The Nearly Girl

by Lisa de Nikolits

  The mothers were used to Amelia’s idiosyncrasies by now and they agreed. They trooped up the stairs, with Megan lagging behind.

  Ethel was happy to see that they’d dressed their children up as if it was a real party, and the two little girls and lone little boy didn’t look unhappy to have the place to themselves.

  “I prefer it like this,” one of the mothers laughingly said to Ethel. “This is lovely. It can get dangerous in here on rainy days when it’s packed. I wouldn’t go in the big kids’ jumping castle if you paid me, but Jackson dives right in. I spend the whole time white-knuckling it and hoping he’ll get out without hurting himself.”

  “I think it’s strange to see it so empty,” one of the other mothers said with a little shiver. “It’s like a fairground with no one in it.”

  “We’ll have fun,” the third mother said. “Emma’s play date cancelled today so if you ask me, this worked out perfectly.”

  “Since you already paid for a whole party,” the kid at the counter said to Ethel, “I’ve sent out for mini burgers, French fries, cupcakes, soft drinks, and cookies. We’ll do the best we can on short notice.”

  The food arrived quickly and the kid also whipped up a few decorations and within a short time, the vast empty party room was a hive of happy activity. Amelia was princess for a day, opening her presents and happily singing along with her three friends.

  “Your daughter is amazing,” one of the mothers said to Megan.

  “Yeah?” Megan replied cautiously, wondering what was coming next.

  “She’s so generous,” the woman said. “Most kids, mine included, are all about their stuff. The main thing on their mind is ‘that’s mine, mine, mine.’ They’re obsessed with what’s theirs. Sharing is as alien a concept to them as monogamy is to adults. Does she get that from you?”

  “She’s never cared about stuff,” Megan admitted, careful to stay away from the woman’s last comment about monogamy, having no idea where that came from. “She definitely gets her generosity from her father, not from me. I often have issues with it. She loses stuff or gives it away or she cuts the sleeves off her clothes for no reason. She drives me mad.”

  “I’m sure it would have its downsides, but I’d love to have a kid who isn’t materialistic. It’s crazy, they’re four years old and everybody wants the latest toy and movie and it has to be new too. When I was a kid, I wore my older sister’s clothes that she got from the one who came before her. Now everything has to be new and fabulous and matching, while Amelia comes in wearing odd socks and shoes and Ethel says that she hates new clothes and that they have to shop at Goodwill or Sally Ann or Amelia won’t wear it. Now there’s a kid after my own heart.”

  “Where you do know Ethel and Amelia from?” Megan asked, feeling stupid for asking but wanting to know.

  “From Art and Move,” the woman said. “Our kids have practically grown up together. Well, since they were about two.”

  “Art and Move?” Megan said, trying not to make it sound like a question but both women knew it was.

  “Every Tuesday,” the woman said. “We meet at the Scouts Hall in the Legion and two kindergarten teachers read stories and sing songs, and the kids dance and make artwork.”

  “And Amelia does all of it?”

  “She has her own way of doing things, but yeah, she does most of it,” the woman laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s very gentle and super bright, she just has her own interpretation of things.”

  “Tell me about it,” Megan said, and what she meant was that she agreed with the woman, but the woman misunderstood and thought that Megan had asked it as a question.

  “For one thing, she always has to leave ten minutes before the end of class,” the woman said. “No matter what we’re doing, even if she loves it, it’s like clockwork, ten minutes before we’re set to end, up she hops and out she dashes. And it’s not like there’s a clock or anything for her to go by. I just noticed it.”

  “Her father used to leave at odd times too,” Megan said. “He said he didn’t know what made it so important for him to leave when he did.”

  Megan had no idea why she was talking to this woman with such frankness, while the kids’ party blazed around her. “I also never have any idea how long he’ll be gone for,” she added.

  “How long’s the longest he’s been away?”

  “Right now he’s been gone for two years, three months, and five days.”

  “No child support?” The woman looked sympathetic.

  “No word from him at all.”

  “Sue the bastard,” the woman said with feeling.

  “You two are having a good chat, I see,” Ethel joined them. “Thanks for coming, Monika.”

  “Hey,” the woman said, “Amelia’s a sweetie. Anytime.”

  Later they went back downstairs and the kids played on the slides and jungle gyms for a couple of hours and Ethel took the time to thank the mothers again for playing along. Amelia held Ethel’s hand and waved goodbye to her guests when the party ended but she wasn’t ready to leave.

  “No go. Want more sun, moon star room,” Amelia insisted.

  “No, honey, it’s over,” Ethel said. “The party is finished. I’ll take you up and show you.”

  She took Amelia upstairs and found Megan helping the kid clear things away. There was a curiously desolate feeling to the room, much like a summer beach stranded in the wintertime, lost and lonely. The kid had already stacked the benches and tables up against the wall.

  “Play a game!” Amelia said, and she sat down on the floor of the empty room. “Duck, duck, geese!”

  Ethel sat down. “Come on, Meg,” she said. “This is the last thing you’ll have to do today, I promise.

  “I’ll play too,” the kid said and he sat down.

  Amelia stood up. “Duck!” She shouted, touching Ethel’s head. “Duck!” Then she touched Megan. “GEESE!” she shouted and she touched the kid who jumped up and chased the giggling child around the room.

  “Now your turn!” she yelled at him, and she sat down.

  “Duck, duck, geese!” The boy chose Megan and she joined in the spirit of the moment and chased him around the room.

  They played until Amelia was exhausted and Megan more so.

  “I’d better get back downstairs,” the kid said and Ethel thanked him.

  “No problem, she’s a cutie. I’m glad it worked out.”

  “Come on, Amelia,” Ethel said. “Party’s over, baby. Did you have fun?”

  “Best birfday!” Amelia grinned. “Fank you, Nana and Mama.”

  “You’re a nutcase, sweetie,” Megan said. “But I love you.”

  “Don’t say things like that to her,” Ethel said tiredly.

  “What? Don’t tell her I love her?”

  “You know what I mean,” Ethel said and she gathered up Amelia’s gifts.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Megan said. “I tell you one thing for darn sure. She’s sure as heck lucky to have you.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Ethel said wryly.

  School, in regular terms, didn’t work out either. Amelia simply could not understand the regulated hours or the uniforms or any of it, so Ethel dedicated herself to home schooling her. “Because of her condition, I can get a grant to home school her,” Ethel explained to Megan. “I’ve got a doctor’s letter saying it’s for the best.”

  “Great, she’s already a classified mental case,” Megan said.

  “I think you mean she’s a genius in the making,” Ethel corrected her. “I wonder what her specialty will be. Maybe she’ll be a poet like Henry.”

  “Fuck poets and poetry,” Megan said with venom and Ethel scolded her.

  “What? Amelia’s asleep. She can’t hear me. Fuck poets, Mom, fuck them.”

  Much to Megan’s fury, Henry, wandering around somewhere in the
vast geography of the west, had managed to publish a second volume of poetry. Megan only knew this because advance copies had arrived from Zimmerman Bob. The would-be poet had turned publisher, having decided that his own offerings had run dry. That the volume of poems was dedicated to her and Amelia only fueled the flames of Megan’s fury.

  “Where is he?” she demanded of Zimmerman Bob when she visited him in his office. Zimmerman Bob had reverted to using his real name, Lionel Levinsky.

  “Whoa, Megan, I know we only met a few times, but man, you look different. Like you could wrestle me to the ground if I don’t give you the answers you want. The truth is, I don’t know where he is. I just got a wad of scribblings in the post, with a note for me to do something with them, or get them to his previous publisher. Henry said he couldn’t remember the name of the guy. He’s very trusting, old Henry. I mean if I were a man of lesser ethics, I would have published them myself and taken the credit for writing them.”

  “They’re too brilliant. No one would have believed you wrote them,” Megan said shortly, despite the fact that she had tried to read them and hadn’t understood a word.

  Lionel laughed. “Yeah. Actually my ethics had nothing to do my not taking them. They had Henry written all over them. I wouldn’t have had a chance of getting away with it.”

  “And you don’t know where he is?”

  “The postmark said Kamloops,” Lionel said and he handed her the envelope that Henry had sent. “Funny,” he said, “Henry’s so out of it most of the time but every now and then he can pull it together to do something like find my address, go into a post office, fill out a form, and send a parcel. Amazing really.”

  “And he wrote you a note?”

  “Yeah, here you go.” Lionel handed a sheet of paper to Megan.

  ZB, here’s my latest. I hope they say what I think they say, and aren’t the senseless ravings of a lunatic. If they are any good, will you do something with them? Find my publisher — what was his name? Or whatever you think.

  Thanks, H

  “That’s it?” Megan was disappointed.

  “That’s it.” Lionel leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “You two got married and had a kid, I heard?”

  “Yeah, and we’re busy living the happy-ever-after just like in the fairytales.” Megan got up.

  “Word is he’s going to win a bunch of awards for this one, just like the first one. And students are already studying his first collection at university. You should be proud.”

  “Why? It’s got nothing to do with me,” Megan was bitter.

  “He loved you as much as he could love anyone,” Lionel said gently. “And remember, I knew him from when we were kids. None of this is his fault, Megan.”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Megan said and to her embarrassment, she began to cry. She sat down again and let the tears flow. “I miss him so much. When he and I met, and he came to live with me, I was so happy. I was so in love. It’s like I’m waiting for him to come back and for our lives to rewind. I’m waiting for the love of my life to walk through the front door and say, ‘Hey honey, I’m home. Where’s the soup?’” She gave a shaky laugh.

  Lionel handed her a box of Kleenex. “You want a scotch?”

  “No. No, thank you, Bob. I mean Lionel. I don’t usually lose it. I don’t know what got into me. Hey, what happened to that girl I went to the reading with, what was her name again?”

  “Alice. We’ve been married for three years now. We’ve got two kids. A two-year-old boy and a new little baby girl. She’s only six months old. So much for my bohemian life,” he said wryly. “Alice helps out here when she’s not looking after the kids. She’ll be in later if you want to see her.”

  “That’s okay,” Megan said, gathering her purse. She couldn’t think of anything worse than making small talk with Alice. “Let me know if you ever hear anything more from Henry, will you?”

  “Of course. Take care, Megan.”

  But, as Lionel put it, they heard ziltch from Henry until his next offering of poems that arrived in Lionel’s office mail, five years later. Amelia had just turned nine.

  “Another incredible work of staggering genius,” Lionel said to Megan on the phone. He had called her as soon as the package arrived.

  “Did he say anything about me?”

  “He dedicated the book to you and Amelia again,” Lionel said apologetically and Megan hung up the phone.

  “Oh, honey,” Ethel said, having overheard the conversation and she went to hug Megan but Megan jerked away from her, almost snarling.

  “I hate him, Mom. I hate him.”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever see him again,” Ethel said. “And if we do, what will he be like?”

  “I hope he stays away forever,” Megan spat out the words. “I’m going for a run. I don’t want to think about him.”

  Several months after the fourth volume of poems arrived from the west, a man showed up at Ethel’s house: a tall skinny man with a wild shaggy head of hair and a craggy face like Nick Nolte after his run-in with heroin.

  Amelia answered the door. She looked at the man who was wearing shorts in winter, a Hawaiian shirt that had seen better days, and bright pink flip flops.

  “Mom’s not happy with you,” she said to the man she hadn’t seen since before her second birthday. Amelia was fourteen.

  “I can understand that,” Henry said. “Listen, I am sorry Amelia. I’ve been a pretty hopeless dad. Pretty much hopeless at anything except being a poet. Can you forgive me?”

  She shrugged with perfect teenage nonchalance. “As far as I know,” she said, “I’m too much like to you to be in any position to criticize. Are you back for good?”

  Henry looked desperate. “How would I know?” he replied. “I would like to get to know you though. I did love you, Amelia, in my saner moments. I still love you. You were the sunshine of my life.”

  “I know, I remember you saying that. Would you like to come in?”

  “Is your mother here?”

  “No, she’s at the gym, but Nana’s here.”

  “Your mother’s still going to that same gym?”

  “She’s a tangerine-coloured piece of beef jerky these days,” Amelia said and Henry looked baffled.

  “Amelia, who are you talking to?” Ethel called out.

  “Dad’s here,” Amelia said.

  “I hope he’ll come in?” Ethel said. “One thing’s for sure, you’re both letting the heat out so one way or another, close the door.”

  Henry grinned and ventured in. “Hi Mom,” he said, twisting his hands.

  “Cream of broccoli, cream of tomato, or chicken noodle?” Ethel asked, getting up and giving him a hug.

  Henry’s face lit up. “It’s a good day for chicken noodle,” he said.

  “Let’s go and sit in the kitchen,” Ethel said.

  And that was where Megan found them.

  She walked in, tired and strung out, hungry as a wolverine but unable to eat or drink because she was in the middle of competing and couldn’t afford to retain a single drop of water. She hated winter, she was starving, and she was sure that she was going to lose the contest to her arch rival. All in all, it wasn’t the best day for Henry to make his reappearance.

  “Honey? We’re in here,” Ethel called out, and she got to her feet. “Meggie, guess who’s here, honey?”

  There was a grim silence.

  “Unless it’s Dad back from the dead, I’m guessing it’s Henry,” Megan said. “I don’t want to see him. Not now, not ever. I’m going downstairs and if he comes near me, I’ll kill him.”

  They heard her stomping down the stairs and they looked at one another.

  “I always loved your mother for her passion,” Henry said to Amelia who shrugged.

  “She’s in the middle of a competition,” she said.
“Never a good time.”

  “Never a good time,” Ethel agreed.

  “What competition?” Henry asked.

  “Body building,” Ethel said with a sigh. “She’s fallen into some cult where the body is god. Never mind it being the temple of god, it just is god.”

  “Time for me to take my leave anyway,” Henry said and he stood up.

  “Will you be in Toronto for a while?” Ethel asked and Henry nodded.

  “As far as I know, that’s the game plan.”

  “Where are you staying?” Ethel asked.

  “At my folks’ place. They died recently,” Henry explained. “They were holidaying on a cruise ship and they got some stomach bug and died of gangrene of the bowels. They left everything to me, mainly because there was no one else. I decided that I am going to live in the house but I plan to change it up a bit.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” Ethel said and she got her keys.

  “That would be great,” Henry said. “Thanks Mom. I am tired. I came right here after being on a bus for three days straight.”

  “I’ll come too,” Amelia said. “We may as well start this famous father-daughter bonding thing.”

  Amelia pulled on a pair of glittery flip flops and Henry laughed.

  “I guess you do have my genes,” he said.

  “I don’t understand one word of your poetry, so nix that idea,” Amelia countered.

  “Sometimes I don’t understand it either,” Henry admitted. “I’m merely the conduit for heavenly voices. The night I met your mother, I was wearing shoes like that only they didn’t have any glitter on them. No, wait, I was barefoot. I wore the flip flops later.”

  “You were barefoot and she fell in love with you? Mom? I can’t see that.” Amelia was incredulous.

  “Yes, we had something all right,” Henry said. “Out of this world really.”

  “It was a marvel to behold,” Ethel said and Amelia wondered if she was being sarcastic but Ethel took Henry’s arm and there were tears in her eyes.

  “She still loves you,” Ethel said. “As much as she did then. And look what you two made: this wonderful girl.”