“Child Protection makes allowances for things like that. I’ve already asked Todd about it. So you give it some thought. We can probably make arrangements for you to stay somewhere if you don’t want to go. By the way, I’m working tonight, I switched evenings with another lady at work, so you kids’ll have to get your own dinner this evening.” She poured herself some more tea.
Lilly groaned. “I hate when we have to make ourself dinner—stupid Grace won’t eat anything.”
They kept on about McDonald’s and I tried to picture Mrs. Hood working at the White Spot, waiting on tables, smiling the way she did the first day I met her. “If you only work one night a week,” I asked her, “how do you pay for stuff? Do you get other money? Like, for me?”
“You’re rather inquisitive this morning, aren’t you?” Mrs. Hood looked at me like I was a cockroach on the counter.
“What’s that?”
“It Means You’re Nosey.” It would’ve been funny if Mum said it. My mind went out of the room and into a story about a dead cat a boy in school told me about. He said his brother went to the SPCA, got a cat they put to sleep, boiled its skin off and put back together the bones. I wondered where it was, all skinless, put back together wrong, teetering till someone figured out all you had to do was flick it right and it’d clatter all over the floor.
Stuff seemed better if I wasn’t around the house. I spent as much time as I could at Sadie and Eddy’s or over with Josh and his mum, but then Mrs. Hood got it in her head that I was spending too much time at their places. So she decided she needed to give my friends’ mums something to show her thankfulness.
I watched her lining up batches of perogies on cookie sheets and tried to ask why without being inquisitive. I told her she didn’t have to: “Sadie and Josh’s mums invite me.”
“That’s fine, but it’s important to show gratitude.”
I stared at the white blobs. She was going to give Sheryl Sugarman and Alice a prize for being able to stand me. I went up to my room and waited until she called me down and loaded Wendy, Lilly, me and two trays of Saran-Wrapped perogies in the car and drove away.
We weren’t on the road that long before I forgot where we were going. Couldn’t remember if it was bowling or skating; one time we talked about bowling.
Or a meeting in someone’s house. Phyllis—my name’s not Phyllis, kept going through my mind, loud then soft, hard then slow. Who was that—where were we when I was Phyllis? Then nothing. It was like one of those blank-space-in-my-brain things. But giant.
We pulled up in front of a house and Mrs. Hood told me to go on. I looked out the window and reached for the door handle, except there was food on my lap, a thing of perogies.
Space.
Something about perogies.
Maybe if I felt around, asked questions like normal—“With these?” I pointed my nose at my lap.
“Yes! Go on, we haven’t got all night. I want to get home by a decent hour. And for goodness’ sake, don’t drop them.”
I walked up the path like a tightrope. I knew the house, I knew where I was; it was in there somewhere. On the tip of my brain. I went up the steps with the tray, wondering if I’d fall. With the perogies in one arm, I got the screen door open, but the tray started to go and Phyllis! I yelled that in my brain so God would hear, caught the tray against the door and knocked. Feet banged towards me, inside, and the door swung away and I grabbed hold of the tray with both hands.
Then Eddy, standing there. Eddy. This was Sadie and Eddy’s house. Sadie came up behind and they smiled and said Hey! and What’re you doing here? things like that. I smiled back. I was mostly glad someone I knew opened the door. Sadie and Eddy and me looked at each other and I looked back at the car, opening my mouth in case the reason might come out. Mrs. Hood’s shadow was hunched, her head ducked a bit so she could see me. Because I was supposed to do—something …
Alice came up behind Sadie and Eddy, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, saying, “Hey, what the hell’re you kids doin’, tryin to warm up the neighbourhood? Close the bloody door.” I smiled at her the way she was doing and Sadie and Eddy were doing until I figured out I must’ve made a mistake. Alice bounced her eyebrows at my tray and said, “Hey, are those for me?” and I looked at them.
“I think I’m in the wrong place, I can’t—just a sec,” and I ran back down the stairs to the car.
Mrs. Hood rolled down her window. “What are you doing?”
Just. Nothing. Space. And a tray. “Am I supposed to give these to them?”
Wendy watched straight ahead at the headlights on the road. Her mum leaned across and snapped, “Yes! Of course. Go! What are you doing?”
I turned slowly. Really slowly. Like a hand going in a birdcage, walking, and walking faster because maybe it was that I was in trouble. I came to the door where the three of them were whispering at each other. The screen door opened again and I tried to make my tray into words. “Yeah. These. These’re made—she made them for you.” Sadie and Eddy looked at each other and duhed me at the same time. I nodded and laughed because that’s what you do when you’re dozed-out and someone says, “Duh.”
Alice took the perogies. “Wow, that’s terrific! Well, thank, uh, what’s her face for me, that’s very nice of her—you comin’ in or what? It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
In. “I don’t know.” And I looked back at the car and saw Mrs. Hood’s arm waving or pulling something towards her. Me, maybe. I looked back at Alice. “Um. No.” Eddy laughed. Sadie smacked him and he called her a lez. “‘K. Um. Bye,” and I walked away.
Next was Josh’s place. I did it fast and quick and didn’t talk that much to them.
The day after the perogie night, I called Todd Baker about Harrison Hot Springs and told him how I’d rather do something else with my vacation money. After that, I kept going over it in my head, what I was going to tell Mrs. Hood and how she wasn’t going to get mad. The next day in the afternoon, after Kingdom Hall, I figured it was a good time. She was baking.
Just act natural, I figured.
And I went into the kitchen where she was putting spoonfuls of dough on a cookie sheet. “Um. I was talking to Todd and—I said—well, he said that if I wanted to go do a different kind of thing, I could. And it didn’t have to be Harrison Hot Springs.”
“Uh huh.” She either wasn’t listening or it was going good.
“Like fo—the money they give for me doesn’t have to be for Harrison. I asked him and he said that if I didn’t want to go, that you’d be getting money and that I could get it from you.”
The air went different. She turned and stared. I went over, in my head, what I just said. Her eyes squinted and her teeth opened. “I do not believe what I just heard. Can you have the money? Is that what you just said to me? You want the money? You … have got to be the nosiest, most money-grubbing, intolerable child I ever—Your poor mother. How she ever managed to put up with you. Where you get the nerve is beyond my comprehension—that you dare!” She turned and yanked open the stove door, then went back for her cookie sheet, slammed it inside and banged the door shut. “That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m through dealing with you and I’m calling Todd this afternoon. Maybe your mother could do it for nine years, but I can’t. I can’t stomach this another day,” and she left the kitchen.
Space.
Eilleen Twelve
DECEMBER 1974
IT’S SATURDAY AFTERNOON and you’re doing your roots, naked from the waist up, stained towel round your neck, plastic gloves on, covered in nut red goop, consistency of egg white, toothbrush in hand, bristles slimed and ready for the next parting of the hoary sea. You’ve just started working your way towards the back—hate the back, can’t see a bloody thing—when the phone rings. Shit. There’s crap on your ears and on your neck. And it’s ringing again. Shit. Drop your toothbrush in the goop cup. Oh, forget it, just let it ring. Nobody important ever calls you anyway. And you pick up the brush again, but the phone keeps ringing. T
hing’s already rung half a dozen times; if you grab it now, they’ll hang up for sure.
Well, crap, hang up!
So you start pulling at the tips of the gloves—and then rinse them off instead. Swish them around and listen to the phone scream fire. Scream fire; does that mean someone’s being raped?— what is that thing again, if you’re on fire (dry your hands on your neck towel)—if you’re being towelled, scream rape. If your towel’s screaming—Hello!?
Mummy?
Oh! Grace! For goodness’ sake, didn’t even occur to me it might be you. Hello, angel, where are you?
Sadie and Eddy’s.
Oh, because I’m just doing my roots. Can I call you back? Asia there’s a pause while your child hums like she hasn’t heard a word. Sweety, what’s going on? anything wrong? And she pauses from the not-tuneful melody and says Huh?
I said, what’s wrong, you sound funny.
Yeah. Mm.
Grace?
And she’s humming again.
Grace, what the heck’s going on? Alice said you were over there the other night and you didn’t know whether you were coming or going, you could hardly put a sentence together. What’s wrong?
Pause. Yeah. um. I think I have to go?
What?
I think Mrs. Hood is going to tell Todd I have to go cuz, um, she doesn’t want me there any more. And then she starts something close to singing, can’t figure out what. Sounds like the radio is on in the background.
What do you mean, she doesn’t want you there? What’s going on, what did she say?
She said, um, I asked if I didn’t go with them to Harrison, could I have the money that the Welfare was giving for it, and she said that I was nosy and money-grubbing and how could you have ever put up with me for nine years. And more singing—sounded like she said “They’re searching for us everywhere, but we will never be found, na-na-na …”
Grace! Stop it—what are you singing?
Just this song—and she said she couldn’t stomach me any more. And then your child sings, “Band on the run, na-na-na, band on the run …”
Grace! Listen to me, stop singing! Stop it.
And it’s quiet, just music in the background and one of Alice’s brats screaming its smelly head off in the distance. Then small and gravelly, I’m scared to go home.
Miss Clairol Flame is dripping down your neck, which has heated up to your ears.
Bullshit! Your kid is your kid, and that’s the bottom line—goddamn bitch. Swallow hard and say up-your-ass to the system: So don’t go.
What? The voice is bug-sized with tiny paper wings.
Don’t go. Come home. To me.
Grace Fourteen
DECEMBER 1974
THE CLOSEST BUS STOP was three blocks away, on Main Street. I sat on the bench breathing into my mittens, watching all the cars for Mrs. Hood or Todd Baker. They knew for sure I wasn’t just late. I stomped my feet on the ice and pulled my scarf higher up my face and walked back and forth in front of the bench.
Every time I pushed my mitt down to check my watch, my stomach crittered up my ribs. It was after four o’clock and getting darker. Someone pulled on my coat and whispered “Grace”—I spun around, and smashed down on the ice. No one was there, just one of those big rusty bench screws caught on the hem of my coat. I looked around again to make double sure they weren’t there and, before I could get up, the bus splashed up to the curb and slushed me all over. The doors opened and the driver chuckled, watching me stomp up the steps. “Sorry, kid—what the heck were you doing on the ground?” and his neck jiggled like his belly. I was crabbed and thought of mean fat stuff, but I was too scared to look at him in case he recognized me. Maybe the police were looking for me. I dumped my money in the box, then went and found a window seat so I could see them before they saw me.
When Mum opened the door, we stood there a second with our eyes sticking on each other. She grabbed me and pulled me to her stomach. “Quick, get inside,” and she slammed the door closed behind me, “it’s cold.” She straightened up and put her hands on my shoulders, then put one hand on her hip and the other one on her forehead, then dropped both by her sides. She pulled my toque off and patted my head cuz of it being sweaty. “Well, actually, no. Here,” and she pushed the toque back on, looked over her shoulder to the living room. “I’m packing the couple things you left here and I called Stewart. Remember Stewart? I thought maybe we better get out of here, and stay the night there. I don’t think it’s a good idea if we’re here tonight—OK? Are you OK, sweety, you look a little peaked?”
I nodded. “Did they call here? They’re probably gonna come. Should I phone and make something up or something? Or—did Todd Baker call?”
“No, but I’m sure we’ll hear from him. I should threaten to turn the bugger in if he doesn’t mind his own goddamn business. I s’pose he’s got some kind of asylum here, though. Come on, come in the bedroom while I get our things together—oh shit, I suppose I should call a cab.”
I followed along behind her. “Did you say he’s in an asylum?”
Mum giggled a scared laugh. “You’re a dandy, MaryAnne. It—I’ll tell you later. Now … there’s a bag on the bed with underpants and pyjamas and a pair of slacks, and that crummy yellow dress that Mrs. Hood got you—don’t worry, I’ll call her myself later and let her know where you are, and I’ll call Baker too—don’t worry, angel,” she did her accent like Carol Burnett being The Queen. “Darling, don’t let’s get in a tizzy, it’ll all come out in the wash.”
“I’m just scared they’ll come.”
“No one’s coming—they’ll just think you’re late. You’re a kid, kids do that. OK, OK, hmm, OK, I think that’s it, go call six-six-nine, seven-triple-seven and ask for a taxi. You know the address?”
We took the elevator up to floor seventeen in Stewart’s building. When the door opened, he had a drink in his free hand. “Wellll! …” His voice was so low and big, it rumbled. “Look at you! look at you, Gracey! Jesus Christ, you’re big. Last time I saw you, you were like this—” he brought his hand way down as if the last time he saw me I was as big as a cat, “and now look atcha! Growin’ like a weed!” He chuckled and nodded, and he was really bald. I noticed cuz he took his hand off the door to scratch some hair still at the back.
Mum and I stood in the hall; I looked at Stewart’s belly and she patted it, then pulled me past him inside. “Oh, Stewart, you silly old thing. Have you got anything in the fridge, I’d like to make Grace something for dinner. We’ve been rushing around so much, we haven’t really had time to eat.”
Stewart hung on to the door, smiling still, after Mum dropped our tote bag on the floor and started looking through the cupboards in his kitchen. “Oh,” he swung it closed, “uh, hmm uh yeah, well something, yeah, there must be something. Maybe Kraft Dinner or something.”
Mum stared into a cupboard. “Hey kiddo, you want some Kraft Dinner for a treat, or what? Or-r-r, here, hey, here’s some corned beef—I could make you a corned beef sandwich. Stewart? Bread? Have you got any bread? and mustard?”
Stewart closed the door and went and leaned on the counter-top that was between the puny kitchen and the living room. He squished his fingertips in his forehead and looked at Mum’s bum.
She turned around. “Stew? You OK? You look like you’ve been into the hootch pretty good tonight.”
He burped like he meant to and smacked his hand over his mouth when he looked at me. “Excuse me, Miss,” and smiled. “Yeah, I got bread. I think I got rye! Make her a corned beef on rye—hey, that’s a damn good idea,” and he slapped his burp hand onto the counter. “Yeah, make me one too. A corned beef … on rye. I’d like that.” He looked at me again and clapped his hands together. “Yessirreee!”
Mum winked at me. “OK, you two kids go sit in the living room and I’ll make sandwiches. Stewart, leave your drink here and I’ll freshen it.”
Stewart and I sat on the couch in front of a hockey game. He looked from me to the TV. “Y’
like hockey?—naw, you don’t like hockey; this is no fun for you, geez. Let’s take a look-see in the old boob-tube guide here, and see. See, see, see … hmm … hey, there’s a Get Smart rerun on. D’ya like that? I like that guy.” He held his thumb and finger close and said, “Missed it by that much.”
I laughed even though it wasn’t that good an imitation and looked at the TV. Mum brought in sandwiches and tea a few minutes later. Stewart looked in the teacup she gave him and said, “Tea? Tea. Where’s my—” and he looked over at me.
Mum said to him, like he was my little sister or something, “Oh, sorry, honey, did I forget milk and sugar?”
Stewart looked all pouty in his cup and then tried to act natural just like as if another kid punched him and he didn’t want to go crying in front of everybody. He was super-like-that—like a big dumb kid, especially with his slow goofy voice—he said, “Huh, ohh, no, I’m—I like it black. Yeah, this is nice.” As if.
Then we started eating our sandwiches. They were pretty good for scrounging-in-the-cupboard sandwiches—corned beef tastes way better than it sounds. It sounds like it’d have sloppy corn all over it and taste sick. Sometimes the worst thing about stuff is its name. I started thinking that about Stewart while I was eating—stew and then wart. Then I felt sorry for him, sort of, even though I still didn’t want to hang around with him or anything; he kept sighing between bites of sandwich and wiping mustard off his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he noticed the big smeary glob of mustard on him and starting looking around the room like he got punched again. Mum grabbed a paper towel and put spit on it and wiped his hand. He smiled with his stuffed mouth closed, and sighed through his nose. You’d think it was the hardest thing he ever had to do, eat a corned beef sandwich. He took a sip of his tea and winced-up his face like he was sucking lemon. Then he said, “This is good, Eilleen, I think, though—I’m, uh—I’m just going to have a nap. And have this rest later. Okey-doke?”
Going Down Swinging Page 28
