Lizzie’s eyes bored through me. “You have to. After what she did to me, she deserves it. You think so, right? That she can’t get away with spreading rumours, saying horrible things about me.”
A tinge of distrust for Lizzie bit back at me. It was too much, what she was asking me to do. She must have seen the doubt in my face.
She sat back and fixed me with a hard look. “If you want us to stay friends, you’ll do it.”
Vivian’s eyes darted to Lizzie. She’d been in the same positon as I was. I waited for her to say something, but she stayed quiet. She and Emily, their silence meant solidarity with Lizzie. They stared back at me. Three against one.
The scissors lay in my hand. I stood up and took a few shaky steps backwards, inching toward the door. “I better go,” I mumbled. Their eyes lit up and they grinned victoriously at one another. “Bring us some! After you do it, bring me some hair,” Lizzie whispered after me. I walked with the scissors pressed against my thigh, the chill of the metal making me shiver.
Cassie was sound asleep, her snores filling the room. In the darkness, I could make out the outline of her hair running like liquid gold over her pillow.
Standing by the door, I didn’t trust myself to go any closer.
I thought about snipping a chunk from underneath, something she’d never miss, but that wasn’t what they were after. They wanted her shorn, her angelic tresses lopped off for all to see. I took a step closer. The floor creaked under me. Cassie snorted and turned over, her face to the wall, exposing her full head of hair to me. Now was my chance. I moved my fingers into the handles and opened the blades; they scraped against one another, metal to metal. Her hair was within arm’s length. I just had to reach out, grab a huge handful, and hack through it with the scissors. If I was gentle, she might not even wake up.
But she’d know it was me. Who else could have come into our room and butchered her hair? But was it any stranger than the truth? That I was doing it because Lizzie had commanded me to?
A cold sweat broke out over my forehead and a chill ran up my neck, as if I was about to throw up. I reached a finger out to touch a tendril of her hair. The silky soft curl wound itself around my finger.
Closing my eyes, I thought about what I was doing: standing in a dark room, holding scissors to my roommate’s hair, ready to chop it off. It was ludicrous. This was not who I was. With a cry of revulsion, I stormed across the room, slammed the scissors onto my desk and opened the window. The scissors gleamed in the darkness, one blade shining. Picking them up, I hurled them out the window.
“Hope?” Cassie called from her bed. “What’re you doin?” she mumbled.
“Nothing,” I said and shut the window. “I’m not doing anything.”
I would lie tomorrow when they saw Cassie. I’d say the timing hadn’t been right, that she was a light sleeper and had woken up when I came into the room.
Or tell them the truth, that it was an unfair punishment. Cutting her hair as payback for a rumour didn’t make sense.
They’d think I’d chosen sides, picked Cassie over them. I guess, in a way, I had. But it was the right choice. How could I have lived with myself if I’d done it?
Eric
The neon green cross in the pharmacy window flickered. I’d been sitting on the curb across the street for the last forty-five minutes, waiting. For what, I didn’t know.
Guts? Desperation?
There’d be good shit inside. Things I could sell, and a cash register or safe. I’d seen robberies on TV, the police shows my stepdad liked to watch. How hard could it be? No one was inside to get hurt. I just had to go in, grab what I needed, and take off.
I’d begged Joanne at the truck stop on Highway 9 for a coffee. I think she’d dated my dad in high school and felt bad when she saw me, remembering him. She said we looked a lot alike. “Good-looking?” I’d asked her one time, but she’d just laughed and touched my arm.
Today, she’d shooed me away from the counter “We’re getting slammed,” she’d said, breathless. “Dinner rush.”
“Please?” I cajoled.
She must have figured the only way I’d leave was if she gave in. “Fine. I’ll bring you a coffee out back in ten minutes.”
Now I was hyped up on coffee and the nine packs of sugar I’d dumped into it. My feet rattled on the pavement. It felt like bugs were crawling through my skin, up my toes, spiralling around my legs, scampering across my balls, and then racing up my stomach till they settled in my brain, nesting there. Waiting.
I moaned. I needed a fix something bad. Cheez wouldn’t spot me any crank unless I came back with some cash. So that was what I was doing. Figuring it out, my way.
The back door of the pharmacy was in an alley. It had an alarm. There was a sticker on the door. And a deadbolt and who knew what else. The glass on the door had bars, but there was another window, partly blocked by a cooler, and it had no bars.
If I broke the window and climbed over the cooler, I could squeeze in. Never could have fit when I was playing hockey. Months of meth had made me lean.
I had to do it now, before stuff started to make sense.
Taking off my jacket, I left it by the building, out of sight but easy to grab when I took off. I picked up a brick, the rough edges scraped my fingers, ripping fingernails.
I slammed the brick against the window once. Not even a dent. I looked around. No one in sight. I raised it again and whacked it harder. Somewhere, a dog barked.
Fucking tempered glass. It took two more whacks until a crack splintered the glass. A trickle of sweat ran down my back. Another hit and the whole bottom corner shattered into cubes at my feet. I shielded my eyes and tossed the brick behind me. The whole window collapsed and an alarm started ringing. Standing on the window ledge, I hauled myself up and over the cooler. The space was narrow—my spine scraped against the top of the window sill, jagged bits of glass embedding themselves in my skin—but I wiggled through, sinewy ropes of muscle flexing in my arms. I dropped down on the other side and ran to the counter.
Fuck me. There was a metal screen pulled down in front of the counter. Had I known about that? I should have had a plan, but with the alarm screaming, I couldn’t focus. With a frustrated yell, I tossed bottles of mouthwash and toothpaste against the screen. They bounced back into the aisle, doing nothing to the screen except making it rattle. I swept whole shelves of stuff down to the floor, spinning around, trashing the place.
I ran to the first-aid aisle. I’d grab some bottles of pain relievers, as many as I could carry. At least I could sell them on the street. It didn’t matter what kind of drug you had, someone would want it. The pockets on my shorts were deep; front and back bulged with containers of pills.
I grabbed some rubbing alcohol and bandages. My back had started to sting and my hands had blood on them, I didn’t know from what. I must have cut myself on the broken window glass. Hauling ass to the door, I unlocked it, grabbed my jacket, and ran across the parking lot to the other side of the street. No one was around, but there wasn’t any cover either. I had to get to the highway, try and hitch out of here.
I looked back once. The alarm still blared, but no one had shown up yet. The pharmacy was empty and damaged. A black hole.
Just like me.
Hope
I lay awake all night, wondering what to do. At breakfast, they’d be looking for me. I’d have to explain why Cassie still had long hair. That I’d chosen to protect her over backing up my friends.
By the time morning came, my stomach was churning. There was no way I could face them.
I watched from my bed as Cassie fluffed her hair, scrunching the curls with her hands. They hung lustrous against her navy sweater. “Want me to get you some toast?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Hope you feel better,” she said and gave me a sympathetic smile.
“I’ll leave a note on Ms. Harrison’s door, so she knows you’re sick. She’ll tell the teachers.”
I nodded gratefully, clutching my stomach. “Prob-ably just cramps.”
With a nod, she disappeared out the door.
It was better to stay out of sight today. Let the Ravens notice Cassie’s hair without me being around. Now that the morning sun was trickling through the windows, last night felt like a hallucination. I wanted to believe that the whole thing had been a joke, something they hadn’t meant for me to actually do, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d held the scissors in my hand. I’d thought about it. That was the part that disgusted me: I’d considered it.
The blackbird landed on his perch. He opened his beak and let loose a loud “Caw!” A judgment.
“Shut up,” I whispered at him.
Shattered words and ideas floated in my head. I wanted to write something, find a vent for what was going on in my head.
I grabbed my journal and a pen from my nightstand drawer.
Wicked lies
Burn bright
In the night sky.
Just writing the words felt better, some proof that the old me hadn’t completely disappeared.
Eric
I stayed hidden in the scrub by the side of the road. It was dry; the grass prickled and bit at me. I’d have to thumb a ride to the city, somewhere I could get lost.
I imagined what Hope would do when I showed up at her school. And then stopped. I was sober enough to remember who I was. Not the hockey player, not the guy who people wanted to be friends with, who they looked up to.
I was a junkie.
What if she turned away from me, embarrassed? I couldn’t take that, not from her. In my head, I was still the older brother, the one who was supposed to look out for her.
A semi drove past, kicking up a whirlwind of dust. It flew in my eyes and nose, making me cough. My chest rattled. There was a scab on my hand and I started to pick at it. Fresh, red blood seeped out. There wasn’t any new skin yet, just a raw wound.
Maybe getting to the city wasn’t the end of the line for me. I could go farther, out West, where the weather was better. Maybe to the ocean. My mind reeled with plans, unfurling like a ribbon in front of me.
For now, though, I’d go to the city. Find Hope. If she had any money, she’d give it to me. She’d know I needed it more than she did.
The sky was getting lighter, pinker, as the sun rose. I moved to the shoulder of the road and stuck out my thumb. I was travelling light. No backpack, only pockets swollen with what I had stolen at the pharmacy. I hadn’t checked how deep the cuts on my back were, but they stung every time I moved. My shirt stuck to the dried blood, pulling at the wounds.
Another semi approached and blew past me. I ducked my head to my chest, shutting my eyes against the dust. Same thing with the next two, but then one put on his signal and pulled over, rumbling to a stop on the gravel.
I ran over, the pills rattling in my pockets. “You going to the city?” I asked.
The driver leaned out the window. He had a few days’ worth of stubble on him and bristly brown hair. He was flabby and nondescript. “I can drop you off at the perimeter.”
I ran around to the passenger side and climbed up. The cab was dusty, with trinkets and trash all over the seat and floor. Pictures of the guy’s kids were stuffed into the corners of the windshield. They were old and faded. Those kids could be in their twenties by now, but they were seven and nine forever in the truck.
“Been driving all night. Be good to have someone to talk to. I’m Mike.”
I hesitated, not wanting to give him my real name. “Darren,” I said, after my favourite hockey player, Darren Risk. A small-town boy, he went first round in the draft pick to the Habs. That could have been me, if things hadn’t gone sideways.
“Got some coffee in the Thermos, if you want some.” He nodded to the back where his mattress lay, the sheets unrumpled.
I was going to say no, but then I thought, what the hell? He’d offered and I didn’t know when my next meal was coming. I had to start thinking smart, taking handouts when they came. That was the way to survive.
Mike didn’t ask me too much personal stuff. I started to relax and watch the empty expanse go past, zoning out, then sleeping.
“Hey,” he said shaking me awake. His coffee breath hit me and I looked the other way.
“We here?” I asked. We were stopped. Outside the window, a gas station sat at the other side of a parking lot.
Mike shook his head and snorted. I got the feeling he wasn’t real happy with me. “Shoulda known better than to pick up a junkie.”
He looked at me hungrily. There was a coldness in his eyes that didn’t fit with the guy who’d offered me some of his coffee a couple of hours ago, the guy who had pictures of his kids on his dash.
I felt my heart thud, heavy in my chest. Nothing felt right anymore. I needed to get out of his truck. The door was locked.
“Where you going?” he asked. “You think a ride doesn’t cost anything?”
He leered at me and started unbuckling his belt. Bitter, acidic coffee rose up in my throat. I’d puke on him if he made me suck him.
“Come on. Don’t be like that. You wanted the ride.”
Fuck. I started to cry, holding my stomach and whimpering. I couldn’t do this again.
“It’s okay,” he soothed me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be over soon and I’ll drop you off. Anywhere you want.”
My stomach heaved. I gripped the door handle, but it didn’t budge. I was trapped.
“Come on, Darren,” he said with a moan of anticipation. “There’s only one way you’re getting out of here.”
I heard him unzip his pants but couldn’t look. The metal teeth unhooking themselves from each other, separating, dividing like a fault line.
He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me down. I struggled against him and then gave up. What was the point? He’d get it one way or the other.
Sticking my face into that dank, foul place, I caught my gag reflex in time and slipped into darkness. To a place where I didn’t have to think, where I could disappear.
“Ah, yeah,” Mike exhaled, twisting his hand into my hair. He gave a soft laugh. “This isn’t your first time, is it?”
Hope
I stood on tiptoes, rereading my words.
The ravens swoop
Attack with beady yellow eyes
A cackle of greeting
For their prey.
A murder,
They find each other.
There are no innocents.
Stepping down from the chair, the poem disappeared. Tiny letters on the wall above the door frame. Indiscernible to anyone else’s eye, but I’d know they were there. Every time I walked under them. The same poem sandwiched in my journal, a fragment of me.
I’d delayed leaving my room for as long as I could. Cassie had sneaked food upstairs for me the day before, but Ms. Harrison would make me visit the infirmary if I missed another day of school. Waiting until the last possible moment, I raced to the dining hall and grabbed a piece of toast. I didn’t sit to eat it, there was no time. Instead, I kept my head down and stuffed it into my mouth as I walked to class.
I could feel Lizzie’s narrowed-eye glare as I slid into my seat.
“Where were you?” she hissed across the aisle.
“Not feeling well,” I whispered back, barely turning my head. I watched impatiently as one of the girls monopolized Ms. Tate’s attention. I wanted her to start the lesson so I could avoid Lizzie’s questions. I opened my binder. Blank pages stared back at me. Poems simmered in my head. Picking up my pen, I was about to write something, but Lizzie’s insistent whisper came at me again.
“Why didn’t you do it?”
“I just couldn’t.” I caught myself b
efore adding an apology. I wasn’t sorry.
“A real friend would have done it.”
I glanced over at Cassie, imagining her hair shorn, hacked to nothing, like a field of stubbly wheat stalks. The image of her waking up, seeing dead strands of her hair littered on the pillow, the sheets, the floor, how she’d scream, made me shiver.
I looked at Lizzie. She was such a private school cliché. I’d be better off with no friends than ones like the Ravens. “A real friend wouldn’t have asked me,” I fired back at her, shocked at the venom in my words.
She gave me a wicked smile. “I was never your friend.”
I stared so hard at the lines on my paper, they blurred.
Ms. Tate was saying something. I focused on her, ignoring Lizzie. My pen slipped and rolled to the floor. In one brutal motion, Lizzie scooped it up, snapped it in half, and tossed it back at me. Ink leaked out, a blue blood bath seeping across my desk.
Eric
It started to rain. Huge drops that soaked my shirt, making me shiver. Mike had left me under a sign welcoming visitors to the city. The skyline lay ahead of me, shrouded in grey cloud. Everything felt foggy. I kept getting Mike confused with Coach Williams, my brain playing tricks on me.
Mike could have beaten me, or done worse. But the taste of him in my mouth made me retch.
I started scratching my hand again, the newly formed scab still soft and pliable. It peeled off, blood rushed to the surface. Mixing with the rain, it ran down my fingers in rivulets.
Cars zipped by, dousing me with spray, their wheels spinning as they raced down the highway. I wouldn’t hitch again. My steps wobbled, weaving onto the road and back to the shoulder. A car honked, its horn blaring, scaring the shit out of me and making me jump out of the way, back to the shoulder. I stood there shuddering, my nerves shot.
Finding Hope Page 5