by Karen Rivers
I keep seeing her falling and falling and falling.
The roof top is gravelly under my hands, I crouch down and feel it. Just to remind myself that it’s solid. That this is all real, even though it’s crazy. Some people are at the base of this building, trying to get in. Hammering at the door. Who do they think is going to answer?
I wait for them to leave and then I go, too. Close my eyes, and hurtle my body forward. Trusting that it’s going to know what to do.
X, says the guidance counselor, have you put in your applications yet?
I shrug. I’m sitting in her office for some kind of mandatory check-in. I’m slumped in the green vinyl chair across the desk from her. There’s a crack in the seat that someone has stuffed a pen lid into that jams into my thigh. I leave it there, though. It seems wrong to move it. I push it further into the foam while she watches me. She’s the kind of person I always imagined as a mother. Not my mother, but like a sitcom mother. A TV mother. You know. Pretty. Together. Wears a suit for work. Lipstick. She looks like someone’s mother from a 1950’s movie or something. Stern, but loving. Normal.
Not quite real.
Not yet, I tell her.
Well, you know Xenos, she says. You still have time.
She pronounces my name so long that it sounds like ZeeeeNose.
I know, I say. I just don’t know where I want to go. I was thinking golf scholarship, maybe.
Were you? She says. I don’t know if you’ve got the grades for it, frankly. And what about your arm?
Oh, I say. I don’t know. My arm will be fine. When it heals. Maybe I could go to college around here.
Ah, she says. Is it because you’re worried about your family? I know you have a single mother and a little sister, is that right?
Brother, I say. I don’t know. I just don’t know what I want to do. I shrug again.
I want to give her the right answers, I do. I just don’t know what the right answers are. And it all feels out of my control, like if I decide I want to golf, what if I can’t? What if my arm doesn’t heal right? What else am I good at? What if that option is gone?
What if I can’t play anymore?
Ever?
I’ll try to fill some applications out this weekend, I say, chewing on the end of my pencil, eraser bits clinging to my teeth. Pretending not to care. I spit out the rubbery plastic onto my hand, wipe my hand on my pants.
Well, she says. Let me know if you want me to look them over before you send them.
Sure, I say. Thanks.
Then that’s that. I don’t feel any more guided than I did when I walked in the door.
I look around for Tic and Robbo. Cat. Or anyone. I hate spending lunch alone. My arm is wickedly itchy. I feel like smashing it against the doorframe, splitting the cast off, and just scratching it raw. I settle for banging it against a locker, which hurts like hell. I scuff my shoes miserably as I wander through the halls. Nothing is going my way, I think. I feel pretty fucking sorry for myself, if you must know. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, I see Tic and Cat disappearing down the basement stairs.
Great, I think. That’s just fucking perfect.
I don’t know how I get through the rest of the day, but I do.
I see you sitting in the library after school when I go in to return some computer stuff. Your head is bent down over a book and your hair looks greasy. Like you haven’t washed it. You still look good, you just look … sad. And it’s everything I can do not to go over to you and to find out what’s wrong. I’d do it if I didn’t think you’d look at me like I was crazy. Or get up and leave. You know, sometimes I really just wish we were friends. Weird, huh. It’s just that my friends are Tic and Robbo, and you know what they’re like. They’re buddies. Buds. Not real friends, not “Hey, I need a kidney, can you give me one?” friends. Not friends who actually want to see you cry, unless it’s some kind of fucking joke and they can laugh with you about it.
And I have Cat. But for some reason, I just don’t feel like Cat is a really good friend of mine right now.
I drop the stuff on the library counter hard so it makes a sound and you look up at me, just for a second, but I don’t meet your eye. I turn and leave, letting the heavy door slam behind me.
I go home. I don’t fly, I walk.
The driving range is completely deserted.
Week before Christmas, Bob says, sitting back in the deck chair he keeps out there all year around. He’s warming his hands over a cup of coffee. The steam rises up and covers his face.
Yeah, I say. I’ve got an iron out of my bag and I’m practice swinging with my left arm. My right arm just hanging there like a bag of flour or something. Useless.
You done your Christmas shopping? he says.
Sure, I say. Well, no.
To tell you the truth, I haven’t even thought about it yet. Who do I need to buy presents for? Mutt, for sure. I’ve already decided that I’m going to get him some golf clubs, cut down to fit him. Hey, it’s never too soon to start. And that way, maybe he can be good at it in a way that I’m not. Maybe Deer will switch her attention to him. Maybe he can make her dreams come true. I don’t know what to get Deer. A signed picture of Tiger Woods would be a good bet, but I wouldn’t be able to find one in this town. I’ll probably get her perfume. Some of that patchouli shit that she likes so much even though the smell of it gives me a headache. I should get Cat something, I guess. She is still my girlfriend as far as I know. I knock a ball onto the mat and slice it sharply with my one armed swing.
Shit, I say out loud. I suck at this.
It’s harder than it looks, Bob says, lumbering up to his feet. He takes the iron from me, places a ball, and hits it solidly with his left hand, right hand behind his back. It’s a perfect shot. Pure.
But it’s also a mental game, he winks, tapping his head. All up here, son.
No wonder I suck at it, then, I say.
It’s hard to be seventeen, he says.
Not really, I say.
I remember, he says.
And I’m afraid he’s going to start telling me a story of his past, blah blah blah, that will turn me around. Will make everything okay. Seriously, sometimes Bob’s stories are like Disney movies of the week, and about as long.
Hey, show me how to hit the shot, I say.
So he does. He loves that shit. I get a little better at it by the time the night is out. I shut the place up and fly home. Man, that sounds crazy, but it’s true.
I’m getting careless. I guess it’s just a matter of time before I get caught. Before I get turned into a joke or a laughingstock.
Or before it just stops altogether.
Cat
Chapter 14
It isn’t until Cat is getting dressed for the Christmas dance that she realizes that her period is late. Oh fuck, she says. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course. So stupid. So obvious.
She leaves her dress unzipped and goes into Mira’s room and sits on Mira’s bed.
I’m pregnant, she says.
If Mira were actually at home, instead of out with Perfect Nathan, Cat imagines that she would know what to do. But she isn’t home. She’s never home any more. You’d think she and Nathan were engaged the way they carry on. They only just met, after all. It drives Cat crazy.
She stands up and inspects her belly in the mirror. It looks the same. But all that throwing up. Sore breasts. No period. There’s no mistake. She’s as sure of this as she ever has been sure about everything. X’s baby. A real baby, with eyes, nose, mouth. Unimaginable, really. When she tries to picture it, she can only picture babies she’s seen in the mall or on TV or in movies or magazines. She guesses it would be a beautiful child. Why not? They are both okay looking people. But still, it’s not real.
It doesn’t exist.
For a few minutes, she sits there, with her dress half-hanging off, just forcing herself to imagine it. But she can’t have it. She knows that. How can she? Why would she?
How can she not?
>
You ready yet? her mum calls up the stairs.
Just a minute, yells Cat. She looks at her reflection. The tight black dress looks like shit, she decides. She looks like a hooker, a fat bloated hooker stuffed into something too small. Gross. She goes over to Mira’s closet and starts looking through her stuff, all of it shimmering with a smell of good cleaness, of Mira. She and Mira haven’t shared clothes for years, but Mira wouldn’t mind, or if she would, then fuck her. Who cares? Who cares about anything? What does anything matter, when it comes down to it? Cat’s thoughts are buzzing. She feels high and angry and low and dead at the same time. Her hands are shaking.
Oh my God, oh my God, she says.
She pulls out a pair of pants and a sparkly top. Sleeveless. It’s pretty. A pale mauve colour that makes her skin look even whiter and makes her eyes look almost purple. Perfect. She puts that on instead. Combs her hair. Uses her sister’s makeup. Then, at the last minute, she pops out her facial piercings and drops them on her sister’s dresser. Slicks her hair back smooth and ties the long bits up at the back so it looks like it’s all on purpose, the style, the cut, the missing pieces.
Just for one night, she says to herself. Takes a deep breath and goes downstairs where her mum is waiting to drive her over to the dance. She’s not allowed to drive anywhere any more.
Wow, says her mum. You look … great.
It’s Mira’s, says Cat scathingly. We’re twins, you know. What you’re saying is that I look like Mira.
No, says her mum. You look great. Bella. My beautiful girl.
Yeah, whatever, says Cat. Thanks. Can we go now?
In the car, her mother tries again, You know, she says, if there is anything you want to talk about …
Like what, mum? says Cat. The birds and the bees?
If only you knew, she thought darkly. The lasagna she had for dinner is turning in her stomach, heavy and sharp, like she’s swallowed a glass bottle and it’s starting to crack. She almost asks her mum to stop the car so she can throw up but then she doesn’t. Instead, she coughs into her hand. Swallows hard. Gags.
I hope you don’t think you’re going to be drinking tonight, says her mum.
I’m not, says Cat. Don’t worry.
Is X meeting you there?
Yeah, says Cat. I guess.
She thinks about it. He did say he was going, she was sure he said it. She just figured that meant they’d be going together. They are still a couple, sort of. Apart from that stupid thing with Tic that was meaningless and X doesn’t know about that. She sighs. Why can’t anything be easy? She rests her hand on her belly. Sorry, baby, she says to herself.
What? says her mother, looking at her sharply.
Nothing, Ma, says Cat. Impetuously, she leans over and kisses her mum on the cheek. I’ll see you at midnight.
Don’t be late, says her mum. Have fun.
Yeah, says Cat. Fun.
The gym is full when she walks in. Everyone all decked out and stupid looking red and green streamers everywhere. A big tree in the middle decorated with coloured lights from the seventies. The music is so loud and the acoustics so bad that it just sounds like white noise. She glares at a few people who look at her and do double takes. Whispering to each other. About her, no doubt. She should have left her brow piercing in, at least. She needs a drink. Where are Tic and Robbo? She frowns. They’re probably outside somewhere. Or in the basement. Somehow Tic got hold of a key. She pushes through the crowd and wanders down the hall towards the basement door. She’s almost there, when someone calls her name. She turns.
Uh, Mr. Beardsley, hi, she says. I was just …
You know you aren’t supposed to be in this part of the school, he says.
Yeah, she improvises. I just wanted to get some uh, a brush, to comb my hair. From my locker.
You look great, he says.
He’s staring at her chest when he says it. He makes her so uncomfortable, she just wants to run.
Thanks, she says. Well, I’ll just be getting back to the …
You know, he says. I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my drawer. You could come in to the classroom for a drink if you want.
Uh, she says. Aware that she’s backing up while she’s talking. I don’t think … I mean…
Forget it, he says abruptly.
I just … she says. Oh, fuck, Cat, she thinks. You’re blowing it. But suddenly the whole flirting-with-a-teacher thing seems like a really bad idea. I’m not … she says.
Never mind, little girl, he says.
She never noticed before how his eyes squinted when he talked. How mean he looked. How old he looked.
Look, I’m not feeling well, she says. She darts around him and runs into the girls washroom. She isn’t feeling well. It takes her a few minutes to throw up the lasagna. It spatters the front of her pale purple top.
Shit, she says, trying to scrub it off in the mirror.
I can help with that, I have these stain things, a voice says behind her.
She whirls around, startled. It’s just Ruby. Eerie Ruby with the big dark eyes. She looks nervous.
Thanks, says Cat, grabbing the stain remover and dabbing at her shirt. Bad lasagna.
Are you okay? says Ruby.
Yeah, says Cat. I’m in the peak of health.
I just thought I heard you …
I threw up, okay? says Cat. It happens.
Well, as long as …
I’m pregnant, says Cat before she can stop herself.
The other girl is staring at her in the mirror. They are both facing forwards. This strikes Cat as odd, but she doesn’t turn her head.
Oh, says Ruby. That’s …
It sucks, says Cat. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Oh God, says Ruby. I’m sorry.
Yeah, says Cat. Listen, some of us are having a drink downstairs, why don’t you come? Just don’t say anything.
I won’t, says Ruby.
Not that you can’t talk at all, says Cat hurriedly. I mean, you can talk. Just don’t mention this, if that’s okay.
Yeah, says Ruby. Totally.
The basement is cold and unheated tonight. And dark. Instead of turning the lights on, they’ve lit candles, some of them are scented, the air is cloying and sweet. It looks spooky.
It’s like Buffy the Vampire Slayer down here, says Cat. Shouting, Hey, are you losers down here?
Boo, says Robbo, jumping out in a costume from the rack.
Fuck, says Cat. You scared me, you asshole.
Who are you? says Robbo, shining his flashlight into Ruby’s face.
It’s me, Ruby, says Ruby.
Oh, says Robbo. Come and have a drink.
Ruby, says Tic quietly. Cat notices a look pass between them. Oh, great, she thinks. It’s like a little love triangle.
Where’s X? she says, swallowing from the bottle that someone passes her. It crashes into her empty stomach and makes her nearly gag again. It’s sweet and horrible.
What the hell is that? she says. It’s awful.
It’s alcohol, says Tic. Don’t complain. He nudges her and she leans into him.
Ruby doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, playing with her hair. Cat almost feels like asking her what she’s doing there, but then she remembers that she invited her. Have a drink, she says, dropping the bottle into Ruby’s hand.
Thanks, says Ruby. She sips it politely.
You remind me of my sister, says Cat.
Uh, thanks, says Ruby.
Yeah, says Cat. It isn’t much of a compliment. Listen, I gotta go find X.
He’ll come down here when he gets here, says Tic.
I don’t care, says Cat. I want to find him. I’ll be back.
She just feels itchy. Like she has to move around. The alcohol has warmed her up from the inside and she can feel a flush on her cheeks. She almost feels like she can tell X. That she’ll tell him and he’ll help her. He’ll figure it out. He’ll save her. Right?
She sneaks out of the bas
ement carefully, leaving the other three to get drunk or do whatever they are going to do. She doesn’t even care. Back in the crowded gym, she sifts through the crowd with her eyes. Usually X is easy to spot, what with the fact that he’s head and shoulders taller than everyone else. Not here. She sighs in frustration. Shakes her head when some boy she doesn’t recognize asks her to dance.
Come on, he says.
No thanks, loser, she says. She may not be pierced tonight, but she suddenly feels more dangerous than ever. More crazy. Like maybe tonight is her last chance to do something wild. She pushes her fingers through her hair and tucks it behind her ears. Where are you, X? she says, even though no one can hear her over the driving beat of the music. The music seems to sort of seep into her and to take over from her heart. It beats in her blood. She can feel her arms and legs vibrating. For a minute, she dances with herself. Then she steps away from the dance floor again and goes to wait for X by the front door. She wants to see him when he walks in. She wants him to see her.
She wants him to see how she isn’t waiting. How she’s dancing and sweaty and drunk already and not needing him.
She wants him to …
She doesn’t know what she wants.
She waits for ages, but he doesn’t come. An hour goes by, and then another. She hates to wait. I’m going to tell him and then I’m going to dump him, she thinks cruelly. She wants him to be upset. She almost wants to make him cry. She slumps back against the wall and slides into a sitting position. She has all the time in the world. She can wait.
Ruby
Chapter 15
You never have liked being in enclosed spaces where there are candles. Candles remind you of the fire.
Sure, you were three.
Yeah, you’re over it. (Although do you ever get over something like that?)
But being in the basement with the flickering candles is making you afraid. You drink more than you normally would. You swallow whatever is in the bottle like it can save you. It doesn’t take long for you to feel drunk. You didn’t eat much dinner before you came out. Cassidy was there, like Cassidy is always there. Prattling on over salad about the golf clubs that your dad bought her as an early Christmas gift. She’s crazy about golf. Your dad even took you out for a “lesson”. As soon as you figured out why he wanted you to learn, you put your foot down. Told him you hated golf. Told him you’d never go again.