Subject to Change

by Karen Nesbitt

  “Yeah. Do you remember coming to my apartment? I guess it was only two or three weekends. Kate and Seamus were so angry, and I just didn’t know how to deal with things. After a couple of visits they refused to come anymore. I wanted you with me, but I couldn’t make you come by yourself. After all the fighting, you just wanted to stay with your mom. So I gave up.”

  I barely remember this. But now I realize that when Seamus hit me with the chair, it wasn’t at the trailer. It was in an apartment that Dad had when he first moved out. It hardly had any furniture in it. Behind my closed eyes I see it all…Bad, bad memories.

  For a few minutes it’s quiet. The truck idles. I drift to the steady sound of the heater fan.

  “Are you awake?”

  I jerk my head up from its resting place. Yes, I’m awake.

  “I wasn’t sure. It would help a lot if you’d look at me.”

  I don’t want to, but I’m afraid if I don’t he’ll just keep talking, and I really want to go home, so I turn my body and lean the back of my head and my shoulders against the window. I pull my jacket around me, my hands in the pockets. Blood on his forehead catches my eye—and tooth marks. I squint to see better. That’s why my lip is bleeding. I bashed it on his head. I can’t stop a smile from taking over one corner of my mouth. Good. He had it coming.

  He touches his forehead with his right hand, then looks at his fingers and sees blood. He takes a tissue out of a dispenser in the cup holder and swipes it away. Slowly he shakes his head, then reaches to get his hat from behind the seat, puts it on and glances at himself in the rearview mirror.

  He stares out the front window, his thumbs tapping on the padded steering wheel. “Well, I do have something else to say. And I may as well just say it. I’m sorry.” He sneaks a look at me. “I’m sorry, and I’d like to be part of your life again. I’d like to get to know”—he waves a big paw at me—“this young man you’re becoming.”

  Slowly I shake my head.

  “I’m talkin’ on your terms—”

  “Well, my terms are no. I’m not interested in getting to know you or who you are.”

  He nods his head a few times, narrows his eyes, studies me.

  The truth is, I’m not sure how I feel about who he is. But not wanting him is what I’m used to. Right now, nothing in my life is what I’m used to.

  “Fair enough.”

  He brushes his left eye with his knuckle. Then he puts the truck into Drive, signals, and we pull back onto the highway. I’m thinking about what the Joker said, that all it takes is one bad day.

  Twenty

  The intercom blares my name at the end of recess, scaring the shit out of me, summoning me to the office. The secretary tells me to wait for Mr. Peters.

  Yesterday, after Dad dropped me off, I didn’t come to school at all. I slept like a dead thing for a while and then talked with Mom. She took the day off work to make sure I was okay.

  At first I didn’t want to talk to her, but she camped out on the other side of my door. Eventually I had to pee, so she caught me in the hall.

  I was still pissed that she hadn’t even tried to come to the cop shop and that she sent Dad. And the whole bit about staying home in case Seamus showed up…I didn’t get that. She tried to explain to me about not involving Kate and Ryan, and that what the cops told us had ramped up her worry that Seamus would try to run away from Rigaud altogether. I still don’t totally get what good staying home was going to do. Maybe she thought he’d come there first. But what I did get is that she’s scared and confused, and he’s still one of her kids, and that made me feel bad for her. She’s finally starting to accept that something has gone seriously wrong with him.

  She tried to make up for it. My favorite beef stew was waiting for me on the stove. She even convinced me to play Scrabble. I don’t know why she likes Scrabble so much, considering what a terrible speller she is. We have a blast teasing her. I stopped being mad at her for sending Dad to the police station. It took a lot for her to call him in the first place. She did what she could, I guess.

  Today, I’ve been trying to stay under the radar, and I actually managed to avoid Mitch and Dave until recess. They know something’s up. They’ve probably heard rumors. But I managed to put them off.

  Peters breezes in from the hall. “Ah, we missed you yesterday, Declan.” Is this some kind of a joke? I mumble something about not feeling well. He leads me into his office, closes the door and throws his pen on the desk. “The police were here to talk with me yesterday. A Sergeant Lefebvre. To ask some questions about Monday evening.”

  I feel my face going red. I’m afraid to meet his eyes. I have to look down.

  “You were here on Monday night, and I was able to verify that.”

  I exhale. “But what about the forty-five minutes I was sitting by the Dumpster in the staff parking lot? By myself?”

  “The police asked me about that. Just hold on for one minute.” He picks up his phone, punches an extension. “Lynn, could you page Hal for me, please?”

  While we wait, Mr. Peters asks me some questions about my visit with the police. I tell him about the digital fingerprint machine. He says, “Cool.”

  A few minutes later, a tall skinny guy in dirty coveralls comes to the door. As soon as I see him, I realize he’s the janitor who was putting garbage out behind the school on Monday evening. He looks at me, then at Mr. Peters. “Yeah, this is the kid I saw sitting out back Monday. I couldn’t see his face that well, but I recognize his hair and his jacket.”

  “Hal, this is Declan O’Reilly, the student I asked you about yesterday. Declan, Mr. Hinitt.”

  We nod to each other. He’s smiling.

  “Do you remember about what time it was when you saw Declan out there?”

  “Well, I know I put the bags out while I was finishing up in the cafeteria. I went out a couple of times. So he was there from at least 6:15 to about 6:45, head in his hands. I kept an eye on him. When I went out to put the bags in the Dumpster, just before I finished my shift at 7:00, he was gone. I mentioned it to you on my way out—thought it might be important.”

  “Well, you were right.”

  I’m so relieved, fucking tears actually well up in my eyes. Mr. Peters sees.

  “Thank you, Hal. What you just said has meant a lot to this young man, I assure you.”

  I nod, not sure I can speak, but I want to say thank you. I stand up and shake the janitor’s hand.

  “You’re welcome, son.” Then he asks Mr. Peters, “Is he in some kind of trouble? I’m pretty sure he didn’t do anything back there. I checked.”

  I knew he was giving me the evil eye, worrying about me tagging the Dumpster or something! But I don’t care. Now I’m just glad he was paying attention.

  “Not anymore, Hal. Thanks to you, not anymore. Thanks for coming down. The police are going to want to speak with you.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m always happy to visit with my friends from the SQ.” He winks at me.

  “We’ll let you get back to what you were doing, then. And thanks again.”

  “Okay, Garth. Happy to help.”

  Garth? Mr. Peters’s name is Garth! For some reason it suits a guy who organizes his desk like a checkerboard. I’m so relieved I feel like I could get up and hug the guy. “Thank you, sir, for taking care of all this,” I say. “You have no idea.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket and think how lucky I am that the caretaker saw me. “Sir, there’s something else.”

  “What is it, Declan?”

  “Hal…Mr. Hinitt recognized my jacket.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that makes this the first time my jacket has gotten me out of trouble and not in it.”

  “Very true. Now, go take it off and get to class.”

  Twenty-One

  Mitch is shoveling lasagna into his mouth, “Mrs. O’Reilly, as usual, this is the best!” He’s eating like he�
�s got the munchies, but he’s not even stoned. Yet. He and Dave keep joking that he has a joint in his pocket for us to share on the way to the dance.

  Yup. The dance. We’re going to the Spring Fling. Dave says it’s about time we did some conventional high school stuff. “It’ll be fun!” The real reason we’re going? Dave’s been trying get with a ninth-grade girl named Sophie for the last couple of weeks. He needs us for moral support.

  I looked all over school for him today and found him on a ladder, hanging giant butterflies from the ceiling outside the gym. I couldn’t believe it. What a dork.

  It’s not how I want to spend this Friday night. I need a night of nothing except me and my Xbox.

  Leah’s on the organizing committee, of course. This afternoon at school, she asked if I was coming. She didn’t ask about the golf course or the police. Maybe she doesn’t know.

  Mom starts clearing away our dishes and offers us ice cream. Dave jumps up and says, “No thanks, Mrs. O. Gotta watch my girlish figure!” He pretends to feel himself up. Mitch rolls his eyes and we both groan, but Dave redeems himself by helping Mom.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say. “It was fantastic. And thanks for feeding the cretins.”

  “You’re all very welcome. It’s nice to have you boys around.”

  We finish clearing the table, and Mitch is still sitting there.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Um, I would like some ice cream, please.”

  “So get it yourself. You know where we keep it.”

  I leave to take a shower. Dave heads for the living room and flips on the TV. I can hear it and their voices from the bathroom, and for a few moments everything feels normal. I relax and let the warm water run over my face.

  When I finish, everyone’s sitting in the living room, and the guys start teasing me about my manly smell, because I put on cologne. “Ooh, Declan! Getting ready for a certain someone?” I glare at them. They better not say anything about Leah.

  “Hey, smellcome to manhood, dude!”

  “Poor Mrs. O! Old Spice has turned her boy into a man.”

  The guys are on a roll, quoting Old Spice commercials from YouTube. They take turns pushing me around, making Mom laugh. Dave’s been hanging around so long, he’s like one of her kids.

  I zero in on Dave. “You should talk. Hanging butterflies in the hall? We know why you’re dragging us to this thing.” Turning to me and Dave so Mom can’t see, Mitch makes googly eyes and sticks his tongue in and out of his mouth like gross French kissing.

  “What?” Dave pretends he doesn’t know what we’re talking about.

  I pull on my jacket and start to tie my boots. I did put on cologne, but it’s not like it’s the first time. I say bye, and the guys make a big fuss over Mom, kissing her and complimenting her on her lasagna. They may be cretins, but they’re my cretins.

  “Have fun, boys. Be good.”

  It’s snowing great big, soft flakes almost like tiny snowballs. There’s no wind, and the clouds are low, so it’s almost light out. A perfect night. I turn around and wave. Mom’s watching us from the front window. It kills me that I’m leaving her alone, and I know how she’s feeling about Seamus. She looks sad and like her mind is somewhere else all the time. I turn and catch up to my friends. We light a couple of cigarettes and head down the driveway in the moonlight.

  About halfway to the road, Mitch looks back to make sure Mom is gone and then pulls out a nice fat joint. We huddle around while he lights up and takes the first toke. Then he hands it to me. By the time we reach the road we’re feeling a nice buzz.

  We tramp along quietly, sometimes on the shoulder, sometimes in the ditch. No one’s talking. I feel like I’m being filled up by the bright, snowy night. I haven’t felt joy like this for a long time. It’s not just the weed. It’s my friends.

  Dave starts to giggle.

  “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

  “It’s so quiet!” He’s actually whispering. “Shhh, listen to the snow.”

  Mitch and I look at each other and lose it. “Dude, you’re high!” We laugh for a minute. It feels so good.

  Mitch jumps on Dave, and they both roll into the ditch. The snow is new and soft. Perfect for snow angels. I jump in and join them. We make a whole bunch of snow angels, all over the ditch. It becomes a quest to find a fresh, undisturbed spot. Man, I love snow angels. It makes me remember being a kid. They’re so soft and…and…snowy! I taste some snow from my jacket. It’s delicious! Tiny crystals sparkle in the moonlight on my sleeve.

  “Hey, guys, look how sparkly the snow is!” They both sit up from making angels to look.

  “Fuck, yeahhh, man.” Dave washes my face with snow and then runs. I make a snowball and get him in the back of the head. Mitch nails me with one. Then Dave says something about how immature we are, and we both pummel him with snowballs while he turtles in his jacket. He pulls a Kleenex out of his pocket and waves it above his head. We brush ourselves off, pull Dave up off the ground and crawl back up to the road. After we’ve been walking for a while, he asks what time it is.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It seems like we stopped for a really long time. This is taking forever.”

  “I don’t think it was a really long time. I think it’s just one of those times when you think it was a really long time because you’re high, but it wasn’t really a really long time because if you weren’t high it would only have been a couple of minutes.” I’m feeling like a fuckin’ genius. “I mean, because we’re high, it was longer. I mean, it was the same amount of time, but it seems longer. Right?”

  They stare at me like I have two heads.

  “What?”

  Mitch and Dave explode with laughter. They’re pissing themselves.

  After they calm down, Dave is still concerned about the time. He doesn’t want to get there too late and miss his chance with Sophie. Mitch to the rescue. “Don’t worry, buddy. It’s only been about ten minutes since we left Declan’s. Your sweetie’ll still be there.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Dude, the only reason we’re coming to this stupid thing is so we can hold your hand while you do the nasty with Sophie,” I say.

  “Yeah, you’re gonna let us watch, aren’t you?” Mitch makes a face with big eyes and his slobbery tongue hanging out.

  “You’re a sick puppy, Mitch.” Dave can’t wait to change the subject. “So the cops were pretty chill with you the other night, eh?”

  “Yeah. It was okay, except for being up all night. Oh right, and then there was the part about being arrested. That kinda sucked. But otherwise it was a riot.”

  “That was fucked up, man.” Mitch shakes his big curly head.

  “Actually, the fingerprint machine was cool.” I hold up my hands and wiggle my fingers. “These guys are in the national database now, property of the RCMP and the FBI. I’m famous!”

  “Dickhead, you’re not famous. You’re infamous. That’s what you say when you’re a criminal.” Dave’s a nerd at heart.

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  “I know, man, I know. That shit should never have happened.” Mitch puts his arm around my shoulders. “You’re my favorite deputy!”

  “Oh my god, Woody!” Dave pretends to pull a string in my back for more Toy Story one-liners, but I’m not in the mood. Instead, I answer Mitch. “There’s a lot of shit happening lately. Anyway, I don’t want to be a buzzkill. Can we talk about something else?”

  Mitch starts making percussion noises with his mouth and playing air drums. The guy doesn’t sing, but he belts out, “Let’s change the subject to someone else—”

  Dave yells, “Foo Fighters!” and we join in. “You know, lately I’ve been subject to change. Normally I reel in the strange. Hangover, I’m older…”

  We start walking again with our arms around each other, trying to remember the words to “A Matter of Time,” but I’m on
ly half there. I’m stunned by how for a guy who seems clueless most of the time, Mitch can totally get it when it counts.

  We stop singing and drop our arms when we hear a car behind us. I turn around and get blinded by headlights. Dumbass. You’re not supposed to look at them. The car slows down and pulls onto the shoulder. Our three heads follow it in unison until it stops beside us.

  I know this car. Shit.

  The passenger window rolls down. Mr. Peters leans over from driver’s seat. “Hello, boys. On your way to the dance?”

  “Yes, sir.” We answer together, like we’re in the army, which makes Dave start laughing again. I dig my elbow into his shoulder.

  “Great. Me too. Can I offer you a lift?”

  My mind goes into overdrive.

  Mitch’s eyes pop out of his head. He’s scared shitless. Dave and I look at each other. If we accept the lift, we’re fucked. He’ll know we’re blazed. If we don’t accept it, he’ll suspect we smoked up before the dance and catch us when we’re coming in. I’m sure Mitch has pot on him. If I know Mitch, he has loads of it. I decide on my own what to say. “Thanks, Mr. Peters, but we’re meeting friends at Tim Hortons.”

  “I could drop you there.”

  We’re only about half a kilometer away from the Tim’s. Could we pull it off? I take one look at Dave’s squinty eyes. It’s taking all of his concentration to suppress the giggles. Beads of sweat have popped out on Mitch’s forehead. For the first time, I notice he’s got more facial hair than me or Dave. Wait. I have to answer Mr. Peters’s question. As I turn my head back to him, it feels like the scenery is shifting in slow motion, “No. It’s okay, sir. Dave has to practice his lines.” What the fuck? Too late. The words are already out of my mouth.

  “Lines?”

  “Uh, for the variety show. We’re helping him while we’re walking. We’ve been sitting at school all day anyway. Lots of fresh air out here.”

  I hear Dave mutter, “And sparkly snow.” He’s starting to vibrate, ready to explode.

  “All right then. See you at the dance.” Mr. Peters waves and drives away.