Under Her Skin

by Stephen Law

  Flee. Not just ‘take off from an uncomfortable family gathering,’ not ‘walk away,’ but leave home and country. Escape. Maybe there was more to his parkour sessions than just connecting with kids in the neighbourhood.

  “Dad left to find work. He couldn’t find anything here. Not a lot of openings for brown-skinned refugees. He went to Toronto and later Vancouver. But mom wouldn’t relent. She let him go.”

  “And now?”

  “He visits. We all stay in touch. But it’s not like before.”

  Scanning the horizon, Shaz thought about what the sea brought in, and what it took away again. She tried to imagine what it would have been like to be on a cramped boat, stuck in a squall on a dark night, with little food. Then to arrive here, with all that entailed.

  She swept her foot through the rock pool. At church, people were baptized in water. A purification. A regeneration. A clean start.

  Searching his eyes for permission, she bent down to remove his shoes, like the first time they’d met. “May I?”

  He didn’t resist, so she undid the laces, pulled on the heel, and put the shoes and socks aside. Palming his feet, she transferred the warmth of her hands onto his toes. Raising his feet to her chest, she braced them near her heart, and rolled his pants to below his knee. Rashid sat, holding himself still, arms stretched out behind him, locked in support. Lowering his legs onto her lap, she scooped sea water from the pool and dribbled it onto his skin so that it ran down his ankle. She rubbed the water onto his foot, leg, back of his calf. When she had coated one foot, she moved to the other.

  When she was done, he moved to take her hand, perhaps to hold, but she raised it and said, “Hush.” Dipping her ring finger in the water, she rubbed it along her lip, as though applying balm to the skin. Gently lowering his feet, she encouraged him to draw forward.

  “Now taste it.” He leaned in and brushed his lips to hers. She pressed closer, opening further. Hesitancy gave way to curiosity, heat to hunger. Their tongues searched for common ground, encircled, probing.

  They released and she looked out upon the ocean, then back to him. She offered her hand and they rose together and descended off the rock. She led him to where the sand met the sea.

  “You need a better introduction,” she said.

  With fingers linked she led him out into the water.

  ***

  RASHID WAS SITTING ON a bench outside the library, on a break. She’d brought him coffee, with just enough cream to turn it from black to brown. Shaz paid attention and he nodded in appreciation. It was a bit of risk, arriving unannounced, but he’d done it first, she reasoned, so it should be okay.

  Another overcast day. It was balmy, but the cloud cover kept the joy away.

  Dropping in to see him was an attempt at sparking happiness after a succession of dreary days. They agreed they were dating, but they were still taking things slow.

  “Do you feel like a father?”

  The chitchat was part of the puzzle, to see how he fit together, what he looked like when all the pieces were in place.

  “Waking up in the middle of the night to scare away the beasts that hide behind the curtains. Cleaning up vomit after a popcorn, hotdogs, nachos and orange pop binge. Curling up to read a book together. Wiping bums. Helping with homework. Teaching manners, and customs and history, if that is being a father,” he paused, “then I’m the uncle.” He checked to make sure she was smiling. “No, just kidding. I do all that, of course, but they call me Uncle.”

  Pretty much everything he mentioned, uncle or no, were things her father had never once done.

  “Come over for dinner and you can meet them all yourself.”

  She hadn’t seen that coming. It had just been idle chatter, an attempt to get to know him better. She definitely had not been angling for an invite. Beach walks, hiking, being out and about around town, at her place — yes. But, meeting the family? No. Bringing the tattoo artist home to meet the family had never gone well.

  “Too soon,” she said, patting his knee. She hoped he’d understand it was nothing personal.

  “Not for me,” he said.

  Squinting against the non-existent sun in her eyes, she said, “I can’t, really. There’s a gala at Anna Leonowens gallery this weekend.”

  “I’m not talking about the weekend.” He lifted his hand to her chin, to spin her back towards him. “I meant tonight.”

  Scanning the mural created by kids on the side of the YMCA, she stretched around and noted the low-income apartment buildings that buttressed the library. If she remained quiet, she reasoned, it would get uncomfortable and maybe the idea would get dropped.

  An abandoned empty lot across the road served as a free parking spot in what had once been an inner-city grocery store. It’d been torn down and, so far, nothing had replaced it.

  Rashid waited.

  Wrecking ball, here she comes. Shaz opened her mouth and said, “Okay.”

  ***

  SHE WONDERED ON THE way if she’d be able to eat.

  “Nice to meet you,” his mother said as she arrived. Shaz remembered her from the day they passed by on the sidewalk. Shaz waited for some kind of mutual recognition, but she was hustled in and along. “Come in, come in.” The woman didn’t seem fazed at all by the horror she was setting loose in her home.

  With Rashid poised in the hall, she noticed the kids, standing behind him, peeking around, trying to get a better look at her. She had cousins who were like pinballs when you went over to visit. They would all talk to her at once, ideas and energy ricocheting everywhere. She wondered how long it would take these two to relax and how easily they would be contained.

  “I’m Toshe.”

  The eldest snuck around and Rashid attempted to restrain the other one as he strained forward, but he was too late. The other one burst through. “I’m Boyden, I’m Boyden!” Jumping up and down, he shouted his name.

  Toshe grabbed Shaz’s hand. “Let me show you my room.” Rashid moved to intercept, but Shaz waved him off, gladly following the girl down the hall. Kids took you at face value, and there were no signals to interpret or impressions to divine. Plus, it put off interrogations with the adults.

  Toshe’s attempt to close the door to her bedroom to keep her brother out failed. Boyden pushed his way in and scrambled up onto the bed.

  Not at all girly, the room was decorated in muted colours. Shaz looked at the anti-aging facial cream and deep relief pain gel on the dresser alongside a jar of rainbow loom bands and a smattering of barrettes.

  “I share with Paati,” Toshe said.

  Rashid was monitoring from the doorway, to give her an escape if she needed one. He shrugged. “Three-bedroom apartment. Boyden and I share a room, my mom and Toshe, and Varunesh, my brother gets his own, in order to study.”

  Shaz had never had to share as a kid, or once she moved out on her own for that matter. She wondered what it would be like to have to negotiate lights out and closet space on a regular basis with someone more permanent than a one-nighter.

  Stealing up to her, the little guy touched the dots on her arm with his finger. “What are these little marks? Where do they go?”

  Toshe pulled him away and told him to shush.

  Kids often pointed at her, asked her what she’d done to herself. In fact, half her relatives had asked her the same question at one time or another. Not long ago, Rashid had too.

  “Each design has a meaning. This one here, the flower on my hand, I did that when I was young. It was me seeing something that was beautiful, and trying to put it on my body.”

  “Why?” This time it came from Toshe.

  “Because sometimes we need to be reminded there is beauty in the world.”

  “Do you need more colour ’cause you’re not brown like us?” The boy tried to lean his arm against hers to compare.

  Rashid steppe
d forward.

  “It’s okay.” Shaz shook her head. “I have all these colours inside of me. Some I paint on.” She showed him the meerkat on her forearm. “And some just maybe come out on their own. Look here.” She pulled up her hair to reveal the turtle on her neck.

  “That’s so cool.” Boyden’s eyes lit up and he spun around towards his uncle. “Can I get one? A monster truck. Yeah I want a monster truck.”

  Rashid laughed. “Not yet little guy.”

  “Do you have more?” Her curiosity let loose, Toshe had just as many questions as her brother. Boyden jumped off the bed and tried to pull up her shirt. “Let me see! Let me see!”

  Rashid saved her just in time. “Hey, hey, not appropriate. Off little buddy, off to the living room.”

  Rashid’s mom was on the couch drinking tea while Varunesh fixed dinner in the kitchen.

  Boyden bounded into the room, “Shaz has paintings on her privates.” Shaz searched for a bathroom. A fugitive locked in the john with stomach troubles might fare better than a tattooed freak facing persecution in the living room. But Rashid pushed her forward while Toshe trailed behind, capturing it all. His mother, chin tilted down, peered up over her glasses while he explained. “She’s a tattoo artist, a painter of sorts”

  “Can we fix you some tea?”

  Shaz couldn’t read his mother, but smiled just the same.

  Rashid went to the kitchen and Shaz was stranded on the couch with Rashid’s mother.

  “Call me Aama. It means mother. It is what my kids call me. The grandkids call me Paati.”

  Shaz gave her a smile and looked down at her grandkids playing on the floor. Toshe pulled out a colouring book from the coffee table while Boyden smashed dolls’ heads together on the floor.

  “I love birds,” Toshe said, happy to keep Shaz in her orbit for the time being.

  Shaz pointed at the book. “Which ones are your favourites?”

  Rahid’s mother, Aama, their grandmother sat still.

  “I like swallows and seagulls.” Toshe flipped to a picture of a seagull on a beach that she’d already coloured.

  “They’re shithawks,” Boyden said, suddenly right behind his sister. He tried to wrestle the book out of her hands.

  Grandmother interceded. “Enough!”

  Boyden released his grip and slumped back down on the floor. Toshe made a point of smoothing down the covers.

  Rashid’s head popped from behind the doorway to the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

  His mom nodded, and he went back to making tea.

  “I’ve heard them called that too, Boyden.” Shaz slid herself down to the floor. She whispered like what she was saying was secret, but spoke loud enough that everyone could hear. “I like ‘seagull’ because it reminds us they like to live near water. They come from huge colonies, like really big families.”

  To Toshe she turned and said, “I see you’ve made your seagull purple.”

  “Purple is my favourite colour, and I like green and yellow and red and gold and scarlet, too.”

  The kids took to her, as though she was their new toy for the evening. It was pleasant. Like families everywhere, they competed for space and attention, and were easy and comfortable in each other’s presence. Varunesh joined them for supper and over dinner shared his plans about getting into medical school. Aama asked Shaz about her family, her studio — the typical stuff when meeting someone new.

  Shaz got up to help clear the plates and Rashid reminded the kids it was time for bed.

  “Can you read to us?” Toshe asked Shaz, eyes expectant. Such a sweet request was hard to turn down. “We’re reading Pippi Longstocking. She can fly.”

  Not to be left out, Boyden chirped in, “Yeah, and she can lift a horse too.”

  Rashid relieved her of the dishtowel and released her to the kids, who had already run off to get into their pyjamas and brush their teeth. Then they all bunched up together on Boyden’s bed, the boy snuggled up to her on one side and Toshe on the other.

  Shaz remembered the feeling of having a small body pressed close, their eyes devoted to the story, their body snuggled in. The smell of food and soap and wonder. The tightened curls of Desmond’s little head. The smoothness of his cheek and arms. He would ask for stories, more stories, again and again.

  After Pippi thwarted the burglars in the house, Shaz closed the chapter and left Boyden to his dreams and Toshe to her room. Rashid, who had been watching from the door, led her to the empty living room. They were alone. Varunesh and Rashid’s mom had retired to his room to watch TV.

  Shaz turned to Rashid on the couch. It had been so different than she’d expected. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. “Thanks for tonight.” He offered to walk her back to her place.

  “I’m fine, but I’ll bring you a coffee again in the morning, if you like?”

  ***

  PARKOUR AT CITADEL HILL. Rashid was there with the kids.

  “A dragon on my belly!” Boyden screamed as he and Toshe ran to greet her. “Paati says so. She said I can get one when I’m forty.” Boyden gave her a hug, but Toshe hung back, not sure if the intimacy they shared still remained. Waving the girl closer, Shaz was rewarded with a friendly grin.

  Rashid planted a kiss on her lips. Nothing was holding him back.

  “You really think this is safe? Showing these kids how to fall?”

  “Best to learn from a professional,” he said, then tore after Boyden, who had started doing rolls down the hill.

  Shaz spotted Desmond as he leapt over a balustrade, smooth as a pommel horse gymnast. Toshe grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the group. The kids were agile and quick, jumping and climbing, running up and down the hill. At first Shaz tried to keep up, but their energy was bottled and concentrated, and she let herself fall behind.

  “Let’s roll down. We can be snowballs or logs. First one to the bottom wins!” Boyden tugged at her hand, but Shaz was done. Collapsed on the hill, she watched Rashid leap over handrails like he was Spiderman on a Pogo stick, his ankle no longer a bother.

  Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she reached up and gave the fingers a squeeze, thinking it was Boyden.

  “Been tested yet?”

  Twisting, Shaz pulled away. She snuck a glance back towards Rashid, calculating the distance. But he’d cleared the last rail and was hidden behind the concrete wall that seemed to uphold the sloped grass around the fortress. The kids were at the bottom of the hill, giggling at their antics. Punky and Uncle Ben were concentrated on their own maneuvers. No one was paying them any mind. It was just her and Desmond.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I’m good to go. Apparently I am a strong and healthy specimen.” He patted his abs. “Though, apparently I’ll have to limit my alcohol consumption.”

  “Except you can’t …”

  “Hey, wanna race?” he asked suddenly.

  She did want to race. She felt a sudden rush of energy surge through her and a need to move her body. She felt an urge to beat him, to show him up. So she tore off down the hill. It took him by surprise, but he wasn’t far behind.

  Shaz knew that when running down a steep hill it was best to check your speed, rather than increase it, but she was intent on beating her brother. She could feel him behind her, gaining. A competitive adrenaline burned through her and pushed her to run as fast as she could.

  At the bottom of the hill a sidewalk bordered Brunswick Street, marking the edge of the downtown core that led from the Citadel down to the waterfront. On one side was the Metro Centre, home to the Mooseheads, and bars and the old brick publishing houses from the early settlement in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

  The street was busy. There was a guard rail between the park, the sidewalk and the road. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted Desmond veer towards the arena. She saw this as she continued fo
rward, her momentum building. Her body started to bend forward, speeding along, much too fast and her feet started to trail behind. Losing her equilibrium, she stumbled and rolled, in true action hero fashion, head over feet, feet over head, like a runaway snowball. Dust flew into the air and she only felt her body when it made contact with the ground.

  Somehow the friction made her slow and she became aware that she was nearing the rail. As she somersaulted from her head to her toes on the last rotation she managed to push herself skyward, a rocket launching, and she cartwheeled over the rail, landing on her feet in front of a woman pushing a shopping cart.

  Desmond ran over to her, and the kids came screaming down the hill.

  “You all right?”

  Shaz nodded, trying to get her bearings.

  “Whoopee! Do it again, Shaz. Show me!” Boyden rolled down the hill trying to mimic the performance.

  Desmond looked hard at her. Then, confident she wasn’t going to keep spinning down to the harbour and that nothing was damaged or broken, he said, “You win, Shaz. Ok? You win.”

  Rashid was there soon after, brushing off the twigs and grass she’d picked up in her tumble. Soon, she was surrounded by people, everyone asking if she was ok.

  By the time the crowd dispersed, she noticed Desmond was gone.

  ***

  “LANELLE CARVER?”

  “That’s me.”

  She’d just come in from the studio. She was getting ready to hang up. The use of her official name suggested a telemarketer or some kind of bureaucrat, neither of which she was interested in.

  “My name is Sharon. I’m calling from Capital Health, the organ donation unit.”

  Did they need more tests? Or maybe this was it, they wanted to schedule the surgery. She scurried over to her desk to grab a pen.

  “We wanted to express our deep appreciation for your willingness to donate to Donald, but it won’t be necessary at this time. We have found a suitable donor.”

  “Excuse me?” A quick calculation had been going on in her mind — what she had coming up, how many appointments she would have to cancel.