Monkey Beach

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Monkey Beach Page 27

by Eden Robinson


  Mom frowned, sipped her coffee. “Waste of money.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or a general comment. “It’s okay.”

  “If you don’t want to stay here, I could call Erica. I’m sure she’d be glad to see you.”

  “She’s got a kid, a little girl,” Jimmy said. “Tell her the name, Mom.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Chinook Agnes Jakobs.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You should stay the night,” Jimmy said. “Do you want your old room?”

  I watched Mom’s face. “Are you sure? I mean, that I …”

  She waved her hand in dismissal, “It’s done. Let’s forget it now. Do you want another cup?” She held up the pot.

  “No, thanks. I’ll be up all night.”

  Jimmy surprised me with a peck on the cheek as he left. Without him there, we couldn’t seem to find anything to talk about. The fridge hummed to life. Some dogs barked outside. She said my hair was driving her crazy and asked if she could straighten the line. I grinned and said we could do it tomorrow. The last week of sleepless nights was catching up with me and I had trouble keeping my eyes open. Mom asked me if I had a nightgown, and when I said no, gave me one of hers.

  My bedroom had been tidied. I pulled up the desk chair and spun a few times. Mom brought me blankets and sheets and started to fix my bed.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  “No, no, it’s okay. How long are you staying?”

  “Probably go after they have the thank-you supper.”

  “Good. Good.” When she finished making the bed, she rolled the covers back, then paused, looked sheepish, as if she’d been caught doing something silly. I didn’t know how to bring up the subject gracefully. “How’s Jimmy? He said he quit swimming.”

  She sat on the bed. “He had an accident. A stupid one. He was helping a friend change a tire. He was carrying the flat tire to the trunk, the gravel was loose and he slid down the embankment. He landed at just the right angle to dislocate his shoulder. The Olympics are in a few months. He got bumped.” She asked if I needed anything else, and I said no.

  Dad knocked on my room later that evening. “Lisa?”

  “I’m still awake.”

  Dad wasn’t thin, he was emaciated. He hadn’t ever been chubby, but now he was gaunt. He sat on the edge of my bed as I leaned against the headboard and hugged my knees.

  “You look good,” he said.

  “So do you.”

  “You can stay as long as you want.”

  I gave him a hug. “Thanks.”

  He patted my back then left.

  Erica brought her baby over to visit on the fourth day I was back. Her baby was chubby and constantly turning around to see what was going on. She had deep blue eyes and black hair. Erica had graduated on time, had her baby, and her boyfriend was trying to convince her to move to Esquimalt, where he would be stationed while he was training to be a naval officer.

  “You’re going back to school?” she said when I told her. We were sitting in the living room as she bounced her girl in her lap.

  “Starting January,” I said.

  She sang the theme song to “The Twilight Zone” and we laughed. She asked for a smoke and I shook one out. It was a gorgeous day. I had forgotten how the ocean steamed when the temperature dropped. I wondered how Tab was doing. I considered calling her, to tell her about my plan to get my life back together. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to try grade eleven again.

  “No shit,” Dad had said when I told him. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Mom.

  “No shit,” I said.

  Dad gave me three weeks. Mom said a month, just to be stubborn. Erica said I wouldn’t even make it past the first week. They shook hands on a ten-dollar bet and I glared at them all.

  “If you take summer classes,” Jimmy said, grinning, “you can graduate with me. Want to walk up together?”

  For my birthday that year, Mom bought a Safeway cake with one big candle and put up balloons. Dad took the day off and said we were going to have dinner anywhere I wanted.

  “McDonald’s!” I said, laughing at their expressions, and then I declared I wanted dry spareribs from the Chinese restaurant in town. Jimmy met us as we were going in. After dinner, we read our fortune cookies, then they brought out presents. Mom said that if I didn’t like hers, I could return it. The wind chimes were long and silver and had a solemn, mellow tone when I hit them with my fingernail. I grinned. “I love them.”

  “Thank God,” she said. “I have no idea what to get you now that you’ve grown out of slingshots.”

  Dad gave me the copy of the monkey mask that Mick had carved. I almost started crying and he patted my shoulder, saying he always meant to give it to me.

  “Thanks a lot, Dad,” Jimmy said, nudging him. “I’d have to give her my kidney to top that. When you look at this, remember me and smile.”

  I looked at him quizzically, reached into the gift bag and pulled out the ugliest clock I’d ever seen.

  “Now you’ll get to class on time,” he said.

  Frank had a job on the Kemano II project. He came in every other weekend and took me to Rosario’s. When I asked him if he wanted to come back to school with me, he snorted. “Lisa, I’m making union wages. I got benefits. I’m saving up for a truck—”

  “A big truck?”

  His grin faded.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know why I said it. It’s—”

  “Pooch’s dream,” he said. He sat back and was quiet for the rest of the meal.

  It’s amazing what a goal will do. Mine was simple, but not very admirable. I didn’t want to graduate after Jimmy did. I plowed through my assignments with an enthusiasm I usually reserved for partying. To say that my teachers were surprised would be like saying Mount Everest is high. When I felt bogged down and overwhelmed, I pictured myself walking up to get my diploma with Jimmy in front of me.

  My head was spinning from all the things I had to memorize. I’d never pushed myself in school before, so I’d never known how distracting it can be. It’s hard to philosophize about how crappy life is when you’re trying to finish a zillion things at once. Sometimes, late, late in the night when I paused for my smoke and coffee break, I would sit on the patio chairs and stare at the stars. When I started to feel sad, I’d head back inside and hit the books.

  I caught up with English easily, but algebra was an absolute bitch. I struggled up to the quadratic formula, then admitted defeat. I skipped two classes before Jimmy found out and asked me what I was doing. I explained that I wasn’t interested in school any more; he pulled out my books and perused my homework.

  “Are you going to give up?”

  I glowered at him. “No.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s get to it.”

  He would break down problems until they were little pieces all over the page. He’d explain each piece, and when I grasped it, we’d move on until the problem was solved. I hated it the first night, found it completely galling, but admitted secretly that the mysteries of math were unfolding.

  Not that Jimmy had given up partying. His date of the week would arrive at the door, pick him up and he’d be gone. He would stumble home, late at night, fall into bed and wake up grouchy. Mom and I liked to guess how long it would take him to go through all the girls and have to start dating in Terrace. But he wouldn’t call Karaoke.

  On one of my smoke runs to the mall, Frank strolled towards me, his clothes a little too tight from the weight he’d gained. We chatted, and he said he was taking off for Vancouver soon to look for a truck. I wished him luck and he wished me luck with midterms, then he asked if I wanted to go to a party. “Karaoke’s birthday. We’re going to try to have a quiet one this year.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Can I invite Jimmy?”

  “Go ahead. The more the merrier.”

  After dinner, I asked Jimmy if he wanted to come, and he ran for the shower, then frantically blow-dried his
hair and then spent a half-hour picking out his clothes and another half-hour dithering over which pair of running shoes to wear.

  “You’re worse than Erica,” I said.

  “God, God,” he said, suddenly grabbing the car keys. “Got to get a present, got to get a card.”

  “Jimmy! We don’t have time!” I yelled from the front porch as he sprinted to the car. “We’re late already! And nothing’s open! Are you going to make me walk?”

  He waved as he drove away.

  “Thanks a lot!” I yelled.

  The party was at Frank’s brother’s house in one of the new subdivisions. Bib greeted me at the door and gave me a beer. Karaoke was in the living room with her cousin Ronny, who was resplendent in a tight leather micromini, and enough earrings and bracelets to set off a metal detector. Bib shook his head and said Ronny’s parents were freaking because she was now going through a biker-chick phase. Karaoke and Ronny were making tequila-puff shooters on the coffee table and slugging them back as if they were Kool-Aid.

  “Kids,” Bib said, shaking his head.

  “Ah, wise one. How old are you now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

  “I’m a hundred compared to them.”

  I laughed, turned around and caught Frank watching me. He came and stood beside his brother, smiling at me. “I didn’t see you come in.”

  “That’s not surprising,” Bib said. “You need glasses like—”

  “Like you need a beer,” Frank said, handing him a can. “There’s some pot in the kitchen. Karaoke doesn’t want it.”

  “Hey, thanks, bro,” Bib said, winking at me before he made his way through the crowd. Frank’s chin sank to his neck and his eyebrows crunched together as he studied me.

  “What? Why are you staring at me like that?” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I did something wrong.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then stop it.”

  He turned and glared at Karaoke instead. She was using the empty tequila bottle as a microphone and belting out a Janis Joplin song. Ronny told him to crank the tunes or Karaoke would sing again. He brought out the cake instead and we all sang “Happy Birthday.” Karaoke blew out her sixteen candles then grabbed a handful of cake and smeared it into Ronny’s face.

  “Watch the couch!” Bib roared as they threw cake at each other. “That’s real leather! Stop it!”

  Frank leaned against the wall, not saying anything.

  “I’m going to get another beer,” I said.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “You stay here and sulk. You seem to be enjoying it.” I walked away. I saw some people I knew from school on the back porch and went out to say hi. When I went back inside, Frank was gone. Karaoke was opening her presents, which were mostly booze. She opened every bottle she got and passed it around. I was too irritated to enjoy myself.

  The party wound down about midnight. I wondered if Jimmy had chickened out. It would be just as well if he did, I thought, since Karaoke was by now mostly toasted. She leaned against me at one point and said, “Pooch thought you were rea—rea—really special.”

  “Thanks,” I said, turning my head to avoid the fumes.

  “Josh-u-wa, wa-wa does too. He says you remind him of Mick, Michael, Michelle, elle.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to push her off. “That’s great. Thanks.”

  “You know,” she said. “I’m gonna kick his ass one of these days.”

  “Good,” I said, not caring who she was talking about. “I think he’s over there. Go get him.”

  Jimmy came through the door a few minutes later. He had two dozen long-stemmed red roses. He made a quick survey of the room, spotted me and casually strolled over.

  “Where on earth did you get those?” I said.

  “Rupert.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Is she still here?” he said, peering around.

  “Technically.” I looked into his very earnest face and pointed in the direction I’d last seen her go. I silently wished him luck. A few minutes later, I heard an unholy chorus of shrieks from the backyard. When I looked out the window, Karaoke and Ronny were pouring him tequila shots. Bib started kicking people out at one-thirty. I waited around for Jimmy to give me a ride home, but had to walk when I couldn’t find him.

  I had the worst headache. I took three aspirin and waited for the throbbing in my temples to ease. I drifted off when the sky started to lighten to grey. In my dream, Ma-ma-oo and I were driving in Mick’s truck down a logging road. She had her berry bucket on the seat beside her. We drove farther up the mountain until the trees started scratching the roof and sides. She pulled the truck to a stop and said, “Find mimayus.”

  He didn’t come home that night. Mom was pissed because he was supposed to take her to Terrace. Her mood wasn’t going to improve when she found out he’d ditched her to boogie with Adelaine, a girl who got her nickname from drunkenly monopolizing a karaoke machine with a switchblade. I wondered what Karaoke would do when Jimmy broke up with her. He said most of the girls knew when they met him that he wasn’t in it for anything serious. I wasn’t sure if he understood his effect on women. Still, she didn’t seem to be the kind of girl who would mourn for too long.

  Jimmy still hadn’t come home by evening, and Mom began to worry. She sat at the kitchen table until Dad came home, and then they sat together. I went over to Uncle Geordie’s and asked to borrow his car.

  The road turned off the Terrace highway near the municipal dump and snaked into the mountains. At first, the road was wide enough to turn around on, but then the trees crowded close and bushes sprouted along the centre. It was much more overgrown than when Ma-ma-oo had brought me there. The sun set. As I went farther up, I wondered if the dream had just been a dream, when I saw the sparkle from a fire up ahead. Jimmy stood in the centre of the road and waved. Behind him, Karaoke sat on the trunk of the car, wrapped in an aluminum emergency blanket, and rubbed sleep-encrusted eyes.

  “Jesus,” Jimmy said. “How the hell did you find us?”

  “Mom’s going nuts. Come on, get in.”

  “Hey,” Karaoke said.

  “Evening,” I said.

  Jimmy was in a gentle, silly mood, and that was out of character for him these days. He opened the back door for Karaoke and she clambered in, still wrapped in the blanket. He slammed the door shut and got in the other side. I backed the car up to a spot where the logging road widened. Jimmy put an arm over Karaoke’s shoulders. She rested her head against him and slept for the whole ride back. Jimmy brushed a stray lock of hair off her face.

  Mm-hmm, I thought as the car came to the turnaround place. I maneuvered the beast slowly around and we bumped down the mountain. Every few minutes, I’d peer into the rearview mirror and watch Jimmy watching Karaoke.

  The day I sketched my last art assignment, I decided to make dinner. Since I hadn’t cooked anything in years, I decided to stick to rice, canned fish and seaweed. I bought a cake at Safeway and stuck a Congratulations! candle on top. Jimmy asked if he could bring Karaoke. Still high from surviving the first half of grade eleven, I said enthusiastically, “Sure!”

  Mom and Dad exchanged a glance when Jimmy told them Karaoke was coming over. They sat beside each other at the table. We waited for her to show up. Jimmy stood by the window. I picked the skin off the salmon. Dad liked all of the salmon mushed together, but the rest of us could handle only the smaller bones and the dark flesh. As I was mixing in the mayonnaise and fancying the salmon up with pickles and carrots, Jimmy snapped to attention and I knew he’d seen her. He had that flushed, nervous look. When he opened the door for her, his smile was so bright that it could have powered a solar car.

  Karaoke herself was looking pale. She came in quietly, nodded to everyone and sat down, staring at her plate as if she expected to be chopped up and eaten herself. Jimmy made loud small talk about the weather.

  “Well, it’s ready!” I said, bringing the rice and fish to t
he table.

  “I don’t believe it,” Dad said, sitting back. “You cooked.”

  “Three years of home ec and I think I still burned the rice,” I said.

  “Mmm,” Jimmy said. “It’s crunchy too.”

  Mom and Karaoke were quiet through the whole meal. I think this was probably the smartest thing Karaoke ever did. Mom warmed up to her enough to ask if Karaoke’s mother was okay. Karaoke nodded. She excused herself from dessert, saying she had to watch her weight.

  I lit my candle and blew it out, glad that Mom hadn’t insulted Jimmy’s new girlfriend. If she had, Jimmy would’ve spent the summer not talking to her. Karaoke wandered out onto the back porch for a smoke. I went up and stood beside her. She stared out at the grass. “We used to live here. Our old house was a few feet away from your smokehouse. All this was marsh. In the summer, you could hear the frogs.”

  “I remember that,” I said. We smoked. Jimmy came and leaned over Karaoke. They began kissing, so I went back into the kitchen and helped Mom load the dishwasher. She pursed her lips.

  “Looks like you’re going to get grandkids after all,” I said.

  “Bite your tongue.”

  “Love is blind,” Dad said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I married you, didn’t I?”

  She gave him a withering look. “Men.”

  “You weren’t exactly an angel yourself,” Dad said.

  “Maybe a snow angel,” I said.

  They looked at me, startled. Dad grinned.

  “Who’ve you been talking to now?” Mom said, irritated.

  “Mick told me. He said you got toasted and made snow angels on—”

  “Na’,” she said. “Mick and his big mouth.”

  “How long ago was that? Thirty years?” Dad said, kissing her.

  Mom decided to scrub the stove. Recognizing the signs, I left the kitchen and headed back to my room. As I sat at my desk, I wondered how serious Jimmy was about Karaoke. With all the other girls, they did the phoning, they did the picking up and dropping off, they arranged the places to meet. Jimmy simply went along with them. Karaoke hadn’t called once. He called her every night. He went over to her house and drove her around. The weeks turned into their one-month anniversary. Mom’s expression went sour when he mentioned her name, which was every five minutes when he was home.

 

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