Melt

by Heidi Wicks

  She reaches the top of the hill overlooking Cuckold’s Cove and plunks down on the freezing cold, wet rock. It soaks her winter leggings through. She stares out at the ocean, the blue water wearing a toque of white mist, crests fuzzy like the wool in one of those kitty-cat hats she and Jess wore when they were children—the ones that pulled on over their heads, and their eyes and mouths poked through the front. Little kitty-cat ears on the tops of their heads, their cheeks rosy as pink popsicles, their noses dripping.

  The vapor rising from Cuckold’s Cove is cold and frigid, unlike the volcanic vapor in front of the El Hoyo crater, which was hot and smothering and stank of sulphur.

  Jake had snuck up behind her as she gazed into its pit. Pretended to push her in, laughing. She whirled around and slapped him in the face because he frightened her. The instability and fragility of their relationship never left the air between them. They had become broken.

  It’s time to let it go.

  The moisture sticks to her face. Here, at home, in Newfoundland, plunked on the frigid rock that ribbons the North Atlantic, the brisk air is restorative. Despite the glacial isolation of the atmosphere, it somehow carries new life. She is a mother, and she is Goddamn ready for it this time.

  An iceberg floats, solid on the horizon, making the air extra bitter. Things will warm, though. Melt. They always do.

  sugarloaf secrets

  2016

  The day is warm and gray with a whiff of mischief. She shouldn’t have answered his Facebook message. She did it anyway.

  JUNE 11, 2016

  Matt:

  Hey. It was so great seeing you again.

  What a sweet surprise after all these years.

  Jess:

  You too.

  Matt:

  JUNE 17, 2016

  Matt:

  So. I guess you’re getting pretty excited

  about school ending? Dreaming of all

  the sun and booze and lack of kids?

  JUNE 18, 2016

  Jess:

  Oh yes. Teachers love booze and sun.

  Matt:

  Probably even more than most people?

  Jess: Probably!

  Matt:

  Well, you deserve it! Grace loves you.

  Not surprising.

  JUNE 20, 2016

  Jess:

  Thanks, Matt.

  Jess (cont’d):

  Matt:

  Your mom was such a great teacher.

  I remember her talking about her

  projects and wishing she’d been my teacher.

  Goddamnit, she thought. Is he testing her? Is he using what’s most tender to her to get back in? Or is she just panicking? Is he just being a genuine, caring old friend? He is going through a separation. That’s a motivator for him. Her mind races: the conflict within, do I answer, do I ignore, is constant angst. She loses sleep over it, she panics, she paces, she runs twice a day. While cooking supper, she drops to do push-ups, attempting to press the anxiety into the floor, out of her body. The desire to connect to a time that was happier is overwhelming. A time that was comforting and innocent, and she remembers how close Matt was to her mother, and she wants a piece, any piece, of her mother back so badly, it’s like a stake in her heart.

  JUNE 23, 2016

  Jess:

  Mom was wonderful.

  We lost her too soon.

  Way too soon.

  Matt:

  I know. How are you doing?

  I know how close you were.

  “How are you doing?” It’s another invitation. She has a husband, a supportive husband, has been with her for longer than Matt ever was, who knew her dear mother every bit as well, who witnessed her mother with her grandchildren. There is absolutely no need to open this dangerous door to the past. Yet still. The head and the heart: an everlasting gobstopper of contrasting flavours, and everyone wants to experience every piquancy.

  JUNE 25, 2016

  Jess:

  I’m doing okay, I guess.

  Just taking it a day at a time.

  It’s hard. I worry about Dad.

  Matt:

  I can only imagine.

  Listen—do you want to go for

  coffee? Or a hike?

  Jess:

  I don’t think that’s appropriate.

  Matt:

  Nothing funny or anything.

  Just an old friend wanting to

  make sure you’re okay.

  She knows she’s going to be okay. She doesn’t need Matt to be okay.

  Jess:

  Okay.

  They meet at the base of Sugarloaf trail, in Middle Cove. The day is muggy and foggy with a chance the sun will burn through. She parks at the Ocean Sciences Centre.

  “Hey.” He walks up behind her as she’s leaning on the hood of her car. Touches her shoulder and she jumps.

  “Hey.”

  They hug.

  Part of their genesis story is in Middle Cove-Outer Cove. In high school, the class would have bonfires down by the river. Near Outer Cove Beach, there was a steep bank off of a road. They’d bounce down the bank on their butts, the occasional shoe escaping a foot, boinging into oblivion. At the bottom of the bank, behind the treeline, was a river.

  It was how they started dating. One night in grade ten, Jess had gone with Cait. It was the night she met Matt, who had brought a guitar, along with a couple of the other guys, and they were all singing Tragically Hip songs in a circle around the fire.

  Sandwiched between Cait and Matt, her fingers corseted around her beer bottle, Jess inhaled the scent of pine trees and bark and rocky soil and crackling embers, all of which swirled together in the atmosphere and rested in the fabric of the waffle shirt Matt was wearing. Jess was close enough to smell it, and she wanted to get even closer.

  Every now and then, he’d glance over at her, as he strummed his guitar, shooting her that sparkly smile of his. She remembers the night so clearly.

  After a while the guitars and singing stopped, and people started to trickle off in different directions, have chats, make out in tents set up in the treeline, smoke joints and the like. Her focus was on Matt, and when she looked over at Cait, she was gone. God knows where, doing God knows what.

  “You don’t go to Heart, do you?” Matt had stuck next to her.

  “Nope, I go to PWC. My best friend, Cait, goes here.”

  “Ah,” Matt smiled. “I know Cait. Feisty one!”

  “Oh yes,” Jess raised her eyebrows.

  “And are you as feisty as Cait?” He tips his India beer up and takes a sip.

  “Oh no,” she sips her own, “I’m the good little girl next door, shooshing her when she tries to sneak smokes.”

  Matt laughs, a loud and free laugh, and Jess wiggles a teensy tiny bit closer to him.

  The air today smells the same as it did that night.

  Jess and Dan’s genesis story played out in what used to be Junctions. In 1999, Jess and Cait were frequenters…

  Tonight it’s a Bung reunion show. Dan, at this point not quite an acquaintance, taps Jess on the shoulder, mouthing, “Hey,” through the guitar distortion and sing-screams. She cups her ear. Scrunches her eyebrows, and leans her ear towards his mouth,

  “What?”

  His mouth is wide, his breath warm, weed-y and beer-y. “I heard this might be their last show.”

  She leans her mouth towards his ear, “I know.”

  Body surfers bounce and slam over them and Jess gets a rubber-soled Converse kick to the face. Dan’s arm is around her waist. She’d seen him at shows before. And in the Thompson Student Centre. They’d spoken in the China Kitchen lineup a couple times, whilst waiting for their two-dollar hash browns.

  Their embrace is anchored, withstanding shoves and whacks and elbows. He keeps her close. Plants a wild and messy surprise wet one on her and she doesn’t mind one bit. She is still lusting after Matt, missing him, pining for him, and the sloppy kiss washes Matt away entirely.

  �
��Good night, you motherfuckers!” The frontman is shirtless and barefoot and posed like Jesus Christ on the cross. He pretends to hang himself with one hand and flips the crowd the middle finger with the other. Her ears ringing like an emergency test signal, Jess stumbles into Dan and they stumble together onto the platform outside the bar. Around them people are smoking and kissing and babbling.

  Dan’s green eyes are excited. “Wanna go to Classic Café?”

  “Yes, I definitely wanna go to Classic Café.”

  “I like the way you think. Wait—what’s your name again?” He crumbles into melodic giggles, his voice hoarse from screaming at the show. She holds his hands, which are clammy, but hers are just as clammy so it’s all good.

  “It’s Jess.”

  “Oh right. Cute. It suits you.” He kisses her again, quick and shy. “Man, what a fucking great show.” They weave through a trail of stragglers who have trickled into an alleyway across from the bar entrance. The passageway blooms into a small courtyard where people puff plumes of marijuana smoke into the sky and blow each other brainers. Jess yanks him towards the stairs that go from Junctions up to Duckworth Street. She falls behind him, runs her fingers through her sweaty hair and scrunches it to try to make it look beach-wavy.

  A former glamour puss, now homeless with the uniform of a tattered fur coat and halter top with one breast hanging out, stands by a hot-dog cart. “Cock dog?” Once, she was high society. Once, she had a future. Once, she was less known, yet less loved. She’s a fixture in St. John’s, known and loved by all.

  “No, thanks.” Dan doesn’t let go of Jess’s hand. They look both ways to cross the street. On the other side, they stop to kiss, leaning against the CBC building, its Art Deco lines and borders casting a shadow from the street light across Dan’s cheek, as Jess half-lifts her eyelids to glance. The next kiss is a little slower, a little saltier, a little longer. He pulls close to her. He’s only slightly taller than her, maybe 5’9’’, tops, to her 5’6’’.

  She scrunches his curls between her fingers between kisses. “You’re just as sweaty as I am.” They stand there, kissing, swaying.

  He feathers her hair with his fingertips. “You’re right. You’re disgusting.” They giggle. They always giggle.

  They stride, arms around each other, the last few steps to Classic. The booth in the back corner is empty and they beeline it and each slide into one side. They order toutons and crispy bacon and lots of maple syrup and butter and they devour it and devour each other and Dan adores Jess, always.

  Hiking into the trail, there’s a familiar, comfortable silence. Just the swoosh of the light breeze, the occasional seabird squawk, and the crunch of their feet on twigs, perfectly in sync.

  “So tell me,” Matt starts the conversation, “how was my little girl in school? I know you didn’t have her for very long, but Grace and I missed the parent-teacher interviews so I’m curious.” “Your daughter is a sweetheart, Matt, she really is. She’s so caring and considerate of the other kids. A bit timid, maybe, but hopefully that’ll work itself out as she gets more adjusted to the school and makes new friends.”

  “I hope she makes new friends. You’re right—she’s shy.”

  “She will. I’ll keep an eye on her.” She winks at Matt, and he smiles back.

  “I’m glad she made a good impression though. I wonder how the separation has been on her.”

  There’s a silence that is not comfortable. It hangs in the air as they tromp the trail. Their steps fall slightly asynchronous.

  “Sorry if I made things awkward by bringing that up. I didn’t mean to. I was thinking of you like I would a friend.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She’s glad he said that. “I understand how hard it can be. Marriage. Cait is going through a divorce now, too. And I certainly saw my own parents go through their strife.”

  “I didn’t realize Cait was splitting from her husband.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a few months now, I guess. But they were unhappy for years. She had a house lined up to move into and everything.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” The familiarity of being with an old friend, the comfort of nostalgia, relaxes Jess. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s going on with you and Grace? I totally understand if that’s too personal. Don’t feel like you have to answer that.”

  “No, I don’t mind. I just…you know....” That sideways smile of his. “She just seems bored of me. Unfulfilled.” He shrugs. “I guess sometimes people outgrow each other. Or grow in different directions, or something.”

  “It’s sad.” Jess thinks about Cait and Jake. They used to bring out the best in each other. His energy complemented hers, and vice versa, but over the years…I find it terrifying that people can just start bringing out the worst in each other. Or become unfulfilled, I guess, in your case.”

  “In Grace’s case. I was happy. Or thought I was. Men can be oblivious sometimes.”

  The silence is comfortable again, and their steps fall in sync. She’s impressed that Matt seems so in tune to the needs of women.

  “So how are you and Dan then? His name is Dan, right?”

  “Yeah. Dan. How’d you know?”

  “Facebook, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I kept track of you.” He nudges her, teasingly.

  “Oh did you now?” There’s a tummy flutter.

  “Yep. I’d check in every now and again. I look at your photos, see what’s new.”

  “Yeah, Dan and I are fine. He’s an amazing husband. And father.”

  “But what about you? Are you happy with him?” He’s overstepping. “I’m sorry, I’m probably overstepping, aren’t I,” he says.

  “Well…I really can’t say a bad thing about Dan. He’s been with me for so long and I know he’ll never, ever hurt me.”

  “But Jess, does he make you happy? You.” He has taken her arm and turned her body to face his, and he’s looking directly into her eyes now. She stares back at him, into his pupils, and she’s arrested in time. She can’t move, she can’t breathe, she can’t shift her gaze from him. There is a surge of emotion, and she can’t tell which emotion, it’s more a whirl of despair and joy and relief and terror and freedom all wrapped into one gush and before she knows it they’re kissing. Suddenly there is nothing outside of this moment. They stay there, in silence, kissing, the soft breeze moving their hair, brushing their cheeks, and they sink into it. Kissing. For thirty minutes, at least.

  a kinship of cinematic rivals

  1999

  Melody Angel runs her hands up the back of her neck, combing her fingers through her mahogany mane of wild curls, which she twirls into a bun on the top of her head. She is the first guest on Cait’s radio show, Reely Good, which covers the local film scene.

  Cait clears her throat and starts her intro. “Melody Angel’s first short film, Sheet Say, lets us eavesdrop on two lovers who’ve just slept together for the first time. From awkward to astounding, we feel both guilty and dirty, privy to an entire relationship foreshadowed during the tornado of one conversation. What remains after the storm? Can their relationship be rebuilt? Please welcome to the show, the enigmatic Melody Angel.”

  Across the round table in the studio, Melody’s eyes are the colour of forest moss. Bright, wild, alive. “Happy to be here, Caitlyn. Thanks so much for having me.” She lays her hand on her chest at the word so, and nods, gratitude spilling out of her. She kinks her head to the side, and arches her back, adjusting herself in the seat.

  “So, Melody’s film is part of the Women’s Film Festival here in St. John’s, and I was lucky enough to see it in advance of this interview, and man, it is sexy. And unsettling.”

  “Thank you so much! Yeah, I’m really stoked it made it into the festival, and yeah, I wanted to zone in on the fear and vulnerability that’s there when you meet someone who could potentially be so important to you.”

  “And also the rapture and the bliss.”

  “Totall
y. You know, we’ve all been heart-eyed over someone, right? We know how amazing it is, and how you just get so lost in it. And then, when or if you break up, suddenly it’s the worst feeling, amiright?”

  “For sure, and these people really show that so well. It’s the rollercoaster and intensity of falling in love and out of love. And you see their whole relationship play out through the use of flash forwards, so it’s not just the one night. They kind of go from fawns to rabbits to lions, and then in the end…well, people will have to see the movie to see which animals they are by the end, I guess.”

  Melody’s laugh lilts like a song. “I guess it’s about the test that every romantic relationship has at some point, when your lover drives you insane, and it’s kind of like a reckoning—do you blast past, or does it last?”

  “You seem wise beyond your nineteen years on this topic.”

  “Yeah,” Melody combed her hair with her fingers again, tugging at a tendril, “my parents divorced when I was thirteen, and I was just shattered, of course, but lately, in the last year or so, I just started reading about divorce, marriage, the nature of relationships, and thinking about how marriage doesn’t seem natural and what an anomaly and accomplishment it is when marriages last a very long time. People change, you know? It shouldn’t be seen as a failure if two people grow apart.”