Calmer Girls

by Jennifer Kelland Perry

  “I’ve never seen him that angry. Maybe he’s actually serious about Veronica, I don’t know. Ben never talks to me about his feelings. But he does seem to have lost his head over something.” Kalen looked around as the boy with the bloody nose got to his feet with the help of Crystal and Andrew. He held the paper towel to his face, looking bewildered. “I saw his mother again this afternoon, going into his house. She was with a man but he waited in the car while she was in there.”

  “So you think she has a boyfriend now? That’s probably what put him in such a crappy mood.” Samantha wondered how she would feel if her father found someone new in Alberta. Of course, Veronica’s sultry performance certainly hadn’t helped matters any.

  She shivered, prompting Kalen to hug her closer. Some of the teenagers were leaving, while others gathered around Crystal, Andrew, and their injured guest in commiseration. “I should go home and see how things are,” Samantha said. “I hope Ben calmed down.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sure she’s okay,” said Kalen. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  Samantha was glad the wet weather had ended when they took their leave. Instead, the now-quiet streets of St. John’s were swathed in a heavy cloak of fog, smothering the sounds of their footsteps and conversation as the two of them disappeared out into the night.

  Chapter Seven

  “Alright, kids. Time to pass in your supplies and get ready for home,” Samantha announced, looking at the clock on the cheerful yellow wall of the youth center. The group of youngsters scattered around the wide table slowly complied, bringing up their markers and crayons, refilling the large plastic bin she held open for them. Others stood near her, waving their creations in front of her face, waiting for her to look at their new works of art.

  “Is this good, Samantha?” one little boy asked, his wide, solemn eyes on her face as he waited for her evaluation. He held up a vividly coloured picture of what appeared to be a horse or a giraffe, Samantha wasn’t certain.

  “Excellent job, Ryan!” she exclaimed, double-checking the little fellow’s name tag. “What’s his name?” Quickly, she gathered the last stray crayons and closed the bin with a click. She scarcely believed it was four o’clock already; the afternoon had flown by in a flash. She noted Peg, the program director, glancing in her direction from the exit at the end of the large room. Already with her jacket on and her keys rattling, she made motions to lock up the youth center for the day.

  “Her name, you mean,” Ryan corrected her. “It’s my dog. Abby. I told you.”

  “Oh, of course it’s Abby. Sorry, I forgot, Ryan. Make sure you show it off when you get home.” She smiled at the boy as he waved goodbye and trooped out the door with the others.

  “So what did you think of your first day?” Peg asked as they walked out together. Even though her co-worker was much smaller in stature than she was, she appeared to be about twenty, but Sam wasn’t sure. She had the brisk, confident attitude of someone older and experienced. Samantha wished some of that easy confidence would rub off on her over the coming weeks so she wouldn’t feel so nervous about the new school and her life in general.

  Two of the remaining little stragglers, clutching their art, skipped up the street with their mother. “I think it went pretty well,” Samantha said. “The kids are adorable, and most of them seem to like me well enough.”

  Peg smiled. “You did great. You’ve got a knack for teaching them about art too.”

  Samantha’s face broke into a grin. “You really think so? Most kids love drawing and colouring anyway, don’t they?”

  Peg pulled open the door of her rusted hatchback with a loud creak, throwing her canvas carryall in on the seat before she hopped in. She rolled down her window before she turned the key in the ignition. The old car sputtered, then roared to life. “Yes, but somehow, you got them all wanting to do their best for you. When they saw your cat drawing, they could hardly wait to get started on creating their own.”

  Samantha thought of the rolled-up drawing in her satchel of Clawd, Nana’s calico tomcat. When she’d completed it all those years ago, she remembered Nana asking to hang it in her bedroom as soon as Samantha had showed it to her.

  After telling Peg she didn’t need a ride because she only lived a couple of blocks away, Samantha looped her satchel over her shoulder and thanked her lucky stars for letting her have this job. It had been a successful afternoon on all accounts. Her new co-worker was friendly and capable, the children were, for the most part, adorable and well-behaved, and her own abilities gave her self-esteem the boost it desperately needed.

  The world felt a little different. Brighter, and bigger somehow.

  Rounding the corner to her street, she turned her face up to the cloudless blue sky, catching the perfume of wildflowers and warm grass from the nearby back gardens. Not wanting to dampen her good mood by going home right away, her feet slowed on the sidewalk. She paused, changed her mind, and turned around. Perhaps I’ll take the long route and walk by Ben’s house on my way home, she decided, hoping he wasn’t still at his own job. With no plan in mind other than to get a glimpse of him, she walked to Gower Street.

  So is this what my life has become? Stalking my sister’s boyfriend? Laughing to herself, she nearly changed her mind again when his house came into view, but then she spied him.

  “Get off my case, old man!”

  Samantha retreated a little when she saw Ben storming out of his house. He banged the door so savagely, she was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges. An older man reopened the door. Just as tall and handsome as his son, Sam affirmed, though he was grey near the temples and wore black-rimmed glasses.

  “Come back here! We need to talk about this!” Mr. Swift strode part of the way up the sidewalk before shaking his head and returning inside. Ben had disappeared down the street.

  Poor Ben. Whatever was going on with him, whether it concerned his mother’s new boyfriend or not, her heart suffered for him. Being a teenager was turbulent enough without having to deal with your family being blown apart. She knew it firsthand. Absorbed in her pondering, she continued on around the block to get back to Military Road.

  Only he was there, leaning up against a rock wall at the turn in the road. His tall, lanky form appeared beaten; his broad shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat. With his face turned downward, he looked as if he were fighting back tears. A rush of tenderness welled up inside Samantha; she was surprised to be reminded of the little boy, Ryan, she had met that day. Sometimes, weren’t they all little boys at their core?

  “Ben, are you all right?” she asked, so softly she wasn’t sure he heard her at first.

  He looked up, startled. “What do you want?”

  “Rough day?”

  “Ah, the usual. I’m just sick of my…old man, sometimes,” he said. He attempted a smile, which she knew was only for her benefit. “How are you doing?” He rubbed his hand over his eyes before he dared to look at her.

  “I just got off work at the youth center. My part-time job started today.” She leaned against the wall next to him, dropping her satchel beside her. “It’s only a four-week gig, but it’s something.” How she wished she could touch him at that moment, to wipe away that little tear stain on his cheek that he had missed.

  “That’s cool. Sounds like a good fit for you. I was lucky to find the bookstore job too, even though I only get twenty hours a week max. The old man wanted me to enjoy the time off instead, before I started university. I wouldn’t listen to him.”

  Samantha stared at the cars whizzing by, nodding in understanding. Some passengers looked in their direction, and briefly she wondered if they presumed she and Ben were a couple. Her cheeks warmed at the idea.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Ben asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Why does Veronica have to be such a big flirt?” Ben frowned, staring down at her. “Is there a particular reason she needs to be the star attraction all the goddamn time?”
>
  “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for years. What I do know is she’s been a party girl for as long as I can remember. Always looking for excitement. Crushing on some guy or having a boyfriend doesn’t stop her from being a proper tease with everyone else. I don’t think it means anything, really. Maybe if you tried to ignore it—”

  “Ha! That’s easier said than done. It makes me feel like two cents. I wish I never hit that guy; he just happened to get pulled into her stupid game. Last night, his mother came to see me when I was out. She tore a strip off my old man. Now I’m supposed to apologize to the guy, if I ever want to borrow the car again.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

  “She told me last night she regretted her behaviour at the party. Maybe she’ll tone it down from now on.” She reached over and patted his arm. “Don’t let her get to you like this.”

  A genuine smile played around Ben’s mouth. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel better about stuff. You always seem to say the right thing. You’re a treasure, you know that? If only Veronica were more like you.”

  Did I hear that correctly? Samantha blushed but returned the smile. If only he was her boyfriend. She would never act like Veronica or do anything to make him feel so down and insecure, or angry. She would do everything in her power to keep that gorgeous smile on his face each and every minute she was with him.

  ***

  Early one evening while Samantha was in the bathroom, her mother called out to her. “Your father is on the phone and he wants a word with you. Can you talk?”

  Samantha had just gotten out of the shower and was drying off. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she yelled back. Quickly, she pulled on a clean pair of capri pants and a tank top and wrapped her hair in a towel. Why did he call now, when she was in such a hurry to catch the next bus?

  In the kitchen, Darlene handed her the receiver. Her lips were pressed in a firm line as she sat down at the table. Now what, Samantha wondered.

  She was only on the phone a short while when she found out what was the matter. Her father had quit his labourer’s job, and was looking for another one. He tried to explain how he wasn’t suited for the position like he’d believed, and it hadn’t worked out. That meant they would have to wait longer before the next support payment. Samantha said nothing as he nattered on and on about other opportunities he was presently investigating. Couldn’t her father stick it out for anything?

  The call quickly deteriorated until she forced a good-bye, telling her father she had to be somewhere. As she hung up, Veronica returned from her shift at the store. Darlene filled her in on their father’s news. She then asked them both to sit down. They needed to have a talk.

  “But I have to catch the bus!” Samantha said. “I need to buy more art supplies.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Darlene paused, then exhaled. Her face was contrite while she stared at the table. “I’m going to need your help, now that our money situation just got tighter. I was counting on a deposit from your father. You girls are going to have to help out with the groceries this week because I only have enough in my account to pay the utilities and the rent for August.”

  “Shit,” Veronica moaned. “That pretty much sucks the big hairy one. There goes tomorrow’s salon appointment to get my highlights! Oh joy, I have to buy food. Thanks, Daddy, you’re the friggin’ best.” She stared at the floor, her brow furrowed in a scowl.

  “Would you rather I went to the food bank? Well, would you?” Darlene looked from her to Samantha, her tired eyes pleading. “Look, I’m at a loss here. If you have any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

  “I only have twenty-two dollars left of what I was saving,” Samantha said. “I won’t get my first pay cheque until next week.”

  “What’s more important, food on the table or art supplies? Every dollar we have counts right now. You can get your supplies later.” To Samantha’s dismay, Darlene blinked, her eyes tearing up.

  “Okay, Momma. You can have my money,” Samantha said, reaching across the table to put her hand on her mother’s arm.

  Veronica frowned, then pushed back her chair. “Alright. I get my pay cheque tomorrow. Then we’ll get some groceries.” She left the kitchen. Seconds later, an Oasis song emanated from behind her closed bedroom door.

  Darlene caught Samantha’s hand just before she withdrew it. “Thank you. I’m so sorry this happened, but we’ll get through it, you’ll see. We have each other, don’t we?” She attempted a weak smile as she squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I have to get ready for work. Joan will be here to pick me up any minute.” She pulled away and threw some fruit and other snacks in her lunch bag on the counter.

  In her room that evening, Samantha eyed her wistful face in the mirror. She took off her glasses. Her haunted eyes stared back at her. What if the unthinkable happened and their mother lost her job? She had a vision of the three of them living on welfare, having to give up the house and move into a damp little basement apartment in the bowels of the city, or in a tiny, rat-infested bedsitting room where they took turns sleeping in the only bed and cooked meagre meals on a hot plate. Weekly, they would frequent the nearby food bank, and she and Veronica would apply for jobs instead of starting school in September. The rich crowd like Crystal and her friends would point at them and whisper, and laugh at their thrift store clothes and their worn out shoes. To supplement their income they would beg for money on Water Street like the panhandlers she’d seen down there because they couldn’t find work. Even Ben, Kalen, and Veronica’s chums would desert them, too embarrassed to be seen hanging out with these losers from the outports, who were unable to make a go of it in the capital city.

  Was it too early to go to bed? Samantha ransacked her dresser for a clean nightie, slamming the drawers so loudly, the noise brought Veronica from across the hall.

  “Suck it up and face the music, Sam,” she said from the doorway. “Freaking out is a waste of time around here.”

  Samantha glared at her bitterly. “If I suck up anymore of this crap, I’m gonna burst! I can’t help it. What if Daddy can’t find another position and Momma keeps drinking more and more, until…until she gets fired. What will happen to us then?” She considered the bottle of wine she spied that morning, peeking out from behind the half-bag of potatoes in the bottom cupboard. Would their mother continue spending precious money on booze without their father’s support payments? She felt like going down there now and pouring that wine down the sink.

  “We really lucked out in the parent department, didn’t we?” Veronica said through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring. “And you know what? We didn’t ask to be born! What gives people the right to bring offspring into the world, just to live in poverty? I can’t wait to get out of here. The first chance I can grab onto, I’m gone. History. I’m not sticking around for this torture any longer than I have to. Who needs it?”

  “So you’re going to desert me too, just like Na—just like Daddy did? Shows how much you care.” Samantha flung herself onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. “Get out and leave me alone.”

  “Fine. Just remember, you can be scared all you like. Mommy and Daddy aren’t going to save you. You have only yourself to depend on, and the quicker you learn that lesson, the better.” Veronica flounced out of the bedroom. Five minutes later, Samantha heard her leave the house.

  Only yourself to depend on. She turned her body into the wall. What was happening to her family? What was happening to her life?

  Chapter Eight

  It was a hot, humid Friday afternoon; the kind of day where the air is so muggy, one only had to imagine work to break out in a sweat. July was drawing to a close. At the youth center, Samantha, Peg, and their young charges had finished several lively games of Simon Says, Four Corners and Red Rover. Seated around the long table, the children chattered and laughed as they caught
their breath, the din of their voices echoing throughout the spacious room and ringing in Samantha’s ears. Enough time still remained for the new art lesson Samantha had promised them earlier.

  Wiping the perspiration from her forehead with a tissue, she stood before the group and held up her half-finished portrait of Ben for them to see, her other hand held up to ask for silence. When she had their full attention, she showed them the photograph she was using to draw from. Each of them peered at the photo intently.

  “Wow, that’s really good,” cooed Tiffany, one of the girls, her round, chubby face still pink from exertion. “I don’t think I could ever draw as good as that,” she said, her head wagging from side to side, her dark pigtails bouncing like coiled springs.

  “Me neither,” said Ryan, his expression bleak, the hint of a red Kool-Aid moustache on his upper lip. “Can’t we draw animals again?”

  “Now, we don’t want to quit before we even get started,” Samantha said, passing out blank sheets of paper. “How about I show you how to sketch the shape of a head first, then you can fill in the eyes, nose, and mouth by yourself? This isn’t like school. It’s just learning for fun, remember; you aren’t getting tested or anything.” She tried to sound as encouraging as she could as she passed each of them a freshly sharpened pencil.

  “Nice work,” Peg interjected. She stood beside Samantha, regarding the photo as well as the portrait in progress. “Your boyfriend?”

  I wish. “No, he’s dating my sister,” Samantha replied, lowering her voice. “He made a nice model, though.”

  “Lucky sister,” Peg murmured into her ear, scrutinizing Ben’s face a little longer before she turned to the children. “Okay, kids, let’s see how Samantha draws the head, and then you can begin your own.”

  By four o’clock, most of the children had their rudimentary portraits completed. Samantha tried not to judge them too harshly, remembering how long it took her to gain her skill. She had suggested they make the picture of anyone they wanted. Some had drawn their mothers or fathers, some had drawn themselves, but one of them, Georgia, a tiny, frail girl of about six, had attempted to draw Samantha. Mop of hair, glasses and all. Flattered, Samantha smiled at her and told her what an admirable job she did. Georgia beamed, too shy to answer, but she looked back at her work with new eyes. Some of the others crowded around to look at it with her.