Trickster Drift

by Eden Robinson

  “I’m positive.”

  She seemed serious. Jared said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now come on. Let’s eat.”

  His plate was on the kitchen table. She brought him a coffee and then sat across from him and watched him while he ate. She smiled. He wolfed down his food, partly because he was starving, partly because he didn’t like being stared at.

  “Simon Fraser University has an Aboriginal Pre-Health programme,” she said. “You’d be a perfect fit.”

  “The programme I want to get into is at BCIT.”

  “The credits are transferable.”

  “I’m going to stick with my plan.”

  “Do you realize a collection of T-shirts does not a wardrobe make? We can freshen your ensemble. I’m part owner of a clothing co-op. I’d get you a discount.”

  “All this makeover stuff makes me uncomfortable. Really, really uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not trying to make you over,” Mave said. “I’m trying to make amends.”

  Jared shrugged. “I appreciate you wanting to help, but, um, it’s okay. I can handle this.”

  “Of course,” Mave said. “But if there’s anything, anything at all that you need to help you with school, please let me know.”

  Jared immediately thought about his textbooks and then wished he hadn’t.

  “I mean it,” she said.

  “I—” he started, then took a breath. “I wouldn’t mind borrowing some money for my textbooks. Just borrow. I can pay you back when my loan comes in.”

  “You don’t have to pay me back,” she said.

  “I do,” he said.

  Her smile faltered and her expression crumpled. She sipped her coffee, holding the mug in front of her face as her eyes watered.

  “Never mind,” Jared said.

  “I’ll call a cab,” she said, forcing a smile. “Let’s go get you some books.”

  They stood in line at the bookstore forever. Mave paid for his books on her credit card.

  “Let’s see if any of your profs are around,” Mave said.

  “I’m still kind of tired,” Jared said.

  “Come on,” Mave said.

  The physics prof wasn’t there. In the biology department, a tall guy wearing a fluorescent green windbreaker was chatting with the department secretary when they walked in. He sat on the edge of her desk, gangly legs in black biker shorts. His brown hair was sweat-curled around his forehead. The secretary chewed the end of her pen, and her eyes travelled up and down Cycle Guy’s body when he turned to see who had come in.

  “I’m looking for Professor Struan Moore,” Mave said. “Is he in today?”

  “Speak of the devil,” the bike guy said. “And here I am.”

  They laughed. The secretary smiled tightly.

  “Hi, I’m Mavis Moody and this is my—”

  He shot up, his expression shifting to shock. “The Mavis Moody? Landscape Porn Mavis Moody?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” she said.

  He grabbed her hand and pumped it. “Christ! I’m— Crap, excuse the sweat! If I’d known I was going to meet you today, I’d have— I mean. Hello! What a pleasure! I mean an honour! This is, uh, um, Cecily? It’s Cecily, right?”

  Mave laughed. She pulled her hand out of Moore’s and held it out for Cecily, who gave it a limp shake then sat back, widening the smile that never touched her eyes. “Struan doesn’t have office hours until next week,” she said.

  “I wasn’t even going to come in today!” Struan said. “Can I buy you a coffee? I included Landscape in my master’s thesis and, well, I just, I can’t, I mean— Christ, I’m sorry for the babbling.”

  “What was your thesis about?” Mave said.

  “Sediment dynamics and pollutant flow mobility in the middle and upper reaches of the Fraser River system and their effect on Coho salmonoid maturation.”

  “You’re kidding!” Mave said. “Oh, the Mount Polley mine tailing pond dam breach was so heartbreaking.”

  “Are you free for dinner? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

  “Hold on a minute—I’m here with my nephew. This is Jared Martin, who’ll be in your biology class.”

  “Hi,” Struan said, grabbing Jared’s hand briefly, eyes fixed on Mave. “So, dinner? Sometime? Any time? Or coffee. Yes, let’s start with coffee.”

  “I’d love to go out for dinner sometime. And I know about a hundred people who’d love to read your thesis. Is it downloadable?”

  “Give me their e-mails,” Struan said. “Just let me get a fresh shirt.”

  “Honest sweat is never offensive,” Mave said.

  Struan beamed down at Mave. She lowered her head, smiling coyly through her eyelashes.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  The second he left, she dropped her purse on Cecily’s desk and rummaged through it. She flipped open a compact and started dusting her face with powder. She ran gloss over her lips and fluffed her hair with her fingers. From Cecily’s murderous expression, if she could have blown up brains with the power of thought, Mave would have been headless.

  “Do I have anything on my teeth?” Mave said.

  “Is he single?” Jared said to Cecily.

  Her expression soured further. “Yes.”

  “Your teeth are fine, Mave.”

  “Oh, Jelly Bean,” Mave said.

  * * *

  —

  Jared didn’t want to be a third wheel while they went for coffee, but Mave refused to let him bus back home without her. So they stayed in the office where Mave and Struan gabbed about his thesis forever while Cecily typed furiously on her computer and Jared flipped through his textbooks. After Mave asked Cecily to call them a cab, it was another hour before it showed. Another day shot and he was no closer to finding a new place to park, Jared thought, as he stared out the taxi window. When they entered the apartment, Jared heard the TV going and thought it was going to be the annoying bathrobe man, but Hank sat in the recliner, frowning at his phone.

  “How’re you doing today, Aunt Mave?” Hank said.

  “Wonderful,” Mave said. “Thank you for asking, Hank.”

  “Any word on your bug?”

  “They’re working on it next week.”

  “Hey, Genius,” Hank said, looking at Jared.

  “Hey, Henry-kins,” Jared said.

  “Boys,” Mave said. “Play nice.”

  Jared retreated to his room and put his textbooks on his desk. He tried to turn his new phone on, but it stayed dark. He plugged it in and hoped it was just out of juice.

  After a while, he heard Justice’s voice. “Hel-lo, First Lady Mave. You should wear pink more often. Look how you glow!”

  Jared sighed. After a few minutes, Mave knocked on his bedroom door. She opened it, even though he hadn’t asked her to come in, but she stayed in the doorway.

  “Are you hungry?” she said. “Justice brought barbecue pork skewers and a rice noodle salad.”

  “I’m good,” Jared said.

  “I promise everyone will behave,” she said.

  “I just need some space.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But if you get hungry later, my kitchen is your kitchen. Help yourself to anything.”

  The apartment buzzer rang. He heard Hank answer the intercom and then shout: “Jared! Delivery for you!”

  When Jared came out of his bedroom, Justice was sitting at the dining table and Hank was near the intercom holding a skewer. “It’s from someone named Sophia Martin.”

  Ah, the copy of the old restraining order.

  “Scary Sophia,” Mave said to Justice and Hank. “The only person alive who intimidates my sister.”

  “Sophia’s not scary,” Jared said.

  “Oh, Jelly Bean,” Mave said. “She’s one dead husband away from her own America’s Most Wanted special.”

  The delivery guy who arrived at the apartment door was heart-attack red and sweaty. His board was sticky. After Jared signed the pap
erwork, the guy handed him an envelope that had not only a notarized copy of the restraining order but also a set of keys, motor vehicle transfer papers and a short note on thick, creamy paper:

  A little memento. Yours, Sophia.

  “Your scooter’s being unloaded,” the delivery guy said. “Where do you want it?”

  “I’m not, um— My what?”

  “Come on down.”

  Mave, Justice and Hank all came down with them. The delivery van was double-parked and cars honked in irritation as they squeezed by.

  His partner had finished unloading Sophia’s powder-blue Vespa on the sidewalk. The matching helmet and goggles hung from the handlebars.

  “Do you remember Jean-Jacques Beineix’s Diva?” Mave said. “Oh, I loved that movie. We need to get you a blue jacket, Jared. And a postman’s cap.”

  “The postman rode a moped, not a Vespa, Maamaan. A Motobécane.”

  “Don’t be such a literalist, my darling girl.”

  Jared touched the handlebar. He remembered all the “toodles” he and Sophia had taken, the engine whining up and down the hills of Prince Rupert. He supposed he could use it to get to school, but his mom would have conniptions if she found out city living had turned her son into scooter trash. For a dedicated Harley-Davidson fan like her, that would be like bringing a tofurkey to the Rod and Gun Club potluck. Selling it might get him a few bucks, but Sophia didn’t make sentimental gestures often. He noticed the wonder in Mave’s eyes, her longing. She was keeping a roof over his head and had just bought him textbooks and offered him her old iPhone.

  He held out the key for Mave. “Want to give it a go?”

  “I couldn’t,” she said.

  “We don’t even know if it works,” Justice said.

  “Try it out,” Jared insisted.

  “Does it have gas?” Hank said. “Do we need insurance?”

  “Really?” Mave said to Jared.

  “Really.”

  Mave squealed then hopped on, handing Jared the helmet and goggles as Justice and Hank both started giving her instructions. Mave happily ignored them both, started the Vespa and took off. Her little pink hat fluttered on her head like it was trying to take off. She reached up to hold on to it with one hand, bombing along the sidewalk, swerving around pedestrians who shouted at her.

  “I don’t think that’s legal,” the delivery guy said.

  “Off the sidewalk!” Justice shouted.

  Mave veered onto the road, cutting off a car that was turning onto Graveley from Commercial Drive. She let go of her hat and it whipped away. A series of irritated honks echoed up and down the street as she wobbled into a turn then zipped back towards them, honking as she passed, her face lit with a blissful smile as she narrowly avoided smacking into the delivery truck.

  “Take my picture!” she said.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Hank yelled.

  “She’s going to kill herself,” Justice said.

  “Go, go, Jackie O,” the delivery guy said.

  14

  First thing the next morning, Mave announced they were in dire need of agave syrup. Jared looked up from his laptop, sipping a coffee. She wore a mustard dress with blue tights and rust-coloured boots that she’d probably chosen to coordinate with the scooter.

  “You can ride the Vespa any time,” Jared said. “You don’t need an excuse.”

  “Shall we get you a new SIM card for the iPhone today?”

  “I’d like that,” Jared said.

  “The nearest store opens at eleven. Consider it done.” She flipped her scarf over her shoulder then lowered her giant white sunglasses. “Ciao!”

  “Later.”

  He heard her boots clicking down the hallway. She’d cut up about a hundred mangoes and left them in a large bowl beside him on the dining room table. Jared slid some onto a plate. He was wondering if he wanted to squeeze in a meeting before she got back when the TV clicked on. Jared slowly turned around, but he knew no one else was home. The balcony door was open and the apartment was filled with intense morning sunlight. Dust sparkled in the air. The TV flipped through the channels by itself. Maybe, Jared thought, someone had the same TV as Mave, and their remote was turning on her set. Old-time transporter sounds from the original Star Trek filled the apartment as the TV stopped on the science fiction channel. The scrawny man wearing a ratty green bathrobe emerged from the wall and plopped himself in the recliner.

  “Finally. I thought she’d never leave,” Bathrobe said.

  Crap, Jared thought. He’s a ghost.

  “The Doctor Who marathon starts soon,” Bathrobe said. “Feel free to make yourself scarce.”

  “You…you’re a…you…”

  “Aha. So you finally realized I’m not fully in your ‘dimension’?” Bathrobe said. “I suppose I could wear a name tag: Hi, I’m Dead.”

  Jared couldn’t find any words.

  The ghost grimaced. “Your slack-jawed silence is even more annoying than your self-involved blather.”

  Jared walked over to the television and unplugged it. Bathrobe howled.

  “I have nothing against the dead,” Jared said. “But if you don’t leave this apartment, I’m going to cleanse it.”

  “That isn’t fair!” Bathrobe said. “I was here first!”

  “Go haunt someone else!”

  “I’m not haunting you! Sweet TARDIS! The hubris of you!”

  “This isn’t personal. I have zero tolerance for ghosts, spirits or magic.”

  “Hubris is when a dumb-ass like you thinks it’s all about him!”

  “Get out!”

  “I just want to watch Doctor Who!”

  “Go watch your lame show somewhere else!”

  The ghost flickered furiously. The lamp by the recliner flared to life and the bulb popped. All the lights in the apartment sputtered. Jared hunted through Mave’s mess of things for sweetgrass, sage, tobacco, anything. One of her books flew through the air and smacked into the wall. Jared stomped into the kitchen. He found a tiny bottle of dried sage in the spice rack. He got his aunt’s ceramic diffuser from the top of the fridge and mixed the herb with some cooking oil, then lit a tea candle and placed it in the diffuser. He watched the ghost expectantly, hoping Bathrobe would vanish. The resulting aroma reminded Jared of all the Thanksgiving turkeys his mother had resentfully plunked in the oven, declaring the bird would be done when she said it was done, so don’t fucking bug her about it during the football game.

  Bathrobe crossed his arms over his chest. “Your ghetto-smudge won’t work.”

  Jared went up to Bathrobe and stuck his hand through Bathrobe’s face, wiggling his fingers. They tingled from the cold.

  “Stop that,” Bathrobe said. “Stop it.”

  Somehow, his mom had made this look easy. When she touched spirits and ghosts, they went poof, like burst balloons filled with smoke. Dispersion was a matter of will, she’d told him. Bathrobe stepped back and Jared followed him, willing him to disappear. Bathrobe sighed heavily and started to float. Jared got a broom. He started whacking Bathrobe like he was an otherworldly pinata.

  “Fine,” Bathrobe said. “I’m leaving. But if you want to avoid the supernatural, you need to leave this apartment. It is an interdimensional nex—”

  “Get out!”

  “I warned you!”

  And with that, he popped out of existence.

  Jared blew out the tea candle. He waited, but the ghost in the bathrobe stayed away.

  Dealing with the dead is a sucker’s game, his mom liked to say. If the needy fuckers won’t go into the light themselves, you have to punt them.

  Jared went to a meeting. When he got back, Mave was home and wanted to take the scooter to the cellphone store.

  “I’m not riding bitch-seat on a Vespa,” Jared said.

  She laughed and suggested they walk instead.

  The store was barely ten minutes away. Once the new SIM card was in, Jared chose a new phone number. The clerk offered to transfer his file
s. When that was done, Jared sat on a bench with his new-to-him phone while his aunt and the clerk discussed oppressive immigration limits and the rise of the Temporary Foreign Worker Program.

  Jared texted Crashpad: If ur happy & u no it…

  Crashpad replied: Ur probably overmedicated. Who’s this?

  Jared laughed. Jared. Howz tricks?

  Silly rabbit, tricks r 4 politicians. What’s with da new #?

  I got an iPhone!

  H8t u.

  Still got a shitty phone plan but hey thatz y therz coffee shops.

  Haha. Crap. Hitlerz mad I’m ignoring her lecture. C u

  L8r

  His mom’s text simply said: txt me back shithead.

  Hey, Jared texted her. I’m breathing. This is my Vancouver #.

  He sent out a mass text giving his contacts his new phone number. He checked his Facebook account. Mave wanted to be friends. On her wall, she had about a billion selfies of herself on the Vespa from last night and this morning. She didn’t mention Sophia, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t. Jared didn’t know if his mom and his aunt were Facebook friends or what they could see about each other. Maybe his mom wouldn’t recognize the Vespa. Nope, better to bite the bullet just in case. Come clean. Talk like grown-ups. Jared squinted as he texted his mom: FYI—Sophia dropped by the hostel. Worried @ David.

  No response. As the minutes ticked by, Jared thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Maybe his mom was having fun and too busy to notice that he’d been chatting with her ex-mother-in-law. Maybe his mom’d had a heart attack when she read his text and was on the floor clutching her chest, stunned at the stupid way he clung to people who showed him the slightest bit of affection. Not surprised, though. That was the problem with becoming self-aware: your own patterns became glaringly obvious. One of the people in the meeting had been sharing today, recounting all their horrible choices in relationships, and Jared had felt a twinge of recognition.

  “Ready?” Mave said.

  When Jared looked up, she was smiling at him.

  “Thanks again,” he said, waggling the phone before he put it in his back pocket.

  “What did you think of Struan?” Mave said.

  “I think he liked you.”