by C. T. Musca
Mom is right; when we get to the park, Jack is there talking to the photographer about lawn mowers. The one thing I can say about Jack: he can talk. To anybody. About anything. I have actually always admired his ability to converse with complete strangers. Within minutes, it seems like they’re old friends. You would think he’d have more people to hang out with, but no, he’s usually always with us. Today I am somewhat relieved, however, because otherwise my father would be quiet and bothered, which is how he gets when something has set him off.
The photographer is a middle-aged man who wears his pants way too high, in my opinion. My sister and I giggle about this for a little while until Mom gives her stern don’t-you-dare-make-me-talk-to-you-here look. So we wait patiently until we are positioned for our picture. Dad and Mom are at the back with Jack, and my brother is beside Jack. My sister and I are in the front. We put on our fake smiles for what feels like an eternity. I am hot and in a dress that my mom insisted I wear—definitely not my choice. I would have been perfectly fine in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I keep reminding myself that I am doing this for my parents.
Finally, close to one, the photographer says he thinks he has some really good shots, and we’re done. Mom suggests we all go out for lunch, sort of as a celebration, although I have no idea what we are celebrating: Jeremy passing all of his courses at university, Uncle Jack finally running the 5k without stopping, my sister making it to junior high, Dad fixing the washing machine last weekend? I have no clue, but we all know that if my mom suggests it, it is more of a demand. Telling her that I’d rather be with my friends would not go over well. I’ll have to bite my tongue and feign happiness for a few more hours.
Fall 2010
B y the time I get to the coffee shop, the line is out the door. Luckily the rain has subsided, and it’s not too cool outside. I wait patiently for my turn, but I find that the smell of the coffee, my earlier-than-normal wakeup time, and the slow baristas are making this wait excruciating.
Finally, I am next to order. Unfortunately, I know the barista who will be serving me. Her name is Tasha. We went to high school together. We never hung out in the same circles, so now we just pretend that we don’t know each other. She looks at least ten years older than I do—at least I hope I don’t look her age. She was quiet and plain in high school. I don’t think she ever went to one party that I did, if she even went out at all. I find it strange that our lives are now connected in this small way after so many years. There are not many people from high school that I see nowadays, and her presence gives me a queer feeling. I am sure she remembers me, but she doesn’t let on that she does. I guess that is what people tend to do to avoid awkward conversations.
“Hi, a vanilla bean latte, extra hot, skim milk, please?” I try to sound chipper, although I feel anything but this morning.
“No problem.” And within five minutes I am out the door and off to work.
As I am walking on Bank Street, a car stopped at the red light catches my eye. When I look at the driver, I can’t help but reminisce. The driver has to be in her teens and the others in the car with her are roughly the same age. They are laughing and talking. Maybe it’s because I just saw Tasha, but I’m reminded of my early high school years, and the times when I’d be driving somewhere with Greg or Kaitlyn. We just had fun being young and innocent. We laughed about nothing, but it’s the simplicity that I fondly remember. Although the people in this car are strangers to me, they remind me of the feelings of carelessness which we used to possess. Then, we wanted to be older and more mature. Now, I’d give anything to be back in those days without a care in the world. But reality sets in and I am here walking alone, carrying a coffee, and heading to work.
Luckily, my extra hot latte stays that way until I arrive at work, where I sit and enjoy it before the office is open to the public. I am the first to arrive, as usual, and I enjoy the time alone.
Next to come in is Cindy. It looks like she didn’t get to bed until late, and seeing that, I am even more thankful that I decided not to join them last night. If I had gone to bed late and been up early, this day would seem like an eternity. I try not to let her know that she looks exhausted. She cares a great deal about her appearance and preens throughout the day. I once heard her say that she pays over two hundred dollars at the hair salon every few months. I spend a total of ten dollars for a box of hair colour, and I can’t imagine spending that kind of money on my hair.
“Morning, Ton. I’m really tired. I didn’t get to bed until two thirty, and I had so many drinks that my sleep wasn’t very restful. We had a good time, though. You would’ve had a blast.”
I doubt that, but of course I don’t say anything. “Yeah? Where did you guys go?”
“We went to that new martini bar on Main, above Cavalier’s. It was so beautiful and the drinks were cheaper than normal because they just opened last week. I swear I tried almost every flavour of martini, from banana chocolate to mango-cranberry. Patrick was hilarious! I didn’t know that guy could party; he’s so quiet around here. He told us some pretty funny stories about his dad. When he was younger, Tom took an electrician course and when Pat was growing up, Tom would try and do all of his own fix-it work before anyone could call a licensed electrician. Well, he botched quite a few jobs and the family incurred more expenses because of his work. My God, we laughed pretty hard at that one.”
I’m sure they spoke last night about how lame I am. I used to go out more often, but I just don’t really feel the desire to anymore. The last thing I want to do after a long day at work is to socialize with the same people I’ve seen all day.
Next to come in is Dr. Roerke, with Patrick. Patrick and I only work together on Fridays because it is always busier. Friday is our filing and inventory day when Dr. Roerke wants everything updated. Other than Fridays, Patrick works when I can’t or when Dr. Roerke needs another body in the office. Patrick, too, looks rough this morning. Actually, he looks as if he’s still drunk.
“Good morning, Tonya. Nice to see you, Cindy. How are you today?” Dr. Roerke seemingly asks the question to both of us, but I get the feeling he really only cares if Cindy responds.
“Hi, Tom,” Cindy says with a smile. “I’m a little tired after going out last night. Patrick is sure a lot of fun. We went to the new martini bar, Stages. I had no idea you were such a handyman!”
“Did you now?” I don’t think he knew that his son went out last night.
“Yeah, it’s a nice place,” Patrick says without looking at his dad.
“So, how late did you guys stay out, and what on earth did my son tell you about me?” I actually think Dr. Roerke is jealous.
“Not much,” Patrick lies.
And as though to break the awkward silence, Deb walks in. “Good morning, all! How is everyone today?”
“Good, thanks,” I say. “Did you have a good time last night?”
“Oh, my God, I am getting too old to go out. I was exhausted this morning. Kyle was up at five thirty, and I swore at that point that I would never go out again. But it is a beautiful new bar. Tonya, you should have come. You don’t have any three-year-olds to wake you up!”
“You’re right. I don’t know how you do it. I was tired this morning and I stayed home last night.”
Everybody starts to get ready for the day, as the office opens in five minutes. My coffee is done, and I am not feeling any more awake than I was an hour ago. This is not good.
It’s funny to hear everyone complain about the rain outside. I have always loved it. There is something calming about it that I can’t quite explain. I remember when we were kids and at our cottage, we loved swimming in the rain. We thought ourselves so fortunate that is was teaming down on us while we were in the water. We’d have diving and jumping competitions while Dad would be the judge. He often took pity on Sandy, declaring her the winner of most rounds. Whenever we finished—or if the lightning ended our game—we’d head back into the cottage and play board games. I still think of those times
; maybe that’s why I am fond of the rain.
Normally I’d go out for a walk during my lunch break, but today the weather has forced me to stay indoors. In addition to that, we’ve had a few cancellations, making this morning crawl by. I decide to go and sit with Cindy and Deb in the staff room. I walk in on their conversation, which appears rather private.
“I tried that. I swear he’d rather just watch TV,” Deb complains. “I mean, he doesn’t come right out and say it, but I can tell.”
“Maybe you should try a little role playing—guys love that stuff!” Cindy offers her advice.
“I don’t think Bud would go for that. I think we just need a vacation without the kids. I don’t remember the last time we went somewhere that didn’t have a kid meal option! Oh hey, Ton,” Deb acknowledges me. “Anyway, I am sure it’s normal.”
“I’m sure it is too, and when your kids get a little older, you’ll probably just pick up where you left off.”
“Pick up what?” Dr. Roerke has now entered the staff room and is getting in on the conversation.
“Deb here is worried that Bud is losing interest in her—you know—sexually. I told her she needs to just spice things up a bit; that’s what I’d do,” Cindy explains. “Tom, you’ve been married for a long time—how do you keep things interesting?” As she says the word, she raised her eyebrows.
“Oh I don’t know. I’d like to hear more about your suggestions,” he says with a smile.
Even though I am not in the conversation, I feel uncomfortable. I’ll finish my yogurt as quickly as possible and get out of here. Before the conversation continues, however, we hear the entrance door open, signaling the next appointment. I am more than ready to leave the staffroom and greet the patient.
The day goes by slowly, as expected. I keep looking down at my watch. I can hear Dr. Roerke with a patient, asking him all sorts of personal questions. “Where do you work? What do you do? Are you single?” I guess being in a chair at the mercy of the dentist puts people at risk of these invasive and one-sided conversations. The man in the chair has difficulty answering all of these questions due to the work being done in his mouth. When he is finished with the patient, Dr. Roerke brings him out to the front desk with his paperwork, so that I can bill him. As he gets to the desk, he says, “Tonya, this is Aaron. He is an accountant, and he’s single. Aaron, this is Tonya. She works here—obviously—and she is smart, funny, and single, too.”
I can’t believe he is doing this. What on earth gives people the audacity to assume that this is what you want? I am not exaggerating when I say I turn beet red. I am livid and embarrassed at the same time.
“Hi, Tonya. It’s nice to meet you.” We shake hands. A woman in the waiting room looks away, as though she is embarrassed, too.
“Your total comes to $110.50.” I try to keep this professional.
“Debit, please.”
After he pays and has left, I hear Dr. Roerke and Cindy laughing.
Summer 1989
Ihave had a crush on Greg for about a year now, although I don’t think he thinks of me in the same way. He is definitely not the cutest boy in our grade, but he is so athletic and funny. He makes us all laugh a lot, which I find is an attractive quality. I love laughing until my stomach hurts.
We made out one night at a party last winter when we were both pretty drunk on Durangos and beer, all that we could get from Kaitlyn’s brother. It was a party that a girl at school, Martina, was throwing because her parents were gone. I think Geoff, her boyfriend, was pressuring her to throw the party, which we all suspected he was doing so he could get her drunk and she might finally put out for him. He was known in our school for having had many sexual relationships, which usually ended soon after—after he had gotten what he had wanted.
At the time, we were pretty excited about going out as a group. It was February and we had just finished our final exams. The new semester was beginning on the following Monday, so we had neither homework nor projects to worry about that weekend. I remember being nervous about my new teachers, but also eager to see who would be in my classes.
We had decided to meet at Kaitlyn’s house. We often met there because her mom was either out or didn’t really care. That way, we could have a couple of drinks before going out and no one would know.
Greg was fifteen, even though he was in the ninth grade. I think he was held back in fourth grade, although none of us ever spoke to him about it, assuming he was embarrassed. Anyway, Amanda, Kaitlyn, and I had had a few drinks before Greg came to pick us up. We always had fun together, talking about the people in our classes, our teachers, and our families.
At the party, after several hours of drinking and talking to different people, Greg and I started talking about school. Then we got on the topic of tattoos. He said he was saving up to get a cobra tattooed on his chest. I told him I would love to get a small butterfly on my ankle, but my mom would probably make me have it removed if she ever saw it.
The next thing I knew, we were kissing. I don’t really remember how it began, but we ended up going into Martina’s parents’ room to make out. We were kissing and he slipped his hand up my T-shirt and felt over my bra, although there wasn’t much to feel. His other hand went over my crotch. I thought that it was supposed to feel good, so I made my breathing louder to sound as though I was enjoying it. Really, all I could think of was that my head was spinning and I couldn’t believe I was actually with Greg. I wanted him to enjoy being with me. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I just started rubbing over his jeans. Soon after that, Martina’s older sister came in and told us to get out. She had come back from university for the weekend and found all of these high school kids in her parents’ house. Needless to say, she was angry with Martina, who she found having sex in her bedroom.
Neil drove us back to Kaitlyn’s house, but he shouldn’t have been driving anywhere. Greg and I never spoke after that about the fact that we made out. We sort of pretended it never happened, although I always wanted to be his girlfriend. He actually had many girlfriends, including Kaitlyn at one time. But we still all hung out together as though it was no big deal.
So tonight we are going to a party at a guy named Pete’s house. I have no idea where his parents are, but I don’t really care either. I spent the morning with my family getting a portrait done and I am ready to go out with friends. My parents think we are going to a party at Susan’s house. Susan is a girl in our grade who lives not too far from here. My parents let me stay out longer when they know the house we are going to, so I often use Susan as a cover-up for where we are actually going. I could get into serious trouble if I ever get caught, but up to this point, I haven’t. My mom believes that a few of us go to Susan’s house regularly to talk and watch movies, when in reality, we are at different people’s houses to drink and not watch movies. Susan is alright. She hangs out with our group of friends but she is always sort of on the exterior. She just seems more serious or older than the rest of us; it’s hard to explain. Nonetheless, we see each other outside of school and my parents know her and her family, so it would be believable that we are going to her house.
I ask Jeremy if he can pick up Amanda and drop us off at Pete’s place, to which he agrees. Jeremy and I have always gotten along really well, even though there are five and a half years between us. I can tell him anything, and I know that I can trust him not to say anything to our parents. We often talk about what is going on in our lives. He knows that I like Greg, and he even knows that we were together that one night. I don’t go into details, but he knows stuff like that about me. He is dating a girl from university. Her name is Sarah. I haven’t met her, but he says she is really smart and pretty. She is in a social work program at the university and lives with two guys and two girls. I have asked him whether it bothers him that she lives with other guys, but he said these aren’t the kinds of guys he’d be worried about, whatever that means.
“Come on. Are you ready? I have to meet up with Josh at the Arms,�
�� Jeremy tells me. Josh is Jeremy’s high-school friend. They hang out with each other when they’re home from university, but don’t really speak at all when they’re away. He says that is the sign of a true friendship—that you can go without talking for months and just pick up where you left off when you see each other again. I think Kaitlyn, Amanda, and I would have the same thing, although none of us wants to try going that long without talking. The Arms is a pub downtown. It’s not much to look at, and to me it seems to be a very boring place to go out. Jeremy says it’s a good place to “shoot the shit.”
“Yeah, lemme grab my bag. Do you have a tape or should I bring my Van Halen?”
“No. I’m driving. My music.” I know exactly what that means—Judas Priest. Great. I’d better not complain; he is driving me, after all.
By the time we arrive at Amanda’s, she is sitting outside on her front step. She looks great. I have always been a little jealous of how pretty she is, how she looks good in anything, how the boys always look at her. I have never told anyone that, though.
“Hey, you ready?” I ask her.
“Yep. I’m excited.” She pronounces excited with an English accent, as though to emphasize how excited she really is. “Hey, Jeremy.”
“Hi. Is your sister back for the summer?” Jeremy knows Trish from school. She’s a year older than he, but everyone in school knew Trish Steele. She was the most popular girl in her grade, and probably the envy of every other girl. Guys wanted to date her and girls wanted to be her. That is, until her twelfth year. She was the centre of a scandal in our small town. She was caught kissing—and who knows what else—with the math teacher. He was a new teacher. I think it was only his first or second year at the school. He was really good-looking and all of the girls had crushes on him. Anyway, after it came out, her parents wanted to press charges, as much as she protested. He left the school shortly thereafter. No one knew what happened to him—whether he was fired or quit. She was perceived very differently after that; girls no longer wanted to be like her. She graduated the following year and moved out east for university. Amanda told me it was because she wanted to go somewhere where no one knew about her past. Now she comes back for a part of the summer, but not too long, in case she might see people from high school.