That Time I Loved You

by Carrianne Leung

  “Yeah.” She brushed dust and some bits of spiral notebook paper off her jeans.

  “You moved in on my street, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m George,” he offered.

  “Lorraine.” She hugged her backpack.

  “Nice to meet you. See you around.” He smiled before walking off. He had a nice smile, one that seemed real and not just for the sake of politeness. She didn’t usually notice details about people. She watched him disappear down the hall before she turned and continued to class.

  After that, Rainey started to look for him. At home, she found that if she stood to the far left of her bedroom window, she could see his house. She was a few doors south on the other side of the street and the angle made it so she couldn’t see inside his garage, but she could tell when the garage door was open, a sure sign that George was sitting on his lawn chair with his radio on. At night, there was a truck in the driveway, but it never parked inside, not even in bad weather. When George wasn’t there and the pale yellow aluminum door was closed, she would feel disappointed and keep checking until it was open again. It was open most nights even when December came and snow started covering the driveways. When she knew the door was open, she fell asleep more easily. It was the kind of drifting off that reminded her of when she was small and would fall asleep listening to her parents’ soft voices and laughter rising from where they would sit and watch TV in the living room.

  She wondered if he sat in the garage like she sat in her basement. Maybe he was like her and being close to death also made him feel better. Rainey began looking for George at school, slowing down in the quad to gaze at the rockers hanging out in the “smoking lounge,” a small alcove framed by low benches and a pockmarked wall. The boys mostly had long hair and lumber jackets and the girls wore bunny-tail roach clips and fringed leather purses. Rainey studied their easy manner, the girls with their long feathered hair, leaning on each other while they took hits off each other’s cigarettes, and the boys eyeing the girls’ butts. George was there sometimes, standing with the others in loose circles, all of them stamping their feet to keep warm. They never seemed to notice her.

  One morning, she asked June about him.

  “George? What do you want to know?” June scrunched up her face.

  “I don’t know. Tell me about him.” Rainey tried to sound casual.

  “I don’t know. He lives with his dad. They keep to themselves. They’re Portuguese. You already know his mom offed herself. That’s about it.” June paused. “Hey, do you have a crush on him?”

  Rainey rolled her eyes. “Never mind, June,” she said, but June already had a huge shit-eating grin on her face.

  One night, after her mother had gone to bed, Rainey decided she would go see him. It was a Friday, and Rainey was down in the basement, listening to the radio and smoking cigarette after cigarette, stubbing them out in a coffee tin. It was her new thing. The news kept droning on that air pollution was as bad as smoking, so she figured it didn’t matter if she added to the pile. Thankfully, her mom didn’t let on that she knew about it, even though the house reeked of it.

  Rainey had made the basement her special place. Lately though, she’d noticed that each time she returned to the spot where the previous owner died, the once-intense pulsing energy diminished, until it was now only a faint hum in her body. She longed to feel the flood of life inhabit her again, feel that sharp heat fly off her fingertips.

  She told herself she was going to George’s house for the chance to visit another suicide site and maybe get a hit of that wonder, and that it was incidental that George lived there. She was in her pyjamas and slippers, and before she could change her mind, she wrapped a robe around her tightly and slipped out of the house. The street lamps lit up the light flurry of snow. She didn’t feel cold, but she was slipping around on the sidewalk. As she got closer, she heard “Hotel California” coming from his radio. She slowed her steps, ready to turn back. Rainey worried what he might think, that maybe she liked him or something. Or that she was a nutso wandering around in her pyjamas.

  Just as she was starting to feel cold and a little ridiculous, and thinking about turning around, he called out to her, “What are you doing? You’re gonna freeze!” He jumped out of his chair. It looked like she had scared the shit out of him, and she paused and let herself picture what he must have seen: a pale, skeletal thing wafting silently in the night like a ghost in a plaid flannel robe and soaked slippers.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” she said. She felt stupid standing there in front of him, shivering while snowflakes collected on her robe. A dim lone bulb hanging from a wire from the middle of the ceiling cast the garage in a yellow glow.

  “Here, sit.” George pulled out the other lawn chair that was leaning against the wall and opened it up beside his. She sat down while he went deeper into the garage and rummaged around before pulling out a blanket. He unfolded it and draped it over her lap. It was red, heavy and smelled like mothballs. Immediately, she felt enfolded in a bright pink warmth that rose through her. She knew she was sitting right on the spot where his mother had died.

  “You wanna beer?” She shook her head. He sat back down. “Can’t sleep, huh? Yeah, I get that.”

  Rainey looked at his face. He had a tuque pulled down low over his forehead. He took a swig of beer from his can and continued to gaze into the white-streaked dark.

  “So, this is where your mom died?” She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but she couldn’t help it. He turned his head to face her for what felt like a long time. She held her breath and looked back at him. She couldn’t read what he was thinking, but he was studying her carefully.

  “Yup. Kinda where you’re sitting right now.”

  She wondered if he said that to shock her. She was careful to register nothing on her face. He smiled, and she breathed again.

  “You miss her?”

  “Yeah.” They unlocked their eyes and turned to watch the snow fall. Fleetwood Mac came on. “Do you like this song?” George asked. He started to sing along.

  Even layered over Stevie Nicks, his voice sounded good. With him singing into the darkness, the snow, all of their neighbourhood asleep, it was weird, but it all seemed to fit. The song ended, and Rainey regretted it being over so soon. A Bowie song came on next.

  George looked at her and cracked a smile. “You kind of remind me of Ziggy Stardust.”

  She guessed it was her short buzz cut and blue eye shadow.

  “Those cheekbones,” he said, nodding. “Man, you have a gorgeous face.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She didn’t know how to take that. Was this how boys flirted with girls? She looked down at her hands, willing herself not to blush.

  “Yeah. It’s all good!” He laughed. He stood up and proceeded to air guitar.

  Rainey laughed. A real laugh. She caught herself and wondered if it was because she was sitting on top of George’s mother’s death, but then realized it wasn’t that. Her laughter burbled out of her like a spring.

  She began to spend more time with George in the garage. After a while, George left her lawn chair open and ready for when she would join him. She always shifted the chair to be exactly on top of the spot where George’s mother died. The flash of pink from the spot would warm her for a few seconds, then subside, but still linger in a soft way inside her body, buzzing quietly. Mostly she and George looked out into the night and listened to music together. George was also not a big talker, which suited Rainey fine. When the nights went from plain cold to icy, George plugged in a space heater.

  Rainey’s mom was baffled. Why would they insist on sitting in a freezing garage with the doors wide open? Still, she was so relieved that Rainey had made a friend, she didn’t push it.

  One night, she even intercepted Rainey at the door with a Tupperware container of cookies and Thermos of hot cocoa. “You two can share,” she said.

  “Mom, we’re not five,” Rainey said, trying to squeeze past her, but her mom insisted
and made her take everything.

  Rainey wondered about the long line strung across the garage. Finally, she asked him about it. George shrugged. “That’s where my mom hung the laundry.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. It was. Dryers were hard on clothes. He nodded. After a while, she felt her face heat up and she blurted out, “I think I tried to kill myself once. That sounds weird, but I’m not sure if I really wanted to or not.”

  “Oh yeah?” The music had gone crackly and he leaned forward to fiddle with the dial.

  She waited a moment. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Don’t you want to know about it? You know, considering your mom committed suicide?”

  “Nope.” George shifted in his chair and twisted the dial again even though the reception sounded fine.

  “I would want to know. Hell, I wish I could talk to your mom and ask her what she was thinking. Because I don’t even know why or what or anything. Why did I do it?” Rainey shuddered, maybe from the cold, maybe from revealing so much. It was probably the most she had said in a long time, and it didn’t even make sense.

  He sighed. “Lorraine. My mom was fucking crazy. That’s why. I don’t know how she got that way. It may have had something to do with my fucking crazy dad. All I know is that sometimes, there is no ‘why’ or ‘because.’ It’s fucked up.”

  “So, you’re okay with it? Like you’re over it?” She couldn’t stop pressing ahead for something even though she noticed the tension between them.

  “What are you, a shrink? No, I’m not okay. I’m not over it. What do you think? She was my mother. Sometimes it was like she was the kid and a pain in the ass on top of that. But do I wish it didn’t happen? Of course, I wish she were right here instead of you with your stupid questions.”

  He wouldn’t look at her, and he didn’t raise his voice, but she knew he was angry.

  “Why do you sit here? Are you trying to stay close to her? Do you feel her here?” Rainey persisted.

  “Get out!” George stood up and faced her. “Get out!” He wasn’t yelling, but his voice echoed off the empty street.

  Rainey stood up quickly, knocking over her lawn chair and spilling the blanket on the ground. She ran home. The radio was playing “I Go Crazy.” The irony was not lost on her.

  The next day, Rainey sent June off alone, saying she had cramps. After waiting until everyone would’ve emptied out for the day, she decided to break into the empty house. If George thought she was nuts, she thought she might as well go all the way. June had told her that the neighbour Mrs. Bevis, who’d lived there, had hanged herself in the upstairs bathroom.

  It was easy to get in. Rainey climbed over the fence and slid open a back window. She was small enough to fit through it. The house was cold, but there wasn’t anything particularly creepy about it—it was clean and free of cobwebs and other telltale signs of hauntings. The only thing that made it feel spooky was how bare it was. In the kitchen, dusky shadows outlined where the appliances had been. The windows were bare, so Rainey edged along the white walls, hoping no one would see her. She crept through steadily and quietly, as if it were church, her shoes clicking gently on the parquet floors. In each room, she waited for a trace of this dead woman’s life to arrive, that familiar warmth that would come, but nothing revealed itself. The house held on to its secrets.

  She proceeded upstairs, passing empty bedrooms, and stopped upon arriving at the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the house, which was white throughout, the bathroom on the second floor was papered in powder blue with rows of fluttering silver birds. The tub, the toilet and the basin were also blue. Strangely, there was a striped blue and white shower curtain still hanging from the rod. Why was this left when the house had been stripped of everything else?

  She opened the curtain to reveal the matching blue tiles on the wall. Someone had cared enough to make sure this small bathroom matched in every way. Rainey touched the curtain rod gently with her fingertips, feeling small sparks of electricity. This was the place. She sat on the edge of the tub, preparing for the warmth to wash over her. She closed her eyes, her hands pressed against the cold porcelain and imagined the woman stepping off the tub’s edge. She began to feel something, but instead of the familiar calm, she was gripped by an immense sadness. Out of the fog of this feeling, images appeared to her, first of a dark-haired woman laughing with a baby in her arms, which soon sharpened into her mother and herself. Then, her father. Her father with his arms open wide but a step away so she couldn’t reach him.

  Rainey opened her eyes to make it stop and met her own face in the mirror above the sink. She noticed that her eye shadow matched the bathroom decor perfectly. She moved closer to the mirror to get a better look, slipping off the tub and landing on the floor. Splayed on the cold tile beside the toilet, it all suddenly felt absurd. Sneaking into an empty house, finding the place where someone killed herself, so Rainey could feel more alive. She wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it was, but it came out in tears instead.

  She moved back to sit on the tub and was chilled by the cold surface. Wiping her eyes, she imagined how this blue had once delighted the former residents. Blue had been her and her father’s favourite colour when she was a kid. They were always trying to convince her mother, whose favourite colour was yellow, that blue was the superior hue. Sky and sea trumped sun and flowers. Element pitted against element. Whenever a choice had to be made about colour, she and her dad would yell, “Blue!” Blue skirt, blue icing, blue umbrella. Her mother would throw her hands up in mock surrender while Rainey and her dad would hoot in victory. This joy coupled with its match in sadness. This shade of blue.

  She felt sorry for the moment the blue lost its power on the woman who died here. But Rainey then felt grateful that she was able to witness the beauty of it. The blue, like the sky and sea, would always be there, and always be there for her. She let the blue inhabit her and was filled by the bigness of it. She hoped its magic would never abandon her, unlike Mrs. Bevis.

  That night, while her mom was standing at the counter, putting together a salad, Rainey snuck up from behind and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Her mother paused, her salad tongs mid-air. “I love you, kid,” her mom whispered. Rainey nodded against her back and let go gently before going into the dining room to set the table. Rainey smiled when she heard her mom resume tossing the lettuce. That night, she stayed downstairs so they could watch The Carol Burnett Show together. They spread out on the couch under one blanket and ate an entire bag of Humpty Dumpty chips.

  That year, the winter dragged as if reluctant to leave. It snowed heavily all through March, and Rainey took to joining the neighbours before school in the mornings to shovel the street’s driveways and sidewalks. They came to know her. She started doing odd jobs like babysitting Nick and Francesca’s baby daughter up the street so they could go on “date nights.” The neighbours would wave or nod at her, and she would say hi and smile back, her breath coming out in little puffs. Her dad used to call it “making clouds.” These small contacts made her feel like she was becoming familiar to everybody, even herself. She still walked to school with June, with June doing most of the talking. And Rainey had made a couple of friends at school who ate lunch with her in the cafeteria, rocker girls who wore motorcycle jackets, wrote song lyrics in their lined notebooks and hated the cheerleaders. As for George, he never opened his garage door anymore, so she didn’t know if he still sat there. Sometimes she passed him in the hall at school, and they both said hello like people who didn’t really know each other.

  One night at the end of March, the doorbell rang while Rainey was eating a turkey sandwich for dinner in front of Hawaii Five-O because her mom was working late. She rose reluctantly, hoping it wasn’t a Girl Guide. They were cute and she felt bad turning them away because she didn’t like the cookies.

  It was George. The sight of him stirred her. He kept his eyes on the mat. “Hey, wanna come sit in the garage and listen to music?” He was wearing his lumber
jacket, his hands deep in his jeans pockets. He shrugged like it was no big deal that he was at her door. His hair peeked out from underneath his wine-coloured tuque and grazed his shoulders. She had the urge to reach out and pull the curls so she could watch them spring back.

  “Sure,” she said. She went to get a coat, her heart beating a little faster.

  They walked in silence back to his house and plunked into their usual chairs. She didn’t bother to move hers over to the spot. George turned on the radio, and they sat in silence, facing the darkening street. Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Reasons” was playing. The air was cold and thick and soon it began to rain, but Rainey didn’t feel cold at all. George reached out a hand to feel the drops. The light rain hit the pavement and shot back up, spraying their faces.

  “Spring’s coming,” she said.

  “So it is,” he answered.

  That Time I Loved You

  The summer before we started Grade 9, my parents let me go to Josie’s house for a birthday sleepover even without her parents home. I’d launched the campaign about a month earlier, and days of arguing and nagging and negotiating either wore them down or annoyed them to the point where they would do anything to shove me out the door for a night.

  “I don’t understand why you can’t go to the party and come home and sleep in your own bed. What’s the difference?” At the last minute, my dad was still determined to make it difficult, but I wasn’t going to back down.

  “You used to let Josie’s sister babysit me here. It’s the same thing. Liz can babysit me over at her house!” I was ready with all the counterarguments.

  Mom said, “Okay, sera, sera.” She’d been watching reruns of The Doris Day Show again and I didn’t try to make sense of it.

  Poh Poh shrugged and told him to let me go, and so, with her word like a foot down, they did. But only because Josie was Chinese and understood which things were right and wrong.

  Josie’s parents were away the last week of July, and she and her siblings were taking advantage of their freedom and throwing a party. Josie’s birthday was a convenient coincidence. Sleeping over meant no curfew, which further meant that I could spend all night at a party and work to achieve the goals I had been holding on to for a very long time: (1) attend my first dance party and (2) (maybe?) win Bruce back.