Theories of Relativity

by Barbara Haworth-Attard

  Chapter 9

  I’ve decided to keep a low profile for a couple of days. The popular theory is that a person should stand up to bullies like Lurch and Vulture, but mine is that a person should keep his own teeth for as long as possible.

  I’m sitting on the wall outside the office tower waiting for the lunch crowd. Low profile or not, I need money to eat. Lemon yellow sun seeps into the ancient brick of the church, turning it golden. Another beam melts yesterday’s patches of snow on the sidewalk. I unzip my coat and raise my face to the sky. As I do, I’m reminded of a textbook picture I once saw, of ancient priests in the middle of their ceremonies, faces raised to the sun. They knew that was where the real power lay. Einstein knew it, too. I can see him, head tilted back like my own, brow furrowed as he contemplated the sun and the universe beyond.

  “Hey, Dylan.” Jenna—I refuse to call her Jewel—sits on the wall beside me.

  My heart skips a sickening beat, and I can’t stop myself searching nervously for Vulture.

  “Great day, isn’t it?” she says, but her voice lacks animation. “I was totally wasted last night.”

  Her hair still gleams, but there are purple smudges beneath her eyes and her chin has sprouted a cluster of angry-looking pimples. There is also, I see, a second bruise on her temple, almost on top of the old yellowing one.

  The church bell rings the noon hour.

  “Oh, shit. Is it that late? I better get going.” She darts across the street to the church and sits on the sidewalk. Behind her is an activity board with a sign announcing a hospitality dinner tonight. Free food for the poor people.

  The twelfth chime fades and I count the people coming from the tower doors. One, two, three—the fourth person tosses me a loonie. After that, it’s a flood. I don’t bother to count. First, second, or third—the warm weather is making them all generous. For ten minutes I’m busy, then the crowds thin. I carefully stack the pile of coins on the wall beside me and add it up: fourteen dollars and thirty-five cents. I scoop the change into my coat pocket as Glen, the computer geek, comes up to me.

  “I thought you might be able to use these.” He holds out a pair of gloves and a wool toque with a dorky tassel on the end.

  The feeling of being tamed hits me again, so I don’t take them. Finally, he sets them on the wall, then sits on the other side of them, far away from me. “You won’t need them today,” he says. “This is a great bit of weather we’re being treated to. It won’t last, though.”

  He’s right. I take out the Einstein book, place it on the wall, and shove the gloves into my backpack, followed by the toque. “Thanks.”

  Glen picks up the book. “So you’re reading about Albert Einstein,” he says. He fingers the torn spine.

  “It was a gift,” I say quickly.

  “From the library?”

  “I didn’t steal it,” I insist.

  He leafs through the pages, stopping at the photograph of Einstein. “He’s a strange-looking one, isn’t he? But then, I think a lot of geniuses are odd-looking.”

  “If that’s your theory,” I say, “then most of the people walking around down here are geniuses.” Downtown has more than its fair share of strange. It’s like someone ordained that all the weird people on the planet had to live within these few city blocks. “Like her.”

  I point at the Swear Lady, a gypsy of the streets. Dressed in tattered layers of skirts and tops and shawls, she could be thirty or a hundred. All her belongings are stacked in a shopping cart that she guards with her life. As she walks, she litters the air with shouted obscenities. She passes us, whips around, and lets loose a stream of filth at Glen before moving on.

  He grins. “Yeah, I see your point.”

  A sheet of paper floats out of the book. Glen bends to pick it up from the ground and turns it over. It’s the flyer from the youth centre. “Are you thinking of going back to school?” he asks.

  I don’t answer.

  “It’d be a good idea if you did,” he goes on.

  I slowly run my eyes over his expensive leather bomber jacket, the casual pants and sweater that probably cost the world. He has the grace to flush.

  “I know you don’t have money to go to school. I only meant that this is a good way to get an education. I know this place. I help out there on weekends, though my role is for support purposes only. You can study at your own speed. You don’t have to deal with discipline, or rules, or teachers, and you can have a peer tutor, someone your age,” he says eagerly.

  I wish he’d shut up about his stupid school. It takes all my time just to stay alive. There’s none left over for studying. I snatch the paper from him, crush it in my fist, and let it drop to the ground.

  He flushes again, in anger this time, but he speaks lightly. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to litter?”

  He scoops the paper up, smooths it out on his knee, and places it in the Einstein book. He hands the book to me. I carelessly shove it into my backpack.

  “My mother never taught me anything,” I tell him. “She didn’t have time. She had three kids to take care of.”

  It’s a lie. That’s what she should have done, but it’s what I did. But Glen doesn’t need to know that.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “It sounds like you’ve had a difficult time.”

  His apology unnerves me.

  “So, do you have sisters or brothers or one of each?”

  He obviously doesn’t know the rules, but then he doesn’t live on the street.

  “Brothers. They’re younger than me.” Suddenly, my eyes swim with tears. I look away from him, terrified I’ll blubber all over the place. “Jordan’s ten, Micha’s six,” I say. More information than I normally give, but I need time to get myself under control.

  He stands up. “I have to get back to the office. It’s been nice talking to you.”

  I watch the leather jacket go through the tower doors and out of view. I should stop coming to this spot. There must be all kinds of places I can hustle for money. I don’t need preachy crap from someone like Glen. I decide then and there that I’m not coming back—after the lunch crowd returns. They must be good for at least a few more coins.

  Jenna darts across the street from the church. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay,” I say shortly. I’m still nursing my anger.

  “I’m making a killing.” She shakes the basket and I hear the clink of coins.

  “Vulture will be happy,” I say unkindly.

  “Vulture?”

  “That’s what I call Brendan. It’s the nickname that I made up for him.”

  “Why Vulture?” she asks.

  “Think about it,” I say. “Are you going to get any of that money?”

  Her face crumples and I feel like a total creep.

  “There’s a hospitality dinner at the church tonight. Free meal. Do you want to go?” This is as close to an apology as I can offer.

  She tosses her silver hair and smiles widely. “Sure. Meet you here at six.” She waves, and takes off down the street. I’m amazed I have a date.

  Busy with the returning work crowd, I don’t notice the four punks approach. Then suddenly, they’re here, in my face. People give us a wide berth, feeling the menace in the air. I slowly tuck my backpack behind me.

  One sits beside me, while three others stand in a semi-circle in front. All wear red bandanas on their heads, military boots on their feet.

  The one sitting is my age, his face a festering mass of nasty-looking pimples.

  “You do good here?” He gestures to the office tower.

  A metal stud in his tongue. I give a mental shudder, but don’t answer.

  “Looks like a good place, don’t it?” he says to the others. One nods. “Profitable,” he continues. He wipes his nose on the sleeve of an old army jacket, then spits.

  Fear is a rushing sound, like water, in my ears.

  “I just decided. This is our turf now,” the kid says.

  He shoves me sideways, and my
hand grapples for my pack.

  “Don’t come back.”

  I had already decided to leave, but now that they want my spot—I’m keeping it. I don’t get up from the wall. “It’s a free country. I’ll go where I want.”

  “What are you? Stupid?” The Bandana Kid gets to his feet. The others crowd closer, looming over me. I hear a click. See a glint of silver blade. I imagine it plunged into me. The cut. The blood. The pain.

  “Cops,” a girl’s voice warns.

  And they melt away into the concrete city. Only Twitch and Amber are left. I’m not sure when they arrived, but Amber saved my ass. I don’t particularly like that thought, because I can see she knows it, too. She sits beside me and lights up a cigarette. For once, I wish I smoked. Sweat runs down my back and my legs shake.

  “You really don’t know when to fucking leave it alone,” Amber says.

  Twitch hops up and down in front of us. “You could have been killed, man.”

  I shrug, trying to show a cool I don’t feel.

  “Where’s the cop?” I ask Amber.

  “That security guard there.” She points her cigarette toward the office building.

  “A security guard?”

  “It’s a fucking uniform. It got rid of them, didn’t it?”

  “I guess,” I say.

  “Well, you’re very welcome,” she says.

  “It’s not good to smoke when you’re pregnant.”

  “I’m cutting back,” she replies, unperturbed.

  “It’s really bad for the baby,” I go on. What the hell’s the matter with me?

  “I fucking know that,” Amber says, beginning to get annoyed.

  “Okay, I was just saying, that’s all.”

  “You’re a fucking ungrateful jerk. Gotta go to work.” She stubs out the half-smoked cigarette, tucks it into her pocket for later, and strolls away. “Try not to get yourself killed,” she calls back. “I can’t always be around.”

  “Hey, Twitch,” I say. “Jenna and I are going to the hospitality dinner tonight at the church.” I nod toward Holy Rosary Cathedral. “You want to come?” Relieved that I’m not a grease spot on the ground, I forget that I’m not having anything to do with him any more.

  “With Jenna?” Twitch shrieks. “You got a death wish?”

  I hoist my pack onto my back. “I need a bathroom. Come on. I’ll buy you some fries at Mandy’s.”

  “You have money?” Twitch says, hopefully. He wants a hit. I’ve seen Twitch get down and lick the sidewalk after a cocaine deal just in case some was spilled.

  “I’m only offering fries,” I tell him.

  Twitch unfolds himself from the wall, long and skinny. “I may as well take you up on that offer while I can,” he says. “I won’t get fries from a dead man.”

  I grin like I don’t care, but as we head to the donut shop, the sound of the metallic click plays over and over in my mind.

  Chapter 10

  Mist clings to the trees and hangs in orange shrouds from the street lights. A bus swishes past, tires singing on the wet pavement. As I wait for Jenna and Twitch in front of the church, I read the announcements: Advent Sunday, Evening Mass Saturday at 5:00.

  The Swear Lady arrives at the bottom of the stone steps of the church with her shopping cart. Cursing fiercely, she struggles to lift it up, but the step is too narrow and the wheels slip back down. She kicks the metal side and swears in frustration. She wants that meal, but her life is in that shopping cart and she is not leaving it behind. Unceasing obscenities flow from her mouth as she goes to the front of the cart and hauls it up, step by step, until she reaches the top. She disappears from view with a final flap of a scarf.

  The bells chime six o’clock. A soft drizzle falls on my upturned face as I study the lighted twin spires of the church. They rise above the bare branches of the trees toward heaven—or where most people assume heaven is. Gargoyles, elongated creatures with distorted animal and human features, are perched on each corner of the church and tucked beneath the eaves. They’re interesting, but it’s the spires I like: their symmetry and gracefulness. Holy Rosary is an old church, sitting unperturbed between two office towers, but not as old or elaborate as Europe’s cathedrals. I’ve seen pictures of them—sweeping arches, soaring ceilings, magnificent domes and stonework—and been blown away by the mathematics and skill required to build them. I wonder how it would feel to stand in front of a church and know I created such beauty. An intense yearning swells my chest, and I don’t notice Jenna beside me until she tugs on my sleeve.

  “What’s so interesting up there?” she asks, head tilted back to peer at the spires.

  “Gargoyles,” I say. “In old times, gargoyles, those carvings”—I point to one—“used to be the downspouts for buildings. There are some on the library and the older bank buildings down here, but now, they’re just decoration.” I sound like an amazingly boring tour guide.

  “How do you know about this stuff?” Jenna asks.

  “Read it somewhere, I guess. Facts seem to stick with me.” Lamer and lamer.

  Twitch barrels down the sidewalk, all legs and arms, and runs into me. In turn, I fall against Jenna.

  “Can’t you take something for that?” I say, irritably.

  “For what?” Twitch asks.

  “For having more arms and legs than the average person. For coordination. For . . .” I flounder, “for being you.”

  “Downers sometimes help,” he says. He doubles over coughing.

  “I mean real medication. From a doctor.”

  “You mean, like the stuff they had me on in school?” Twitch says after he catches his breath.

  “Let’s go in.” I don’t want to hear Twitch’s sorry life story.

  “Every lunch hour, a huge line of us kids formed up outside the office,” Twitch continues.

  I guess we’re going to hear it anyway.

  “You’re a little bit hyper, a little mouthy, you know?” His hands flap wildly through the air. “The teacher complains that you’re distracting the class, and boom, you find yourself in this line to get drugs to shut you up.”

  “Ritalin,” Jenna interjects.

  “Let’s go in,” I say.

  “Wait a sec.” Twitch grabs my arm. “Here’s Amber.”

  She rushes up, out of breath.

  “Who said you could come?” I demand.

  “What? Is it an invitation-only party?” Amber replies.

  “I did,” Jenna says at the same time.

  “Well, okay, I guess,” I bluster.

  Jenna pulls open the door and Amber follows her inside. “Fuck you,” she whispers as she passes me. We go down a short flight of stairs.

  “What’s that stuff called again?” Twitch asks Jenna.

  “Ritalin. They give it to hyperactive kids to shut them up. I’ve seen those lineups. They’re the troublemakers,” she explains.

  “I never knew what it was called,” Twitch says. “It made me feel strange.”

  “How could you tell? You’re always strange,” I tell him.

  “Twitch, you just tell him to go fuck himself,” Amber calls back.

  “You can’t swear in here,” Jenna whispers, face shocked. “It’s a church!”

  I can’t help wondering how the Swear Lady is getting on. Has she been struck down for blasphemy yet?

  A rich scent of tomato and garlic wafts up the church steps. At the bottom of the stairs, a line snakes slowly forward. Jenna picks up a tray from a stack, hands it to Amber, and passes one back to me. Twitch reaches around me and grabs one, nearly sending the pile flying. I quickly steady it.

  “Smells great,” he says. I feel him moving behind me, picking at his face, shifting the tray, shuffling his feet.

  And then we’re in front of the food.

  “Lasagna?” A woman holds out a slab of pasta.

  “Sure,” I say. I should thank her, but I don’t want to be grateful for the food.

  “What’s that?” Twitch points to a bowl of le
ttuce and dressing.

  “Caesar salad,” Jenna says.

  “Help yourself,” the woman with the lasagna says. “And take some fruit for dessert.”

  I heap salad on a second plate and take an apple. After a moment’s thought, I take a second one, for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  Twitch stares open-mouthed at the heaping bowls of salad and fruit. I know what he’s going through. It’s a bit of a culture shock to someone brought up on white bread and packaged macaroni and cheese to see fresh food. I toss an orange and an apple on his tray, followed by a carton of milk, then push him along so he doesn’t hold up the line. Again, it’s feels just like I’m taking care of Micha and Jordan. And with that thought, the tears threaten again. What the hell is going on? I catch Amber watching me.

  “Lots of onions in the lasagna,” I say, covering myself in case a tear rolls down my cheek.

  We sit at a table, one of several set up in the church basement. Most people have chosen their seats carefully, a chair between them and their neighbour. I recognize a few of the library lounge crazies. The Garbage Man sits in his green bags across from the Swear Lady. Kids from the youth centre are clustered together at one end of a table, among them two of the Bandana Kids. I feel a spurt of alarm, but they’re too busy eating to notice me. At least thirty people are in the room, but the only sounds are a baby’s cries and the Swear Lady’s curses. An air of exhaustion hangs over everyone, almost visible it is so strong. The thin woman from the youth centre is there, scrubbing down tables. I might have known she’d be part of a church. A do-gooder. Out to save the world and my ass. She pulls out a chair, wipes it down, then sits.

  “Hello,” she says cheerfully.

  I know exactly where this is going. “Don’t even bother,” I say, as I push a fork piled with lasagna into my mouth. It tastes wonderful.

  “Bother to do what?” the woman says, bewildered.

  I swallow and face her. “I know I’m eating your food, but I don’t believe in God, and nothing you can say is going to change that,” I tell her grandly.