Even Weirder Than Before

by Susie Taylor

  I see him and I smile. Then, through the vodka and the tequila and the dope, I remember my disappointment. Damon and Jude watch me watch Jimmy. Nathan releases Wanda, and she stumbles towards us.

  She sees Jimmy and pauses, then her brain catches up with her eyes. “You,” she points at Jimmy. Jimmy ignores her.

  “Daisy, can we talk?”

  “No, you cannot fucking talk to her, you motherfucker!” Wanda yells. The Capulets are watching us through the curtains.

  Jimmy walks towards me, and I burst into tears and shout, “Leave me alone!” I weave down the driveway, and as I go, I realize that a straight line is surprisingly hard to walk.

  “See what you’ve done?” Wanda snaps at Jimmy.

  “Shut the fuck up, Wanda,” Jimmy says.

  “Motherfuckingbastardsonofabitchstupidfucking…”

  Jude cuts in, sounding sober and clear. “Damon, go look after Daisy. Wanda, we’re going.”

  Wanda keeps swearing. Jude physically moves her away. Wanda is drunk enough that her limbs are ragdoll-like, and she can’t fight against the direction Jude is taking her. Wanda turns her head around; she yells “Jimmy!” then spits in his direction as a parting shot.

  Crying and walking slowly down the sidewalk in the direction of my house, I am flanked on either side by Damon and Jimmy. When Jimmy tries to put his arm around me, I push him away and yell hysterically, “Don’t touch me!” Jimmy backs off a little.

  “Daisy, you have to calm down. Seriously, or someone’s gonna call the police,” Damon says.

  I sob and refuse to talk to Jimmy. My house is blazing with light when we arrive.

  “You okay if I take off now?” Damon says.

  “Yeah,” says Jimmy. “Thanks.”

  “What about you, Daisy?” Damon waits until I raise my head a little and look him in the eye. I don’t say anything, just nod my head.

  Grahame pokes his head out of the door.

  “Daisy, are you going to come in now? Your mum has been really worried.”

  “I’m fine.” My voice veers up and out of my control. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

  “Five minutes, then you need to be in the door. You hear me, Jimmy?”

  “Yes,” says Jimmy, and the door closes.

  “Daisy, you’re really drunk.”

  “I know I’m fucking drunk.”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to come to the play, but I had to stay at work.”

  “You don’t care.”

  “Someone quit and they needed me.”

  “You didn’t come.”

  “Daisy, don’t be mad.”

  I say nothing.

  “Daisy, I’m sorry. I love you. How did the play go?”

  I shake my head. There are things I want to say, but I can’t formulate the words. It’s hard to remember why I am so angry, but I know that I should be, even if I can’t remember why.

  “Can I at least kiss you?”

  I don’t say anything. Jimmy hugs me, and I let my body relax momentarily into his, then I pull away and march to the front door.

  “I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he calls after me.

  Emerging out of the mellow darkness and into the unforgiving light of the house, I want more than anything to sleep. I know I am hurt and upset and having a fight with Jimmy, and that tomorrow I will be filled with sorrow, but now the alcohol coursing through me has created only one desire: I must lie down. Mum is wearing her dressing gown, and her face, although difficult to focus on, is clearly distraught.

  “Daisy, do you know what time it is? I was so worried. You can’t ever do this again.”

  “I have to go to bed.” I propel myself up the stairs. As soon as I think Mum isn’t watching, I use my hands as extra support.

  “We will talk in the morning,” she shouts ominously after me.

  When I am lying down, the bed betrays me. It appears to pitch and fall just like a boat at sea, and my ceiling light is swirling around. I sit up and puke on the floor.

  Mum comes in. She cleans up the puke and gets me a bucket. I puke and puke and puke. Mum empties the bucket and wipes my forehead with a damp cloth. I am too hot, then I am too cold. She brings me water. I drink it, then puke it up. I apologize throughout. “I am so sorry,” puke. “Sorry, Mum,” puke.

  My eyes open, and the light in the room indicates that it is past morning. As I turn my head back to the pillow, the most unbelievable pain shoots through my brain. My mouth tastes like my stomach has moved into it. The pain veers upwards. I sit up and grab the bucket just in time. All that is left is clear liquid, and my gut aches from contracting. Mum opens the door; she is holding a tray bearing a cup of tea and toast with Marmite. I wave her away, but she doesn’t understand the urgency, and I retch some more. I lie down. I cannot bear to be awake, but my mind starts whirling over the events of yesterday. I think of the play, of the lack of Jimmy, of Wanda pouring the vodka and her face sucked into Nathan’s. I think of Damon looking me in the eye and of Roseanne hugging me. Then I think about all the kids watching me cry on Nathan’s doorstep and Wanda losing it at Jimmy and Jimmy not showing up. I think of Mum and the inevitable conversation we will have to have. I want to sleep, but it is impossible.

  Mum tries with the toast again. My clock reads three o’clock in the afternoon. I experimentally nibble a corner of the bread. Mum sits down and pats my leg through the covers.

  “I was so worried. You were an hour late. Why did you drink so much, Daisy? Do you need to see a therapist?”

  I roll over in bed. “I was stupid. Too much beer on an empty stomach. That’s all. I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Daisy.” Her voice is different now, the colour muted out of it.

  “What is it, Mum?” I sit up to look at her.

  “Grahame’s leaving Ontario. He told me last night. His contract’s over in two weeks, and he just found out he got another one in Quebec.”

  “When will he come back?”

  “It’s a two-year contract, and after that who knows where he’ll go.”

  The phone rings. Mum answers it, then brings it to me, heaving the long trail of telephone cable across the hall from her room into mine. I sit up in bed, the base of the phone resting heavily on my lap. If I jiggle, the bell makes a slight jingle.

  “I don’t know what more you want from me. I’m sorry, Daisy. I should have been at the stupid play.”

  I breathe deeply. I can feel irrational sentences bubbling up and trying to push their way out of my mouth.

  “Daisy, aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “I don’t know if there is anything to say.”

  Silence, silence, silence. This telephone call is made up of so much blank space.

  “You remember the party last year. When we sat by the fire.”

  “Of course I remember.”

  “I knew you from school a little bit, and I always thought you and Wanda were kind of snobs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wait, I’m not finished. Then you were at my party, this cute, smart girl, and you were hanging out with me. I couldn’t figure out if it was just because you were drunk or if I really had a shot with you. I saw you a couple of times in the distance, but I was too nervous to go talk to you. When I finally asked for your number, I’d been working up to it for weeks.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say. “I waited and waited for you to call after I gave you my number,” I confess.

  “Danny always says you should wait at least three days before you call a girl. How are you feeling, anyhow?”

  We don’t talk about the play and Jimmy’s absence after this.

  After the phone call my body relaxes; by eight o’clock I’m in bed asleep clutching my prickly teddy bear, with the word “cute” occasionally rankling at the back of my mind.

  twenty-two

  Kleinberg is talking. It’s stuffy in the class, and he has propped the door open to let in some air. I stare out into the hall. Wanda wasn’t at her locker this m
orning, and I half expect to see her running past on her way to first period, clutching a yellow late slip. Cathy walks by, a clipboard in her hand; she must be on student-council business of some sort. She sees me and hesitates for a moment, then walks up to the open classroom door and knocks on it gently to get Kleinberg’s attention. “One minute,” he says, and completes what he is writing. Is Lady Macbeth the true villain or hero in this play? Discuss! He gives a flourish with his arm after dotting the exclamation point.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kleinberg. May I speak to Daisy for a minute?”

  Kleinberg eyes her clipboard, nods, and waves at me to go. Cathy pulls me away from the classroom door.

  “Wanda and Jude are yelling at each other in the girls’ bathroom, the one by the music room. I thought you might be able to calm them down before they get caught.”

  “Thanks, thanks, Cathy.” I glance back at the classroom. Kleinberg is tapping the board with a piece of chalk; my books are still open on my desk. I walk as fast as I can down the hall and around the corner to the washroom.

  I can hear a raised voice, loud but not shouting, words making a slight boom as they reverberate against the hard surfaces of the room. I push through the first door into the bathroom; my hand is about to swing the second door open, but I stop. I stay standing in the small space in between the two doors. I can hear Jude clearly now.

  “Saying you’re sorry isn’t always enough, Wanda.”

  “I was drunk. I was upset.”

  “And you needed your ego boosted. Do you even remember what you said to me, that you’d do me a favour? I don’t like you like that, Wanda. And even if I did, I wouldn’t lower myself to be some kind of experiment for you.”

  “I didn’t mean it to come across like that. I thought you’d want to try it.”

  “You think you know so much, but you don’t know anything about me. I know who I am. I don’t need to try anything out.”

  “I thought I was helping you.”

  “I don’t need your help. I’m tired of being your substitute friend every time Daisy goes off with Jimmy.”

  “This has nothing to do with Daisy.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re putting this on me, but if you weren’t such a coward.”

  “Coward? You think I’m a coward. I have two more years at this school. Two more years of living with my family. And I’m not going to make that any fucking harder than it already is. And you, you were making out with Nathan and you don’t even like him.”

  “Fuck you, Jude!”

  Jude pushes open the door fast. I back out of the way in time to avoid getting hit with it. She sees me; it’s obvious I’ve been eavesdropping. I follow her out into the hallway and put my hand on her arm. She shakes it off.

  “Not now, Daisy.” I turn to go back in and talk to Wanda. I hear the sound of her kicking a stall door, and I wait outside instead, sitting on the window ledge just down from the bathroom door. Wanda comes out a few minutes later. She doesn’t see me and marches down the hall with such determination that I decide not to waylay her.

  I’ve missed half the class. “Okay?” Kleinberg asks when I return. I nod and take my seat.

  I can’t find Wanda at lunch, but I find Jude in the library reading National Geographics at one of the tables in the back corner of the room.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “What did Wanda say?”

  I shrug.

  “She can be so selfish,” Jude says.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Jude shakes her head. I sit beside her flipping through magazines. Jude shows me a picture of a surfer going through a tunnel of water made by an enormous wave.

  “Did he make it out?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know,” she says, turning the page.

  Wanda and Jude have not spoken for two weeks. Wanda is determined to ace her exams; she has spoken to a guidance counsellor. If she gets good enough grades, she can graduate after grade twelve and go to university a year early.

  “You should try and graduate early too, Daisy.”

  “I didn’t take the right classes this year.”

  “You could catch up at summer school.”

  “I don’t even know if I want to go to university.”

  I see a car pull up in the driveway below Wanda’s bedroom.

  “Is that…?” I ask.

  Nathan gets out and waves up at Wanda.

  “I’m studying. After exams. I told you. No distractions,” Wanda yells down to him. He bows and leaves a paper bag under her window and then departs back to his car.

  “What’s in the bag?” I ask her.

  “Weed, I hope. But it’s probably something stupid like gummy worms.”

  “Aren’t you going to go look?” I am pretty curious.

  “I’ll look later. He comes by every day. I wish he wouldn’t.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “I don’t really know. How do you know anyway? I feel like I might like him, if I give him a chance.”

  “The fight you and Jude are having?”

  “We’re not fighting. Just not talking. Which is different.”

  “Wanda, it’s been a while.”

  “I can’t fix it. If I could I would, but I can’t.”

  With summer arrives the construction of the ball field on the plot of land that Grahame deemed to have no archaeological significance. At first he called every day, then every week, and now not so often.

  One day Cora brings Millie and Sinead to the park and meets me and Natasha’s kids. Natasha is taking classes this summer, and I am babysitting for her four mornings a week. Millie plays pirate queen with Dwayne and Sara. Sara wants to pet the ducks, and I pull her away from the pond and place her on a swing. Millie teaches Dwayne how to climb up the slide. Sinead is mobile now, and Cora is constantly redirecting her or removing dirt or rocks from her hands and mouth.

  At home, Mum is sitting on the porch drinking white wine spritzers and listening to Ella Fitzgerald through the open screen door. There are tiny webbed cracks running through the plastic arm of her deck chair. Inside the house I notice the carpet on the stairs is looking threadbare. I open the fridge to look for milk and discover the fridge light has stopped working.

  I’m relieved when I come outside and see Olivia’s car in the driveway. Ella has finished playing, and Mum doesn’t ask me to turn the record over.

  “Just come, it will do you good. We can go swimming, and wash away all, all this…” Olivia spins around on the porch.

  “I can’t leave Daisy.”

  “She’s sixteen! And it’s just for a weekend, and the cottage is only two hours away.”

  “Go!” I say. “I’ll be fine for a weekend. It will be good for you. When was the last time you went to a cottage?” Our last family vacation springs to mind. Dad spent the entire time demanding we stay silent as he worked on a paper regarding the effects of underground drilling on mole rat populations. Or insisting we went on long hikes through mosquito-infested forest when all we wanted to do was hang out on the beach and take occasional swims out to the diving dock.

  “It would be nice to get out of here for a few days,” Mum says.

  Olivia’s car is packed high. I carry Mum’s bag out and hear chinking bottles as Olivia closes the back hatch of the car. I have a long bath and listen to the stereo, turned way up in the living room. I can hear it all through the house. I burn incense in my room and change my sheets. Tomorrow, I’m going to have sex with Jimmy. I vacuum my floor. Wanda calls at midnight. “I had such a boring night. I wish you had been with me.”

  “Well, you should have invited me.”

  “I figured you’d be with Jimmy. Nathan said it would be fun, but the girls just sit around watching the band play with their guitars. They were all drinking beer, and the more they drank, the worse they sounded. The other girls there were twenty and snobby. One of them, Tasha, kept saying ‘That was awesome’ after every single song. They
only play covers, and it’s not like they wrote ‘Midnight Rambler,’ and anyway it’s a song about a rapist. Why are they singing it? I asked Nathan and he said, ‘Everyone loves the Stones.’”

  “Why are you going out with him, Wanda? You complain whenever you spend time with him.”

  “I’m not going out with him. I’m just hanging out with him. And because I’m bored. You’re with Jimmy. Jude’s not speaking to me, and even if she was, she’s off playing Sergeant Major in some dusty field in Alberta.”

  When I get off the phone with Wanda, I worry about men lurking the streets, trying door handles, and looking in windows. It takes me a while to fall asleep listening to the empty house.

  I wake up to the sound of someone knocking on the door. It’s only six in the morning. I’m wearing an old T-shirt and pink cotton undies. I wrap a sheet from the laundry basket in the hall around my waist and grab a carved stone bear from the shelf in the hall to use as a weapon. The knock comes again, and I look through the peephole: Jimmy is standing on the threshold looking sheepish.

  I can still taste the cup of tea I drank in bed last night on my tongue. There’s a crust of sleep uncomfortably glued into the corner of my eye. When I open the door Jimmy comes in and kisses me. He kisses me on the mouth, and he covers my neck with kisses. I’m not wearing a bra, and I’m aware of my nipples straining against my shirt. Jimmy must feel them too, because he pulls back and brushes them lightly with his palm. I take his hand and lead him up to my room.

  We don’t speak at all. Jimmy fumbles a little, but he gets the condom on. He lies on top of me, and I feel him pushing against me, but his angle isn’t quite right. His penis prods against my pubic hair. I take my hand and guide him inside of me. It hurts a little bit, in an oddly good way, and then it starts to feel quite good. This is it, this is it—there’s a penis inside me, I think. Jimmy shudders, and it’s over. We lie in bed. Jimmy strokes my hair, and then I go to the bathroom to see if I’m bleeding. I’m not. When I get back, Jimmy is already hard, and we do it again.

  Jimmy is slower the third time. I move against him, and he follows the rhythm of my hips. I have an orgasm, and Jimmy comes seconds afterwards.