Cycling to Asylum

by Su J. Sokol

“Sure. Why not? You’re smart, know the city and love music. And you’re good with people, too. You’d need some more schooling, of course. I saw an interesting program that was being offered. Look here, I can find it.” I call up the info on my new screen and show her.

  “Yeah, I heard of them but I have a lot going on right now. There’s the dog, and my friends and … and stuff. Hey, are we going somewhere now? I can still show you a good time.”

  I take all of my money out of my pockets, coins and no bills.

  “I think we have just enough to share a milkshake.”

  “Don’t worry about the money. If you have somewhere we could go …”

  “No. Listen … even if I did, I couldn’t. I’m a high school teacher. Was one, anyway. And you’re probably not much older than some of my students were. So it would feel wrong to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”

  “A teacher. So that’s why you said those things. To try to push me back into school.”

  “No. I’m not trying to push you anywhere. I’d’ve been pissed off too if someone did that when I was your age and living the way you’re living.”

  “You were on the street too? And …”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t such a bad life. I liked the freedom and I met a lot of people. But it was more dangerous than I’d thought.”

  “I’m careful. Besides, I can take care of myself,” she says sharply.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you can. But you can still make mistakes about people. Like I did. For instance, did you guess I was a teacher? Or that I’d been a street kid, a hustler?”

  She doesn’t say anything. Just seems angry and closed off.

  “Had you guessed I was carrying a knife?” I start reaching into my jacket.

  She stands up, her eyes wide. “A … a knife?”

  “Sit. It’s OK. I’ll leave it in my pocket. Unless you’d like to see it?”

  “No. That’s OK. I have to go now, anyway.”

  “Please, stay. I’ll go. Stay and have that milkshake. I need to be outside now. I’m sorry.”

  I get up and walk towards the door, leaving all the money on the table.

  Sometime later, I’m regretting having eaten all that food. I think it’s slowed down my thinking. And I’ve used up all my money. I don’t even have métro fare. How can I go home? Broke and no closer to figuring out how to make sure our application is accepted. No good to myself, no good to my family, no good to that girl, no good even to one sick dog.

  My legs take me towards the bridge. I need to look at the water again. Need it badly. It would calm me, I think, or give me some peace. Weird, because the waters were anything but peaceful. Wild, dangerous even. Yeah, dangerous. Why is thinking about danger making me feel calm? This doesn’t seem like a good sign. I stop walking. Lean against a building. No, I’m not thinking clearly. I’m too tired. I slide down to the ground and huddle against the brick, arms in my sleeves and head against my knees. Maybe I’ll rest a little and walk home later.

  *

  I must have dozed off. I open my eyes, shivering and disoriented. I don’t feel fully awake. Fractured tendrils from my dream are still embedded in my senses. The smell of mint. My fingers in Janie’s damp curls. White clouds, the crack of a bat hitting a ball. Warm things, summer things. Janie was telling me something. That I have to wake up and make a call. Call you? I had asked. No silly, she said, my screen’s off, remember? Call Philip instead. He’s waiting.

  I rub at my eyes with my gloved knuckles. Fish out my mini-screen. Speak the number and put the piece in my ear. I hear the call going through. It rings only once.

  “Hello?” Philip’s voice sounds rusty with sleep.

  “Philip,” I say.

  “Laek? Laek, is that you?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Are you OK? What time is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wait, let me get a light on … It’s two-thirty in the morning. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Montréal, Philip.”

  “I know that, I mean … Have you been drinking? Did you take something?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so? You sound strange. What’s the matter?”

  I wrap my arms around my knees, shivering. “They refused us. For asylum.”

  “Oh, Laek. I’m really sorry. But listen, you knew this might happen. You have a back-up plan. The other application for permanent residence.”

  “I … I don’t have a job. ”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll find one. You’ll see.”

  “I’m just … I’m just so tired.”

  “It’s late. That’s why you’re tired. Sleep now. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

  “I was sleeping before, I think. But I had a dream. And Janie told me to call you.”

  “That’s funny, because Janie was in my dream. She said she needed my help, and then I woke up. That’s why I answered the phone so quickly. I was already awake.”

  “Philip, am I awake now? Or do you think I’m still asleep?”

  “You’re awake but … you do sound strange. Can you put Janie on?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s at home.”

  “At home. But then where are you?”

  I look around. I see mounds of snow, closed stores, a small empty park. “Outside.”

  “Outside? Outside where?”

  “Outside … don’t know. Near a wall. It’s brick.”

  “Laek, you need to go home. Janie must be sick with worry.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have any money.”

  “Go into the subway and jump a turnstile. It’s OK. Just make sure no one sees you.”

  “The métro doesn’t run this late. It’s not 24/7, like New York. I could … I could try to find a night bus, but they don’t have turnstiles.” I crane my neck but don’t see any buses.

  “What are you talking about? Never mind, I have a better idea. Call Janie and ask her to come get you. Or tell me where you are. I’ll call her myself.”

  “Didn’t she say in the dream? Her screen’s off. I made her shut it off. So she wouldn’t worry, waiting for me to call. It’s OK. I’ll just go back to sleep.” I press my face against my knees.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It must be cold out and you don’t sound right. Look at your screen and tell me what the temperature is.”

  I lift my head up to look. “It’s, it’s twenty-five degrees.”

  “That’s pretty cold, below freezing. But wait … don’t you use Celsius there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that doesn’t make sense. Twenty-five degrees Celsius is warm, not cold. Check it again. What does it say?”

  “Twenty-five. Negative twenty-five.”

  “Get up, Laek. Get up right now!”

  “I’m tired. I want to go back to sleep.”

  “Get up right now or I swear I’m getting into my car, crossing the border and finding you, and when I do, I’ll kick your ass all the way to the North Pole.”

  “OK, OK,” I say, stumbling to my feet. “But stop yelling at me. It’s hurting my ears.”

  “Your ears hurt? Are you wearing a hat?”

  “No.” I put my hands on my head. “Wait, yes. It’s there. I’m wearing my tuque.”

  “What’s that? Is that a hat?”

  “Yeah, I’m wearing a cotton cap.”

  “Cotton. Are you wearing a scarf?”

  “No, but I have a bandana around my neck.”

  “Take the bandana and wrap it around your ears. Then put your hat on over that.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “My hands aren’t working. Something’s wrong.”

  “What? What’s wrong? Aren’t you wearing gloves?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t feel my fingers.”

  “OK, put your hands in your coat pockets.”

  “My coat doesn’
t have any.”

  “You’re not wearing that brown flannel thing you had in New York, are you?”

  “Yes. That’s my jacket.”

  “Laek, that’s not nearly warm enough. What else are you wearing?”

  I look down. “Um, my jeans, a sweater.”

  “Jeans. Alright, then put your hands in the pockets of your jeans or under your arm pits. Anywhere, I don’t care, just get them out of the cold air.”

  “OK.” I cross my arms over my chest and stuff my hands under my armpits.

  “Now walk. Walk to the corner, and when you get there, tell me what the intersection is.”

  “OK …” My limbs feel awkward, my feet, somehow far away from the rest of me.

  “Are you walking?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get to the corner yet?”

  “I’m there now.”

  “Tell me where you are.”

  The black letters of the sign seem to sharpen.“The corner of Ontario and Champlain.”

  “Fine. One second. OK, there’s a shelter of some kind nine blocks west of where you are. We just need to figure out what direction you’re walking. One more block will tell us that.”

  “I’m walking west.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. West is towards home.”

  “A few minutes ago, all you knew was that you were outside near a brick wall, so forgive me for double checking.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I think I had brain freeze or something.”

  “I thought you got that from ice cream.”

  “Different kind.” I pause, press my gloved hand against the window of a café I’d noticed earlier. I keep walking. “Listen, Philip, I’ve been thinking. Should we just come back to Brooklyn? Or maybe at least Janie and the kids could come back. Siri, I worry about her. She doesn’t seem happy. She’s still so angry about being here.”

  “No, absolutely not. As far as Siri goes, isn’t being furious with your parents a normal state for a twelve-year-old girl? Anyway, look, I should tell you. People have come by the school. Asking questions about you. And Janie’s friend Magda got in touch with me. Apparently they’ve been snooping around Janie’s office too.”

  “Oh. Did … Are you all OK? Did anything happen?”

  “Everyone’s fine. Don’t worry about us. In any case, this was some months back.”

  “Some months back? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “But Philip, don’t you think this was something we needed to know? It could have affected decisions we were making.”

  “Janie knew.”

  “From Magda, you mean?”

  “Yeah … And from me too. I spoke to her.”

  I stop. A car flies through the intersection. “You spoke to Janie yourself about it?”

  “Yeah. I call her sometimes. I find we see things in a similar way. We have some common, um, interests and such. That OK with you?”

  I cross the street. “Yeah. I’m pleased about it actually. But why didn’t you tell me too?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t want to worry you. You had enough on your plate at that moment.”

  “And Janie didn’t?”

  “Janie’s different. She’s solid as a rock.”

  “And I’m not, I guess.”

  “Is an ocean solid? It’s deep and powerful and beautiful and wild, but solid doesn’t apply. Laek, don’t be upset. I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah. And I suppose my taking a nap in negative 25 temperature doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. Listen, we’ve been on a while, so I’d better terminate the call.”

  “I’d rather keep talking until you get there.”

  “We’ve been through this. About using the screen too much, about you being tracked. Maybe you think I’m being paranoid …”

  “No. I’ve taken all the precautions you suggested. I got another reconstituted screen just last week and had it cleaned and reprogrammed by your people. Right now I’m more worried about getting you to shelter than about our conversation being tracked.”

  “Don’t worry so much about me, Phil. If I can’t stay there, I’ll figure something else out.”

  “Telling me not to worry doesn’t make me stop worrying any more than telling Janie to turn her screen off means she’ll sleep peacefully without hearing from you … Listen, Laek, you need to stop doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Crazy things. Dangerous things. Putting people who love you through hell, worrying about you. How to put this? You have this ability to … to disassociate. From fear, from pain, which I get, but also from reality and responsibility sometimes. And other people, we just can’t do that, alright? You’re incredibly brave and good, but looking at things another way, there’s an aspect to your actions which is just … just … breathtakingly insensitive!”

  “I don’t mean to …”

  “I know. That’s why I said ‘insensitive’ and not ‘cruel.’ Just as an exercise, put yourself in the place of someone who loves you. In Janie’s place, say. How would you feel right now?”

  “Worried, I guess.”

  “Good start.”

  I think some more. “And angry, maybe.”

  “You think?”

  “OK, very angry. Totally pissed off.” It’s not at all difficult to imagine this, once I give it three seconds of serious thought. Then I think of something else.

  “Phil?”

  “What?”

  “Are you angry? Are you angry with me, too?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that right now. What I’d like is to eventually sleep some more tonight, so please say you’ll call me again when you know what you’re doing.”

  “OK, I’ll call you back.”

  I think about our conversation. Consider simply running home to Janie as fast as my legs can carry me. But when I get to the door of the shelter, I realize where I am. It’s a youth shelter. Run by that organization for street kids where I’d referred Lila earlier. I volunteered here a few times after losing my job at the bike shop. Now there’s a sign on the door. Not a regular sign but one of Janie’s “good signs.” It’s a posting for a teaching job at their alternative high school for street kids. I think Janie will forgive me if I delay my return just a little longer.

  Forty-five minutes later, I’m walking out the door feeling my good fortune as keenly as I’ve ever felt the reverse, and promising never to take either one for granted. I remember my bandana. Tie it around my ears as Philip suggested. Pull my hat over that.

  Once outside, I call Philip back.

  “Philip? You won’t believe it.”

  “What? Wouldn’t they let you stay?”

  “No, forget that. I think I may have found a job.”

  “Wait. Go back. Tell me what happened.”

  As I walk, I explain everything to him—that the director of the organization was supervising a night shift, the on-the-spot interview disguised as a conversation, how impressed she was with my experience and that I speak three languages, and the teacher’s certification program they offer in cooperation with the Ministry of Immigration. I even tell him about Lila and kids like her who might attend such a school.

  “So will you be one of my references?” I ask him.

  “Of course! But she’ll probably want someone more local …”

  “I gave her six or seven local references too. I’ve met loads of people through our neighbourhood community centre and the solidarity network.”

  “I bet you have. But what are your chances? Did she say anything?”

  “I can’t be sure, but it felt right. She kept smiling and nodding her head and was careful to check that I had all the right coordinates for where to send the application. She scheduled an interview for tomorrow evening and … It just felt right.”

  “That’s amazing. Let me know what happens. But you still need to find shelter.”

  “I’m going home
.”

  “It’s too cold to be out right now, Laek.”

  “Our apartment’s only about four kilometres from here. I’ll run to keep warm. And I tied the bandana like you said. And I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.”

  “Alright, if you’re sure. But listen. When you get home, you need to warm yourself up, right away. Take off any wet clothes. Maybe get into a bath. But warm, not hot, you got that?”

  “OK.”

  “And one other thing. Make love with Janie. Can you do that for me?”

  “For you? Sure, no problem. Is there a position or style you’d prefer?”

  I can feel his smile come all the way through the connection. “No. Whatever turns you on. The important thing is getting your body temperature up.”

  “Whatever you say. Anything else?”

  “No, I think that about covers it.”

  “OK, then. I’ll be thinking of you.”

  “That’s sweet. So we’ll speak again at the usual time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Until then, my friend.”

  “Until then.”

  I jog the whole way home. Barely feel the cold. Janie is up and waiting for me when I get to the apartment. I tell her about the girl, the dog, the job, talking to Philip. The words spill out, one on top of the other, but Janie seems to follow everything. I put my hands under warm water in the sink as Janie runs a bath. Ironically, it’s only now, when I’m inside, that I begin to feel cold. And my hands hurt so much that the pain makes me nauseous.

  The bath is ready. I strip off my clothes. My legs under my jeans are bright red from the cold. All the way from thigh to mid-calf, where my wool socks began. I lower myself into the bath. Sigh with pleasure. I look up to see Janie watching me with her lips pressed together, her eyes bloodshot, her shoulders drooping. I think about my conversation with Philip.

  “I’m sorry that I worried you tonight. And other times too. I know … I can only imagine how hard it must be sometimes, being with me. I promise you, I’m going to try my best not to do those kinds of things anymore.”

  Janie doesn’t say anything. I try to read her expression, but I can’t. All at once, I’m as scared as I’ve ever been in my life. What if she can’t forgive me? What if she decides she doesn’t want to be with me anymore? The water in the bathtub seems chilly now. I shiver. Janie leans over and turns on the hot tap, using her cupped hand to mix the fresh water in. I wait, anxious and immobile, for her answer. Finally, she withdraws her pink, wet hand and gently touches my cheek with it. I reach for her, but she moves away.