The Not So Simple Life (A Comedy)

by Shea, Stephen

  After breakfast, Violet and I packed up our belongings. While she was in the bathroom, I took our bags out to the front door. Christopher was standing there. He looked around the corner, then whispered, "How long have you been seeing her?"

  "Not long."

  "I like her. But..."

  Uh oh. "But what?"

  "There's something wrong with her."

  "Oh, I know...her left eye is a little bigger—"

  "Do you think that would matter to me? Me who can't even move one side of my face?" The first bitter utterance I'd heard from Chris. A half scowl appeared then was gone. "No, I like her, but there's something about her that...I don't know. It's just that whenever she's done telling you something she stares right into your eyes like she wants to make sure you believe her. It bothered me a little." He paused. "But she sure is beautiful." And he hit my shoulder.

  "She is." What was he trying to tell me? To watch her?

  Oh my God, she's a psycho! Hide the knives!

  Violet came out behind us. Immediately I felt guilty. "Ready?" I asked. She nodded, but didn't speak. Had she heard anything?

  Christopher, Joanna and the kids followed us outside. Hugs were exchanged, I gave Chris a stiff embrace, afraid of another emotional reaction. I felt I should say something bigger than goodbye, to thank him for the times he'd been a big brother to me, but all that came out was a frivolous, "See ya."

  And before I could find any better words I was in Odin and heading away.

  If only life had a rewind button.

  Nineteen

  Totem

  We stopped at a gas station on the edge of the Number One. As I watched the attendant slide my Visa through the till, my stomach sank. What if the credit card company knew I'd been fired?

  Bad credit warning! Destroy this man's card and shoot him dead.

  Somewhere in that mystical cyberspace of bank accounts, my number was accepted. The attendant handed back the card and I slid it carefully into my wallet.

  By mid-morning we were near the end of the foothills. The land was gradually turning to stone, becoming all gray, black and green. The mountains filled up the windshield. It was blasphemous to think we could cross them. But we were in Odin, god of all Volvos—anything was possible.

  Violet offered me a piece of gum.

  "Have you been hiding this?" I asked.

  "No, I got it when we stopped."

  Did she go in the gas station with me? I had forgotten. Whatcha doing Gramps?

  Just trying to remember whether I have Alzheimer's or not.

  A black sports car passed us and, as if caught in a magnetic pull, Odin accelerated. After about five minutes Violet asked, "Did your foot get heavier?"

  I checked the speedometer. Seventy-five miles an hour. What did that work out to in kilometers? Didn't matter, it was over the speed limit. "I have a very good reason for speeding."

  "Which is?"

  "I have to go to the bathroom."

  "Then stop. There are lots of trees here."

  "I can't urinate in the open. It's not polite."

  "What? Outside is the best place for men to pee. Then they can't get the toilet seat dirty."

  The logic appealed to my brain and my bladder. "Maybe I could." I pulled the warning switch on and stopped at the side of the highway. I saw the brake lights flash on the black sports car. Was it slowing down too? It disappeared over a hill.

  "See you in a bit," I said, then I was outside and down into the ditch, passing beer cans and paper tossed by people with no connection to Mother Nature. Bio-d-grade? Is that right after grade eight?

  I crossed a barbed wire fence and forced my way through a wall of trees. I kept going until I couldn't see the highway anymore. The further I went, the more silent it became and the air cleared. I stumbled across a warm and green grove. Peaceful.

  How many places existed like this? Maybe Violet and I should hike the rest of the way to the coast. Traveling in a vehicle, even a Volvo, wasn't personal enough.

  I watered the lawn. Zipped up. Sighed. I will admit freely that I enjoy that sense of release and fulfillment. One of the many simple pleasures in life.

  I looked around, let my eyes drink in the beauty of this forest. I felt calm. Warm. A part of everything. The energy of the world was flowing through me.

  I stepped into the open, saw that one end of the grove was shimmering with prismatic shapes.

  Dragonflies. Hundreds of them hovered patiently in a sun beam, had perhaps been waiting for me since the age of dinosaurs. They stared, unblinking, their wings colorful blurs.

  I stared back, holding my breath. Was there a sense of recognition in their eyes? Of brotherhood? For a brief moment I believed in a guiding force, that there was more to this universe than senselessness and coincidence.

  Why else would they be here?

  I took a tiny step.

  They watched. Each of their eyes reflecting a hundred different Caseys taking a hundred different steps. I knew they saw light differently than we humans. What else could they view? My karma? My soul? A world within our world?

  Another step.

  Now I could hear humming. The rush of air. I breathed in.

  I could fly with these creatures. Become one of them. It was possible. The wind from their wings was already making me lighter.

  A third step.

  They scattered into the trees. I waited for a long minute or two, but there was no return.

  The whole episode had to mean something. I just had no idea what.

  I headed back to Odin.

  Twenty

  We're Big...We're Bad...We're Mountains

  I was in awe.

  The mountains had surrounded us, filling up every windshield, shrinking Odin. The further we went the smaller we became. They were unmoved by our presence.

  We are ancient. We are stone. We will remain here long after you have gone.

  Vulnerable, minute now, we followed the blue ribbon of pavement that led us through their domain. We passed the occasional building, houses or mills; people with the audacity to build here. We went past Banff and I wondered how man could decide where Mother Nature began and ended. You could not fence this in.

  Soon my awe turned to a racked fear. The highway became ruthless: a series of sharp curves, inclines and sudden roller coaster drops that tested both my mettle and Odin's. Obviously Barnum and Bailey had blasted this road out of the rock.

  Hey Barnum, this drop'll dirty a few diapers!

  Any moment now I expected to see a big tent and admission gates. Driving took its toll—my arms were too stiff to move, my back had started to cramp up. Someone had injected contact cement into my joints.

  I spotted a rest stop and halted next to two bathrooms, a picnic table and a garbage can. Ahead of us was a sign that read Scenic View, for those humans who had forgotten how to recognize beauty.

  Hey, Martha, it's another one of them there Scenic places. See anything?

  Just mountains and trees, Ernest. Nuttin' else.

  "What are we doing?" Violet asked.

  "I need to stretch."

  I opened my door, used it to help me stand. Violet got out too, arched her back then walked over to where the trees had been removed to form a vista of mountains, mist and a twisting river.

  I went through my form, willing my muscles to softness. In a few short minutes I was finished, sweating even though the air was cool.

  When I glanced back at Odin, I saw Violet inside digging in her backpack. Fetish? Me? No, just can't seem to live without my luggage. She looked up, set the bag down, and joined me.

  "More gum?" She offered.

  I took a piece. We both stared at the river below us. Comforting to know that in its roundabout way it was heading to the ocean too.

  "Odin's running well," I said finally, just wanting to talk.

  Violet turned, looked at me, a glitter in her eye. "Why do you call him Odin?"

  "He deserves a name."

  "And your mi
ssing finger too?"

  I shrugged, self-conscious. "It's a charming habit of mine."

  "Casey, you want to understand the Tao, right?"

  I nodded.

  "Then why do you name everything? The Tao is the nameless thing."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "That understanding the way isn't putting names to things, it's realizing there is an inherent mystery to life. A mystery that cannot be captured in a name, but can be experienced. Let go of the labels."

  "Are your saying I think too much?"

  Violet chuckled. I wanted to hear it more, to make her laugh again. "Maybe you just want to know too much."

  "Shall we go?" I asked.

  Violet nodded and we returned to Odin, headed onto the pavement and upwards.

  Twenty One

  An Amazing and Surprising Collection of Collectibles

  We made good time from then on. It seemed we had reached the zenith of our journey.

  We stopped for lunch and more gas and carried on as night started to settle on the hard shoulders of the mountains. The giant rocks were wearing on me now. They were just too massive, too godlike.

  I'm from the prairie. I need my big, blue sky!

  We stopped twice more for fuel and food. We were nearing the Pacific, I could even smell a tinge of salt in the air. The ocean was out there, its presence washing up against my imagination. Soon it would be real.

  I wished my Dad could be there, a longing that a few days ago would never have appeared in my head. But something about that poem made me believe he loved the wide open water the same way I did, that it had become a part of him. I imagined both of us traveling to see it, father and son on a joyride. An impossible event, but it made me smile.

  And yet shifting in the layers below my thoughts was a nervousness, a fear. Now I had two fathers, the one conjured by a poem and the other an angry ogre who lurked in my memory.

  Eek! It's another showing of Father Jekyll and Daddy Hyde.

  Odin made a weird sound, lost power suddenly, rev's dropping to 2500 to 1000, then he snapped back to full force, running constant.

  "What was that?" Violet asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe the air up here affects him. Gas to oxygen ratios and stuff. He seems to be all right now." And he was running perfectly as I spoke. Ten minutes later the same thing happened.

  "Should we stop?"

  I scanned the gauges. Temperature fine, fuel at 1/2, no warning lights. "We should be okay. If it gets worse, we'll stop."

  Ten minutes later he did an encore. I slowed, then sped up. The moment I went over forty miles an hour Odin complained with a loud grinding noise. I pulled off the highway and lurched into a town called Hope. But the gas stations had closed for the night and there would be no mechanics till morning.

  "Guess we're gonna have to stay here," Violet said. "We'll get to Vancouver first thing tomorrow."

  I agreed. Odin jittered and shook his way to a motel on the edge of town, a line of fake log cabins set in trees. Tourist traps, but we were desperate. I put everything on my Visa and we unpacked Odin and headed into our room.

  "Isn't it your brother's birthday?" Violet asked once we had settled in.

  "Yes." How long had it been since Chris had reminded me to call Lloyd? Hard to believe the real world was still turning out there; a world of anniversaries, dentist appointments and lunch hours. I phoned to wish him a happy birthday. The line buzzed and I felt a desperate need to reach Lloyd, to say hi, to let him and my family know I was alive.

  I got his answering machine. Was put on the spot by a beep.

  Stage fright!

  "Uh...Hi Lloyd, this is...uh...me...Casey. Happy birthday!" A clever sadist must have invented answering machines. "I'm in Hope at...uh...Sundown motel, room 34, just in case you want to phone. But I'll try back later."

  I hung up, feeling I had missed an important opportunity. I could phone Mom and Dad's, Lloyd might be there...but that would mean talking to Mom.

  I heard the shower running—Violet had slipped into the bathroom. I found the room a little cold so I dug in my suitcase for a sweatshirt, extricating its wrinkled form from all the other clothes I had jammed inside. I pulled it on and patted down my hair.

  I decided to look at Dad's poem again.

  It wasn't in my suitcase. I searched through it, shaking each article of clothing. But nothing.

  I knew I had put the poem in there, right at the bottom. I could not have misplaced it.

  Then I had an image of Violet with her hand in her backpack, glancing nervously at me.

  It couldn't be.

  And yet.

  Violet's pack was tucked out of sight in a corner. I went over to it, squatted. If I peeked inside there would be nothing wrong with that. Just curiosity. Almost accidental.

  What am I doing in your bag? Would you believe I tripped and fell right into it? No, really! Cross my heart!

  The shower was still running.

  I unzipped the first compartment, heard that familiar metallic clink, a tinny sound. All I found were her silky clothes.

  I opened the next zipper and pushed my hand in slowly, expecting mousetraps. Twack! Twack!

  Instead I discovered cold metal. I gingerly pulled out a handful and spread it on the floor.

  Knives, forks, spoons...an assortment of cutlery. All the utensils were thin, restaurant types without any monetary value. I reached in again. There were some pens too, pencils, matches, a small bag of Monty's Flour, three watches, a glass eye, a Kelsey's napkin wrapped around a wad of five dollar bills. Stolen money?

  Why had she been so eager to get into my Volvo in Saskatoon?

  This was getting very weird.

  I held the glass eye up to the light. It stared at me as I stared at it. Was there a pirate somewhere with an empty socket? Mateys, I lost ma eye to a rabid parrot! A matchbook said: ONE EYED JACK'S. It had a Vancouver address on the back.

  I reached in again. This was beginning to feel like a carnival game—what toys would I come up with this time? Ma, I need another quarter! Please! This time I came out with a small glass vial.

  Inside was a finger.

  I almost dropped it. I chomped down on my lip to hold back a scream. My finger! It had found its way back to me!

  The chickens are coming! The chickens are coming!

  Somehow my white feathered nemeses had plotted this whole thing out, stolen my finger, preserved it in formaldehyde, slipped it into Violet's case and...

  I looked closer. It wasn't my ring finger. It was a little finger and it was a yellowish colour. But who did it belong to? Did she collect body parts?

  Was Violet eyeing up some section of me to add to this collection?

  It would be impossible to stop now.

  I reached into the bag, dug around, and came out with the final handful.

  The first thing was a silver pen that read: RCMP. Christopher Stewart.

  It belonged to my brother. I couldn't remember him giving it to her. Then I spotted a second item that shocked me. A Volvo sign, she had pried it off Odin while I wasn't looking.

  Sacrilege! Drag out the stocks!

  As I picked it up, a piece of familiar yellowed paper came too.

  My father's poem.

  She had stolen it. Taken a part of me and stuffed it into her collection. The blow was almost physical, forcing the air from my lungs.

  What was wrong with that woman?

  I rescued the pen, the Volvo sign and the poem. I read my father's words again, but nothing registered. I carefully folded the paper and dug deep into my suitcase, hiding it and the other things in the very bottom. Then I stuffed the forks and odds and ends back into her pack and left it unzipped.

  I sat on the bed, waiting.

  Twenty Two

  About this Little Habit of Yours

  "I looked inside your backpack," I said.

  Violet had just emerged from the bathroom, smiling, wrapped in a huge towel, a mantle of steam around her. Her fa
ce hardened.

  "You what?"

  "Why did you have my father's poem?"

  "I didn't." She leaned against the wall.

  "Yes, you did. And all those forks and pens and other shit. What's it all for?"

  "Why did you look there?"

  "Why did you steal it?"

  "I didn't steal anything!"

  "What do you call it then? Borrowing?"

  "I didn't steal," a faint whisper. As if she were disappearing into a sea shell.

  "Christ, Violet! There was an eye in there. And a finger!"

  "It was his finger." Her voice was even lower now. She was shaking, her legs didn't seem strong enough to hold her. She lurched her way to the bed, collapsed into a sitting position.

  "Whose finger?"

  "Charlie's. The guy at the restaurant who thought he might know me."

  "You stole his finger?"

  "He...he cut it off to join a gang. Then he kept it on his shelf. He was a big swinger, a friend of a friend who used to live in Saskatoon. He had lots of bashes. I stole it at one of them. I don't think he knew I took it—he barely even knew who I was. I didn't know he came from a small town."

  "Why do you have tattoos?"

  "I was...I went through a hard time. I did some bad things. Joined a girl gang. I was just sixteen."

  I couldn't wrap my grey matter around these new facts. Couldn't make sense of anything. My head was beginning to ache. "You stole from my brother."

  She blinked. Her larger eye was slower than the other one, making her look like a slightly damaged doll. "I had to take it, Casey," another whisper. "Don't you understand? I liked them."

  "What?"

  "I knew I might never see them again. So I had to have something to remember them by."

  "You stole his pen because you liked them?"

  "I can't—I can't help it. I can keep part of them with me, then."

  "And that's why you stole from me?"

  "You're going to leave, Casey. You know too much about me already. I had to have part of you to remember all this...this trip. I just had to."