Watcher
Page 14
“Yeah, okay,” I told her. I didn’t give it much thought, since doing weird things isn’t exactly unusual for her.
But other things started adding up — like the way she’d yell, “Oh, hi, Porter!” when I’d start to walk into a watcher room. It wouldn’t have taken a towering genius to know something was up.
Still, I played ignorant and didn’t even crack a smile when Dad asked me to drive out to a place in Caledon to pick up some garden plants for Amelia.
Of course, when I got back the house was very quiet — that is, until I walked into the living room. I did my best to look shocked when everyone yelled “Surprise!” and I think they bought it.
“We surprised you!” Nicole giggled, dancing around in circles beside me.
In spite of her numerous giveaways, it was true. I was surprised — not that there was a party, but at some of the people who were there.
Like Andrew Daniels, my old probation officer. Dad had been in touch with him, and we had all gone for lunch downtown at The Pickle Barrel not too long after I’d moved to my father’s house. (Dad wanted — or maybe needed — to thank as many people as he could who had been there for me or helped me out during the years he’d been kept away.) Still, I hadn’t expected Daniels to come to a graduation party for me.
He shook my hand and said he was proud of me.
“Yeah. Thanks, man. Really,” I said. I could tell, the way he nodded that he knew exactly what I meant.
Lester and Addie Phelps were there, both of them beaming from ear to ear. I’d never made it to another one of their “hot dog and Freshie” parties, but they’d been right at the top of the list of people Dad and I had taken out for dinner.
I talked to them for a while and was proud to introduce them to my grandparents. (It seemed strange that I’d known the Phelpses for so much longer than my dad’s parents.) The four of them got talking about the way things were years ago, the way old people do, and I moved on to other guests. There were more relatives I’d met since moving there, and some neighbours, and a few people from church. We go every Sunday and it still seems a bit strange, but there’s a nice feeling there, a kind of warm, family feeling, and I like that part.
When I was getting something to eat a bit later I saw that Addie had brought some of her famous oatmeal cookies. Amelia had made a lot of fancy things to eat (finger foods, I guess she calls them) but she’d cleared room on one of the platters for the cookies. I snagged a couple and saw Addie’s eyes crinkle with a smile.
Lynn and her new boyfriend, Barry, were there, with Nicole pretty much tagging along behind them. (Nicole is like a one-person entourage to Lynn, who she thinks is glamorous and cool. She also says Barry is cute, but I can’t quite get my brain to let that kind of talk in when it’s coming from my eight-year-old sister.)
Amelia darted around everywhere, snapping pictures, telling us to never mind her, she wanted all natural shots and we should just act like she was invisible.
“That’s a bit difficult when someone is half blinding you with a flash,” Dad pointed out.
“Don’t be such a boy,” she told him.
You might have noticed that I didn’t mention Tack being at the party. That’s because he was having his own graduation thing the same night. He came over that weekend, though, and we went canoeing and stayed at my grandparent’s cabin on the Kawartha Lakes.
Lavender wasn’t there, either. We’re still friends, but we didn’t keep going out. I talk to her once in a while and part of me hopes we’ll eventually get back together, but I’m not counting on it. There was a lot I really liked about her but it turned out her drug use wasn’t as harmless as she’d believed. It got between us fast, and when we realized that, she decided to quit.
I don’t think Lavender ever saw getting high as a problem until she tried to give it up — for us — and found out it was a lot harder than she’d expected it to be. I could have handled that okay, but she started trying to hide it from me.
After living with lies my whole life, that was more than I could deal with. We agreed to stay friends, and like I said, we talk now and then, but that’s it for now.
And, of course, my mother didn’t come, though Amelia invited her. To tell the truth, that was fine with me.
Dad keeps telling me that it’s important for me to forgive Mom. He says we should pity her more than anything because she had to be really sick to do what she did to us. Maybe he’s right and the day might come that I will, but right now I can’t find it in me.
I have tried to talk to her on the phone a few times but it’s just pointless. She still denies what she did and I don’t think that will ever change. I get the same spew of lies and persuasions, like it’s not too late to convince me of stuff she could never entirely make me believe over twelve years.
Dad says maybe she can’t face what she took from me and Lynn, but I know it’s not that. She still thinks she has a chance to “win” and she doesn’t care how much anyone else loses in the process.
Lynn went back to live with Mom after she and Conor broke up for good. I could hardly believe it, after she’d been so furious, but she said she couldn’t stand seeing Mom so broken up and alone.
That lasted a week and a half, and they haven’t talked since. Lynn lived here for a while, too, but said she just couldn’t live with Amelia. It wasn’t that they actually fought or anything, but Lynn said she felt like she was being judged. I have no idea what she meant by that, and with Lynn I may never know.
Anyway, she got a job and moved into an apartment in Scarborough with a couple of other girls. She’s doing okay, in general, and even talks about going back to school sometime. I hope she does. I think that, being older, she got a lot more dumped on her than I did, and that’s probably made it harder for her to adjust.
In a way, Lynn is a sort of restless type. Still, she shows up here whenever there’s any kind of family thing going on and I think she’s starting to feel like she belongs.
I am, too, but it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. Things got on track fairly fast with Dad — that part was okay. Amelia and Nicole and the house and all the changes, that doesn’t seem one hundred percent part of my life. Not yet.
We went to the zoo last summer — Dad, Amelia, Lynn, Nicole, and I. I thought I might catch more buried memories there — like being on my father’s shoulders while we raced giraffes.
That happens sometimes, bits and pieces of the past still sneak through and they’re like old photos, a bit hazy but with faces and places you can still recognize. I look at them until they start to blur, trying to grab every possible detail.
But at the zoo that day, even though I tried to open myself up to let in any memories that might be lurking, there was nothing.
We talked later on, Dad and I, and I told him I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t recover any more memories that day.
And he said, “Maybe not, Son. But on the other hand, you made some.”
acknowledgements
Special thanks to Amber Murray, the real inventor of “Roastin’ the Ghetto Bootie,” the dance performed by Lavender Dean in this story.
And, as always, I am grateful for so many wonderful individuals in my life and world:
My husband, partner and best friend, Brent.
My parents, Bob and Pauline Russell. My son Anthony, his wife Maria, and daughters Emilee, Ericka, and Veronicka. My daughter Pamela and her husband David Jardine. My brothers and their families: Danny and Gail; Andrew, Shelley, Bryce, and Drew. My “other” family: Ron and Phoebe Sherrard, Ron Sherrard and Dr. Kiran Pure, Bruce and Roxanne Mullin, and Karen Sherrard.
My sixth grade teacher, the late Alf Lower, whose influence lives on.
Friends: Janet Aube, Jimmy Allain, Karen Arseneault, Darlene Cowton, Angi Garofolo, Karen Gauvin, Eric Fallon, Rosemary Fowlie, Gail and Paul Jardine, John Hambrook, Sandra Henderson, Thelma and Lorne Livingston, Mary Matchett, Johnnye Montgomery, Colleen Power, Marsha Skrypuch, Linda Stevens, Pam Sturgeon, Bonn
ie Thompson, and Beatrice Tucker.
The terrific team at the Dundurn Group.
Readers! Hearing from you is the best part of writing, and I love getting your letters and emails. In recent months, the following young people have taken the time to get in touch: Miranda Augustine, Michael Bain, Troy Bartja, Travis Bender, Brianne Bentley, Cam Bierling, Jared Braun, Sarah Crummey, Adrienne Rose Deeley, Hayden Desjardins, Rebekah Doiron, Keily Forster, Robbie Hamilton, Katie Howarth, Olivia Jones, Derica Lafrance, Julia Latuskie, Sisi Liu, Katherine Luymes, Desiree Marleau, Justin Mattinson, Stephanie Middleton, Alisa Murray, Keirstin Anne Murray, Shahama Najeeb, Michelle Nuttley, Alexandria Osolky, Jacqulyn Osolky, Archana Premkumar, Alexis Piercey, Courtney Pitre, Taylor Pringle, Alexandria Reid, Amanda Smith, Kolby Smith, Elise Steveson, Olivia Thompson, Lucy Wang, David Wiercigroch, Teresa Yin, Lisa Yoon, and Molly Meiling Zhai.
You are the voice of tomorrow. Speak wisely and well.
Speak truth.
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