Finding Hope

by Colleen Nelson

  What could she have done, my little sister? Cheated on a test? Pissed off a teacher? Said something nasty about another girl? Her repertoire for bad behaviour was pretty slim.

  “Did I tell you I have a dog?” I asked, changing the subject. “Storm. Found her on the side of the road. She’s getting big now, but when I found her she was only a couple of weeks old.”

  Hope wiped her eyes and looked at me. “You always wanted a dog.”

  “She’s smart. Already housebroken. You’ll get to see her, when you come by the house.”

  She didn’t say anything, just trudged ahead to the grocery store at the end of the street and went inside.

  I pushed the cart though the aisles. It whined, one bum wheel wobbling, fighting me on the corners. Hope pointed out things I used to eat. Kraft Dinner, canned ravioli, sandwich meat. It all looked foreign—packaged and contained. It wasn’t real. Whatever was behind the labels was just fake shit. What was real was scavenging, digging through garbage in a treasure hunt, working for a meal and eating whatever I found. That was real.

  “Fucking cart.” The wheel jammed when I tried to turn. I crashed into a bin of tuna, the cans rattling in their wire cage.

  “Here, let me.” Hope’s hands appeared beside mine on the handle. Small and delicate. Next to hers, my hands looked massive, cut and scratched. The wound on my hand was still unhealed; the scab dark red with crusty edges. My fingernails, dirty, yellowed, and too long. I stuffed them into the pockets of my jacket and followed behind Hope like a scolded child.

  Down the cereal aisle. Boxes of Corn Pops with NHL players taking slapshots on the front. Hope’s eyes fell on the box with my favourite player, Darren Risk. She grabbed for it, but I told her no and put it back on the shelf, walking past the boxes quickly. I wanted to swipe them off the shelves and stomp on his face. Watch the Corn Pops explode out of boxes as I pummelled Darren’s face to cardboard mush.

  “Don’t you miss it?” she asked a second later. Like the question had been weighing on her.

  I shrugged. Hockey and Coach Williams were intertwined. Thinking about one meant thinking about the other. And without something to take the stabs of pain away, I didn’t want to go there.

  She pulled something out of her pocket. A piece of paper. My own handwriting. Coach Williams scrawled all over it twenty times. At the top, Hope had written a phone number and address. “There was only one Duke Williams in the phone book.”

  My heart thudded to a sharp stop in my chest, like someone was squeezing it.

  He didn’t want me to call him Coach when we were together. Then, it was Duke. He liked to hear me say it out loud when he was—

  Bile rose in my throat.

  “His name was in your notebook, over and over.”

  She’d misunderstood. I hadn’t written it because I missed him, or wanted to see him again. I’d written it to excise the demons in my head, the ones that appeared at the thought of him.

  And now, I had his number. His address.

  “I called him. He said he’d like to see you. He meant it, Eric. I could tell.”

  She could tell? I fought for control. Not to run from the grocery store and keep running till my legs gave out, the bones liquefying with exertion.

  “You talked to him?” I kept my voice even, but inside, I quaked. Split in two. The day he’d left Lumsville he’d texted me to say goodbye. “You’re a special kid,” he’d added at the end.

  I was on meth by then, using it to lose myself, to feel better about who I’d become.

  “He was surprised you were in the city. Thought you might have gone to a farm team this year. I”—she broke off—“I didn’t tell him everything.”

  Like she was protecting me. And then she gave me a small, hopeful smile. “Do you think you’ll call him?” she asked.

  I stuffed the paper into my pocket. My mouth dry and my body screaming for a hit.

  Hope

  He kept his promise. After the grocery store, we walked to the house he lived in. I stared at the outside of it and wanted to cry for him. Peeling gray paint, a roof that sagged with missing shingles. It looked like it was going to collapse on itself. The yard was scrubby with weeds and garbage. Plywood, covered in graffiti, hid the windows.

  A guy walked by pushing a shopping cart loaded down with green garbage bags. Layers of clothes and a full beard concealed his body and face. I shuffled out of the way so he could pass. I held my breath but still caught a whiff of his urine-soaked clothes. The smell made me want to puke.

  “Oh.” Eric winced. “Shit. I forgot to get dog food for Storm.” He looked at me. “She’ll be hungry.”

  He didn’t have money to feed himself, but he wanted to buy food for his dog. It made me shake my head. And then I caught myself, falling for his tricks.

  “I don’t have any more cash, Eric,” I lied.

  His mouth twisted into a scowl. “Did I ask you for any?”

  I steeled myself for a string of abuse, but it didn’t come. His shoulders stiffened with the effort.

  My feet wouldn’t move off the sidewalk. What would be inside? A stained mattress on the floor of his room? Junkies sleeping off their high? It was like the flophouses on the cop shows Dad watched.

  Eric had already moved to the front door, expecting me to follow him.

  “Eric,” I called from the front steps. “Here, take the groceries. I’m going back to school.”

  “I thought you wanted to see inside,” he said, a hint of “I told you so” in his voice.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I told the school I’d only be gone an hour. I’ll get in trouble.” I couldn’t bear to go inside, to have images of this house burned into my memory. To know this shithole was where my brother lived.

  Maybe he saw the house through my eyes, catching a glimpse of my disgust. “I’m not going to be living here forever, you know.” He narrowed his eyes defensively. “It’s temporary.”

  “Mom’s worried about you.” I waited for a reaction, the inevitable explosion.

  His face went cold. He stared at me.

  “I promised her I’d let her know if I heard from you.” I bit the insides of my mouth to keep from saying more.

  He was across the yard in three steps, breathing in my face—hot, tangy, rancid. I flinched, cowering from the smell. “You fucking tell her and I’ll disappear! You will never see me again. Ever!”

  “Why?” I took a step back. “She just wants to know you’re okay.”

  “NO!” he yelled. The tendons of his neck bulged. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Hope. You think you do, but you don’t. Coach Williams, Mom—leave them the fuck out of my life.”

  “She told me what you did, why you left. Maybe if she knew you were sorry—” I hadn’t finished talking before he was in my face, my arms mashed in his grip, squeezing so tightly it took my breath away.

  “You don’t know the half of what I did. You, Mom, Dick—none of you know shit about me, but you walk around pretending, like I could have been something.”

  I’d started to cry, terrified by his rage. “You’re hurting me,” I whimpered. The meth had wasted the fat from his body, but his muscles were still there, his grip still strong, bruising my arms.

  His body trembled and he let go but grabbed my chin, twisted it around so I faced the house. “You see this? This is where I belong.”

  I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.” His fingers jammed my cheeks against my teeth. I could taste warm, metallic blood in my mouth.

  “You know what Coach Williams told me once? That we get what we deserve. I thought he was talking about hockey, about trying hard, working for something.” Spittle flew out of his mouth as he spat the words at me. “He wasn’t talking about hockey,” he hissed in my ear.

  “Yo! Calvin!” A voice from the house. Eric’s hands loosened. I shook him free and stumble
d away from him. “What’re you doing?” A guy had appeared on the front steps. He had long hair, his face hollow like Eric’s, as if all the fat had been sucked out, leaving just skin and bones.

  Eric froze. “I was just …” He stammered for an explanation. I didn’t wait to hear what he said, or to find out why the guy called him Calvin. I took off, running back to school, putting as much distance between me and Eric as possible.

  Eric

  Fuck me if Hope didn’t take off. Like I was a freaking axe murderer.

  “Who was that?” Leo asked when I pushed past him to get inside.

  “My sister,” I muttered, hauling the groceries into the kitchen. I held onto the edges of the kitchen table and took a deep breath. I hadn’t meant to freak out on her. My hands ached with the feel of her twiggy little arms in them. Fuck. I should have reined it in. She didn’t know.

  I wished I’d told her when it first happened. But then she’d have to carry the burden too. I was torn between protecting her and myself. Now, neither of us was safe.

  “Whoa, she bought you all that?” Leo followed me into the kitchen. He peered inside. “You going to keep it or sell it?”

  Storm was at my feet, pawing at my leg for some attention. I opened the jar of peanut butter and scooped some onto my fingers. “Here, girl,” I said and held it out to her.

  “I never knew you had a sister. Never mentioned her before.” Leo looked offended, the plastic bags rustling as he inspected their contents. Storm had licked away the peanut butter. A sticky film covered my fingers. I should have bought her some food. All this other stuff was going to make her sick.

  “Yeah, well,” I sighed. “She won’t be coming back.”

  I’d seen how she ran away, scared I’d come after her. I’d made her afraid of me. Now I needed a hit more than ever. “I need to sell this shit. You coming?”

  Leo shook his head. “Nah. But you should go to that alley behind the food bank. Everyone knows to go there if they want to buy stuff.”

  Hauling the groceries off the table, I took Storm with me, her leash in one hand. I spotted a guy I knew walking toward me on the sidewalk. He lived a block away, but didn’t use. He’d stopped to pet Storm before, always asking first if she was friendly. “Hey, man. I got peanut butter for two dollars. You want?”

  “The kind with all the crunchy shit in it?” he asked.

  He dug out some change and I sold it to him for a dollar.

  I didn’t bother going to the alley, just set up shop right in front of the house, stretching my goods around me. Bag of potato chips, a loaf of bread, some KD, a tub of margarine to make the KD, and some milk and juice. I took a swig of juice before I put it up for sale. All I needed was ten dollars to get me through till tomorrow.

  I dropped more change into my pocket as a guy walked away with the chips. A paper crinkled in my pocket and I pulled it out. Coach Williams’ number.

  Fuck me.

  A thought rolled around in my head, not making sense, but persistent. I could go see him. Show up on his door and force him to admit what he did to me. Tell the cops.

  But they’d arrest me for the pharmacy. I took another swig of juice, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

  A guy stood in front of me, pointing at everything left. “I got a kid. How much?”

  “Five bucks,” I told him. He whined and complained but passed the money over and walked away with a bag of groceries worth triple that.

  I had enough to buy a hit that would last for a few hours. I’d be able to think clearly, work out the plan that was taking shape in my head.

  Hope

  I hadn’t slept. My arms, sore and bruised from where Eric had grabbed them, had made it impossible. His fingerprints all over me. I’d woken up early and spent too long in the shower, my skin now red and pulsing from the scalding water.

  I feel it all.

  Acutely

  Like fingernails bitten

  to the quick.

  Raw,

  Exposed skin quick to bleed.

  Nerves soft and

  tender.

  Unprotected.

  The poem was written in a swirl on my palm. A reminder of what life with Eric was like. When I closed my fist, the words were hidden, held tight.

  As I got dressed, I heard the ping of a new email. Please, please let it be Devon with a message of forgiveness.

  Monday, October 13, 7:47 a.m.

  To: Hope

  Cc: #RH Students

  From: Devon

  Subject: Whore

  Enjoy the pictures of Ravenhurst’s stupidest slut ever.

  Shock slapped me in the face, then kicked me in the stomach. I doubled over at my desk, gripping my sides. I couldn’t breathe. Every student at Ravenhurst was going to wake up to photos of me topless, staring into the computer and pouting like a fool, kissing the LOVE, DEVON pendant.

  What would the Ravens do to me, once they saw the photos? I started to tremble, too shocked to cry.

  Devon wouldn’t do this, not to me. We were together. Thoughts ricocheted through my brain. What if it wasn’t him? What if someone had hacked his computer and sent the pictures out? With fiery conviction, I wrung my hands, squeezing my knuckles, trying to figure out what to do. I had to talk to Devon!

  I couldn’t send an email. Whoever had hacked his computer would intercept it. I grabbed my phone, started to write a text, and stopped. What would I say? No, I had to talk to him, find out what had happened.

  I needed to hear his voice. With frantic fingers, I searched online to find the phone number for Melton Prep. I’d say there was a family emergency. My fingers shook so badly, it took me three tries to punch in the number.

  “Melton Preparatory Academy,” the secretary answered.

  I cleared my throat. “I need to speak with Devon Huddington, please. It’s an emergency.”

  “With whom?”

  I repeated his name, my voice catching in my throat.

  “Just a minute.” She put me on hold, the phone making a repetitive beep as I waited, shivering and sweating at the same time.

  “Hello,” the secretary said. “Devon no longer attends Melton.”

  “What? Are you sure? Devon Huddington. H-u-d-d-i-n-g-t-o-n,” I spelled for her. “He’s in grade eleven.” A swell of panic rose in my stomach.

  “I remember him, but he no longer attends.”

  I froze with the phone in my hand. He’d lied to me? He didn’t go to Melton? I couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Was there anything else?” she asked brusquely.

  “N-no,” I mumbled and hung up. My head started to throb. There had to be an explanation.

  Monday October 13, 8:02 a.m.

  From: Hope

  Please call me ASAP! Something horrible has happened.

  I stared at my phone, waiting for it to answer me back. But nothing happened.

  Eric

  I pulled out anything I could write on—the photos, Hope’s old poems, the grocery receipt—and started a list. I had to make a list, while the plan was fresh in my head. I had so much to do.

  The high was exhilarating. I was soaring over all my problems, sorting them out, making sense of them. God, it felt good not to be a victim. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to figure out what I needed to do. Meth helped. Things made sense on meth.

  My hand couldn’t write fast enough to keep up with my brain. The list rat-a-tatted through my head, like machine-gun fire. I rewrote some of the things, they were important. And kept underlining them, so I’d remember.

  Coach Williams. I wrote his phone number and address out over and over. I couldn’t forget it: 314 Blossom Bay. I needed to find out where it was, how far away. One more thing to add to my list.

  Hope

  Monday, October 13, 8:54 a.m.

  From: Blocked
number

  Are you seriously this stupid? You are a slut and an idiot.

  There is a Devon, but he was never interested in you. He doesn’t even know you exist.

  You probably wish you were dead, right? Now that you’ve put your tits on display for the whole world to see.

  Guess what? We wish you were dead too. LOL.

  Empty glass eyes stared at me. Devon’s bear was perched on my pillow. There was no Devon. My mind kept spinning through the reality, trying to make sense of where the lies had started. I scrolled back through all the texts and emails, back to the very first one he’d sent.

  No longer did I imagine Devon, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he typed a message to me. Nausea rose in me, burned its way up my throat. Who had it been on the other end of the computer, answering my emails, making me feel better, sharing my secrets?

  The doorknob turned and I bolted out of my chair. Cassie, her hair wrapped in a turban and cheeks flushed from a shower, darted in and closed it quickly. She eyed me warily, as if I were a caged animal. Neither of us spoke.

  Collapsing into my chair, I pressed my face into my hands. She knew. The photos were being passed around on cellphones all over the dormitory, everyone gawking at my nakedness and laughing at my stupidity.

  The necklace from Devon still hung around my neck. I tried to yank it off, pulling so hard the back of my neck burned in pain. The chain dug in, refusing to break. With a frustrated cry, I tried to unclasp it, but my hands were shaking and I gave up. Maybe it was better to leave it on as a tangible remembrance of what an idiot I was.

  I heard Cassie behind me, stuffing her toiletries bag onto her shelf, hanging her robe on its hook. “The shower room’s empty, if you want to use it.” Her voice came from a million miles away.

  My chin quivered, but I shook my head. “I can’t.”