She stares up at the snack food packaging: swaths of orange, red and yellow, like William Blake’s paintings. His mother beat him for seeing angels in the branches of a tree. He regularly talked to angels, and everybody thought he was nuts. They didn’t want him seeing angels where they only saw trees. They wanted him to see exactly what they were seeing, just like Mrs. Elrind, Gennedy, Lynne, Trent and Oom. They want everything flattened, comfortable and predictable. They want a sun to look like a disk hanging in the sky. They think seeing it as a fiery ball of angels means you’re crazy. Harriet learned about William Blake at the last Seniors’ Reading Night. Mr. Chubak passed around a book of Blake’s work and quoted him: “If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is: infinite.” Mr. Chubak said that William Blake thought people who flattened the world based on their past experience were seeing all things only thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern. Mr. Chubak said those people are doomed to go through the same stuff over and over. “They turn and turn in what Blake calls the same dull round.” Mr. Chubak was struggling to open a childproof cap on his vitamin E bottle. Childproof caps defeat most of the seniors as they turn and turn in the same dull round. Harriet opens the caps for them, feeling herself turning and turning in the same dull round.
William Blake’s paintings were small and filled with angels and demons. She couldn’t stop looking at the one called The Ghost of a Flea. Harriet had no idea what William Blake meant by painting a flea’s head on a muscular man’s body. And she couldn’t understand why the man/flea was holding out a bucket, or why he was a ghost. But this didn’t matter; she couldn’t stop looking at it. Mr. Hoogstra, scratching under his captain’s hat, told her to pass the book along. She waited for Mr. Hoogstra to be transfixed by The Ghost of a Flea, but he just flipped past it, jabbing a toothpick into his gums. “Satan Calling Up His Legions,” he said. “Now that’s a painting. Terrific.”
Harriet wanted to know what William Blake said to the angels, and what they answered back. It seemed to her that if she could talk to angels and they answered back, everything would be all right.
“You can’t sit on the floor here,” a boy in a Shoppers Drug Mart shirt says.
“I’m getting up.” The boy has a shock of orange hair that flops over his forehead. Harriet tries to figure out what colours to mix to create that burnt orange. She pushes herself off the floor, grabbing hold of the shelving to haul herself up. “I haven’t finished my shopping.”
“No problem. Just don’t sit on the floor.”
Why not? she wants to scream. Why can’t I sit on the floor if I’m tired? Why do I have to do what’s expected?
“Do you know where the Polysporin is?” she asks.
“First Aid. Aisle six.”
She feels him keeping an eye on her as she heads for aisle six, where she sees Mrs. Schidt, with Coco on her lap, leaning out of her wheelchair to examine corn plasters. Harriet would bolt if she didn’t need the Polysporin. Mrs. Schidt will squint at the tiny print on the corn plaster labels for twenty minutes then demand assistance from “the druggist,” who will hurry to her aid because Mrs. Schidt is in a wheelchair. Mrs. Schidt walks fine around her apartment, and only uses the wheelchair when she goes out to make people feel sorry for her. “When you’re an old lady,” she told Harriet, “use it.” She never hesitates to ask strangers for help with packages, doors or getting in and out of cabs. Harriet knows Mrs. Schidt has a mini trampoline in her living room that she bounces on to “get her blood going.”
Coco spies Harriet and starts yapping. “Shhh,” Mrs. Schidt commands before noticing Harriet. Harriet expects her to say how rude and ungrateful she is, but Mrs. Schidt looks through her. This is worse than if she’d said something mean. Coco keeps yapping and straining against his leash, probably because he expects Harriet to take him to the doggy park. She grabs a tube of Polysporin ointment and stands directly in front of Mrs. Schidt’s wheelchair. Mrs. Schidt continues to ignore her, and all the rage Harriet has suppressed during the three years she has been walking Coco for $14 a week blasts out and she shouts, “I’m right here, you stupid old witch. And I know you can walk and bounce on your tramp and are a total fake.” Coco yaps louder while Mrs. Schidt tries to back away from Harriet. “You’re the stingiest, meanest, most horrible person I’ve ever met,” Harriet says, “and I hope your ugly dog gets fucked up the ass till it knocks his brains out.” She doesn’t mean this about Coco, she just wants to get back at Mrs. Schidt for treating her like an idiot who can never do anything right. “Get up and walk, you old bag.”
Mrs. Schidt’s face sags into a pudding, reminding Harriet of Rembrandt’s portraits of haggard old Dutch ladies. Harriet nudges the wheelchair with her foot. The orange-haired boy grips her arm. “It’s time for you to leave.”
At the Shangrila, Mr. Shotlander paces the lobby. “We’re going to have words with him, Harry.”
“Who?”
“That layabout who hit you.”
“Nobody hit me.” She distributes the seniors’ orders. Gennedy didn’t leave a bruise. She checked her face in a mirror at the cosmetic counter.
“Mr. Quigley’s going to show you some moves.”
“What moves?”
“Self-defence,” Mr. Quigley says. His curly white hair springs off his head as he hops around her. The stripes down the sides of his track pants zigzag as he demonstrates fancy footwork.
“I don’t need any moves.” She hands Mr. Chubak the juice boxes.
“Everybody needs moves.” Mr. Quigley air-boxes. “Particularly when you’re up against a bigger opponent.” Mr. Quigley is five-foot-four but insists he was a professional fighter once. He starts to circle Harriet. “You’ve got to probe the big guy, circle him in a steady clockwise direction, check out his strengths and weaknesses, flick a jab and move away.” Mr. Quigley flicks a jab inches from her face.
“You’re giving me a headache,” she says.
“Listen to him, Harry. You never know when it might come in handy.”
“You stick and slide.” Mr. Quigley pretends to throw a punch then slides sideways. “Stick and slide. If things get bad and you’re up against the ropes, you get into a protective crouch.”
“I thought you were supposed to be at Casino Rama,” Harriet says.
Mr. Shotlander sips his Diet Coke. “The lucky bastard won two hundred bucks on the one-armed bandits. How do you like that?”
Mr. Quigley holds his hands and elbows up around his head. “See, you absorb the blows of your opponent, feel his strength ebb and flow. Tire him out.”
“Craptastic,” Harriet says.
“It’s a mind game.” Mr. Quigley points at his temple then at Harriet. “It’s you and him. In those moments you’re the only two people on earth.”
Sometimes it does feel as though she and Gennedy are the only two people on earth. Just thinking of the sack of shit’s pasty face makes her flick a jab at Mr. Quigley. “That’s the stuff,” he says, “keep ’em coming, stick and slide.” She slides sideways clockwise, flicking and jabbing without actually hitting him. The repeated quick movements flood her with endorphins and she starts to feel like the strongest girl in the world. “Bring it on,” she says, sticking and jabbing until a circle of seniors forms around her.
“Way to go, Harry!” they cheer as Mr. Quigley dodges her blows.
Taj is at Darcy’s because the toilet is plugged again.
“You put woman things down there,” he tells Darcy’s mother. “You must not put woman things down there.”
“If you mean tampons and pads,” Nina says, “we don’t flush any of it. We’re not stupid. It’s a crap toilet. I need a new toilet.”
“You don’t need a new toilet, ma’am. These are good toilets. Good make.”
Nina flicks her mad-nice red hair out of her face. “How many fucking times am I going to have to drag your ass up here before
you get me a toilet with a decent flush?”
Dee whispers in Harriet’s ear. “See how blotchy she’s getting? She’s going to bust his balls in a second.”
“There is nothing wrong with this toilet, ma’am. Put toilet paper only. Not woman things.”
“I am not putting woman things down there, you moron. Are you familiar with the term ‘flush’ as in flushing power?”
Taj, gripping his plunger, backs out of the bathroom. “It’s working now, ma’am.”
“Because you’ve been plunging it for half an hour. It’ll be plugged again in no time and you’ll be AWOL.”
Taj, head bowed as though afraid she might hit him, slinks to the door.
“Don’t sneak away from me!” Nina shouts. “I pay over a thousand for this dive, the least you owe me is a decent toilet.”
“Nobody else has this problem, ma’am.”
“Don’t lie to me, little brown man. The geezers are constantly plugging their toilets. Guess I’m going to have to contact your boss and tell him you’re never in the building because you’re out selling pirated shit. I have photos.” She points to her cell. “Lots of pics of you dealing contraband. Even some video. What’s your boss’ name? Maldonado, isn’t it? I’m sure Maldonado would be very interested in my video. Maybe I should put it on YouTube, call it ‘Taj the Pirate.’”
“I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”
“You’ve got twenty-four hours. If we don’t have a new toilet in twenty-four hours, ‘Taj the Pirate’ goes viral.” She slams the door after him.
Darcy pulls a Diet Sprite from the fridge. “Do you even have any photos or video of him?”
“What do you think.”
“Nobody bluffs like Nina Suprema.”
“What if he doesn’t get you a new toilet in twenty-four hours?” Harriet asks.
“He burns,” Dee says. “Come on, H, let’s strategize in the Situation Room.”
“Why are you wearing so much makeup?”
“Because you’re taking my profile pic, yo.” Darcy lounges on her bed with one knee up and her head resting in her hand. “Is this a good pose?”
“I can’t believe your mom called Taj ‘a little brown man.’”
“Why? Isn’t he one?”
“That’s racist.”
“To call somebody what they are? Gee wow.”
“My mother would never talk to anybody like that.”
“That’s why she lives with a derp.” She pushes her bust forward. “How’s this?”
“Stop trying to look sexy.”
“What’s wrong with sexy? Oh, I forgot. You’re eleven and don’t have hormones.”
“Any pervball can look at your picture.”
“Let ’em look. It’s not like they know where I live, LOL.” Dee jumps up and starts speedily thrusting her pelvis forward and backwards.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing off my junk in the trunk,” she says, pointing to her ass. “You got a bubble butt, girl. But I got junk in the trunk.”
“I thought we were taking your profile picture.”
“Right on, dawg.” She hands Harriet her phone. “That Caitlin ho bag is smiling in hers. I’m just going to do bedroom eyes.” Dee flops back on the bed, crossing one leg over the other and dropping her head slightly then looking up at Harriet with heavy eyelids.
“You look sick,” Harriet says.
“How’s this?” Darcy puckers her lips.
“Just sit properly and look normal.”
“Hell’s bells, forgot my boa.” Dee grabs a pink feather boa and winds it around her neck. Harriet takes a couple of shots and hands the phone back.
Dee admires the pics. “Don’t you just love my smoky eyes? I watched a makeup tutorial to figure out how to do it.”
“Does Nina scream at Buck like that?” Harriet sits on the bed.
“Like what?”
“Like she was screaming at Taj.”
“Damn straight. Bucko digs it.”
“My mother would never shout like that.”
“Too bad. Let’s hope she’s got something else going for her. We’ll ask Mr. Ouija.” Dee pulls out the board and sets it on the Barbie table.
“I don’t want to do Ouija.”
“Woman, don’t be such a wussy. Personally I want to know what’s up so I can strategize.”
“Can I look at the capybara after?”
“Oh my god, quit with the mutant rodent.”
“That’s the deal.”
“Fine.” They place their hands on the Ouija and wait. “Hello sir, or madam, how do you do? Bonjour? Is anybody there?”
“Maybe they’re busy.”
“Keep your hand on the Ouija or no rodent. Hel-looo? Qué pasa? Can you hear us?” Dee gasps and squeezes her eyes shut. “To whom am I speaking? You wouldn’t be Harriet’s grandpa Archie by any chance?” The Ouija slowly points towards Yes.
“You’re moving it.”
“I’m not moving it. Do you happen to know if Harriet’s mom and my dad are going to hook up? Be honest. We can take it.”
“Take what?”
“Like, maybe Archie’s hung up about extramarital affairs and is afraid to talk straight with us. Arch, my ’rents are divorced, so are Harriet’s. The derp living with her mother isn’t even legit. So no worries. We want Buck and Lynne to get it on.”
“No we don’t. Not that like.”
“Like what then?”
“It has to be special.”
“Special?”
“A lasting relationship.”
“Oh. Right. LOL. Okay, Arch, can you tell us if Buck and Lynne are going to have a lasting relationship?” They both stare at the Ouija. “What a pisser. It stopped.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know. He can’t know everything.”
“I think he’s afraid to tell us.”
“Why?”
“He’s afraid you’ll be disappointed. Seriously, H, you’re pretty amped about this whole deal.”
“No I’m not.”
“Arch, on a scale of one to ten, what are the chances of Buck and Lynne forming a lasting relationship? Oh my god it’s moving.”
“No it’s not.”
“It did it again. Feel that?”
Harriet did feel the Ouija move slightly. Her toes grip the floor. She’s not sure she wants the answer to this question.
“Fuck my life,” Dee says, “it’s pointing to five. That must mean there’s, like, a fifty/fifty chance.”
Harriet finds Lynne smoking on the balcony. “Mum? We’re supposed to go jogging.”
“What?”
“We’re supposed to meet Buck and Dee for a run.”
“Oh. I forgot.” Her mother looks as though she just woke up. It’s three in the afternoon. Harriet worries she’s headed for another breakdown. “Why are you still in your bathrobe?”
Lynne stares down at a Dario’s Plumbing truck. “That guy is delivering a toilet. Who’s getting a new toilet? Nobody gets new plumbing in this hellhole.”
“Mum, they’re waiting for us at the track behind the school.”
“I really don’t think I’m up for it, bunny.”
“Sure you are. It’ll make you feel better. Way better than smoking.”
Lynne glances at her watch. “Okay, well as long as we’re back before Gennedy and Irwin get home.”
“Where are they?’
“Some superhero movie.” Irwin’s obsessed with superheroes, charges around with his hoodie hooked over his forehead, squealing “Look at my cape, Harry!”
Harriet takes her mother’s cigarette and tosses it off the balcony, hoping it lands on Mrs. Rumph. “You should put shorts on.” She guides Lynne to the bedroom and searches drawers for shorts that show off her legs. “Here,
put these on.”
Lynne holds the shorts as though she has no idea what to do with them.
“Put them on, Mum. Oh boy, bok choy, step on the gas.” This is what Mrs. Rivera used to say when she wanted people to hurry up. Harriet finds a sports bra and a tank top that will show off her mother’s figure.
“Bunny, did something happen between you and Gennedy this morning?”
If she admits that Gennedy hit her, Lynne won’t believe her. She’ll insist they wait until Gennedy returns and confront him with Harriet’s accusation. It will be Harriet’s word against Gennedy’s, and she knows how that one goes. “Nothing happened.”
“Then why did you leave without saying goodbye to Irwin? He so badly wanted to spend some time with you today.”
“I had errands to do.”
“You don’t have to do any of those errands. You’re a child. If you need money for ice cream or something, you can ask me or Gennedy for it. You shouldn’t peddle yourself to strangers. It’s dangerous. What do you need the money for anyway?”
She can’t say art supplies because her mother hates her art. And she can’t say escape money. “Mum, put your hair in a ponytail.” Ponytails make Lynne look younger. Harriet hands her a hair tie. “We have to hustle.”
When they arrive at the track behind the school, Buck is doing one-arm push-ups. Harriet glances at Lynne to see if she’s noticed, but Lynne’s staring at the ground. “Mum, look. Buck’s doing one-arm push-ups. He must be really strong.”
Sitting in the grass, scrolling through her newsfeed, Dee sucks on a Diet Sprite.
“Hi, guys,” Harriet says.
“They made it.” Buck jumps up. “The two most beautiful girls in the ’hood.” He’s sweaty but it’s sexy because he’s wearing a muscle shirt. He drinks deeply from a water bottle. “It’s another scorcher. We’ll have to take it slow.”
“Suits me.” Lynne pulls at a loose thread on her shorts.
“That’s awesome that you can do one-arm push-ups,” Harriet says. “Can you do clap push-ups as well?”
Buck drops to the ground and does five clap push-ups.
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