by Lianne Oelke
I guess the largest grocery store chain in western Canada didn’t feel like providing the backdrop to hashtags such as #longhairdontcare and #bitchesbaggingbread.
I could really use a scholarship right about now.
R mentioned he’d be staying with his cousin tonight, which was fine with me. Like the bride and groom spending the night before the wedding apart. Except we’re not getting married tomorrow—just competing in the final challenge of House of Orange. Winner takes all. Sinner takes all, if all goes well. I’ll find the energy somewhere.
When I’m the only person in the house, it’s quite easy not to care about cameras. I didn’t change out of my T-shirt and short shorts because today is just one big Who Gives a Shit. Instead of showering, I blasted sixties soft rock, lay down on the saggy living room sofa, and stared at the orange shag carpet for two hours. Eventually I made french toast. Out of boredom, not hunger. I put the plate of french toast on the floor next to the couch because I was losing interest in the carpet and had no intention of eating the food anyway. I lay there for another hour or two because I was starting to feel something. I couldn’t tell what it was—it was like seeing a pinpoint of light out of the corner of my eye—but it was something. Excitement for the challenge tomorrow? Or maybe dread for what I would do with myself after? I was too busy concentrating to notice R walk in.
R
Are you all right, Jane?
Suddenly I was hyperaware of my greasy hair and the compromising position my short shorts had arranged themselves in. I tried to pull my hair back and my shorts down and stand up all at once. I fell off the couch. My hand landed in the french toast. When I pulled it out, my fingers bleeding maple syrup and cinnamon, I saw that my hand had left a perfect impression in the bread. Like I gave the bread a high-five. I started laughing. As though, for the past week or two, my brain had forgotten what it was like to feel things, then all of a sudden it remembered. I guess the meds are finally catching up, or something.
BRAIN
OH, I’M SORRY! LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU! HERE, HAVE SOME FEELINGS! HAVE SOME MORE! LOL ROFL OMG!
JS
LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL
R
Jane, what’s going on?
JS
IT’S LIKE . . . THE TOAST—I GAVE IT A HIGH-FIVE, AND NOW—SEE—IT’S LIKE WE’RE FRIENDS . . . AND—
R
Should I call someone?
A HOOcap was already there. I saw myself on television like this and found it hilarious. I mean, I’d signed up for a reality TV show. How was I expecting to come out of this not looking like an idiot? Something must have snapped in R, too, because he started laughing as well. Soon the two of us could barely breathe.
R
I wonder what . . . Alexander . . . what he’ll make of all this—
JS
I hope . . . maybe he can’t use . . . no context . . .
It took me a good half hour to calm down. Then I slept for five hours.
It’s a good thing I was born with such a sunny disposition, or I might be dead by now. With so much metaphorical sunlight saturating everything, it’s easy to look on the bright side.
I am a superhero! I am the Nihilist! My superpowers include logical detachment, emotional invincibility, and the ability to blend in anywhere. I work alone and am never compromised by romantic entanglements, and I don’t have a costume because who the fuck cares?
Mom called tonight, making sure I was okay. I wished she would have spent half an hour giving me a million useless updates on Carol (like she usually does), but the fact that she said nothing about Carol told me Carol is still pissed. Mom cautiously suggested I visit my therapist again—maybe if I explain the situation, I can get in early tomorrow morning. If not, when the final challenge is over. I said yes, that is a good idea.
DFS
Hello, Jane.
JS
Hi.
DFS
I hear you have a stressful event tomorrow and your parents are worried about your mental health.
JS
Yes. My producer is also concerned.
DFS
Let’s talk about this.
JS
Sure.
DFS
What are you afraid of?
JS
Sometimes I am afraid of being stuck in outer space. I’m very confident I wouldn’t like it there.
DFS
You’ve seen enough movies to know that most people don’t have a good time in space, but that’s not what I mean because it won’t happen. Real fears are frightening because they could happen. What are you afraid of?
JS
I’m afraid of oil spills, fascist governments, and balloons that pop unexpectedly.
DFS
Why can’t you ever take a serious question seriously?
JS
Because sometimes I’m afraid that if I don’t feel amused, I won’t feel anything at all.
What I’m actually scared of is what I’ll be tomorrow. Best-case scenario, I win House of Orange. What then? Instead of being the Girl Who Tried to Kill Herself, I’ll be the Girl Who Won a Shitty Reality Show. Either way, I’m a Girl Who Did a Thing. At this point, I don’t know how I can go back to just being a Girl.
ThuAug18
Final challenge day.
Two slices of cake, two cups of coffee, yogurt, and an apple. Breakfast of champions.
We have half an hour to pack. We’re told to bring a change of warm clothes and anything else we think we’ll need for two or three days. No cell phones, no electronics. It all has to fit in a backpack. I’m throwing in leggings, T-shirts, sweaters, socks, underwear, toques, basic toiletries, a lighter Marc forgot underneath a couch cushion, a water bottle, Tylenol, instant coffee, pens, sudoku, garbage bags (for insulation and water protection because you never know), this journal, and a mickey of vodka. Whatever space is left over I will stuff with granola bars. Jenna lent me a compact sleeping bag that straps onto the bottom of my backpack. I’m not sure how much she knows, but carrying a sleeping bag with me makes me feel bold and terrified at the same time.
At nine forty-five we had our final interviews. I spent a little extra time getting ready for it. I had no idea what the final challenge would involve, but I assumed this interview would be the last chance I’d get to control how I look on camera. So I tamed my hair and used the last of my lipstick. I guess I’ve used more lipstick than I thought lately.
At ten we climbed into the van (which I am all too familiar with) and said goodbye to House of Orange. A HOOcap with no cap drove. She didn’t answer any of our questions. There were no cameras in the van, no radio playing. The HOOcap turned onto Stoney Trail, then Sixteenth Avenue. We left the city and headed west. R and I sat in silence as the mountains rose on either side of us, creeping up the windows until there was nothing left of the sky.
We stopped a couple hours out of Calgary, near Lake Louise. We parked next to some familiar cars at a small rest stop a few hundred meters off the main road. A couple HOOcaps got out of a dirty Civic. After fitting us with our lav mikes, they strapped their cameras onto shoulder rigs. The HOOcap with no cap told us to use the outhouse here while we had the chance. R and I didn’t move, so she handed us our backpacks and said to follow her.
The day was sunny but not warm, and the ground was a brown, soupy mess from yesterday’s rain. Balancing our heavy backpacks while keeping our grip on the steep trail was neither easy nor graceful. We couldn’t complain, though. The HOOcaps went slowly too, careful of their equipment. I’m in pretty decent shape cardio-wise, but I have limited experience with steep inclines. After an hour I started to wonder how high we were supposed to go. After two hours, I started to wonder what we’d find when we got there. I wanted to ask a thousand questions—the drawn-out anticipation was almost as agonizing as the fire spreading through my lungs—but if R could keep quiet, so could I.
Eventually we stopped for a rest. I sat down on a falle
n tree, dumped my backpack onto the mud, and peeled off a sweaty layer. Someone handed me a Gatorade, and I finished it in three swallows. R drank his more slowly, but not until he had arranged a blanket over his side of the tree and sat down carefully.
R
What do you think we’re in for?
JS
I don’t know. Mountain biking, I hope.
R
I’d settle for bird watching.
My muscles relaxed and my lungs caught up to the rest of me. As the sun warmed my face I began to smile, if for no other reason than the absence of pain.
R
I just hope it’s not bear wrestling. I hate bear wrestling.
JS
Did your parents make you do that, too?
R
Every other weekend.
I laughed before I could tell myself not to.
It was late afternoon before we reached the top. By then I had no idea what AP had in store for us, or why he’d want us exhausted before we’d even started. AP and his crew stood around a fire, drinking coffee and laughing. Relaxed. It was chilly up there—the HOOcaps had switched their ball caps for embroidered toques in an even brighter shade of orange. AP cracked a huge grin at the sight of us.
AP
Hey! You made it in one piece. Hope you’re not too tired. Help yourself to coffee before we get started.
I didn’t need an invitation to head toward the coffee. It was the instant shit of course. Wallace & Beanz. I turned to make some comment to R, but he was still standing on the edge of the trail. Looking out at the most beautiful view I have ever seen.
Lake Louise stretched out below us, smoother than a sheet of ice and impossibly turquoise. Mountains framed the lake on all sides, the hazy sunlight casting hard shadows on prickly trees. The sky, free of clouds, was so saturated with color that the darkest blues were slipping down to rest on the jagged peaks.
R and I stood there in silence. Staring. I hoped we’d stay there until the sun dropped into the lake and the sky exploded and the stars flickered on. It wouldn’t be too much longer. I snuck a glance at R to see if I could tell the time by the angle of the light on his sundial nose, but I was distracted by the purity of the expression on his face. Most people would have whipped out their smartphone to Instagram the shit out of that view. Somehow I knew that even if he had his phone, R wouldn’t have blocked his view with a screen.
AP
Nice, isn’t it?
I hadn’t noticed AP creep up next to me.
JS
You do have a flair for the dramatic.
He laughed.
AP
We’ll be ready in a couple minutes.
I turned around as AP walked away. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing in the sharp, thin air until I stopped thinking about the view, about Robbie’s nose, about Jenna and Carol and the HOOtoques and the fact that I was about to win a car and/or humiliate myself in front of the largest audience I’ll likely ever have.
Breathe.
In and out and in and out and in and out.
This was it.
What would I do with myself when this was over?
I was cold. And shaking.
In and out and in and out and—
AP
Jane? We’re ready for you.
AP held out a steaming W&B mug, and I took it gratefully. He guided me to a clear patch of rock where a HOOtoque had dropped a mark for me to stand on. I let the mug warm my fingers while AP worked out some technicalities with a camera guy. Robbie took his place next to me, and we waited. I’ve waited like this a million times before, but it never felt like this.
DFS
What are you afraid of?
JS
(Not now, please. Can’t you see I’m—)
HOOTOQUE 1
And . . . roll sound!
HOOTOQUE 2
Rolling.
JS
(I’m busy.)
HOOTOQUE 4
Final challenge intro, take one.
HOOTOQUE 3
Mark it.
R
You ready?
DFS
We have to talk about it sometime.
HOOTOQUE 3
Set.
JS
(Not now.)
Yes. Are you?
AP
Action!
In and out.
AP
Welcome to the final challenge of House of Orange! Join-ing us today to remind us of the prizes is a representative from Wallace & Beanz, Alan Burrows.
Alan had a distinguished-looking salt-and-pepper beard, a beer belly, and a crisp suit. I wondered if he had to change his clothes in the bush after climbing the mountain.
ALAN
Thanks, Alexander. As you both know, the grand prize is the car and the scholarship. Wallace & Beanz is proud to announce that the scholarship amount has been raised to five thousand dollars! We are also pleased to announce a cash bonus of two thousand dollars to the winner.
R and I looked at each other.
AP
Thanks, Alan! The goal of the last challenge is simple. The first person to make it back to House of Orange wins.
AP let that sink in while we waited for the catch.
AP
There are a few conditions. First, you are not permitted to use any electronic communication devices. No cell phones, no internet. Second, you are not allowed to spend any money. Third, you are not permitted to obtain assistance from any House of Orange crew member. Fourth, you are not permitted to use any motorized vehicles.
My mind raced. No cars? What did that leave?
AP
If you break any of the rules, you are subject to disqualification. If a crew member feels you are in danger, he or she has the right to call for assistance and you will be subject to disqualification. You two are free to work together or separately, your choice. There is no time limit. Any questions?
JS
(Yes. How?)
. . .
R
. . .
AP
Before we start, each of you will receive a safety pack.
A HOOtoque handed us each a large orange fanny pack.
AP
Included in this pack are an insulating blanket, basic first-aid items, a pamphlet on the dangers of interaction with the local wildlife, pepper spray, and three flares.
I did not feel any safer.
AP
You will also each receive a small DSLR as a personal camera, to use as you wish. Are you sure you don’t have any questions?
What was I missing? How long would it take to walk back? How fast can I run? How far can I push the rules without getting disqualified? Is it too late to find a lawyer? How terrified do I look right now, and how can I convince everyone I’m not?
I strapped on the fanny pack.
JS
Yeah. When do we start?
AP
Three, two, one. Now.
I had to get off the mountain before the sun set.
I thought going down would be easier, and it was, until my legs turned into tight Jell-O doused in alcohol then set on fire. R was close behind, so I couldn’t let myself stop. I fell a few times. But I always got up.
By the time I made it to the bottom, my body felt exactly how I’d expect it to feel after climbing a mountain and tumbling back down. I found a boulder and sat and pulled out my water bottle. At least the vodka was still intact. It was too early to drink it though; I still had nearly two hundred kilometers to go. Oh god. After two long swallows, I forced myself to get up and keep moving. Robbie would catch up any minute, and I didn’t want him riding my shooting star all the way back to Calgary.