down the hall while I tried to catch what else they said behind me.

  He sat me down on the couch and I suddenly remembered Henry’s litter box because of how bad it smelled. Mum’s voice was small and shaky from the bedroom. The first cop clomped back toward us and left Doreen in there. The two of them sat on either side of me on the couch with their belts and holsters squawking every two seconds. I got up and started back to the bedroom. “That’s OK, maybe you oughta just stay here and have a chat with us.” I didn’t see who’d said that, but I stopped and sat on the arm of the chair. Henry jumped on the coffee table and tiptoed around it until they patted him.

  “He’s a pretty nice kitty. He’s got nice stripes,” the first cop said, and I wished he’d shut up so I could hear what Doreen was up to now. “Your name’s Grace, is that right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Officer James and this is Officer Duncan. Have you had anything to eat today? Did your mummy make you any dinner?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “What did you have?”

  “Um, no, I mean, I’m not hungry. There’s chocolate cake. Made from—would you like some Scratch Cake?”

  “No thanks. Grace, your mummy’s not doing too good. She might need to go to the hospital. Do you have any relatives you could stay with for a few days?”

  “Um, no, I should stay here—she’s just got the flu, y’know. Doreen doesn’t know anything. She’s not really that, um—there’s just aspirin there and that’s all she took. She’s fine, though. We’re fine. Everything’s OK, y’know.” They both nodded and smiled and patted my cat.

  Hoffman, Anne Eilleen

  28.10.74 (T. Baker) Police investigated Mrs. Hoffman’s apartment after complaint re neglect. Mrs. H. in advanced state of intoxication, apartment a shambles, unable to care for child. See police report of this date.

  29.10.74 (T. Baker) Visit in evening by social worker and homemaker, Mrs. Anderson. Mrs. Anderson refused to stay but later changed her mind and stayed for two and a half hours, cleaning up the worst parts of the mess. Mrs. Hoffman apparently incoherent for the duration, and accused Mrs. Anderson of being a spy. Social worker returned with police liason worker at 7pm but building was locked. Child involved is Grace Hoffman, age 8, who attends Wolfe Elementary. She is apparently very protective of her mother.

  30.10.74 (T. Baker) Case assigned to me. Visit in morning with Coordinator. Mrs. H. still drinking, apartment a shambles. Mrs. H. at least ambulatory, which was an improvement but she was not terribly coherent. She agreed she needed help as she could not manage things any more. Agreed to work with me towards that end.

  Back at the office in discussion with Coordinator, to see hwat could be done to help Mrs. H. back on her feet–perhaps homemaker could go in to clean up mess, perhaps Mrs. H. could go into detoxification center for a while. Decided to try this rather than apprehend child immediately.

  31.10.74 (T. Baker) Call to Homecare–they agreed that they could go in to clean mess up, although only once Mrs. H. was out of home. Mrs. Anderson refused to go back with what I thought was good reason. I went out and saw Mrs. Pong (Landlady) who told me that she’d been receiving complaints for quite some time regarding Mrs. H.’s drinking and carrying on. This was confirmed by downstairs neighbor Sheryl Sugarman and Mrs. Voigt, another neighbor. Apparently this latest binge has lasted abut 3 weeks, and Mrs. H. has been on previous binges in the last few months. The neighbors regretted not having called us earlier. Mrs. Pong had an eviction notice for Mrs. H. and asked me to go with her as she was afraid that Mrs. H. might get violent. Mrs. H. did become abusive and threatening (she is almost twice as big as Mrs. Pong) but I managed to calm the situation. Mrs. H. and I had a long talk. Her preoccupation is with herself, her problems etc. She agreed that she needs to go into a program– she had been in AA and had managed well until this summer when she began popping pills again then drinking. Grace came home from school this afternoon and soon left to go to “Alice’s”–a friend of her mother’s at 4788 Quebec as tonight was Halloween and she was going out with Alice’s children. Grace seemed very protective of her mother. After Grace left, Mrs. H. expressed various complaints about doctors and relatives and said she was afraid of the withdrawal associated with stopping her drinking. She continued to sip at it her beer during the entire interview.

  Sheryl Sugarman has agreed to look in on Grace over the weekend.

  1.11.74 Spoke with L.B. Henighan, who has been Mrs. H’s physician for some time. He does not really want to get involved, as he has worked quite hard with Mrs. H. but can see no motivation on her part to change her ways. He said she was hypoglycemic, which results from liver damage (alcoholism) and causes low blood sugar, anxiety/depression, tremors, etc. He has put Mrs. H. on medication to control this but she usually goes back to drinking. He suggeste
d my getting her to VGH and getting in touch with a relative. (We have no addresses, however) Late afternoon – Mrs. H. called to say she is willing to go into a program.

  2.11.74 Called all detoxification centres on file including Dr. Amy Nielson of Metropolitan Health and Dr. Henighan again. All agencies simply referred me to other resources or each other. Mrs. H. cannot get into a treatment program until she is detoxed and there is no centre for women alcoholics. Dr. Henighan still does not feel he should get involved.

  Mrs. H. seen. After long talk, she agreed to sign non-ward consents, as Grace would need a place to stay if she were entering treatment program. Still drinking, apartment still a mess but she was more lucid than on Friday. Grace was there and understood situation.

  After leaving Hoffmans, I interviewed Sheryl Sugarman and son, Josh. They told me that about 2 weeks ago, Mrs. H. came up to their apartment with a knife, quite drunk and insisting that there was a man in her apartment who wanted to “get” her. She was satisfied only after Mrs. S’s brother, who was visiting at the time, took her through the apartment. Mrs. H also bangs on the Sugarmans’ door at all hours and does the same to other tenants. Was also seen by Mrs. Pong threatening children out front of the building with broom handle. She also prostitutes quite a bit – brings variety of strange men home. Mrs. Sugarman said she brought in four different men on Saturday night, said this was common, this was how Mrs. H. got extra money. She expressed great concern for Grace in this respect as her mother was constantly drunk and not very selective about the type of men brought in. Also she said that Mrs. H’s sex was quite loud, and would be obvious to Grace in a one-room apartment. She said there was at least one occasion where Mrs. H. has come home at 4:00 am and that her coming home late was not unusual. (Mrs. Sugarman must open the door for Mrs. H. who forgets her keys). They said that Mrs. H. has collapsed in the hallway as a result of drinking and pills.

  Mrs. Sugarman mentioned that she had taken Grace in quite often, stating that Mrs. H. had a very poor idea of nutrition and that her housekeeping is very poor even when she was sober. Mrs. Sugarman had helped Grace with her homework last school year, when Grace received mostly A’s (despite the fact that she was in three different schools) but that Grace was (understandably) doing very poorly this year. It seems Grace has trouble with the simplest math problems. She also has noticed nervous reactions in Grace (twitches, sudden uncoordinated movements) that had not existed before. She believes that Grace may be suffering from hypoglycemia as well as stress-related reactions to poor nutrition and Mrs. H’s lifestyle. She described Grace as being “shell-shocked”)

  3.11.74 (T. Baker) Vancouver General is the only resource for drying Mrs. H. out, but Dr. Henighan is doutful that she would be admitted. Foster home arrangements being set up for Grace. VGH said they would do nothing about getting Mrs. H. admitted but referred me to Downtown Care Team who were sympathetic but could do nothing until Mrs. H. was admitted to VGH.

  Saw Mrs. H. again: she complained of internal pain, sleepiness, dehydration, muscle stiffness. Agreed to enter a program and agreed that Grace would have to go into foster care. Agreed to sign into VGH. Drinking somewhat less, mentioned that she felt suicidal but that Grace kept her going.

  Sheryl Sugarman seen: offered to take Grace in for a few days but this is impossible with Mrs. H. still in building. She said that Mrs. H. had come in after 4 am yesterday. Grace was apparently alone until then.

  Mrs. H. is not making any effort to stop drinking. Grace will have to get out of this environment soon. NOte that Mrs. H. has told me that she will leave the city with Grace if I try to apprehend.

  Grace Nine

  NOVEMBER 1974

  MRS. GERBERT, the PE teacher, went off to the side of the gym when a man came through the doors and nodded at her. In a few seconds my name got called and I dropped my hula hoop, glad not to have to keep doing that thing with my hips. When I got close to Gerbert and the guy, I realized it was Todd Baker, the social worker who’d been over at our place lately. He was OK; I only talked to him enough to know he thought Mum should go in the hospital for a while to dry out and I should stay with some foster family even though Sheryl Sugarman, Josh’s mum, said I could stay with them for a bit, but Todd wasn’t that crazy about the idea so it made me not that crazy about him. Mum didn’t like him period; she said he was a draft dodger. Cuz he was American and around his late twenties. Draft dodger started sounding like weasel.

  He wanted to talk to me in the hall a minute and chewed on his thumb-skin when we were going out the door. “So listen, uh, I—there are some people I’d like you to meet this afternoon. The lady’s name is Mrs. Hood and she has two girls around your age. I think you’ll like them.” He said it like they were pals of his and it took me a few seconds to figure out they were foster people.

  “When? you mean, like, to go now?” I was nervous. About things like, He could grab you; Never leave the school grounds with a stranger; Never get in a car; If your father comes around, don’t go near him.

  “Yeah. Well, right, after you get changed. I spoke with your principal and it’s fine for you to miss music class under these circumstances.” He smiled. I didn’t get how a person could smile like that after they said “under these circumstances.”

  On the ride over, Todd Baker made small talk, the usual: do you have any pets? how many sisters do you have? what is her name? So I started telling him about how Charlie had a baby and how she just moved down to Portland last week with her boyfriend to sell sportswear and that as soon as she had an address and got settled and stuff I’d be visiting her all the time. Then he asked how old she was. I told him eighteen. Then he goes, “Oh, so you were kind of an afterthought.” As if I didn’t count so much or something.

  “No. If you mean like an accident, I wasn’t. My mum wanted me, she wanted to have me. My sister has a different father and when my mum met my dad, they wanted a child together, that’s all. She didn’t have to have me if she didn’t want to.”

  “So your sister is actually a half-sister, then.”

  “No. She’s my sister, my real sister. She just has a different father than I do.”

  “Well, isn’t that what a half-sister is?”

  “No. She isn’t. We both have the same mother, we both came out of her womb, so we’re whole sisters. It’s—that only counts if you have different mothers and you live with them and don’t even see each other, and just have the same father but weren’t all in the same womb. And we were. She’s not a half-sister.”

  He said, “Oh,” and dropped it, but it was bugging me the way he was trying to make me feel like we weren’t really related, make us be less of a family so this wouldn’t seem such a big deal. I was going to have to make sure he knew that I knew what was what.

  It was a real house, not an apartment. And the street had tons of trees, orange and red leaves all over the place. It looked like a neighbourhood; no gas station on the corner and the houses were made of wood and brick, no stucco. A fat grey Persian lay in the window, still as a rock, and I half wondered if it was stuffed. Todd stuck his thumb in the buzzer and the door swung open hardly a second after.

  She looked like a mum: her hair was blue-black, slicked back in a bun, and she had on an apron over her blouse and pants. Her nose had big sideways nostrils and she had fat lips that flattened wide when she smiled and helloed. She had little teeth, but there were a lot of them. We took off our shoes at the door and she patted her thighs before she led us in. Wendy and Lilly, her girls, would be home any time now, she said; the school was quite close.

  Their kitchen was as big as our living room but bright with white see-through curtains. It reminded me of the kitchen at our house in Toronto, the one with my dad. Todd and I sat at the table and Mrs. Hood made us tea. I explained how my mum liked me to have it half milk. She smiled and said that was a good idea. Todd chuckled and chewed the inside of his cheek, then started asking Mrs. Hood about her girls and their hobbies and stuff; he told her about my baton lessons.
And about Explorers. He kept nodding and grinning, making his eyes go wide, and I tried to act like it was interesting. A skinny cat with hardly any tail walked in the room and made it easier.

  Mrs. Hood set the teapot on the table. “That’s Spike,” she said, “he’s Lilly’s cat—where’s your ball, Spike?” Spike charged back to the living room right when the front door opened and slammed, shaking the windows. Mrs. Hood tilted her head toward the front of the house. “Hello-o?” and then a hello back from two girls. Then shoes clunking and sock-feet rubbing toward the kitchen.

  The two of them came in and stood in the middle of the floor, all half-smiles and bored sort of helios. Wendy and Lilly. Wendy was the bigger one, eleven. Lilly was eight. I’d be nine in two weeks, older than her. Todd said on the way over that Lilly was in grade 3. She looked it. I knew we wouldn’t be friends. Lilly looked like what Mum called a sprite: a puny head, too-big black eyes, bee-size mouth and two black braids that hung long over skinny-boned shoulders. She looked tricky. She looked like she bit. Her sister was thicker: thicker lips, thicker hair, a thicker body. Her eyes were slower. Their mum introduced us and said, “Grace might be staying with us for a little while.” Wendy nodded.

  Lilly’s eyes poked over me. “What school do you go to?” I told her. “Do you know a boy called Tom?” I didn’t. Nobody said anything, so Wendy said she was going up to change and Lilly ran upstairs behind her—the steps to their bedrooms were in the kitchen like Sadie and Eddy’s place. Todd gave me one of those fake kind of smiles like teachers use the first day of school and I copied it.