by Diana Wieler
“I didn’t give up. I withdrew.”
“You quit,” he seemed to spit out the words, ”when you could have done it, finished no problem, sailed through one last year. You’re smart, Jens. You could have graduated and been something.”
“I am something!”
“And what is that? Someone with a shiny car? Possessions…aren’t a life. Even thieves can have shiny new cars.”
“This isn’t about me.” I was scrambling, trying to deflect those piercing eyes away from me. ”Daniel is responsible for his own life, his own grades.” I tossed the pages onto the table. ”This isn’t my fault.”
My father seemed to sag, condense just a little more. ”No, it’s mine. I couldn’t stop you, and you won’t stop him. But we had a bargain, and I keep my promises.”
He began to walk away.
“Karl…” Mom’s voice was a shock in the room. It ignited me.
“Don’t call Kruse,” I blurted.
Dad stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Daniel can still improve,” I said. ”There’s a semester left.”
“I am done talking to That One.”
“So let me talk to him! Give me a week. I’ve got a week. We’ll…go camping.”
My brother tried to cut in — the guitar man hated camping, too — but I rolled right over him.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s my fault. So just let me try this,” I pleaded to my father’s back. ”You don’t have anything to lose. He’s off school, anyway. Please, Dad.”
My father turned at last, weary but not beaten. I could see in his face that he thought the whole conversation was pointless.
“I think they should do it,” Mom said. ”Go and look after themselves for awhile. If you want them to learn responsibility, that’s a good way.” Her quiet voice seemed to take over the kitchen. ”It couldn’t hurt, Karl.”
Later, in my room, I rifled my drawers for extra clothes to take. Daniel was on my bed, leaning back on his elbows, knees up so I could hardly see him. I was telling him how it would work.
”We’ll sleep in the tent — you know that two-man job we used to put up in the back yard? We’ll go to campgrounds, or just wherever we can pull over and park. Rest stops. Then we’ll drive into the little towns. I mean little— places where they’re starved for entertainment. If they have a bar, or a restaurant, I’ll get you in there. You’ll work for nothing if you have to, but we’ll sell those tapes.”
“So when are you going to fix me, Jens?” he said, his voice icy. “When are you going to make me better, make me smart?”
I slammed the drawer shut. ”You’re going to fix yourself. You’re going to get your act together and stop this crap.” I stood up and turned on him. ”You’re not fooling anybody, Daniel. You’re not dumb. I don’t know how you could do this to him…”
He seemed to leap off the bed. ”Do what? What did I do to him?!”
“You lied. You said you’d pick up your grades so he’d sign the contract. You never intended to follow through.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is! I know you. You don’t care if you break his heart. Everything’s for you.” My voice dropped. ”And on top of that, you go and bug the hell out of Kruse, the man who’s doing you a favor, pester him to death because the only person who has a life is you.”
Daniel’s hands were clenched. I could see the tendons standing out on his arms. ”Yeah, I wanted to know how things were going, what he was doing. Why not? The guy’s going to make money off me.”
“Oh, right. And you were a real star in there today.”
”And what the hell were you?”
A welt of heat was burning me. This close I realized he was taller than I remembered, even than he’d been at Christmas.
“Get some money from Mom,” I said finally. ”As much as she can spare. She’ll give it to you — anything for her baby.”
He didn’t slam the door, not quite.
SIX
I’d slept in that bed for most of my life and I loved it, but I woke up with a sick feeling. I’d forgotten something important. Daniel and I needed transportation, but the truck was supposed to go back Monday. I had to beg Sy for a few more days.
I had a quick shower and crept out of the house to the pay phone beside the Lucky Mart.
When Judi answered, I lowered my voice to disguise it and asked for Sy.
“I’m afraid he’s no longer with us,” Judi said. “Can someone else help you?”
I was stunned. I’d only been gone one afternoon. Had Sy quit or been fired?
“What happened to Sy?” I said, forgetting myself.
There was a pause. “Who is this?” Judi demanded. “Do I know you?”
I panicked and hung up.
I stood in the chilly morning, my hand still on the phone, my breath puffs of vapor hanging in the air. Jack was on vacation and now Sy was gone, too. Did anyone know about me? I needed this truck.
Even thieves can have shiny new cars.
But I wasn’t stealing, I was just borrowing. I only needed it for a few days – a week, tops. Whatever had happened to Sy, the dealership would be in some chaos. Maybe no one would notice me missing right away. I could always call in Monday and talk to the accountant, Henry. If he asked, I’d tell him Sy told me to keep it a week.
And that was lying.
But not today. I hadn’t done it yet, didn’t know that I would. Right now I needed the truck and I had it. I was still okay.
I went into the store, to the bank machine at the back, and withdrew the last fifty dollars out of my account. Then I walked home softly, as if the ground was eggshells.
I went downstairs to the basement that had become Daniel’s room. It was still the laundry room, but he’d piled plastic soft-drink crates in a wall that sectioned his bed off in one corner. His life was scattered everywhere – stacks of CDs, a large amp and a smaller one, magazines, song sheets and his guitars: the acoustic, the Mann electric, the Fender Stratocaster and a mandolin-shaped thing I didn’t know the name of.
Taped to the cement wall by his bed was a big, brilliant poster of Colin James. Technically James isn’t a bluesman — he’s a blistering rock ’n’ roll guitarist. But he came from small-town Saskatchewan and he started playing in blues clubs when he was thirteen.
I don’t know much about music but I know there are a lot of old blues masters: brothers Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughn, B.B. King — hell, even Hendrix and Clapton. I don’t know why my brother chose the hero he did.
Daniel had just woken up. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in his underwear and a T-shirt, his long legs bare. I could see his shoulder blades, sharp angles poking up through the fabric, and I felt a pang. God, he was thin.
I dropped to one knee on the carpet beside his bed, like a coach in the huddle.
“Okay,” I said quietly, “get dressed and pack – warm things and then something to perform in, not your usual grubby stuff. I’ll get the sleeping bags and everything else. I’ll leave the truck open and I want you to sneak some guitars in.”
I glanced at their black cases against the wall. “Take the acoustic and both electrics.” I wanted a back-up in case something broke. “And an amp, and cords, and whatever else you need. Don’t let Mom and Dad see you do it. Did you get some money?”
“Not…yet.”
I felt an impatient pulse. This was critical. “Well, do it.” I started toward the stairs. “Now hurry up. We’ll have a big breakfast before we go.”
“I’m not hungry,” he muttered behind me.
I whirled around. “Yes, you are!”
He stared at me from under the dark, messy tumble of his hair, surprised.
“You’ve got to eat, Daniel,” I said, shrugging. “Build yourself up.”
I jogged up the stairs into the smell of frying bacon. Mom was at the counter, cracking eggs into a blue bowl she’d always used to mix pancakes. Her dark shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It amaze
d me, sometimes, that I could look down on the top of her head, that women in general are so little. From behind you’d think she was a Rosetown girl.
I was suddenly next to her, looking for something to steal – bacon or a piece of toast. She elbowed me away.
“Sit down. I want to serve it all at once,” she said, but smiling. “I aired out the sleeping bags last night.” She grated fresh cinnamon into the batter. “They’re on the line outside.”
“Thanks.”
“The tent and the propane hotplate – I think they’re both in the shed. Don’t forget toilet paper, and soap and shampoo.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Where are you going to wash?”
I didn’t answer because I hadn’t even thought of it. But she knew that.
“Some of the campgrounds have showers, but most of them have sinks, anyway. The ones that are open. You can always stop at gas stations. Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. Just around. Hey, it’s an adventure,” I said lightly.
She turned, grinning at me. “If you forget the toilet paper, then it’s an adventure.” Her smile tightened. “I’m going to worry. I’m telling you that now. I want you to phone every day.”
Yet she had agreed with my plan, argued for it last night. She was on my side and I didn’t know why.
She turned back to the griddle, lifting the edges of the pancakes to check underneath, although it was too soon.
“Take some canned food from the pantry and I’ll set out pots and pans you can use. I don’t want you taking my good pots. And, Jens…don’t let him drink.”
“Drink what?”
“You know. Liquor. Beer. Anything.”
“Daniel doesn’t drink,” I said. But in my mind’s eye I saw it again, that strange moment when she’d leaned forward to smell him. I remembered the shock of that report card in my hand. Daniel was sixteen. He was going to Rosetown Senior High. I knew that town, all the houses you could go to, all the people who would take you in.
I straightened in my chair. “What the hell is he up to? Does Dad know about this?”
She looked at me, a warning glance to calm me down.
“I don’t know for sure, Jens. I just think. So don’t go…”
The door to the basement opened, stopping us. Daniel looked from one to the other. “Go where?” he said.
“Just…go,” I said smoothly. “I’ve got a map. I’m figuring out our route.”
“I want to go through Easton,” Daniel said, dropping into a chair across from me.
“Easton! Why?”
“I just do, okay? I know somebody who lives there.”
I had no idea how he could have met somebody from that far away. The town was four hours past Winnipeg, and not the direction I had planned. I wanted to drive toward Ontario, because there were more towns closer together. No way were we going to waste time in Easton.
“We’ll see,” I said.
The pancakes weren’t ready but Mom laid out the rest of it, a plate piled with crisp bacon, toast, juice, fruit sliced into little bowls — the full treatment. I dove into it, not bothering with silverware. At home, almost everything can be finger food.
It bothered me about Daniel, how he might have been wasting his afternoons. It was a slap in the face to Mom and Dad and…it bothered me. He didn’t have anything to drink about.
I looked across the table. He was swirling his orange juice, playing with it.
“How’s Keith Klassen doing? Did he make the Raiders?” I said.
Keith was in my brother’s year, but he was big and tough enough to play pick-up games with the older guys in Ile-des-Sapins.
“How should I know?” Daniel said.
“I bet he has his own fan club,” I continued. “Rosetown girls really go for the buff guys. He’ll have to peel them off.”
My mother shot me a glance, but I pretended not to see it.
“I mean, that’s how it works. You don’t even have to make the team, just look like it. Give them something to hang onto, and they will,” I said, grinning. Daniel rolled his eyes but he picked up his cutlery and started to poke around, finally. I went to the fridge and poured us each a tall glass of milk. When I set one in front of my brother, I let go a short sigh.
“Daniel, you don’t cut up fruit.”
“I like it in smaller pieces.”
“It’s in a bowl. You don’t cut anything that’s in a bowl.”
“You’re an expert at that, too? You do women and fruit?”
I was suddenly angry. “At least I know what’s normal. You’re afraid to get dirty. That’s sick. It’s delusions of greatness or something.”
“So I’m not a savage! I don’t have to dive in there and squeeze it to death…”
I leaned back in my chair, threw up my arms. “I’m a guitarist, don’t touch me, don’t touch my hands!”
The solid thunk of a plate on the table jolted me upright.
“You’re going camping, the two of you?” Mom said. “In a tent, together?”
Daniel and I glanced at each other, embarrassed. “Yeah,” I said.
“I wish I could sell tickets,” Mom said.
After breakfast I went outside to pack up the truck. I was starting to get scared. What if this didn’t work? What was I going to do about the truck on Monday? And I’d been fired. What kind of salesman could I be if Jack and Sy didn’t believe in me anymore?
The tent, stove and propane tank were sitting on the grass next to the shed. Dad had dug them out and cleaned them up; the metal parts shone in the sun. I’d been avoiding him since last night, his words still in me like whiplash: This is your doing.
And yet here were these things I needed laid out like a gift. I dropped to one knee, pretending to check over the stove, but the knobs glittered at me through water.
I can do this, I promised. I can make it right. And I’ll come back and build that garage, all by myself.
After I loaded the gear, Daniel and I managed to sneak the guitars in. Mom and Dad both came out to see us off. We all stood awkwardly in the sunshine, stalling. Mom gave a last-minute speech — instructions, good advice. My father stood silently with his hands in his pockets. I’d figured out long ago that my parents took care of different family departments: Mom was Health and Safety; Dad was Character.
Finally Mom threw her arms around me in a hug.
“Don’t lose him, Jens,” she whispered.
Dad pulled Daniel in around the shoulders, buffed the top of his head with an Old World kiss. “Listen to your brother,” he said.
He didn’t say anything to me. When I reached out to shake his hand he clasped it with both of his, hard. I was suddenly blinking, my throat tight. I couldn’t say goodbye, either.
We were already in the truck when Daniel looked alarmed.
“Wait a minute,” he said, and darted into the house. He came out with something in his hand — that damned fedora!
My insides sank. Oh, yeah, just advertise it, Daniel.
“Why do you need the hat?” Mom said.
Daniel climbed into the cab and hung out the window. “I don’t know – luck?”
I started the engine and swung out backwards, a fast arc that swept us into the street. We all waved, smiling, but in my rearview mirror I caught a glimpse of them as I drove away: Character and Health and Safety standing shoulder to shoulder with the same taut face.
SEVEN
I could have driven through Ile-des-Sapins with my eyes closed and not missed a turn. But I took my time, pausing at every stop sign, even the ones that didn’t count. Daniel was sitting forward on the edge of his seat, as if we were on our way to the Red River Ex.
“Put your seatbelt on,” I said. “Did you get the money?”
He gave me an irritated glance but clicked it dutifully in place.
“Yeah, I did.”
I held out my hand. “Give it to me.”
“Why should you always hold the money?”
It was true. Let loos
e at the fair or even sent to the corner store, I was always the one given the money, for both of us. It was logical — I was older, more responsible. Plus I thought it was one of the privileges of being born first.
“Because I won’t lose it,” I said.
He struggled to reach past the seat belt and into his pocket. “I’ve never lost anything, not even a guitar pick,” he grumbled, but he handed it over.
I felt the single bill in my hand, then looked at it to be sure.
“This is it?! Twenty bucks?”
“That’s all she would give me,” he sputtered. “She says, ’What do you need money for?’”
We had reached the edge of town, the stop sign where main street met the highway. I hesitated, the engine running.
“We don’t have enough,” I said. “Between this and what I have, it’s not enough for even two tanks of gas.”
“Well, don’t you have more…somewhere?” Daniel said hopefully.
“No! I told you, I’ve had expenses. You don’t know what it costs to live on your own.”
His mouth twisted. “That’s my brother. Big truck, no gas.”
I could have shaken him, this kid who’d never had to pay his own way. But I had another plan, a loose idea I’d been saving for later, in case we were desperate. Later was suddenly now and Daniel wasn’t going to like it.
I put on my turn signal and pulled onto the highway that led to Winnipeg.
“Where are we going?” he said.
“To the city.” I took a breath. “We’re going to pawn the Fender.”
“Bull shit we are!”
“We’re not selling, we’re pawning. We’ll get it back,” I argued.
“Bull shit! That’s my guitar. Mine. I won it. I’ll never get another one, not like that.” He was wild. I was glad he was belted in.
“Daniel, listen to me…”
“No, Jens. No way!”
I swerved onto the side of the road and hit the brakes, spraying gravel.
“Okay. Then I’ll turn around right now and you’ll march in and say, ’Dad, I screwed up. I screwed up again. I need five thousand bucks. Sorry about your garage.’”