by Kim Cayer
I turned to the right and walked closer to the water tower. There were steps high up there, and I briefly considered finding a way to get up them. I could even see some kind of room halfway up. Oh, I could only imagine finding a way to sleep there tonight! But they probably kept it locked.
Soon I began to feel exposed, as a couple guys came out of their workplace to check out the tires on their truck. I turned around and saw a tunnel at the other end. Stepping over each railway tie, I headed in that direction. I passed out of the workmen’s vision as I approached the stone wall of the tunnel.
I wondered if I should continue my walk? The only thing stopping me was that a train might come through just when I got to the middle. I didn’t know if I was in any shape to outrun a train. I walked in a few steps and could see other people had also come this way. There were coffee cups, sneakers, pop bottles, paint cans.
Another few steps and I came to an abrupt halt. It seemed like I’d stepped through a magic portal, leaving Meadowvale behind for this urban art gallery. There were larger-than-life pot leafs, painted multi-neon colours, looking like they were on acid. A gorgeous rendering of a voluptuous woman with snakes coming out of her eyes, smoking a huge blunt, had a signature that I couldn’t decipher. To be honest, I could barely make out any of the words written on the walls; they were too blocky, ran into each other, misshapen…but man, the images were astounding.
Taking a good hard look down the tracks to make sure I was safe, I briskly walked the length of the tunnel. I saw spots where the area widened a bit so that, if need be, I could squeeze myself in there and not become rail-kill. I imagined a few of these graffiti artists had done that but I had a weak stomach. I didn’t want to put it to the test.
I cleared the tunnel and came out onto a section of land that looked difficult to navigate. Again with the long-distance look, this time even with my ear to the track like some native Indian scout, I half-ran, half-stumbled along the railroad tracks back to my car. I saw a couple more ‘paintings’ that had escaped me the first time – a quirky Minnie Mouse as well as an image of a diamond ring, outlined in a sparkly reflective paint.
As I walked out of the tunnel, I saw a spot where I could step over the barbed wire and get back onto the parking lot. I brushed past an overgrown pine tree that had started taking over one of the parking places. I surveyed the rest of the location and it seemed perfect! No windows at this end, no loading docks. It seemed to lay in the middle of two giant buildings so I decided to get my car and make that spot home for the night.
The next morning, at my usual 6:24 a.m., I woke up to the call of nature. Struggling out of my ‘bed’, I opened the door and checked my surroundings. The glorious pine tree, with its boughs scraping the ground, beckoned me. I disappeared behind the tree and saw I could have complete privacy, unless a locomotive happened by.
A few minutes later, I pulled into McDonald’s and freshened up. I brought a water bottle to fill, but didn’t care for the taps I’d been finding lately…no hot- or cold-water choices; just the one spigot offering its lukewarm take-it-or-leave-it. I wanted to look nice for Shannon and arrived early at a different McDonald’s, this one close to her high school.
It’s quite intriguing, all the conversations those hard plastic seats must witness. In the half-hour we had, the conversation got quite intense. Shannon spent her time before English class urging me to move back home, to reconsider my options. She may have won first prize in last year’s debate event but today she was wasting her breath.
I was all business as I explained her place in this new arrangement – she was to tell her dad she was in charge of the mail. All cheques and bills were to be held for me until we met again. Ben was welcome to his online-poker mail and monthly reminders to come back to Netflix. I gave her a wad of cash for incidentals, things a mother should provide for (tampons, bus fare, new mittens as she hadn’t worn any). Shannon tried to give it back but I refused.
“It’s not a lot, Shannon,” I said ruefully. “Besides, please, I’m your mom. I want you to have it.”
“I have a job,” she reminded me. “Three, actually. So I’m not hurting for money.” She pushed the envelope of cash back at me. I pushed it right back her way.
“Take it or we leave it for the guy who wipes the tables,” I threatened. “Besides, I want you saving for your university. We’ve got some money in your RESPs, but nowhere near enough.”
Shannon pocketed the envelope with a rather sharp “Fine then!” and then a softer “Thank you.” She stood up to leave, gathering up a backpack half her weight. “Gotta go. When do I see you next?”
“How about a week from today?” I suggested. “I’ll be in the area. I’m doing a Grim Reaper at Credit Valley Hospital.”
Shannon grimaced. “Seriously? Maybe funny for your victim, not so funny for some of the other people there.”
I shrugged. “I’m just the messenger. So how about it? Next week work for you?”
Shannon took her iPhone out of her back pocket and gave it a few swipes. “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m totally booked. After morning classes, I’m meeting up with Jody. He has a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon and I want to be there for moral support.”
“Is he getting his operation soon then?” I asked hopefully.
“Nowhere near,” Shannon pouted. “This is a therapist he has to see. To make sure he really wants to become a guy.”
I shook my head in amazement. Unless you stripped Jody naked in public (which I don’t think is allowed), the crowd he casually walked among daily had no idea this good-looking boy had female genitalia. Yet the poor kid had to jump through hoops to prove he was heart and soul a man.
“Well, it’s the process he has to go through, I guess,” I offered up weakly.
“Oh, and prom is coming up?” Shannon began. Inside, my heart skipped a beat and then sank. I’d totally forgotten about prom. My friend Lisa and I had kids in the same grade; we often spoke of the horrendous cost of proms and dreaded when our kids made it to Grade 12. Hair, nails, smashing dress, heels, limo, the ticket…
“Oh, that’s right…,” I managed to squeak out, trying to quell an approaching anxiety attack.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not going to go…,” Shannon began. My eyes bugged open. “Don’t worry! It’s not because of your…situation. Here’s the deal – the office called me and Jody in and told us Jody couldn’t go to prom.” My eyes somehow managed to widen even more. “If he goes, he can’t wear a tux, he can’t use the men’s room, he can’t slow dance with me…” Shannon’s eyes teared up but she shook it off. “So who needs a high-school prom anyways? Cuz you know if he can’t go, I’m not going.”
My eyes teared up as well, sorry for Jody’s ongoing battle with know-it-nothings, but also with gratitude that Shannon was saving me about a thousand bucks in prom foolishness. I gave her a hug, my arms encircling her backpack. People on either side of us munched on their Big Breakfast Specials or enjoyed their coffee-and-a-muffin deal. Nobody really took notice of us; nothing special about a mother and daughter getting together.
I apologized for not having enough room to drive her to school but she assured me she had plenty of time, and the exercise wouldn’t hurt her. We agreed to keep in touch and to meet again soon, especially if a few cheques came in the mail.
Where to go now? With nothing to do until the next day, a cop singing telegram in Brampton, I grabbed a coffee to go and motored off to my pine tree. Once there, I killed time by trying to figure out how to play games on my cellphone. When you live in your car, time does not fly. It moves more like a sloth.
Twice I left for more coffee. It was chilly out and I was guzzling them fast so they wouldn’t get cold. Close to nine p.m., I had nothing better to do so I made for my bed.
Around midnight my bladder urged me to awaken. Swearing, I turned on the interior light and crawled over the mound of costumes on my front seat. I opened the door and quickly threw on my coat. Hustling to my litter bo
x, I wished I’d had a flashlight, even the little penlight attached to my keychain.
Heading for the pine branches, I saw a faint glow coming from the tunnel. I tried to hold my bladder but the need was too great. If that light was a train coming, all they’d get was a fleeting glimpse of my butt. It wasn’t like they’d brake to a complete stop.
As I let forth my offering to the soil beneath me, I could neither hear a train or discern a change in the light. Rather, a shadow played off the tunnel wall, a flickering, shape-changing form. Looks like a fire going, I deduced. Maybe the ‘artistes’ are back at work? But I could hear no sound, so thought I could be wrong. Or maybe they’d already left? It didn’t matter. There was no concern or fear; I just wanted to get back to my warm bed-in-a-box.
The next day was beautiful, a sure sign that spring would once again miraculously make its appearance. It seemed the Toronto area had been covered in snow since October. Taking out the police costume, I laid it across the front seat. There were many components, from the handcuffs to the walkie-talkie. I wanted to make sure I was fully prepared for my singing telegram this morning.
I had just finished my morning routine at a local Tim Horton’s, disregarding the odd looks I got as I brushed my teeth, when my phone chirped. It was Barb, the agent at one of my many agencies.
“I hope you haven’t left yet,” Barb said. “The show’s been cancelled.”
“Oh, no!” I wailed. Usually I don’t take cancellations so badly but for the next while, until I raised $100,000, every job counted. “Did they say why?”
“Yeah, the guy’s not coming into work today,” she informed me. “I don’t blame him. It’s his 65th birthday. Guess he didn’t tell the staff his plans though.”
“They should fire him,” I groused.
“Well, now they want you to come in tomorrow,” Barb offered. “He should be back at work then.”
So now my job was tomorrow instead. With the day empty in front of me, I decided to save gas and stick close to ‘home’, which was no longer my old address but now my pine tree in the park. Industrial park, but still…it had a tree. I didn’t want to spend the whole day there though, so I drove to the Meadowvale Town Centre, where there was a decent library. I knew Ben wouldn’t visit there; we’d lived in the area fifteen years and he probably didn’t even know there was a library in the mall.
Early in the day, the library had few patrons, mainly older folks. Some sat reading on couches, some sat reading in cubicles, some just sat. For awhile, I browsed magazines. I skimmed a how-to book on Suzuki car maintenance (my hub caps seemed to be making an odd noise) and then finally settled on a thick copy of The New York Times.
In the deepest corner of the library sat an alcove with a couple cubicles. These were rarely used, Shannon and I had discovered, when we used to come here for homework projects. Situated right behind the children’s section, it didn’t qualify for being the quietest place in the library. At this hour though, the area was kid-free, so I eased into a high-walled private seat.
I was almost at the end of the paper, enjoying this constructive use of my afternoon. I was up on today’s New York Stock Exchange and I stopped reading the obituaries after the sixth murder. Hours later, a hand was shaking my shoulder. I opened up bleary eyes to see a lady with an armful of books.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to go,” she said, once she’d seen I had her in focus.
“Was my snoring that bad?” I queried seriously.
“Just under our allowance levels,” she snickered, “but barely. I’m afraid we’re closing now.”
“Closing!” I sat straight up, and the librarian snickered some more. I cast my eyes to her.
“I suggest you use the washroom before you leave,” she advised. “You can thank me later.”
It was a good suggestion, as I was always looking for a washroom. As I waited my turn for the ladies’ room to be free, I startled the woman coming out. I wondered if my hair was a mess, or if I’d drooled on my chin.
Looking into the mirror, and even though I had to read it backwards to understand it, I saw the words MAYOR PREDICTS DOOM GLOOM. I knew it was supposed to say ‘mayor predicts doom AND gloom’, but the word ‘and’ was lost in my eyelid crease. Hhhmm, wasn’t that a headline I’d read somewhere? I correctly surmised that I’d fallen asleep across the newspaper and the print had etched itself across my forehead and cheek.
With it being nightfall already, I just jumped into the car and drove back to the industrial lot. I nestled into my usual spot. Damn, I should have grabbed something to eat. Instead, I munched on some leftover cold chicken nuggets, making sure not to get the police uniform next to me greasy.
Around midnight, I decided I should crawl into the back and get some sleep. My gig was first thing in the morning, at an import/export store. I only had my Toronto Police uniform and I was heading into Peel Police territory, but only once in about two hundred cop jobs have I ever been questioned on that. That one time was when I performed in Niagara Falls. The person who busted me had just turned 19, first year of university. No dummy there.
Sleep wasn’t coming. I played Brickbreaker on my cellphone until the power ran out. I started doing mathematical equations in my head (how many jobs at $120 a pop would it take to get me home?) and that seemed to work. Soon I could feel myself drifting off into a light sleep.
Through the opening sequence to a dream, an unusual noise broke through. It sounded like a definite CLICK. I tried to discount it but then I heard it again, CLICK, immediately followed by my thought, “That sounds like my door, like somebody’s trying to open my door.”
Part of me wanted to sit up and see what was going on, but the rest of me, the majority vote, held me pinned down in utter fear. I waited a moment. I had left my window open a crack and suddenly, whispered voices hissed.
“Hey, I think it’s an abandoned car,” somebody whispered.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” the other whispered back. “There’s a ton of stuff in it.”
“You think there’s anything good?” the first voice asked. Suddenly I heard two clicks, different clicks, the sound of lighters flicking. Huddling deep in my sleeping bag, I left just enough room for one eye to peek out. I could see two flames burning and two dark hooded heads trying to peer in.
“Hard to say,” said the second guy. “We should get going though. What if the owner comes back?”
Again I heard a door click, this time on the passenger side. I wanted to do nothing more than leap into my driver’s seat, start the engine and zoom out of there. As long as my doors were locked, I knew I could make a safe getaway.
As it was, I felt trapped. I still felt like making the move, but knew it would take a few minutes to get behind the wheel. What if those guys were mad rapists carrying sledgehammers? They could break my windows and have their way with me before I even got four costumes off my driver’s seat.
“I’m gonna leave a tag,” the first one said. I had no idea what that meant. Was he going to pee against my car? This time I heard a click like the top of a can being removed, followed by a shaking sound. I wondered if they were about to throw a Molotov cocktail at the car. The next noise was quite feeble though, a hissing sound.
I saw a lighter spark up at the passenger window, and a face press itself against it. I was ready to scream, I could feel it rising, and I couldn’t stop it. The guy with the flame managed to nip it in the bud though, when he dropped his lighter and shrieked.
“Holy fucking shit, man! There’s a cop uniform on the front seat!” he squealed, backing out of sight. “This is some fuckin’ unmarked police car! Fucking run!”
I could hear the two of them take off. After about twenty minutes, when I was finally able to breathe at a normal rate, I finagled my way into the front seat. Starting up the car, I set my GPS for Brampton.
Arriving uber-early for my show – okay, it was the middle of the night – I parked in the visitors’ section, right in front of a spotlight that illuminated the
front entrance. I changed out of my clothes (not my pyjamas; I seemed to have dispensed with wearing them, though I did pack them) and put on my costume for the gig. There was no reason for putting it on with hours to spare pre-show, but I felt safer sitting there wearing a police uniform.
The next morning, I drove to the rear of the building, before anybody showed up, and had my pee. I could have driven to any coffee shop but once I was in the cop costume, I tried to keep a low profile. My greatest fear was that I’d get arrested for impersonating a police officer.
As I re-buckled my Sam Browne holster and remembered to zip up the fly on the heavy-duty pants, I relived my harrowing moments of the night before. Obviously I wouldn’t be using the back-seat bedroom anymore. The front seat, as uncomfortable as it was, even when reclined, would also have to serve as my bed. I felt I had to be in a safer position to get out of Dodge, if needed.
Thinking of those hoodlums made me wonder if they’d done any damage to my baby. I stepped away from the driver’s door, avoiding the puddle I’d just made. Everything looked fine. I strolled over to the back and saw nothing. Walking around to the passenger side, a snaky letter began to emerge.
“Oh, no!” I yelled, clenching my fists and stamping my foot. In a messy scrawl, in a black dripping paint, the word SEEK had been sprayed. “Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked aloud. I was so angered, I kicked at the rear tire of my car. Police brutality, I know, but this was just ridiculous.
“Seek? Seek what?” I asked the tranquil sky. “Is this some kind of message?” I wondered if some Christian graffiti artist was spreading the word. Well, what could I do? I wasn’t about to fork over money to get my car repainted. I’d just have to live with it, until I made my $100,000 goal.
That sickly looking word would just have to be my new motto. SEEK. Seek Money. Seek My Freedom. Seek Happiness.
Chapter Six