Never to have been born is best,
But once you’ve entered this world,
Return as quickly as possible to the place you came from.
Harriet wishes she could return as quickly as possible to the place she came from, even though she doesn’t know what or where it is.
“Harriet, be careful, you’re spilling it. What a mess. I’m not paying you a nickel until you clean that up. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. All this talk about money. A girl your age. It’s not right.”
Grandpa Archie must have been in a hurry to get back to the place he came from, probably because of Gran nagging him about smoking and just about everything else. He took refuge in his workshop. He and Harriet used to work side by side, hammering and sawing for hours, speaking only when they had something to say.
“Put the bag down, Harriet, or you’ll drop it. I can’t get over how heavy it is. They should have told me. I’m going to complain to the manager. He knows me, I’m a regular customer. He should know better.”
Harriet drops the bag and cleans up the mess. Back in the corridor Clayton Rumph, wearing his snap-back sideways and his pants halfway off his ass, is dragging Mrs. Schidt’s dog by a leash. Harriet never leashed Coco until they were out of the building.
“You’re scab labour,” Harriet tells him.
“And you’re a cunt.”
Harriet raises her hands in self-defence readiness as per Darcy’s instructions, and starts bouncing on her feet, punching and kicking the air in what she imagines to be the Strongest Man in the World’s Life-or-Death fighting style. When Clayton just stands there, slack-jawed, she snarls like a lion in a steel cage, causing Coco to yap. Clayton grabs him and scurries to the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. “Die, bitch!” Harriet roars at his retreating back.
“Where the hell have you been?” Gennedy demands.
“I told you. I was with Buck and Darcy.”
“You were with Buck and Darcy for part of the day. There remains hours of the day unaccounted for.”
“I was at Darcy’s.”
“Don’t lie to me, Harriet. I phoned them. Nina said you left a couple of hours ago.”
“I was doing errands for the seniors.”
“Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for us to have you running around scamming the elderly for quarters?”
“I don’t scam.”
“Shotlander tells me you were trying to charge him a toonie to help him with his computer.”
That’s it, no way is she getting that snitch any more Diet Cokes or barbecue chips. “My time is money.”
“Listen to yourself. Where does this come from, this miserly behaviour? Not from your mother or me, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe if you got paid I wouldn’t have to run errands for seniors, and Mum wouldn’t have to work for sketchy businesses. If you weren’t the only criminal lawyer in history that’s broke, I could have an allowance.”
“What a spiteful child you are.”
“I’m only saying what Mum says.”
“She also says you’re an expert on infertility expenses and how this is affecting your father’s child support payments. Where would we be without you to keep us informed, Harriet?”
“In a shithole worse than this one.” She sees his crummy tuna fish sandwiches on the table. He never puts enough mayo in them. “I’m going to my room. I’m not hungry.”
“Really, and why’s that? Could it be because you’re full of junk food you mooched off your new best friend? She dropped this off, by the way. Didn’t know you wore push-up bras. I’m sure your mother will be thrilled to hear her eleven-year-old is dressing like a slut. Leopard spots no less. You know what they say about leopards. Seems appropriate given that you continue to be selfish and greedy and self-absorbed.” His cell rings. It must be Lynne because nobody else calls him. “Everything’s fine, darlin’,” he tells her. “Harriet’s right here, safe and sound.”
Harriet waits for her mother to ask to speak with her.
“We’re just about to have tuna sandwiches,” Gennedy says. “How are things at your end?” He stares at the craters in the moon carpet. His speechlessness suggests the news is not good. Maybe Irwin is dead already. This possibility sends a charge through Harriet, compelling her to scamper to her room to resume work on And I Think to Myself, What a Wonderful World. She digs in her drawer for the stiff leather glove she picked up off the sidewalk that looks like it still has a hand in it. She plans to glue this beside the shards of broken Christmas ornament and the sparkly glass gemstone she found in the parking lot. But the glue gun is no longer in the shoebox hidden under dirty laundry at the bottom of her closet. She searches her drawers and under the bed, even though she’s certain she left it in the shoebox. She hears Gennedy consoling her mother, and telling her he loves her and they’ll get through this, darlin’, they always do. Harriet moves stealthily to their bedroom and gropes under the bed. No glue gun. She tries all the drawers and rummages in the closet. She works fast, expecting Gennedy to barge in because she no longer hears him talking to her mother. A fury spins inside her. She cannot live without her glue gun. It’s not fair that the derp has taken it again. How would he feel if she took his things? She grabs his digital clock, strides to her room and shoves it under her chest of drawers. Sitting on the bed, staring at her mixed media, she tries, as she has many times before, to think of a way to get rid of Gennedy. She has expounded to her mother about other kids’ fathers who have real jobs and take their families on vacations. On Father’s Day, Mrs. Elrind invited several of them to come to school to talk about their professions. The dads were businessmen, computer programmers and lawyers who got paid. Timo Krings’ father, a doctor, described how he makes apple strudel, stretching the dough to make it flaky. Harriet thought pointing out that men exist who make strudel and earn a living would indicate to Lynne what a raw deal she has with Gennedy, who can’t even make a decent tuna fish sandwich. But Lynne didn’t seem to be listening, and Harriet’s throat was so sore it hurt to talk. She didn’t tell her mother about the sore throat. She knew her illnesses didn’t matter because they couldn’t. Irwin’s mattered.
Still no sounds from Gennedy. Usually he makes noise, squishing around the apartment in his Crocs, phoning people who never return his calls, boiling the whistling kettle for endless cups of tea that leave dirty rings and drips on countertops and tables. Usually he talks to himself, although technically he’s talking to the foes responsible for making him the only criminal lawyer in history that’s broke.
Harriet’s rage at the injustice of it all creates an implosive pressure in her body. She jumps up to practise some rock ’em sock ’em moves. He has no right to steal her glue gun. She bounds to the living room, jabbing her fists and kicking, ready for a fight. Gennedy is slumped on the floor beside the bamboo plant that’s supposed to bring good luck but always seems to be dying.
“They’re coming home tomorrow,” he says. “He’s lost more weight but he’s okay. When he woke up he asked for you, Harriet. That little guy adores you. You don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t deserve any of this.”
“You got that right.” He rests his elbows on his bent knees and his head in his hands. “Why him? That’s what I can’t figure out. Why him?”
Harriet takes this to mean why not her. “I want my glue gun. You have no right to take it from me.”
“You have no right to set this building on fire.”
“I left it on once, once in my entire life.”
“Once is enough.”
“You can’t boss me around, you’re not even legit. I could notify the authorities and you would be out of here.”
“What authorities do you have in mind?”
“Official people.”
“Go for it, I’m sure they’ll get right on it. You know, at the start of all this I really
tried to like you, told myself your eccentricities were cute, that your moodiness was acceptable considering the circumstances, but now I don’t buy any of it. Your brother’s just been to hell and back and all you care about is your fucking glue gun. What’s the matter with you? I’ve never even seen you cry. What kind of kid doesn’t cry when her brother’s almost dead in the hospital?”
“You just said he’s okay.”
“He’ll never be okay. You know that better than anyone.”
“It’s my gun. My grandfather gave it to me. I want it back.”
“Yeah, well, we all want a lot of things. I’m not caving to your whims like your mother. You’ve met your match here, young lady.” When he starts to get up off the floor she lunges at him, knocking him down and straddling him. She digs her fingers into his pasty face, mashing it like clay, trying to obliterate it so she never has to look at it again. He tries to push her off but she remembers one of Darcy’s moves and jams her knuckles into his neck just below the jaw.
“Ow!” he yawps. “You little bitch!”
She jumps off him and tears out of the apartment, down the corridor to the fire stairs. She takes them two at a time; the slapping of her sneakers echoes off the concrete walls. She will never go back while he’s there, ever. She slams through the back entrance, bounding into the parking lot.
“Hey, Lone Ranger,” Buck shouts from the cab of his truck. “The fuzz on your tail?”
“Can I climb up?”
“Sure thing.” He opens the passenger door. The cab smells of weed. Harriet loves Buck’s truck. If the bank doesn’t work out, she plans to become a Mack truck driver. It would mean she could escape whenever she wanted. Buck’s cab has a bed, a microwave, a mini fridge, a sound system with an iPod dock, and even a little TV. A curtain divides the sleeping compartment from the front of the cab. If the curtain’s drawn, Darcy advised Harriet, it means Buck’s going at it. The curtain isn’t drawn and Buck seems genuinely pleased to see Harriet.
“What’s up, Ranger?”
“I got locked out. I forgot my keys.”
“Nasty. Who do you want to call?” He hands her his phone.
“Nobody. I’ll just wait for somebody to come home. Are you leaving soon?”
“Nah. It’s my night off. I’d hoped to spend some quality time with my family but, hey, who am I kidding.”
“It’s too bad Nina’s so mad at you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I think my mum would like you a lot.” Hooking up Buck and Lynne would be a way to get rid of Gennedy. “She’s really pretty. And nice. And my brother isn’t retarded. He just has hydrocephalus.”
“What’s that?”
“Water on the brain. He has a shunt under his skin that drains it to his belly.”
“Nasty.”
“It messes up his balance and coordination and he has trouble with buttons and stuff, but he’s not retarded. Everybody really likes him. My mother says he lights up a room.”
“Nice.”
Maybe Buck could drive her to Algonquin in his truck, then she could take her easel. He selects a song on his iPod; eight-year-old Michael Jackson belts “I Want You Back.” Buck sings along, reaching into his mini fridge. “Want a Pepsi?”
“Yes please.”
“That kid had everything going for him. What the frick happened that made him so freakin’ weird?” Harriet has seen the Jackson Five on YouTube and she can’t figure out what happened to Michael Jackson either, except that he grew up and discovered people were sacks of shit.
Buck flips the tab on the Pepsi and hands it to her. Gennedy appears at the side of the building, looking stealthily one way then the other. Harriet slides down in her seat, out of sight.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” Buck says. “I’m an awesome dad, seriously. I’m always where I say I’m going to be. I never stiff her on child support. You should meet the deadbeat dads I know, totally useless buttheads, like, to them kids are a burden. They’re always complaining about the stuff they have to do with their kids.”
Harriet peeks out the window and sees Gennedy creeping around the opposite end of the parking lot. Hitching up his track pants, he turns abruptly, heading in their direction.
“Could you take me to my grandmother’s?” she asks. “I know she’ll be home and she’d probably cook us some dinner, if you’re hungry.”
“That’s really nice of you. A home-cooked meal would be sweet.”
“Then floor it.”
“Right on, Ranger.”
Harriet leans on Gran’s buzzer—knowing she won’t hear it—hoping that someone will exit or enter the building, presenting an opportunity to grab the door. Buck, playing air drums and talking about his death metal comeback, doesn’t notice that no one is answering the buzzer. Finally Jedi’s scratchy voice comes through the intercom. “Go away. We don’t want any.”
“It’s me, Harriet. Can you buzz me up?”
“Harry-o, what a treat. Come on up.”
They’ve moved the coffee table to make room for ballroom dancing. Harriet smells peach fuzzes and sees the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter. Gran sashays towards her, waving the silky scarves she wears for tangos. “Mugsy, it’s sooo good to see you. I thought those numbskulls would never let you come see me again.”
“They can’t stop me.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jedi raises his fists.
Gran swishes a scarf in Buck’s direction. “And who’s this handsome gent?”
“His name’s Buck. He’s my friend’s dad. I got locked out of the apartment so I asked him to drive me here.”
“Isn’t that nice of him. Are you hungry? Want me to fry you up some hambangers?”
“Yes please,” Harriet says. “And do you have any sweet potato fries?”
“Of course I have my favourite granddaughter’s favourite food.”
“I’m your only granddaughter.”
“Who’s counting?”
Jed holds up his peach fuzz. “Can I get you one?”
“Why not?” Buck says.
As the adults slip into drinking mode, their movements become delayed and clumsy. This pleases Harriet because sauced they won’t wonder why no one’s looking for her. She unplugs the phones and pours herself some orange juice.
Jed salutes her when she returns to the living room. “What’s the plan, Harry-o?”
“No plan.”
“Oooh la la, you got to have a plan otherwise things can’t go wrong.”
“They go wrong anyway.” She picks up the framed photo of Lynne with Irwin as a baby. “That’s my mother.”
Buck whistles.
“And that’s my brother when he was a baby.”
“Why’s his head so big?”
“Hydrocephalus, I told you.”
“You didn’t tell me he had a big head.”
“That’s what happens. The skull fills with water and stretches.”
“How big is it now?”
“Not that big.”
“It’s big,” Gran says. “Nobody’s supposed to say so—we’re all supposed to tiptoe around like he’s normal but he ain’t.”
Harriet puts the photo back on the mantle. “He’s not retarded.”
“Says who?”
“He’s not.” The three tipsy adults ogle her.
“Take a chill pill, Harry-o. We’re all friends here.”
Gran tosses beef patties into her electric frying pan. “Don’t know why she’s so protective of him all of a sudden, she hates the little bugger.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“Could’ve fooled me, mugsy.”
She doesn’t hate him, not all the time anyway. When he can’t sleep and lies with his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, she doesn’t hate him. Ever since he was a bab
y, Harriet’s heartbeat has put him to sleep. She lies very still, not wanting to disturb him, feeling his heart beating much faster than hers. She doesn’t have heart trouble when Irwin falls asleep on her chest.
Harriet takes the sweet potato fries out of the freezer and arranges them on a cookie sheet.
“So, Buck,” Jed says, “what business you in?”
“I drive a transport truck.”
“How romantic.” Gran gestures grandly, still holding her empty peach fuzz glass. “Travelling the open road. I always wanted my deceased husband to go into that business. Thought we could see the Grand Canyon together, but he was a homebody from start to finish. I’ve always fancied a travelling man.”
Harriet slides the cookie sheet into the oven, trying to figure out how to stop Gran from flirting with Buck. It gets worse over burgers when she talks about Lynne having her gams and that it’s a crime she never shows them off. Jed looks worried, pulling on his nose more than usual, and suggests they play Charades. Harriet acts out heart trouble by clutching her chest and pretending to pass out. She hopes to remind Gran that she has heart trouble, is in her seventies and shouldn’t be flirting with Buck, but Gran shouts, “Heartache!” Harriet shakes her head and feigns heart failure again. “Broken heart,” Gran shouts. She always shouts during Charades.
“Lovesick,” Jed offers.
“Heart attack?” Buck says.
“Sick at heart,” Gran shouts.
“Young at heart,” Jed says.
“Heart disease,” Buck says.
Harriet points to her heart again then mimes shaking pills out of a container and swallowing them.
“Heart pills!” Gran shouts. She wobbles in her heels to the kitchen and Harriet thinks she’s about to take a heart pill, but instead she swats the counter with a rolled up newspaper. “There’s another one of those buggers. I was up half the night spraying the little critters with Lysol. I got a whole army in here. Where’d they come from? I got so many ants I dreamed they got in my mouth, woke up spitting.”
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