“Did you ever see a whale, with a peacock tail?” Aiden sang.
“Did you ever see a kangaroo, taking a poo?” I added.
Aiden took a big bite of kielbasa and stuffed in both crackers; they made triangles stick out of his cheeks. I puffed my cheeks up with air and pretended to chew, too. When Aiden saw me, he tried to hold in a laugh but blew bits of dry cracker at the back of my dad’s seat.
Days out with Dad were different from days out with Mom. Mom packed lunches and knew where we were going and when we’d be back. Dad seemed to plan as he went, and there’d be big gaps in the day. We’d drive around or see a movie, but he never checked the movie times, so we just watched whatever started soonest. Last time we really wanted to see The Addams Family, but it was on later, so we drove around and looked for something else to do in the meantime.
Mom would ask, “How would you kids like to spend your time today?” but Dad said, “We got some time to kill.” I wasn’t sure sometimes if I should be killing time because there was too much, or spending it like money because there wasn’t enough.
Lately, we’d been spending more time with Dad because Mom was a few weeks away from having her baby. I was thinking about putting my hand on my mom’s belly and feeling the baby kick, when my dad opened the car door.
“Just me, Ally, sorry. What were you dreaming of?”
“Nothing.” I avoided looking him in the eyes. He’d taken a shift at work the day before and missed me scoring two goals to win our soccer team the championship trophy. After the game we got a can of pop, a bag of chips, and a trophy with a tiny gold man, mid-kick, the ball at the end of his foot.
Dad handed us two scratch lottery tickets and reversed the car out of the lot. “See if we’re lucky today.”
I thought for a moment about not doing the ticket, but I couldn’t resist. While Aiden and I scratched away, Dad tapped the steering wheel and hummed along to his Traveling Wilburys tape, our old Chevette clunking when we turned right, the clicker beating extra fast when we turned left. When we were younger, we used to call Dad’s car a Corvette, but now we knew the difference. Aiden said we should have got a Pinto to match our last name. I thought so, too.
My lottery ticket was a dud. Aiden won three dollars on his, the cost of another ticket. Mom didn’t like Dad buying lottery tickets. He’d won four hundred dollars once, but that was a few years ago. He said his luck had evaporated.
“Where are we going, Dad?” I asked.
“A grand opening.” Dad always knew when and where all the new store openings were.
“What kind?” Aiden said.
“The grandest kind.” He looked in the rear-view mirror to see our reaction, but I looked down at my scratched ticket. I knew Dad wanted to go there because it would likely have free food.
“What about after that?” Aiden asked.
“Depends how much time we have to kill. We could visit Berne in the hospital. We haven’t done that yet.”
Berne was our old neighbour who had broken her hip coming out of the bath. Mom had said, “How unfortunate for her.” Dad said, “Unlucky.”
“Or, if you’re not up for that, we could go bowling.”
Clearly, Dad wanted to go bowling. He still had bowling trophies above the fireplace, with the same gold man that topped my soccer trophy, but with the ball on his hand instead of his foot.
“I vote to see Berne,” I said, not wanting to do what my dad wanted, even though I didn’t really like hospitals. When I was eight, Aiden and I were climbing on Dad’s legs while he was watching the hockey game, and I fell off right into the edge of the wall and had to get six stitches. The doctors asked me if my dad had hit me. I told them it was the wall that hit me. As we drove home from the hospital, I heard on the radio the Leafs came back and won the game in the third. Dad clicked his tongue; I could tell he wished he hadn’t missed the game, and I remember feeling worse than I had hitting my head.
“Aiden? What do you say?” said Dad.
“I want to go bowling,” Aiden said.
“We can go bowling any time,” I argued.
“But we haven’t been in so long!”
Dad turned the volume of his tape all the way down for a moment and said, “Let’s see how this grand opening is first, then decide.”
Dad circled the parking lot a few times and finally found a spot, near a sign marked F. We walked toward the crayon-blue building and saw people crowded around the entrance. When I got close enough, I read the yellow letters: IKEA.
Outside the building, a clown with orange hair gave Aiden and me each a yellow balloon and our dad a flyer. We held the strings and punched the balloons at each other.
“Aiden! Enough.” My brother was first-born, so he got in trouble first. “You kids need to be sent to boarding school.” That was Dad’s threat when we misbehaved. He had gone to a school in India run by Jesuit priests; they sounded like robots in robes, swinging their rulers when kids did anything wrong. Most of the priests I knew were more like raisins—plump and shrivelled.
“There are no boarding schools in Canada,” Aiden said.
“Then we’ll send you to one in India.” Dad never put up with us misbehaving in public or fighting with each other—even if it was play. Mom told us, “Your father’s family was very strict. They weren’t allowed to argue. But now, none of them speak to each other. So a little bit of fighting is okay.” When Mom had had enough, it was different. She would ask God out loud to send down another barrel of patience for her.
Dad flipped through the flyer. “Look at this—do either of you need a new desk light?”
Aiden came over and looked, and I felt I had to, too.
“Ally, your balloon!” Aiden said.
I must have let go. The balloon floated out of reach, climbing quickly, happy to be free and in a hurry to reach the clouds.
“Ally, you have to be more careful.” Dad shook his head. “Now go ask that clown for another one.”
“It’s okay, Dad, she can have mine,” Aiden said.
“Give it here.” Dad put the flyer under his arm, took Aiden’s balloon, and tied the plastic string tight to my wrist, below my bracelet.
I felt like a little kid with the balloon tied to my arm. I hated how Dad always got mad at accidents. He’d called me an “absent-minded professor” when I left my school bag on the school bus two days in a row. Mom had to call and pick it up both times. She didn’t get mad but joked that some brains must have fallen out when I cracked my head. I wondered if lost brains were like lost luck, and balloons that floated away.
The inside of the store was a maze—everything for a home in an organized mess. We walked through the bath, kitchen, and lighting sections before we got to the restaurant, where they were giving away free food to celebrate the store opening. From big cups we drank lingonberry juice, which we were told was Swedish, like the store. Dad ate two hot dogs and Aiden had one, but I still had mine in my hand as we left the restaurant and entered the living room section of the store.
“Dad, I can’t finish this,” I said.
“Don’t waste, Ally. There are starving kids in India who would love that.”
“But I’m not hungry.”
Dad gave me a look and took the hot dog from me.
Aiden whispered in my ear, “Did you ever see a rhinoceros kissing a hippopotamus?”
I couldn’t think of one to say back, and unless I held my arms straight out, my balloon bumped against the side of my head and stuck to my hair. I knocked it away. Everyone else at the store seemed to be having a good time. Some kids were even jumping on the beds.
A man with a short grey beard was coming our way. “Felix!”
“Otis! How ya doing?”
“Good, good. How are things?”
“You know, hanging in there.”
“Are these the kids? My goodne
ss. The last time I saw you two, you were below my knees.”
“They’ve grown. They don’t eat their food, though.” Dad held up my half-eaten hot dog as proof.
The man gave us the same You shouldn’t waste look my dad did, and I looked away.
“Mine were fussy when they were younger, too,” he said. “Now you should see them, they come home and empty the fridge.”
He let out a friendly chuckle, like a cartoon bear, and I remembered him—he worked with my dad at the plant.
“Do you kids play any sports?”
“I play soccer,” Aiden said.
“Soccer! Excellent.”
“I play soccer, too,” I piped up. “Left wing.”
“That’s great, sweetie.” The cartoon bear had a broad smile. “I tell ya, she’s got her mother’s looks. The spitting image. And this guy, he’s an athlete.”
I didn’t like how he only called Aiden an athlete. I scored more goals than him. I liked hearing people say I looked more like my mom, though. Mom joked that the only thing I inherited from my father was his runny nose.
“Dad, can we go try out the couches?” Aiden asked, and I was glad he did—I wanted to get away.
“Okay, but stay in this area. This place is gigantic.”
“No kidding,” said the man.
“SKRU…VSTA. Not comfortable.” My chair was hard and checkered black and white, like a chessboard. “What’s yours called?”
“TIRUP. I wonder if it means pear in Swedish?” Aiden’s seat was green and shaped like half a hollow green pear.
“Maybe. Let me try it.” After Aiden had gotten out, I climbed inside and he started to spin the chair.
I was dizzy when he stopped, and wobbled over to a long sofa with soft red leather cushions, laid my head on the couch’s arm, and put my feet up. I stared at the balloon hovering above and waited for my head to stop spinning.
“Little girl.” A lady in a uniform came up to me. “Shoes off the sofa, please.”
I jumped down, and the balloon yanked against me before floating back up.
“You wouldn’t do that at home, would you?”
I didn’t say anything back.
The lady shook her head and hurried off. It wasn’t fair. Those other kids were jumping on the beds and didn’t get in trouble. I just had my feet up because I was dizzy.
I went to a post that had short pencils and paper to write down furniture names. There was a comment box, too. Did you ever see a sly fox…put a suggestion in a box? When I folded the paper and dropped it in, the balloon gently bounced off the fire alarm beside the box. Last week someone at school had pulled the fire alarm as a joke. Afterwards, Mrs. Stone asked us each if we did it, but when she came to me, she just said, “You’re too innocent to do something like that.”
I put the small IKEA pencil in my pocket and went to find Aiden.
“This one is so comfortable. GULLHOLMEN.” He sat in a wicker rocking chair shaped like an upside-down cowboy hat. “You okay? Did I spin you too long?”
My eyebrows must have still been squished together because of that stupid lady. I felt the tug of the balloon string around my wrist. “I’m fine.” I tried to untie the string. Dad hadn’t tied a slipknot, so I couldn’t get it. “I’m going to ask Dad to untie this.”
“Okay. I’ll be here.”
I walked back to my dad and the cartoon bear but stopped behind the cabinet when I heard them talking, pulling the balloon into my chest so it wouldn’t give me away.
“Did you hear what the union’s been saying?” Dad said.
“You know how they are. All we can do is hope for an agreement and no layoffs. And you have another one on the way, too?”
“Yeah, just a few weeks to go.”
I’d heard my parents speak about Dad’s job before, even though they tried not to talk about it in front of us. When I’d asked them what layoffs were, they were honest. It frightened me at first, but Mom told me, “Only worry about things you can control. The rest, you have to let float up to God to take care of.” I wondered if the worries floating up ever collided with the barrels of patience being sent down to Mom.
“Is there any other work you could do?” Dad’s friend asked. “What did you do back in India?”
I stayed curled behind the cabinet, clutching the balloon.
“Back home? I almost became a priest, if you can believe. I’d met one too many rotten priests growing up—I wanted to become a good one. But in the end that wasn’t a good enough reason. After that, I started working in tool and die. Spent three years as an apprentice, only to become allergic to the paint.”
“Unlucky.”
“Yeah, I could have been making good money working in tool and die in the Gulf. A friend of mine went to Abu Dhabi and did very well. He lives like a sultan now…and I’m here, struggling to pay the bills. Just think, I might still be a bachelor if I went. I wouldn’t have the wife or the kids. Carefree.”
My teeth were clenched together. I couldn’t listen anymore. I released the balloon and stormed away, that yellow ball trailing along behind me.
Aiden was still lying in the same chair. I went back to the red leather couch and lay down. I didn’t care if that lady came back. I would tell her to get lost.
Maybe it would be better if my dad did leave. I tried to picture living with only Mom and Aiden and the new baby, but the balloon was bobbing around and distracting me. I pulled hard at its plastic string, but the knot held. I tried biting it while I pulled, and then grinding it in my teeth, but it still wouldn’t break. I hit the balloon and it bounced back.
Dad didn’t want us.
IKEA sucked.
Then I remembered the fire alarm.
I walked over to the post and looked around. Nobody was watching. I reached up and pulled the plastic handle. A loud ringing noise blasted through the store and scared me.
I stepped back, not believing what I’d just done. The blaring alarm hurt my ears. I ran and hid behind the red sofa, hugging the balloon. Then, with my heart pounding in my chest, I peeked out above the couch. At first the customers were just looking around, annoyed that their shopping might be interrupted. But then fear spread. People began rushing for the exits, or trying to figure out where the exits were, scrambling past one another and colliding. It was chaos all around.
I crouched down, holding the balloon between my knees, and closing my eyes. I covered my ears and rocked back and forth on my heels—I could still hear the alarm ringing.
When I opened my eyes and peeked back out, there was no one around. And then I heard my father’s voice, full of fear.
“Ally! Ally!”
Aiden was calling for me, too: “Ally?”
I spotted them, with the same lady who’d told me not to put my shoes on the couch. She shouted at my dad, “You have to exit the building, sir.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I find my daughter. Ally!” he shouted again. Panicked, he looked around corners and behind cabinets. I began to feel guilty. He hurried around the section, frantically pushing chairs out of his way, screaming my name. He tripped on a coffee table and, rubbing his shin, called my name again.
I let go of the balloon and stood.
He looked in my direction and rushed over, picked me up, and squeezed me tight. “You scared me to death. Are you okay, Ally?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, tears coming down.
“It’s okay, I’m just glad I’ve found you.” He hugged me again. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Outside, Dad carried me through the crowds of people standing around looking confused. I buried my face in his shoulder, hiding from them all. He didn’t put me down until we reached the car with Aiden.
I tried again to untie the string on my balloon. Seeing me struggling, Dad took out his keys, pulled them against the string, and broke
it. Then he handed me the freed balloon. I held it for a second and let it go.
“What’d you do that for?”
“I don’t want it anymore.”
I didn’t watch it go. I just pictured the balloon rising up and up, until you couldn’t see it at all.
2000
The Elephant in the Mountain
While my parents were getting ready to leave for the funeral home, I held my eight-month-old baby brother, Eric. Ally was playing peekaboo with him over my shoulder.
The person who had died had been my mom and dad’s driving instructor when they first came to Canada. Dad was tying his black dress shoes in the foyer and Mom was at the hallway mirror putting cream on her face. “Remember the O’Briens are home next door,” she said, “and the emergency numbers are on the fridge.” Mom always worried about emergencies. She kept baking soda next to the stove and had so many flashlights in the house that Ally and I prayed for a blackout so we could use them for once.
“We should get going,” Dad said to Mom, putting on his suit jacket.
Mom put on her jacket as well and said, “Aiden, try to get him to finish both jars of food in the fridge.”
“I will. I’ve fed him so many times with you here, Mom.”
Mom said she knew, gave each of us a kiss, and followed Dad out the door. Halfway out, she turned and said, “And don’t answer the door if it’s not someone you know.” Then she closed the door and locked it from the outside.
Before Eric, when she and Dad left us home alone, Mom used to say, “If a stranger comes, just tell them, ‘My mom’s in the shower.’” But then one time, a couple carrying Bibles came to the door. When the man asked if our mother was home, Ally said, “She’s in the shower.” The woman asked if our father was available. Ally had been surprised by this question and glanced over at me. I panicked and said, “He’s in the shower, too.” The man and woman eyed each other and said they’d come back.
Almost as soon as our parents were gone, Eric started crying.
Ally gently tickled his feet. He smiled and squealed, and we went to work getting him ready for his bedtime.
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