Hell's Hotel

by Lesley Choyce

  Jenn sat down on the littered chesterfield and let the news sink in. “I’m not going to see you again.”

  “Hey, I’ll come back to visit.”

  “That’s not the same.”

  “Jenn, what is it with you?”

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “We were. We are. But you have to admit, you’re not an easy person to be friends with. You haven’t even spoken to me for a week or more and when I call, you hang up on me.”

  Jenn let out a short frustrated burst of air. Whatever she wanted to say, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Rob was listening. She looked trapped, trapped and betrayed.

  “Just leave,” she said. Suddenly she looked like she was about to cry. “Go to Vancouver.”

  “I don’t want to go with you feeling like this.”

  “That’s too bad.” Jenn was pushing her towards the door now, opening it. Tara was standing at the top of the stairs. “Just go,” Jenn said. “And don’t look back.”

  And then the door closed. It seemed to take Tara forever to walk to the bottom of the stairs.

  Turning the Clock

  Tara couldn’t believe that Jenn could be so cruel to her. She was sure that her friend had changed somehow, changed in some irreversible way, allowed Rob to mould her into some other person that Tara didn’t even like. So that was the final break and she had made it. She could leave everything behind.

  She felt good about it. She felt she had made the right decision about Vancouver. She was confident, full of hope and excitement, right up until the time she checked her bags on Air Canada at the Halifax airport and then told her father not to wait around. She wanted to be on her own.

  “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and I’ll buy you a snack.”

  “No thanks. I’m not hungry. I’ll be okay from here.”

  Tara could tell she had hurt her father’s feelings by asking him to leave. But she was afraid that, if he hung around, if they sat around talking like father and daughter, she would feel guilty about leaving him. And she didn’t want that.

  But it didn’t matter. As soon as she saw him walking away, after they had a final hug, she felt a cold wave of panic rise in her. How could she just leave everything behind? Was she crazy? She wanted to yell to her father to stop, to come back and give her one last hug. But he was already out the doors. He was gone.

  Soon she was taking off. Both seats beside her on the plane were empty. She felt alone, all alone.

  Below her, the forests of Ontario and Manitoba thinned out and were eventually replaced by the Prairies. It was an amazing pattern of geometric shapes: squares, trapezoids, rectangles, and perfect circles, as if the people on the ground designed their fields that way purely for the entertainment of air travellers.

  And then the Rocky Mountains — gigantic, grand, scary and snow-capped, bigger than she’d imagined and emanating a feeling of tremendous power. Tara had never seen anything like this in Nova Scotia. The mountains made her feel very small and insignificant.

  Tara wished very much that her mother would be waiting for her at the airport as originally planned. But she knew now that wasn’t going to be the case. Her arrival time coincided with a special three-day photography seminar her mom was taking. It was being run by a celebrated photogr-apher from England, a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” her mom had said. So Tara was to get a cab and let herself into the apartment.

  Tara had a hard time lugging all her suitcases out of the airport, but at least there was a lineup of cabs. The driver helped her put the bags in the trunk and then opened the door for her.

  “Where are you from?” he asked as they drove away.

  “Nova Scotia,” she said.

  “Long way off.”

  “Seems like the other side of the world.” Tara looked out at the lush green trees, the blooming shrubs and flowers, the mountains in the background.

  Her mother’s apartment was not far from downtown Vancouver. The key was right where her mother had promised it would be. Tara let herself in and stood there alone, trying to get adjusted. Nothing about the place looked even remotely familiar — except for a couple of the photographs on the wall, one of the three of them, her family. She walked over to it and placed her hands on the frame. And suddenly she found herself crying.

  When her mother finally arrived, they embraced. Tara felt better; she felt safe now. Her mother was there. This was her new family, the two of them.

  “You’re going to love it here. I know you are.”

  “I’m sure I will,” Tara said.

  “How’s your father taking this?”

  “You know him — always cool, always reasonable.”

  “That’s your father.”

  Her mother was looking at the four suitcases. “I didn’t know where to put these,” Tara said. “I didn’t know which room was mine. There are about four more boxes being shipped out here. Dad said they’d be here in about a week.”

  Now Tara’s mother looked a little embarrassed. She looked at the luggage. “You know, when I rented this place, I wasn’t really expecting to have anyone else living here. It’s kind of small. An apartment isn’t exactly the same as our big old house. I guess I could move my photography equipment out of that room over there. I’ve got a darkroom set up and everything.”

  Tara understood what was happening here. Her mother had already got on with her plans. This business of taking pictures was now an important part of her life. The darkroom where she could develop photographs was probably part of her dream. And now here was her daughter wanting that room.

  “I guess I was thinking you could sleep here,” her mother said. “It’s one of those sofas that folds out into a bed. I’ll admit it’s not very comfortable but ...”

  “But it’ll be okay,” Tara completed the sentence, realizing that this scene felt all wrong. She wouldn’t have her own room, she’d be in the way. She’d be living in the living room. Either that or she’d be invading the darkroom, taking over and barging in on her mother’s dream.

  Tara’s mother could see the worry in her daughter’s face. “Look, you’ve had a long trip. Don’t worry about anything. Give yourself time to adjust. Have you had any dinner?”

  “No, but I had two lunches. I guess if you time it just right, you could just keep eating lunch over and over if you flew around the world. A non-stop feast.”

  It seemed odd that an image of Jenn popped into her head just then. It had to do with food. Jenn was always scrounging for food. She would have thought it was the greatest thing to end up with two lunches on two separate flights west. And up until the night Tara had spent at Hell’s Hotel, she had hardly ever even thought about food, or money for food. Neither one. Both had always just been there.

  “Lucky you,” her mother said. “But I forgot, right now it’s getting late in Nova Scotia. You must be tired. Stay in my bedroom tonight. I’ll sleep out here. Get some rest.”

  The adrenalin rush of being in a new place was starting to fade. Tara realized that she was tired, really tired. She got ready for bed and sat down with her mother who started to rattle on about what a wonderful day she had had in this photography course, blah, blah, blah. Tara couldn’t really relate to it.

  When she went to bed and snuggled under the covers, she listened to the noise of the traffic and the people on the street. These big-city noises would be there all the time. She put the pillow over her head and tried to go to sleep but couldn’t. Tara tried to define for herself exactly how she felt. It was one of her little habits from childhood. How am I doing? I’m doing fine. Everything is great. But there was too much in her life that was unsettled. How could she have thought that change was a good thing? She hated change. Why couldn’t everything have stayed exactly as it was? There was a word for the emotion she was feeling and the word was ho
mesick. The only problem was that Tara knew that home wasn’t just a place, it was a time as well. Turn the clock back one year; she had a father, a mother, a crazy but loyal friend, and even a guy she was going with who she thought was pretty great. She was homesick for all that. And wondering how she could go back in time.

  Loner

  It was Tuesday morning and Tara woke up in a strange room, wondering why the sun wasn’t coming up. Then she remembered the time zone thing. Eight o’clock in Nova Scotia, four o’clock in B.C. She had at least three hours to lie there and contemplate her new life, convince herself that she had made the right decision.

  When seven o’clock rolled around, she heard her mom get up, so she did too. The difficult task of adjusting to Vancouver was just beginning. Maybe it would have been easier if she’d had a few days to just relax and settle in, get adjusted to the new time zone, the new environment, the new everything. But her mother was busy — busy with her new life — and she didn’t want to “lose the momentum” that she said she had going. She said she hoped Tara didn’t mind going with her to the high school first thing, to go to the office and get set up so she could start classes.

  Her mother didn’t have a car, so they walked the five blocks. The principal was a woman and she and Tara’s mom seemed to be on the same wavelength. There would have to be transcripts and papers filled out, but, hey, no problem.

  They could handle that later. Tara could just start attending classes today.

  Tara thought it was too simple, too easy.

  “This is the West Coast,” the principal said. “We’re a little more casual about things. I hate all that uptight bureaucratic red tape that some schools go in for.”

  Tara was starting to see the upside of the situation. It was a different world out here. The principal didn’t even talk like a principal. She insisted that Tara’s mom call her by her first name.

  In the hallway, her mother said, “I told you, you’re going to like this place. In Nova Scotia everything is just, well, traditional. Here people have a different attitude.”

  “Even school principals, it looks like,” Tara answered.

  Then her mom was gone, off to her photo course and later to meet with a gallery owner about displaying her photographs. Trying to keep up the momentum.

  Kids were looking at her. She expected that. New kid in town. She could handle it. The school played music on the P.A. between classes — not just oldies, but recent stuff. A lot of the kids dressed like Jenn, and Tara felt a little out of it. She was thinking that in this crowd Jenn would fit right in. No one would even notice her. Maybe Jenn should have moved to the West Coast. Stop thinking about Jenn, she told herself. She’s out of your life.

  But what was her life now? Who was the new Tara going to be?

  She had a hard time finding her classes, but everyone was helpful when she asked. All the teachers looked at the note from the principal and were very casual about it. Fortunately, nobody made her stand up and introduce herself. She figured that’s what they would have done back at Citadel. Here, it seemed everyone was chilled out about everything. Tomorrow she would dress differently and that would probably cover it. No one would even look twice at her. She wanted to fit right in.

  At lunch, she was sitting alone when a girl named Megan introduced herself. “Mind if I sit here? I’m tired of eating my lunch with them.” She nodded to a table full of guys and girls who looked like they had just been beamed forward from the 1980s.

  “I like to be with them ’cause they know where to score, where to get it cheap. But in school, they just drag you down. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You get high?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Megan laughed. “Only part-time, right?”

  “Part-time. Right.” Twice to be exact. She’d liked the buzz both times but she had decided it hadn’t been worth it.

  “I know, you’re new. I’m making you uncomfortable. Where ya from?”

  “Halifax.”

  “Cool. I hear they have good music.”

  “Ever hear of a band called Good Idea Gone Bad?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, well, they’re good. I saw them once. Very decent.”

  “I’m all about music. I talked to the lead singer of Hardhead once. He told me he liked my tattoo.”

  “You have a tattoo?”

  “I’d show you, but it’s in a place I probably shouldn’t be exposing in school.”

  Tara didn’t know what to say. “Too bad that guy who played guitar in Bone Music committed suicide.”

  “You gotta know when to stop pushing yourself over the line. He just forgot how to relax and have fun.”

  “I thought it had something to do with the drugs. What was he doing, heroin?”

  “Nah. It wasn’t the drugs. The only people who get messed up on drugs are the ones who have big problems to begin with.”

  Tara now got the picture that she was hanging with a kid that was probably a serious user of something. She wondered if she should just cut the conversation short and be gone, but it was good to have someone to talk to.

  “What do you do after school?” Megan said.

  “Don’t know. I’m new, remember?”

  “I’ll catch you out front after school’s over, show you the street.”

  Tara almost said no, almost registered in her brain that Megan was trouble with a capital T, but then she remembered that her best friend for a long time had been a girl that most other kids treated like a leper.

  “Sure,” Tara said.

  ***

  The bell didn’t ring at the end of school. Somebody in the office just put on a hip hop song called, “The Essential Self” by Mind Over Matter. Megan was in front of the school, hanging with a couple of long-haired guys.

  “This is Matthew and Dave.”

  Matthew and Dave had been sitting with the group at the table at lunchtime, the table Megan was trying to avoid. But then, like she said, after school, they became her favourite people to hang with. Matthew and Dave nodded and smiled. Matthew was not bad looking, but they both had a kind of droopy nonchalance about them.

  They walked together down a street filled with little pawn shops and boutiques and weird little specialty stores selling jewellery, leather, and magazines. They stopped in front of a shop that sold nothing but knives and martial arts weapons so that Matthew and Dave could ogle the stuff in the window.

  “I keep telling them, little boys shouldn’t play with knives,” Megan said to Tara. “But I guess they’ll never learn.”

  The two guys just laughed at that. After a few minutes, they gave up looking at knives and walked on. “We’re gonna drop by Matthew’s brother’s place for a little bit,” Megan said. “Listen to some tunes, maybe see what’s happening.”

  Tara realized that she was feeling tired. Jet lag. Maybe she should go home. But she didn’t feel like going back to her mother’s apartment. With no bedroom and no real privacy there, it would always be her mother’s place, not hers. She would always feel like a guest. They walked on. The street was alive with crazy people in all sorts of clothes. Tattoos and piercing were obviously big in this city. It was like every third person on the street, this street anyway, had a big surprise if you looked close enough.

  Matthew’s brother’s apartment was pretty rough. The place had not been cleaned in weeks. Empty beer cans, pizza boxes, cereal boxes and chip bags were tossed around. The sofa was missing legs and looked as if it had been involved in a small fire at some point. There was a lamp on, minus a lampshade, and the blinds were pulled all the way down. Music was blasting from somewhere.

  Megan introduced Tara, but Tara just kept her mouth shut. Matthew’s brother pulled out some kind of smoking gear, a small container of something, a met
al spoon, and a small propane torch. Tara didn’t like the look of it. She had figured that these guys probably smoked some weed or something but this looked like serious stuff.

  Megan could tell Tara was feeling nervous. “Never done crack before?”

  She shook her head no.

  “It’s cocaine, mixed with some stuff. All you need is one good hit and you’re wasted.”

  So this is why these guys were so much fun to hang out with after school. Jenn had pushed Tara’s limits of acceptance before, but this was different. She had been in Vancouver for just one day and already she had fallen in with a bunch of serious crackheads. Matthew’s brother was lighting the torch. He was pretty loose with the thing. No wonder the sofa had seen some serious fire damage.

  Tara wanted to get up and leave.

  “You want a hit?” Megan asked her.

  “No.”

  “Good move. Keep your head clear.” Megan was trying to hold her breath after taking a hit. At least she wasn’t trying to pressure Tara into getting high.

  One part of Tara was scared to death, but another part of her thought the danger was cool. She didn’t have to get high. She was just there with these crazy Vancouver kids in this totally bizarre scene. If only the kids back at Citadel High could see me now, she thought. Or better still — if only my father could see me here. And my mother, too. Then they’d feel bad about breaking up the family. Look what they are turning me into.

  The guy named Dave had been sitting beside her. Tara had thought maybe he was into being straight, like her, and just liked to hang around when other people got high.

  Now he touched her on the shoulder. She turned her head to see that he had an elastic band around his leg. He had his shoe off and was sticking a hypodermic needle into the skin between his toes. He was pushing the plunger on the syringe and there was a bright red drip of blood where the needle entered the skin. Dave seemed to like the fact that Tara was watching him. When he pulled out the needle, he held it up in the air, offering it to Tara. Dave just said, “I got more if you wanna try it. Good stuff. Not cut or anything.”