Rabbit Ears

by Maggie De Vries

  Beth falls into step beside you. “What happened back there?” she asks, her voice almost too low to hear. “It’s him, right? Grimsby.”

  You appreciate that she leaves off the Mister. He doesn’t deserve it. But you still want to shut her up. That one word, the A word, is as far as you’re able to go right now. Now that you’ve said it, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to say it again. You try out a nod, a small one.

  She seems to know enough to stay quiet after that. Or maybe she’s scared too.

  How does she know anyway? How have all these people come together? Jane and Samantha are hangers-on, but the rest of them have only one thing in common. Or two: you. And Grimsby.

  It’s a bit of a walk Michelle takes you on, and she does so in her typical fashion, out in front, fast.

  You see several people you know as you walk down Hastings, then Main, and Cordova. Several double takes, as they try to make sense of your company. There’s the Army & Navy store coming up on your left. Great place for cheap boots and clothes. On your right, a series of doors are set back from the street under an overhang. All the way along, people have laid out sleeping bags, even pitched small tents. Collections of stuff are everywhere. The doors are glass, barred. One of them is covered in signs and posters, and that is the door Michelle opens and enters.

  You stop at the sight of your own face; it’s looking out at you from the poster in the window to the right of the door. Right beside it is a poster of Sarah. Your hand rises from your side to tear down your picture, but the sheet of paper is stuck on the other side of the glass. Your hand falls back, and you gaze at Sarah’s face and yours, side by side. She looks a bit like you, Sarah does. You fight off tears and crazy mother-daughter fantasies. Sarah is gone. And she is not your mother.

  You look at the pictures some more, and something inside you rises up. You do not want to be a face in a “missing” poster. You do not want to be where Sarah is now. Sarah knew that. She tried to tell you. Go home, she said. They could be me. They could be you.

  You know, deep down inside, that Sarah is dead.

  An image flashes into your mind: your heels scrabbling in the gravel while that man tightens his grip on your throat. You never want to be there again. You never, ever want “they” to be you.

  You walk through the door and tear your own poster down, leaving Sarah’s all alone.

  Inside, a woman comes toward you, surprise on her face, as six of you crowd through the door behind Michelle. You look around. Diana’s face is a mask. Beth looks bruised, her round cheeks pale, eyes kind of sunken. Marlene stands straight, shoulders back, at the ready. Jane’s back is pressed against the door, her expression a mix of fear and disgust.

  You see the place through Jane’s eyes. It’s a drop-in, kind of rundown, but friendly, a basket of condoms on the counter, a battered couch nearby. You’ve never been here yourself, but you know. It’s a place for sex workers. Where they can get help. Your brain hiccups, slots in “you” for “they.”

  Samantha stands next to Jane, but her face shows only compassion. She has her hand on Jane’s arm, and you feel a sob of longing in your throat as you recognize her protectiveness.

  “Can I help you?” a voice says, and you turn to see the startled woman who stands now at the top of the three steps that lead up from the entry area.

  Michelle is striding up those steps, and you see the recognition. “Raven,” Michelle says, and Raven bursts into a grin.

  Raven is black, much blacker than you, and elegant and strong and beautiful. You like her instantly. “Michelle! You look great!” she says. And they embrace.

  An outreach worker, you guess. Your knees buckle slightly, and a hand grasps your elbow—Beth’s. She gestures with her head, and together the two of you step forward and climb the stairs.

  There are so many people to be managed, you realize, and at the same time there is something dreadful to track down and force out into the open. Your sickness is rising.

  “I want to call my mother,” Jane says suddenly, interrupting whatever Michelle is saying to Raven.

  Another woman has joined them from a backroom and she whisks Jane off, presumably to help her do that.

  You see your own fear mirrored on Diana’s face. “No mothers,” she says.

  And you agree, ill at the thought of your mother’s eyes on you, her feelings looping through you, tangling everything even tighter than it already is. You’re not ready for that. Yet. Having Beth here is hard enough.

  “Michelle,” you say suddenly, your voice sharp. “Jane can’t tell about us.”

  Michelle abandons Raven, goes off in search of Jane, who is probably already weeping on the phone, begging her mother for a ride, probably telling her everything in one big rush.

  Raven turns to the five of you who are left. “Let’s sit down,” she says. She ushers you into a room with a big round table, and fetches apple juice while you arrange yourselves.

  You gulp the juice, your body screaming for sugar—and something stronger. You probably have half an hour of sanity left before you start shaking and vomiting.

  Raven is looking at you; she knows exactly where you’re at. You can see it. You find that you trust it.

  “Now, tell me why you’re here,” she says quietly as she closes the door. She addresses no one in particular, avoids eye contact.

  You are surprised, but grateful, when Marlene speaks first.

  “It’s my grandpa,” she says. “I think he hurt them.” She pauses, as if it takes great effort to spit out the next word, the more precise one. Finally, “Abused them,” she says. “Kaya and Diana.”

  Samantha has her hand on Beth’s arm, but Beth seems oblivious to her. All her attention is fixed on you. You hold her gaze for a long moment after Marlene falls silent.

  Speak, her eyes say. Tell.

  You turn back to Raven.

  “Yes,” you say at last. “Her grandfather. Mr. Grimsby. He abused us.”

  They feel like the biggest words ever spoken. They are certainly the biggest words ever spoken by you. And with them said, you find, you are done. You can say no more.

  Raven sees it immediately, the nausea taking over, your addiction demanding its next meal. She moves you to a couch, where she can talk just to you, and she tells you that you need a bed, that you need to go into a treatment centre today.

  “There’s no point,” she says, “to stretching this out. You need to get off the drugs so you can deal with the abuse. Your best chance is now.” She pauses, as if considering. Then, “You’ve seen the posters. You know what’s happening to women down here.”

  You think of Sarah on the swings, Sarah lighting the candle in front of the stone. They could be me. They could be you.

  You nod, ever so slightly.

  “What’s that?” Raven says.

  “All right,” you whisper.

  Beth calls Mom after that and she comes. And she cries and so do you. You’re pretty sick, by then.

  Raven will take you to the detox centre herself, she says. And you run to the toilet to throw up one more time before you go.

  Beth

  Calling Mom that night is rough: getting up the nerve, waiting while it rings. She’s brisk on the phone. “Tell me where you are. I’ll be right there.”

  I wait for her on that couch by the door, while Kaya stays in back with Diana and Michelle. Jane’s mother sweeps Jane and Samantha away in the meantime. Turns out Jane got her call in before Michelle had a chance to stop her.

  Mom arrives strong, but there’s something about her shoulders and her cheeks, as if the bones in her back and her face have melted a bit and sunken down. She hugs me and holds me away from her and looks into my face.

  “You’re all right,” she says, and I bite my tongue on a wailed No, I’m not. I’m not. She doesn’t need that right now.

  “Where is she?” she says.

  Raven brings Kaya out then, and Mom wraps her arms around Kaya without a word and without looking into her
face like she did into mine. It’s like she doesn’t want to see what’s there. Not yet. She just wants to hold her messed-up daughter in her arms.

  “I’m taking her to treatment tonight,” Raven says to Mom. “I’ve found her a bed.” She hesitates. “If that’s all right with you.”

  Mom nods, still holding my sister tight.

  In the end, Kaya has to wriggle herself free. “I’ve got to go, Mom,” she says.

  So we go home without her, yet again. And despite the fact that Marlene and Michelle are in the back seat of the car, Mom cries all the way. Tears drip off her chin. At the red lights, the sobs turn to wails.

  I watch the tears, the scrunched-up face, and wonder about the big cold space inside my chest. When I’m alone in my room … I think to myself. When I’m alone I’ll cry.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kaya

  You stand in the grungy little bathroom and splash cold water on your face, doing your best to keep your eyes off the tiny mirror above the sink. Your makeup is gone. One whole side of your face is black and blue. Your side aches from throwing up with bruised ribs.

  And you remember.

  You first found out about Mr. Grimsby one day when you were playing in the ravine with Diana. You were in Grade Three then, and it was early in the year. Diana kept stopping that day, like she needed to be somewhere else. The two of you had blocked a tiny creek and a pond was forming. You were looking for something to serve as a boat. And you looked up and Diana was still.

  “What are you doing? Help me find a piece of wood that will float properly,” you said.

  “I … I have to go,” Diana replied.

  “You have to go where?” That’s when she told you. She wasn’t ashamed yet, so the story came out easily. He had just moved in on the street behind hers, stepped across the lane and introduced himself, a cane in his hand and a hat on his head.

  “And he did a handstand, right in our backyard, even though he’s old!” Diana said, lingering on the word old. “He invited us to visit, me and my sisters, and I went. All by myself.” She sounded proud of herself at this point: she, the youngest. “He served real tea, in china cups. And the prettiest little cookies. His friend made them. Jennifer. His housekeeper, I think she is. And you should see inside his house. Lots of kids play there. They do projects and things. Outside too. He has this toy car you can actually drive. But he invited me in for tea! He doesn’t do that for everybody.”

  You wondered about the story a little bit. Going into the house. “Isn’t that dangerous?” you asked. “Going into his house alone, I mean.”

  “Oh, it’s not alone. Jennifer’s there. And besides, Mom and Dad met him. Remember?”

  “Right.” You had to admit, it sounded fun. Not so much the tea and cookies, but the toy car. And the handstand. You loved doing gymnastics, but you hadn’t mastered the handstand yet and you had never seen a grown man do one except on TV.

  Diana left that day, and you stayed and found just the right bit of wood, and launched it on the pond, but it wasn’t much fun, really, after all that. And you soon felt wet and cold.

  When you arrived home, you turned the door handle and pushed, letting the door open slowly, silently. If you could just sneak into your room, wet and muddy as you were, you could relax for a bit. Draw maybe. Or write, even.

  The house seemed quiet at first, and you put a foot on the bottom step. Your room was right at the top. Then, there was Mom in the front hall, hair kind of wild, eyes flashing.

  “You’re filthy. Where have you been?” She was like that sometimes, on top of you out of the blue. Furious. Just as often, it took no effort to sneak past her to the safety of your room. You had no idea why. You didn’t know then that Dad was sick.

  “In the ravine,” you responded, “with Diana.” Mom didn’t need to know that Diana had gone away and you stayed there all alone.

  The day you went to Mr. G’s with Diana, it was because of rain, and also because of the box. She had come to the ravine unwillingly, because you had wheedled. You were making a sort of a house now, with rooms, up on a flat place above the creek, under a tree. No, not a house, you told your friend. “A fort. That’s the river, rushing by. Many have drowned there. And here is the fort, well guarded.”

  Diana got into it a bit, finding pieces of wood to make the walls, assigning areas for sleeping, for cooking, for eating. But then it started to rain. At first it didn’t make it through the trees, but soon drips were finding their way down the neck of your shirt.

  She stopped and looked at you. A serious look.

  “What?” you said, putting down the piece of the south wall that you had been wrestling into place.

  “Today you should come,” she said.

  “Come where?” You knew perfectly well.

  “To see him. Look. Look what he gave me.”

  Diana held out her hand, and you stepped forward, and breathed a long breath of wonder, lifting your fingers to touch. She was holding a tiny golden box, painted with the most delicate, astonishing scene you had ever seen. A swan glided across smooth water, leaving a long triangular wake. Over and under the swan a willow tree grew and reflected, and on the sloping shore beneath the tree, a girl sat in a white dress, knees drawn up, arms circling them, entranced by the same vision that was entrancing you.

  With two fingers, Diana pressed on the edge of the lid, and the scene was broken as the box opened, revealing its blue velvet lining, fat and inviting.

  She looked up at you, smiling. “I’m going to keep my best necklace inside,” she said. “He gave it to me. It’s mine.” And, “I told him all about you, and he officially invited you. Officially,” she repeated.

  A tree branch shifted under the rain’s weight and a small torrent fell right on your head. You swiped at your face with a dirty hand as Diana clicked the lid down and whisked the box to the safety of her pocket.

  “All right,” you said. “I’ll come.”

  His first words to the pair of you were “What a pair of ragamuffins!” His accent was funny, precise. Snooty, you might have called it. He had white hair and a soft, clean-shaven face, with big pale eyes. His smile was full of warmth and humour, despite the snooty accent. His teeth were big and white and straight. He was so old, they were probably fake, you thought. Ragamuffins might sound like an insult, but it didn’t feel like one. It felt as if he loved nothing better than to welcome a pair of damp, muddy girls into his neat-and-tidy house.

  Diana beamed up at him. “Mr. Grimsby, this is Kaya,” she said. Then she turned her beaming face on you. “Kaya, this is Mr. Grimsby. I told you he wouldn’t mind that we’re all muddy. You don’t, do you, Mr. Grimsby?”

  His smile widened. “Not at all. Lovely to meet you, Kaya. We’ll get the two of you cleaned up straightaway. Please leave your shoes by the door, and hang your coats on those hooks.”

  It turned out that everything Diana had told you was true. After you cleaned up in the guest bathroom, with pretty embroidered guest washcloths and towels, Mr. Grimsby poured out tea from a silver pot into tiny china cups. He served homemade cookies.

  He bustled in and out of the kitchen, looking very proper, you thought. His shirt had long sleeves and a collar, and kind of a crisp look to it. His pants were crisp too, and his shoes had laces and gleamed. He wore reading glasses on a string around his neck. His hair was long and wispy, not neat like all the rest of him.

  “Can I show Kaya the toys now?” Diana asked when you had barely swallowed the last bite of your first cookie. “And the other boxes?”

  She showed you toys unlike any you had ever seen, let alone been free to play with. But best of all was the man himself. He asked questions and listened to the answers, his head cocked just a bit. He wanted to know about Mom and Dad and Beth. He wanted to know about Grade Three, about your teacher, about other students. He wanted to know about your passions. He was fascinated by your tales of what you and Diana were creating in the ravine.

  Diana bubbled over with excit
ement, showing you paintings and dolls and a dollhouse filled with tiny perfect furniture and quilts on the beds, instructing you to tell him about this and him to tell you about that. She told her own stories as well, and answered his questions about things that had happened since her last visit.

  After a bit, Mr. Grimsby stopped asking questions and smiling at everything you said. He asked you to set the dollhouse straight, and then he told you that it was time to go home. Just you. “Diana has a bit of tidying to do from last time she was here,” he said quietly. “You take yourself off now, dear, but do feel free to come for another visit soon!”

  You were surprised to find yourself walking down the sidewalk all alone, surprised and kind of deflated, empty inside. At home, Dad was in bed. One of his bad days. And nobody even asked you where you had been. Not that you had any intention of telling. You were pretty sure what that would lead to: No, no and no.

  You planned to keep Mr. G all to yourself, and a whole week passed before you had a chance to go back.

  He was in his front garden, pulling weeds and pruning roses. “Good morning, Kaya,” he said when you got his attention. He smiled up at you and then you saw him see your face, really see it. He struggled to his feet. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

  Your face dissolved then. You hated the feel of it. The wobbling chin, the squinching cheeks and eyes. You knew just what it looked like, how pathetic it was. Mom had always huffed her impatience when your face did those things.

  Mr. Grimsby didn’t huff. He invited you in. He got you to sit in one of the big fancy chairs at the dining table with a little stool for your feet so you would be comfortable. He made tea, and gave it to you in a flowered cup edged in gold with lots of milk and sugar stirred in. Then he asked you all about it. You talked and talked and he looked at you and listened and his eyes even filled up with tears when you told about how sick your dad was. How Mom had told you, finally, that he had cancer.