No Fire Escape in Hell

by Kim Cayer

  Ahhh, it was a good plan. The only thing I didn’t take into account was that I had to take a wicked whizz. I could tell by the weight of the cup that I was close to filling it. I tried to stop so that I could find another cup, but that was like trying to stop a tsunami. I wildly looked into the back seat, at the mound of discarded costumes not needed to keep me warm.

  Without hesitation, I grabbed the cop hat and stuck it under my bottom, quickly exchanging it for the Tim Horton’s cup. Just a little transfer got onto my seat. The cup was about a quarter-inch from spilling. I laid it gently on the dashboard, to be dealt with later. I almost filled the hat to the brim, and was grateful for its plastic lining.

  Still acting like I worked for the Ringling Brothers, now I had to manoeuvre myself to avoid the hat of horror. I reached again into the Swiss Chalet bag and pulled out a styrofoam container. This will work! I emptied the debris from the container into the garbage bag, and poured the contents of the cop’s hat into the box my chicken-wing special came in. I carefully snapped the lid shut and placed it next to the Tim Horton’s cup. Since my entire car was a pigsty, the only clean area was my dashboard. That had now become a biohazard zone.

  The gas was getting lower, so I blasted the heat as I put my clothes back on in the same order. Night was starting to fall and still the storm was blowing, icy pellets having completely frosted all my windows. I started wondering how carbon monoxide poisoning worked, and as soon as the gorilla costume was squeezed over everything else, I shut off the car.

  God, I was hungry. I drank the third of my four half-filled water bottles, and ate the last two Timbits, then munched a couple breath mints. I managed to doze off for an hour but woke up cold, though I still had fresh breath. Instead of turning on the car, I wrapped myself up in the sleeping bag. I fell asleep for another hour, but hunger woke me this time. I knew I had that power bar, but I planned to eat that tomorrow if the storm hadn’t let up. I scavenged around the car and found two sugar packets as well as a vinegar and a ketchup. I created an amusing recipe and called it supper.

  I probably dozed off and woke up twenty times in the night, starting the car up about half the time. I’d try the doors, try the windows, but Mother Nature was still holding me captive in my Suzuki. I couldn’t wait until morning arrived.

  The only thing that told me it was morning was the clock in my car when I started it up again for heat. I didn’t know if I believed it; was it six a.m. or six p.m.? The car had a surreal feel, like I was in a bubble in outer space. I could hear loud noises, which I assumed was the storm still raging. But the front, sides and back of my vehicle were all encased in a solid white snowdrift. My Suzuki Swift had become one with the earth.

  Now I knew for certain that my tailpipe was probably blocked with snow, and the fear of dying by carbon monoxide poisoning increased. I spent the whole morning cocooned in my sleeping bag.

  By lunchtime, I emerged and decided to admit defeat. I would eat that disgusting power bar. As I reached for the glove box where it’d lain for the past year, my peripheral vision caught sight of the Swiss Chalet bag. Hey…I had chicken wings a couple days ago…I grabbed the bag and looked inside. There was the wadded up tinfoil where I’d discarded the bones.

  Oh glory be! I’d eat every scrap off those bones, maybe the bones themselves! And it turned out to be not much in the way of quantity, but it ranks as one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Tiny slivers of Suicide Hot chicken that still adhered to the bone, the cartilage at the end of the drumstick pieces, the very marrow itself. Lo and behold, there was the skin to the baked potato that came with the meal. Cold baked potato skin…don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.

  And though I only ate about 200 calories of food, the spiciness of it all came through loud and clear. I drank most of my remaining bottle of water. I turned the car’s key onto auxiliary to listen to the news. All of it was about the weird weather; not one report about a missing singing-telegram performer.

  It took a long, long time to pass that day. I had no urge to urinate and if I did, maybe I had the smallest of tinkles in my pants. I was parched, and so hungry I chewed two sticks of gum at once. As of yet, I wasn’t going to succumb to tears. Surely this blizzard would end?

  Around midnight, I chose to play a version of Russian roulette. I’d start the car a couple minutes, just enough to bring some feeling to my body. I was so frightened by thoughts of perishing due to the exhaust fumes having nowhere to go but into my car. By reflex, I again tried the window.

  It took me by surprise, how fast it slid down. I cringed, preparing for the snow to descend on my head. It didn’t move. I was still encased in my snow tomb. I closed the window and figured, if the window works, so will the door!

  Yes, the door worked, but it would only open a millimetre. A ton of snow held me prisoner. Suddenly I desperately wanted to see what the world looked like outside. I positioned myself, opened the window again, and started punching out at the snow. The disturbance caused loaf-sized chunks of blocky snow to fall into my car. I changed my tactic and started to kick out at the snow with my gorilla feet.

  Finally a hole appeared and I worked at it. Fresh air flew into the cabin of my car. That was appreciated, as the smell from the containers of pee were almost as lethal as the carbon monoxide I feared. I ran the car to warm up, knowing I could breathe the air. Since I was down to very little gas, I bundled up again and shut off the car. I filled up my lungs with the air coming through the snowbank hole, then closed my window, leaving it open a wee bit.

  I figured the snow came directly from the sky onto my car, having met no dogs along the way. I rolled down the window once more, grabbed a hunk of snow and sucked on that until I fell asleep.

  When I next opened my eyes, the sun had not yet risen, but there was a strange light in the sky. I heard nothing but silence, telling me the storm was over. I debated starting the car but actually, I wasn’t all that cold. I opened the window and enlarged the opening through the snowdrift. With little effort, I created a hole big enough for me to sit on my open window and look outside.

  The sky was filled with stars. The dark shapes on either side of my car told me they were trees and in front of my car, all I could see was a white plain, probably some farmer’s field I’d almost driven into. After grabbing another hunk of snow to suck on from the car’s roof, I wrapped myself back up in the sleeping bag and fell into a deep slumber.

  I thought I woke up dead, sentenced to a life in hell. An intense heat enveloped me, far different from the coldness to which I’d become accustomed. At the same time as I struggled to free myself from the sleeping bag, I fumbled for the ignition switch. Surely I’d turned on the car, full heaters blaring, while I was sleeping. How stupid!

  But once my sweaty head emerged from the sleeping bag’s confines, I could see the car was still idle. As I rolled the bag off me, I did a double-take at the scenery. Where in the name of Jesus H. Christ was I? My windows had completely cleared; there wasn’t a hint of snow to be seen. On either side of my car were the trees, as I somewhat recalled, but through the windshield, I saw nothing but water. I had parked in front of a great lake, possibly one of THE Great Lakes.

  With a sense of incredulity, I leapt from my car and ran to the front of it. To my utter shock and awe, I saw my beloved home-on-wheels parked on the very edge of a dock. The front wheels were actually extending over the edge. With all my wandering about in the blizzard the first day, it’s a miracle I didn’t walk right off the dock. For some reason, I had had no desire to investigate what was in front of my car; I just knew Tim Horton’s was behind me. For the love of God, that GPS almost got me killed!

  I was so glad to be alive, my immediate reaction was to praise Christ for allowing me to stay out of the lake so that I could freeze in my car for two days. I actually raised my arms to the sky and plunged them back to my chest a time or two, sign language telling the Big Guy up there “I heart you!”

  About to get down on my knees to thank him properl
y, I heard a man’s voice shout out. “Hey, looky there by that blue car! What the fuck is that? Is that like a sasquatch?”

  I swung my attention over to the man, and saw him tending to a boat in a little parking lot. Next to him stood a woman in a tank top and shorts. In a split second, my eye caught the fact that the road I’d driven to get here was clear. Maybe a little muddy, but no ruts of snow to get hung up on. Lots of puddles everywhere, especially the one I was standing in next to my car. Finally I realized the temperature had risen to…well, shorts and a tank top degrees…and in my gorilla suit, I was way too overdressed.

  I needed to unburden myself of clothes, but as I ran back to the driver’s door, I saw another car enter the lot, pulling a trailer with two jet skis. The eyes of the occupants widened.

  “Take a picture, Laura, take a picture!” the male driver ordered.

  The woman held up her cellphone and snapped. I shielded my face as I fumbled for my door handle. I almost lost the wig I had been wearing for warmth (the French-maid black pageboy number) in my haste. I was glad to hear the woman whine, “Shoot, I’m trying! Memory full!”

  “Erase something! Anything!” the driver commanded, driving closer, narrowing my escape route.

  I squeezed behind my steering wheel, fired up the car, took one calm moment to make sure I was in reverse, and then backed off the dock. I reversed into the parking lot then pointed myself forward, one thought prominent in my brain. “Timmy’s, here I come! Screw you, gross power bar!” With the Tim Horton’s destination in mind, I gunned that Suzuki Swift forward.

  Suddenly I was drenched…and stinky. Damn if I didn’t forget about those two containers of urine resting on my dashboard.

  Chapter Eight

  Feeling the usual urge to pee, I parked a few spaces south of the Coffee Time at Yonge and Lawrence. It wasn’t my usual choice of coffee shops, but I had to go in a hurry. After doing my business, I shuffled up to the counter. The cashier had seen me come in and anyhow, they had cheap giant apple fritters. That would be my breakfast the next morning.

  A commotion began at the front door and continued until a woman settled herself at a table. She carried all sorts of plastic bags overflowing with assorted goods. From an outdated Eaton’s bag, she pulled out a tambourine and tipped it upside down. Nickels, quarters, loonies spilled out. With a sweet smile, she ambled behind me. I moved aside.

  “Go ahead,” I offered. “I’m in no hurry.”

  “If you insist,” she replied. “And that’s a considerate gesture in an inconsiderate world.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  As we waited for the waitress to finish her phone call, I studied the back of this woman. I noticed plastic bags were obviously a valuable commodity in her life. She even managed to find a way to wear them, from the Food Basics bags wrapped around her shoes to the Real Canadian Superstore bags forming some kind of diaper. A heavy-duty utility belt helped keep most of her lower garments from sliding off her body. I stole a look at the stuff stuck into the pouches of the belt. Where there should have been a measuring tape, there was a can of Skol chewing tobacco. Where there should have been a hammer, there was a half-eaten submarine sandwich. One pouch held hundreds of bobby pins while another one oddly held packages of flower seeds. I jerked my eyes away when I realized I was being spoken to.

  “…good thing I’m a regular of this fine dining establishment, or I may register a complaint with the manager. Oh, wait, she is the manager!”

  Homeless person or not, that was pretty funny. I laughed aloud and that seemed to grab the attention of Chatty Cathy. She ended her call and looked over at her customers.

  “The usual, Daphne?” the cashier asked.

  “Yes, if it’s no bother,” Daphne replied. I sniggered quietly behind her, letting her know I got the joke.

  “One small tea, six sugars, six milk, coming up,” the cashier said. “You know, Daphne, there’s barely any room for the tea when I add all this stuff in.”

  “‘Tis the way I’ve taken it since I was a wee child,” the old lady said. “Memories of old are always gold.”

  My turn was next. I had wanted to pay for the bag-lady’s tea, but felt a little embarrassed to do it. “Your order, ma’am?” I was asked.

  “Uh…an apple fritter and…I’ll have the same drink as Daphne there,” I decided.

  “You can’t be serious?” was the cashier’s take on my order.

  “Why not?” I replied. “She got me curious.”

  “Bravo!” came Daphne’s reply. “And if you’re not in any hurry, perhaps you’d care to join me?”

  What else did I have to do? Where else did I have to go? Nowhere until the day after tomorrow, when I had two gigs downtown. I pulled a chair away from another setting, since the empty chair at her table had her bags on it. Daphne moved the tambourine aside so we could set our drinks down. The ornate sides of the instrument me reach out for it.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said, as Daphne handed me the tambourine. “And it’s got such fancy writing on it!”

  “Calligraphic writing is meant to look that way,” Daphne informed me. “It reads ‘Croydon Davis’. He was a rather famous musician in these parts in the early 1900s. Back then, he made wonderful music…now the sound of coins falling into it is the music it makes. And what glorious music it is!” Again she gave a beatific smile.

  “You know, you have such clear skin,” I commented. And she did. It looked so white, with a shine to it, as if it had been sandblasted. It looked as if it had been scrubbed so much, she was onto her second layer of skin.

  “I know,” she replied. “How old do you think I am?”

  I don’t think she took my comment correctly. When did age come into our conversation? But I was brought up to be polite, and I went into performer-mode. No matter what their age, you always knock it down ten, twenty years. This woman was likely a senior citizen, but I guessed, “I dunno…I hope I’m not too high, but 42?”

  “Nope!” Daphne giggled. “I’m 45! Now try your tea!”

  I was stunned. She easily looked twenty years older. I picked up my tiny cup of tea and took a tentative sip. Daphne waited with bated breath. I made a bit of a face. “Wow, that’s sweet!” I exclaimed. Six damn sugars sweet.

  “I know, isn’t it delicious?” Daphne giggled.

  I took another wee taste. “You know, if you don’t think of this as tea…it actually tastes like a dessert.” I promised myself to drink it all in her presence and then never order such an atrocity again. “What’s in all your bags?” I asked.

  “Pretty much the most valuable possessions I own,” she said without effect. “The stuff outside, if it gets stolen, it can be replaced. My newspapers, my cardboard, my tarp…even the shopping cart.” I glanced outside and saw her buggy. It was parked right up against the window, so she could still keep an eye on it. I wasn’t that careful with my car, and it had my whole life in it as well!

  The next hour was spent with her showing me different objects from her many bags. From a Chapters Books bag, she displayed a tattered, worn notebook, with half-written stories and the signature of Margaret Atwood on it. From an Aren’t We Naughty? bag, she pulled out a stack of Polaroids, showing a guy I recognized as a former politician. In each one, he appeared with a different stripper, having the time of his life.

  “I live for garbage nights,” Daphne gushed. “You never know what you might find.”

  I waved the Polaroid sac. “You mean these were left out there, for all to see?”

  “Oh, no! Sometimes you really have to get in there and search!” she said emphatically. “I get a feeling sometimes…and you know, I did go to university to study art. I do have a good eye. Tomorrow is garbage night in the Yonge/Lawrence village…and these people have a lot of money, they don’t realize the value of what they’re throwing out… You should come dumpster diving with me!”

  Awkwardness set in as I tried to search for words. “Uh…wow…well…uh…wow…that sounds like it would be
fun.”

  Daphne noticed I had not actually agreed to anything. “You probably don’t want to be seen with me, is that it?” she asked, rather forlornly.

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” I said quickly. “I’m being seen with you right now, aren’t I?”

  “Two grown women enjoying a spot of tea,” she replied. I looked into my cup. I’d been with her over an hour and had yet to finish my drink. The sugar had congealed at the bottom; I needed a spoon to finish it. “So let’s meet again tomorrow, and I’ll show you a night on the town you won’t soon forget!”

  That was a pretty enticing pitch, even if it did come from a bag lady. And besides, she wasn’t bad company. I could use a night on the town and it would actually give my boring current existence a needed jolt. Still…

  “I can’t make you any promises, Daphne,” I began, as her lower lip started quivering. “But look, look…if I can free up my evening, I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  “You promise?” she asked.

  What had I just said about not making her any….? Oh, screw it. I nodded my head.

  “I promise.”

  The following night, I went to meet up with Daphne as planned. I didn’t think she’d show up. As for myself, I’d been half-hoping for a last-minute gig that would be a valid reason to bow out. But my momma didn’t raise me to be impolite and I felt compelled to fulfil my obligation.

  I was there promptly at seven p.m.. Daphne wasn’t. I’d give her five minutes. Just as I was counting down the last few seconds, I heard a raucous banging outside. It was Daphne, parking her cart right up close to the window where I was sitting. That way she could keep an eye on it.

  “Madeline, m’dear!” she called out as soon as she walked in. Daphne acted like she was right at home in that Coffee Time. “I knew you’d be here, sure as I know mankind will rise again.” I couldn’t make sense of that last statement, and I hoped I wasn’t in for more of that malarkey tonight.