Leap

by Jodi Lundgren

  Dear Dad,

  I’ve tried so hard not to miss you. I’ve tried so hard not to care. I’m tired of hoping and waiting. You don’t love me. You never will.

  From the board, the Bio teacher took in my glassy stare; he probably thought I’d smoked weed at lunch. But I was low, not high. After class, I dragged myself down the hall like there were ten-pound weights in my shoes.

  Wednesday, September 15th

  School’s not the same without Sasha.

  Quitting Dance-Is has left a big hole in my life.

  Kevin has vanished.

  Mom has changed.

  And now Dad is leaving us behind—again.

  After dinner, I went to my room and pulled out a pad of paper. I needed to get it all out once and for all.

  Dear Dad,

  Weddings are supposed to be joyful, and I wish I felt happy for you and Vi. But I don’t.

  There are things I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, and I can’t hold them back anymore. Here goes. I wish you didn’t live so far away and that I got to see more of you. I wish I didn’t always have to be the one to phone. It makes me feel like I don’t matter to you. Even when I visit you, I feel much less important to you than your work. You haven’t been around to see me grow up and it makes me very sad. I miss you.

  Now that you’re marrying Vi, I’m scared I’ll see you even less. I’m scared you’ll have other kids and give them the love and attention I should have received. You’ll never leave Ontario and you’ll forget about Paige and me.

  I want the disappointment to end and the pain to stop.

  I quit writing when a teardrop rolled off my cheek and landed splat on the page. It was so long since I’d written to Dad. I gave up trying to reach him years ago. As I re-read the letter, I cried harder, knowing I would never send it. It was hopeless trying to speak to him from the heart.

  Mom knocked. “Nat? Are you all right?”

  I blew my nose in response.

  “Can I come in?”

  “If you want.” I must have sounded pathetic.

  I let her read the letter, and she hugged me. “I’m sorry for all of this hurt.” She rocked me in her arms. “But, Nat, one thing is for sure: your father loves you and Paige very much.” It felt as if she’d hugged me again when she said that. I tried to ignore the voice inside that grumbled: cliché, bullshit.

  It would have been better if Mom stopped there, but she continued. “When he doesn’t call you or spend time with you, I know it’s hard, but you have to try not to take it personally. He’s a workaholic and, unfortunately, he doesn’t properly appreciate the value of human relationships.”

  Anger flared up again and I pulled away. “But that’s my point! How can he think of bringing more children into the world when he doesn’t value the ones he already has?”

  She shook her head and stared at the carpet, then lifted her chin. “All I can think is that making a commitment to Vi has changed him. That they’re moving from a dating phase into more of a family phase.” She reached to tuck my hair behind my ear, something she hasn’t done since I was a kid. “You and Paige might actually benefit from it, you know. They dropped everything to come and see you dance in Vancouver, didn’t they?”

  “Uh-huh.” I wasn’t convinced, but I’d moped enough for one night.

  “Why don’t we make a batch of brownies?” Mom said.

  “Did I hear someone say brownies?” Paige popped her head into my room. She has a sixth sense when it comes to chocolate. “I want to help!”

  I closed the pad of paper and set it on my desk. “When you say, ‘help,’ you mean, ‘lick the bowl,’ right?” I tousled Paige’s hair and she ducked out from under my hand.

  By the time I brought a plate of brownies and a glass of milk back to my room, my letter-writing mood had passed. I tucked the pad away in my bottom drawer.

  Thursday, September 16th

  Every time I leave school, I scan the cars at the curb. If there’s a brown one, my heart palpitates. I don’t particularly want Kevin hunting me down after school. That’s why I told him to call me. But I don’t enjoy having a minor panic attack every time the phone rings either. I never know where he’s staying or how to reach him. There’s nothing to do but wait.

  Friday, September 17th

  The girls played grass hockey in PE today. We had to run up and down a muddy field with big wooden sticks, chasing a ball and blocking each other. I don’t mind the idea of hitting balls—golf, tennis, ping pong, croquet—these are all civilized games. But why divide a class into enemy camps and make them charge at each other?

  The teacher assigned us to teams and positions. Jamie played offensive forward on my side. Claire, a fullback, opposed us. My position—left wing—no doubt had to do with my size (small) and ability (poor). I faced off against Sara, a red-haired girl about my height and weight. When the ball finally came our way, I accidentally whacked her on the shins, really hard. There weren’t enough shin pads to go around, and she wasn’t wearing any. She yelped and my stomach turned. The teacher ran up, followed by Jamie and other attackers.

  “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I said.

  Sara was hopping on one leg, her face drawn in pain.

  The teacher said, “Don’t apologize. It’s part of the game.”

  Jamie thumped her stick on the ground. “It’s our team you have to worry about, not the other guys.”

  The teacher blew the whistle and everyone swarmed off before I could respond. Even Sara limped away.

  I cannot believe I am being taught to physically harm people and not feel bad about it. Did I accidentally sign up for military school? Are we in training for the battlefield? Whack someone on the other team today; kill someone from the Middle East tomorrow?

  At the end of class, the teacher reminded us that we needed to either sign up to teach a class or choose a paper topic by the end of next week. Claire eyed me from the other side of the field, but I pretended not to see.

  She caught up to me as I was ducking out of the change room. I was still shaken up, and as we left the school I told her what had happened. “I was forced to be violent! It goes against my beliefs. Maybe I can launch a protest. I conscientiously object to grass hockey!”

  Claire’s cheeks quivered. It looked like she was suppressing a smile.

  “I should have known you wouldn’t understand!” I scissored my legs to outstrip her. “You probably like spiking the volleyball into people’s faces. It probably gives you a thrill.”

  Claire sped up and grabbed my arm. “Slow down a sec.”

  I looked back at the school. The grass hockey field was receding into the distance. I relaxed my pace.

  “You’re making a good point,” she said, “but I’m the only one hearing it. Don’t you think some of the other kids in the class might be feeling the same way? What about the girl you hit?”

  “Sara.” I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “She’s going to have a massive bruise.”

  “Right. Sara is probably thinking she hates sports too. But, unlike you, she might be thinking that she hates being active altogether because team sports are all she’s ever been exposed to.” Claire twisted her upper body to face me as we walked, her arms raised and her hands splayed. “Don’t you think people like Sara deserve to know about other types of physical activity? Don’t you think Sara deserves a dance lesson?” As we reached an intersection, kids waiting to cross the street turned their heads at her raised voice.

  It was my turn to choke back a laugh. “Since when did you hire a speech writer?”

  Claire dropped her arms and slapped the sides of her legs. “How’d I do?”

  The light changed, and we crossed. “Pretty good. But I don’t feel ready to teach. I’m not confident enough in myself to enc
ourage other people.”

  “I can see the obituary now.” She spread her hands in the air as if framing a billboard: “After an unfortunate incident in her Grade 10 PE class, Sara chose a life of inactivity. This led to her untimely death. If only she had stayed active, she might still be alive today. Instead of flowers, please send donations to the Y.”

  I laughed. Claire must have been born confident. My insecurities carried no weight with her. “You really are playing dirty, my friend.”

  “Besides, Nat, you don’t have to face the class alone. We’ll do it together—that’s the whole idea.”

  I agreed to think about it on one condition: she had to consider taking classes with me at Eastside. We shook hands on it.

  Lance starts teaching next week. Maybe he will inspire me.

  Wednesday, September 22nd

  Kevin finally called. “Are you free on Friday night?” He might have been a skydiving instructor shouting Jump! while I huddled inside a plane. The receiver slipped in my hand. My heart pounded. I swallowed and said, “Yes.”

  After I hung up, the adrenaline wore off and crabbiness set in. At dinner, Mom asked if I would babysit on Friday.

  “I have plans.”

  She looked super disappointed. Apparently, Marine has a piece of art in a group show that opens in Nanaimo this weekend. “I promised to be there.”

  I gripped my fork and knife. “You should have checked with me before you made promises.”

  Paige spoke up. “You don’t need to worry. I have plans too.”

  Guilt tugged at me for acting like Paige was a burden. Mom’s face mirrored how I felt.

  “I’m having a sleepover at Jessica’s.”

  “That’s great, honey!” Mom squeezed Paige’s shoulder. “That’ll give you a chance to use your new overnight suitcase, the one that Vi bought for you.”

  I wish she’d left Vi out of it. The mention of her name soured my mood even more. I pushed my chair back from the table.

  “Aren’t you going to finish your lasagna?” Mom said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  From the kitchen, I overheard Mom filling Paige in about teenagers, hormones, and moodiness. Ha. If she only knew.

  Thursday, September 23rd

  Today was my first day of modern class.

  Lance faced us at the front of the studio. A short, sixty-year-old man in forest green sweat pants and bare feet, he pressed his shoulders back like a matador’s, lengthened his spine, and held his head high.

  He told us how to carry ourselves. “Imagine your line of vision as a searchlight that pierces the dark and reaches all the way to the horizon.” Like a superhero with X-ray eyes, he swiveled his head at a slow, even pace.

  In between exercises, he told stories. The life lessons went right over the head of some of the girls, but I ate them up. “Everyone has passion when they’re young, but so many people get red lights, whether from teachers or parents or even from other kids. The spirit is tender and easily crushed by ridicule and rejection. People say, ‘You have to develop a thick skin,’ like it’s a necessary life skill. But what happens to sensitivity when you thicken your skin? What happens to passion? They get buried. You see so many people on the bus, behind the counter at the store, and they’re just going through the motions. They’re dead behind the eyes, they’ve stopped truly living years before. And you wonder, who could that person be if they’d been given green lights instead of red?”

  Lance teaches in order to shine a green light—the opposite of Ms. Kelly. All those years of her bootcamp-style instruction didn’t strengthen me; they just built up my defenses. Now, my confidence is slowly growing from the inside out. Lance still corrects us—he believes in precision—but I don’t leave his class doubting my self-worth, the way I often used to do. In his class, we dance to celebrate movement. We’ve been given beautiful instruments—our bodies—and now we are learning to play.

  When I got home from Lance’s class tonight, Claire called to find out my decision about teaching, since tomorrow’s the deadline. “Okay,” I said. “I give in. But you better do most of the talking!”

  Friday, September 24th, night, pre-date

  Mom approached me after school today when I was fixing my afternoon snack. Paige was packing her overnight bag upstairs. Mom asked how I would feel if she stayed overnight in Nanaimo tonight.

  My guts seized up.

  “It’s only because Paige is going to be at a sleepover, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.” She looked worried. “I really don’t like crossing the Malahat in the dark. I was going to do it anyway, but they’re predicting rain. That means there’ll be a terrible glare on the road. I would feel so much safer getting a motel room.”

  I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to drive at night over the mountain north of Victoria: The highway is narrow, winding, and unlit. But her plan stressed me out. “Can’t you get a ride with Marine?”

  “She’s staying over too.” Mom blushed and added, “The curator is putting her up.”

  I didn’t want to have the house to myself. Not on a night when I was going out with Kevin for the first time in six weeks. I didn’t want the responsibility. Parents are supposed to be there as a buffer so you don’t have to face situations you’re not ready to handle. My God! Didn’t she learn that the last time?

  She was looking at me with such a hopeful expression, like I was the parent and she was asking permission.

  “Let me think about it.”

  She backed up a few steps and bumped into the table. “Sure. Take your time.” She crossed the room, moved a mug from the dish rack to the cupboard, turned in a circle, and fell to sorting the mail.

  I considered my options as I chopped celery and sliced cheddar cheese:

  1) Say No, I’m not comfortable staying on my own, and have Mom miss the art show and mope around, lovesick and frustrated. Or, worse, have her drive late at night over the Malahat, hit a deer, and total Kermit.

  2) Say Yes, have the house to myself, and be taken advantage of by Kevin.

  I forgot what I was doing and sliced almost the whole block of cheese. Considering Option 2 made me break out in a nervous sweat. Should I cancel my date and stay home alone? That didn’t seem fair either. I packaged up the extra cheese and replaced it. The fridge door smacked and I spun around, inspired:

  3) Say Yes, and not let Kevin know that I have the house to myself.

  Ah yes. The Third Way!

  “Okay, Mom.”

  She dropped a stack of envelopes on the floor just as Paige wheeled her new bag into the kitchen. Mom bent over to pick up the mail and when she straightened, the blood had rushed to her head. “Honey, I’m going to stay over in Nanaimo tonight.” She sounded a little out of breath.

  Paige searched my face. “So Nat will be here all by herself!”

  A sob caught in my throat. How could Mom be so oblivious when Paige empathized right away?

  “That’s not very fun,” Paige continued. “Too bad you’re not having a sleepover, Nat.”

  I tried to reassure them. But why have we gone our separate ways again so soon? What happened to family night on Friday, with pizza and a video? Would it be any different if Paige and I were living with Dad and Vi, a normal couple, rather than with a woman going through her second adolescence at forty-two?

  2:00 a.m.

  I can’t fucking believe it. Going to shower.

  Saturday, September 25th, morning, Con Brio

  Biked here at 7:30 a.m. It didn’t open till 8 a.m. Manager eyed me suspiciously when he opened up. Probably thought I was a street kid who’d been loitering there all night.

  Sipping latte. Warm. Medicinal.

  Where to start?

  Does it matter? Is there any point reflecting on all this stuff? I thought I was changing, I thou
ght I was gaining control of my life. Then I repeat the same damn mistakes. Well, not exactly the same.

  The evening started okay. Bussed to meet Kevin at the house where he’s staying. He came to the door and asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. “My roommate’s home.” I couldn’t tell whether we were giving the roommate his privacy, or seeking our own. We cut across the street to a small neighborhood park. Kevin led the way to the playground. He gestured like a butler to the equipment: “See-saw, madam?”

  We teetered back and forth for a while, and then he planted his butt on the ground and trapped me up high. Because he’s so much heavier, I couldn’t get down. He smirked and chewed grass. When I demanded that he let me down, he faked a move to get up all at once, which would have made me crash to the ground. My stomach curled in fear. That was it.

  I twisted my head, gauged the five-foot drop, gripped the seat with my hands, and flung myself backwards. I landed on my feet and staggered only a bit before I stormed to the water fountain. Kevin ran after me. “Sorry, Nat! It was only a joke.”

  I leaned over the drinking fountain, cranked the handle, filled my mouth with water, and spat at him.

  “Hey!” He jumped backwards and pulled his spattered T-shirt away from his body. He looked stunned, but shook himself out of it. “Are we even now?”

  I pursed my mouth. “We’ll see.”

  Back at the house, his roommate (and boss?), the owner of the little brown car, was sunk in an armchair watching Japanese cartoons. I asked if he understood Japanese, and he shook his head, then a grin split his face. “Doesn’t matter.” He had a couple of dead teeth.

  He asked if we wanted to smoke a bowl. I shook my head but Kevin said sure, then offered me a beer. I didn’t want to be called a “suck” again, so I accepted a bottle. We watched the cartoon until I started to zone out, maybe from the secondhand smoke.

  “What do you think, Nat, want to go clubbing?”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. I’m fifteen, remember?

  “You can see how the nightlife here compares to Vancouver.”

  “When I was in Vancouver, I borrowed someone’s ID.”