Enough

by Mary Jennifer Payne

  Instead, I go and make a tomato-and-bologna sandwich for Charlie’s lunch tomorrow. There’s one juice box left and a slightly aged apple, so I add those. Then I scribble a note and place it inside his blue lunch bag before fastening the blue Velcro flap.

  I love you, little bro. As soon as I am able, I’m coming back for you and Trixie. Love you like there’s no tomorrow. X Lizzie

  Trixie slowly hoists herself out of her worn dog bed near the front hall and comes silently padding over to me. Likely no one has taken her out tonight for a walk to go to the bathroom. I’m usually the only person who remembers in the evening. Her food bowl is empty, so I pour extra kibble in it. Then I put fresh water in her stainless-steel bowl. She looks up at me expectantly. I swear she knows I’m leaving her. I feel terrible. Charlie can’t walk her, and Mom will only do it when she’s sober enough to remember. I bend down and kiss her on the head, inhaling her pungent smell.

  She whimpers and follows me to the front hall as I wrap my black wool scarf around my neck and pull on my jacket.

  “I’m so sorry, girl,” I say. The words stick in my throat. Trixie was here at the end of Dad’s life. She was only a puppy, yet she lay beside him, unmoving, as he withered away. She provided him with nothing but unconditional love and warmth during his last days. And now I’m abandoning her. Her and Charlie.

  I turn away from Trixie’s soulful, brown eyes and try not to think of Charlie tucked away in bed, his brace propped up against the wall near the headboard. She softly whimpers at me. I don’t want her to end up going to the bathroom inside. She’s such a good girl and has always let me know when she needs to go outside. Besides, I’m not sure what Dean will do if he wakes up with a hangover and dog shit on the floor.

  The thing is, if Dean or Mom wakes up before I can get out of here, I’m not going to be able to leave tonight. And I’m afraid if I don’t leave tonight, I’ll kill Dean. Or myself. Every nerve in my body is screaming for me to get out of the house now, but I put down my bag and grab Trixie’s leash. For all the loyalty she’s shown Charlie, Dad and me, I’ve got to show her some.

  As soon as Trixie’s outside, she runs over to the side of our unit and relieves herself. Wisps of steam rise from the hole in the snow her urine makes. She finishes and then sits down, despite the freezing wind. She stares at me, her eyes wide with sadness. “I can’t take you. I just can’t,” I whisper into the blowing snow. Tracks of frozen tears line my cheeks. “But I’m coming back. Back for you and Charlie. I promise.”

  Still she doesn’t budge, even when I walk back toward the front door. She’s never done this before. Trixie is usually the most obedient dog, and I can’t call for her to come because that might wake Mom and Dean. Instead, I go over and pick her up. She’s as light as an autumn leaf, and she shakes in my arms. Somewhere down deep, I know her shaking is not just from the cold. It’s like she has some sort of sixth sense about what I’m doing. After all, aren’t animals always the first ones to abandon a ship that’s going to sink at sea, or to predict disasters like earthquakes and tsunamis? They somehow know things we don’t.

  I get inside and gently place Trixie back in her bed. I’m just about to leave again when I remember something I need to take with me. I know I’m taking a huge chance, but I just can’t bear leaving it behind. Carefully, holding my breath with every move, I go back into the living room. Mom and Dean are still passed out. I take the photo of my grandmother off the mantel, carefully wrap it inside my gray wool sweater and bury it deep inside my bag. Giving Trixie one last pat, I make my way downstairs and out the front door. As soon as I step outside, the bitter cold of winter bites at my exposed flesh and makes what I’m about to do real. I pull my scarf up farther to shelter my nose and chin from the wind. I pause. Snowflakes dance in the light of the streetlamp outside our townhouse complex.

  I don’t even know if Grandma will be home. In fact, I haven’t seen her in nearly a year.

  Taking a deep breath, the icy air stinging at my throat, I will myself to start walking. The newly fallen snow crunches under the rubber soles of my shoes. I try not to think about Charlie, about him waking up tomorrow morning and finding me gone. Most of all, I try not to think about him struggling to get ready for school without me.

  Chapter Four

  The subway car is quiet. I’m alone except for an older, red-faced man who is nodding off to sleep, a crumpled Toronto Star newspaper slipping farther from his hands with each snore. He looks harmless enough, but my heart begins hammering in my chest anyway. What if he wakes up and decides to attack me? I move to a seat under the emergency passenger-assistance alarm just in case.

  I take my phone from my bag and check the time. It’s already 12:35 AM. Nan will be asleep for sure, unless some reality television show has caught her attention. I’m not even 100 percent sure which subway station I need to get off at. I think it’s Dundas. I know she doesn’t live that close to the subway anyhow, that I’d still need to take a streetcar or bus to get to her place in Regent Park. But there’s no way I’m going to try to find my way there at this time of the night. Thanks to Dean’s money, I’ll be taking a cab.

  Half an hour later I’m standing in the cold, ringing the buzzer for Nan’s apartment. My fingers and toes are numb. Unlike Nan’s old place, where the entrance smelled perpetually like urine and the security cameras were blinded with black spray paint, this new place is relatively clean. The stainless-steel frame of the security system gleams. I catch my reflection in it. I’m a mess of puffy eyes and blotchy skin.

  “Come on, Nan,” I whisper. “Please wake up.” I know she likes to have a glass of warm rum before bed, especially in the winter. If she did that tonight, she’ll be sleeping like the dead.

  The door behind me swings open, and two guys walk in. The first one is really cute and looks just a bit older than me. I’m thinking he’s maybe eighteen. He’s athletic-looking, with short dreads. The second one is taller and looks older. A black hoodie partially conceals his hair and face, though I can see glimpses of his face. His skin reminds me of the surface of the moon—all pockmarks and dents. He flashes me a creepy smile before I can look away.

  Like a deer caught in headlights, I realize the danger I’m in a moment too late. As I try to move away from the dial pad of the building’s intercom, the older guy steps in front of me. His lips draw back in a smirk.

  “What’s the hurry, little sista?” he asks, planting his arm against the wall. His arm is now a barrier between me and the front doors. I have no escape route.

  All my saliva instantly dries up. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I’d usually have a smart-ass comeback, but the memory of Dean forcing himself on me earlier tonight is paralyzing me.

  “Such big eyes,” he says, leaning in closer. The smell of stale smoke wafts toward me. I stare at the deep lines that crisscross his face like train tracks, at the rough texture of his skin. His teeth sparkle. A gold grill covers his upper front teeth. He notices me staring at it.

  “All the better to eat you with,” he says with a wink, running his tongue along the smooth metal.

  “C’mon, man, leave her alone,” his cute friend says. “We got people waiting on us, and business to do.”

  Reluctantly he moves his arm, allowing me to run past the two of them and out of the building entrance. The cold night air hits me like a slap. I can hear their laughter behind me. My face burns. I’m furious. Part of me wishes I could go back and beat the ugly, hoodied one to a bloody pile of flesh with my bare hands. The other part of me knows it would be a really stupid move to even stick around. Guns and knives are as common as cell phones around here.

  So I run. My sneakers crunch on the newly fallen snow with every step, documenting my escape. By the time I reach my destination, my breath is burning in my chest. It’s a twenty-four-hour Tim Hortons two doors down from Grandma’s building. I slam through the doors, my bag bouncing against my back, and throw myself onto one of the chairs at the nearest empty table. A massive
Santa holding a coffee is plastered onto the window beside me.

  A group of middle-aged Muslim men glance up at me from their tea and conversation. I raise an eyebrow defiantly back at them. They look away and begin talking again.

  What the hell have I done? I’ve got classes tomorrow, and a biology exam on Thursday that’s super important. I glance at the clock. It’s nearly one thirty. How is Charlie going to feel when he wakes up and realizes that I’m gone? First Dad disappears from his life, and now me.

  I lay my head on the table, trying to figure out what to do. There’s no way I can go home tonight. Besides, I’m not going back if Dean’s there. Ever. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I pull my hoodie over my head. No one’s paying attention to me in here anyhow.

  There’s a large woman in a motorized scooter sitting at the table beside me. A small dog with long hair tucked away from its face by a pink bow sleeps at her feet. The woman’s gray hair is also carefully styled, and a brightly colored silk scarf sits neatly tied around the crepe-papery skin of her neck. I watch as she works away at a crossword puzzle. I wonder why she’s here in the middle of the night. Does she have any family? Is she homeless? Would anyone miss her if she was gone? It’s obvious she’s still got pride and is trying to look as good as she can.

  Homelessness is something I’ve been afraid of since Mom began drinking, especially when she started getting fired from jobs. Between the welfare checks she and Dean collect, there’s enough money to pay rent, though food gets pretty scarce at times. I’ve gone to the food bank with Mom more times than I’d like to remember at the end of the month, and Fahad even bought food for Trixie a few times until we discovered a food bank for pets near Jane and Finch.

  Fahad. My stomach turns at the thought of him. I pull out my phone and, before I can stop to think, dial his number.

  After five rings he picks up. “Lizzie?” His voice is fuzzy with sleep.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I had to call.” I pause. What am I supposed to say now? Hey, Dean tried to get it on with me tonight. And guess what? He got further than you ever have.

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning. I’ve got a math exam tomorrow. What’s going on?”

  “I’m…” The words stick in my throat like peanut butter and crackers. “I’m not going to be at school tomorrow.”

  “What?” I can tell he’s super-annoyed now. “Come on, Lizzie, seriously? You woke me up to tell me that?” I would be pissed too if I was called in the middle of the night for such a lame reason.

  High-pitched voices erupt in the background. Fahad covers the phone. His hand rubs against the receiver, creating muffled static in my ear.

  “It’s just Junaid, Mom. For God’s sake, don’t have a fit. Do you want to talk to him?”

  Despite having dated Fahad for a year and a half, his parents have no idea I exist. They’d really lose it if they discovered that not only was he dating a non-Muslim girl, but also one that’s half black at that. His father’s joining in on the shouting now.

  “Give me that phone! Let me see Junaid’s number. By God, hang up and I’ll ring him back right now!”

  I quickly end the call and turn off my phone. It was stupid to call Fahad at this time of the night. Am I losing my mind? His bedroom is right beside his parents’. He’s going to be so mad at me.

  A tall man with dirty, gray hair down to his shoulders bangs through the doors. He stands in the middle of the coffee shop, scanning the room, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of a long black trench coat.

  “Effin’ terrorists,” he says, spittle flying from his mouth. I cringe. He’s looking directly at the table of Muslim men.

  They look up, then quickly away. I can tell they wish this freak would disappear, melt into the floor, and not give them any trouble. I feel the same way and make a point of staring closely at my nails. There’s a half-moon chip out of the careful baby-blue manicure of my right thumb.

  I smell him before I see him sit down across from me.

  “Hi, pretty baby,” he says. Black stumps that were once teeth smile at me. The smell of dead rodents wafts across the table. Instinctively I cover my nose with my hand.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He reaches for my free hand. I pull it away before he can touch me.

  “I need you to leave me the hell alone,” I whisper through gritted teeth.

  He frowns at me, and I notice something crusty hanging from his left eyebrow.

  “C’mon,” he says. “You know you want it.”

  “What I want is for you to LEAVE ME ALONE!” I yell. My entire body is shaking like I’m having a seizure. Suddenly it’s Dean in front of me. Everything I wanted to say, everything I was thinking earlier tonight, comes flooding back. Tears stream down my cheeks.

  A dark-suited security guard moves toward us.

  “You heard her, Harold.” The woman on the scooter is suddenly beside me. I didn’t even notice her approach our table. “Now leave this young lady the feck alone or you’ll have to contend with me. And I’ll make sure you don’t get a space at the shelter for the rest of this long, cold winter.”

  She nods at the security guard. “Throw him out if he doesn’t get his bloody ass the hell off of that seat in two seconds.” As if in support of this, the little dog at her feet yelps.

  Harold stands up, slams his hands down on the table and scowls at the woman. Still, he silently sulks away from us without another word.

  “I’m Maie,” the woman says, reaching out to shake my hand. She’s wearing fingerless lace gloves, and her nails are painted bright silver. I notice her accent. Her voice is like Robert Patterson’s, but rougher. It’s like she swallowed gravel for supper. “Don’t mind Harold. Though he doesn’t seem it, he’s harmless. Just hasn’t been right in the head since his tour of duty in Afghanistan.”

  “You’re from England,” I say, feeling completely stupid as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I’m stating the obvious, but I’m just too tired to think straight. And I don’t want to talk about Harold. If he’s screwed-up from joining the army, too bad, so sad. It doesn’t give him the right to terrorize me.

  “I’m from England.” Maie laughs, a deep throaty laugh. “And you?”

  “Oh. I’m Lizzie. I’m from here… from Regent Park.”

  She frowns, causing deep lines to appear between her eyebrows. “No, you’re not. I know everyone here in the Park. And if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s liars.” Her expression hardens, and I know I’ve made a mistake by lying.

  However, I’m not stupid enough to go around telling people my business. Even though Maie helped get insane Harold away from me, I don’t know her. It makes me nervous to tell anyone too much about my situation. I’m always afraid that Children’s Aid will be called if anyone finds out what it’s like for Charlie and me to live with Mom and Dean.

  “Actually, it’s not a complete lie. My grandmother lives here, so it’s like a second home to me.” I don’t tell her I’ve been down here less than ten times in the past two years.

  “Living in the Park and visiting the Park are like chalk and cheese.” Noticing my confusion, she quickly adds, “It is a completely different experience altogether. Who’s your Gran anyhow?”

  “Rose Duncan. She lives around the corner. I tried to go to her place before coming here.”

  A wide smile spreads across Maie’s face. That’s when I notice she’s missing several teeth on the left side of her mouth, which has left the remaining ones leaning like dominoes. Though her eyes are a startling blue color, the bottom lids sag like a hound dog’s. She looks a lot older than Nan.

  “You’re one of Rosie’s grandchildren? Why didn’t you say so? Can you believe this, Chester?” This time there’s no response from her dog. He’s curled up again, fast asleep at her feet. She looks back at me. “Rosie’s flat is just two doors down from mine. You’ll come back with me until the sun is up and it’s a decent hour to wake your Nan.”

  I raise an eyebrow in surprise. I though
t for sure Maie was homeless. Shows me not to stereotype people. Anyone seeing Mom on her worst days, when she’s been drinking heavily and can’t be bothered to shower or put makeup on properly, would likely think she’s homeless too.

  “Can I ask you something? Why are you here at this time of night if you have a place to sleep? A home?” I pause, hoping I haven’t offended her. “Not to be nosy or anything.”

  But rather than being offended, Maie laughs, revealing the black gaps in her mouth again. “I come here to be around people. Got insomnia, I do. Rarely sleep more than two hours a night in my old age. This is better than sitting in my apartment with only a television in front of me. Rather be around real flesh and blood. Not discounting Chester here.”

  She leans over the table closer to me. “But the real question is why you’re here in the middle of the night, Lizzie.”

  The smile disappears from my face. “Do you mind if I don’t explain it right now? It’s a long story, and all a bit fresh.”

  Maie nods. “Let’s get you to mine for a few hours of sleep. If there’s anything I understand, it’s needing to keep our secrets close to us sometimes.”

  Chapter Five

  I curl up on Maie’s couch under a wool blanket that smells strongly of mothballs and cedar. The smell tickles my nose, causing a volcanic eruption of sneezes. The apartment is small but cozy and warm. There are photos everywhere—on the mantel of the fake fireplace, on the lace-doily-covered side tables and on the shelves of a towering entertainment system. Some show a young, slim Maie with red-stained lips posing with a good-looking man and a little boy. Looking at these photos and then thinking of Maie in her wheelchair with just Chester for company makes me sad, though I am sure she wouldn’t want my pity.