Going Down Swinging

by Billie Livingston

  “Uh! You always take her side.” Lilly slammed herself back in her chair.

  Wendy joined in. “Yeah, you kinda do. Grace is just trying to get attention. She only had the thing a couple weeks and it always sounded like she was torturing it. And anyway, she killed it herself letting it fly around her room like that.”

  A wiggle went up my throat in my mouth. “Can I go get ready for school—I don’t want to eat—this—I’m, um—” and I crunched my jaws together.

  Mrs. Hood was sitting back at the table now with tea. Her voice was calm. “Oh, no? Well, you’re going to. I don’t get up at seven a.m. for you to turn your nose up at the breakfast I make. I’m sure you’re having a hard time right now, but honestly, this is ongoing and it’s getting ridiculous. I don’t know how your poor mother ever tolerated your pickiness.”

  Wendy looked up at the ceiling, chewing. I said, “It’s not cuz it’s bad. I’m just—” and clenched my teeth again.

  Mrs. Hood stared at me, waiting. Then she said, “It’s my responsibility as your guardian to make sure you’re fed, and you’re skinnier every time I look at you. And I don’t want to hear about what your mother fed you and how you’re not allowed to eat white bread or Kraft Dinner—I’d like to know just how a woman on Welfare managed to feed you steak every day and whole milk and fresh juice and fresh vegetables. And she should be ashamed of herself for not forcing you to eat like a normal person—dumping vitamins down your throat. Not to mention your table manners. Half the time you’re eating with your hands, and when you do use utensils, it’s like you never held one before in your life.” Lilly sucked in her lips and got dimples in her cheeks.

  Christmas vacation started and Todd Baker drove me to my mum’s. He was trying to make peppy happy conversation on the way and I wasn’t in the mood. It seemed like he thought it was some big present, bringing me to my mum’s place, like I should be grateful or something. But it was mine and I deserved it and I didn’t want him thinking he was supposed to get thanked.

  He was talking about Christmas in Oregon, his mother and his cousins and their dogs and cats dressed in Santa hats for Christmas pictures. He wished he remembered to bring the one his uncle sent. And then Christmas in New York: the lights and music everywhere; his brother and the wife and how they were Jewish there and they had Hanukkah; did I know what Hanukkah was? Josh never said anything about it. I stared out the window and said, “Uh huh.”

  He was quiet a second, then, “I haven’t been home in more than four years.” I wondered if he meant I should feel lucky again. Then he said, “Next year for sure—I think, anyway—I’ll be able to make it down; last year my mother came up here.”

  “What’s a draft dodger?” I asked and didn’t look at him.

  Quiet again. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Mm, I don’t know. I heard someone say it. Just wondered.”

  He patted pockets until he found cigarettes, flipped the lid with one hand, looked, then chucked the empty package on the floor. He shifted gears hard and switched lanes. “It’s someone who believes so much in the strength of their convictions that they leave their homeland in order to avoid compromising them.”

  I looked at the Player’s Light pack beside his feet and said, “Hm. I see …” He looked over and chewed inside his lip. I figured I must’ve nailed him a good one and it was like eating chocolate cake made from scratch.

  We came to a red light and both of us stared at it. He lowered his chin and straightened up when the light turned green. “So. How’s Lyle? That’s such a great name, what made you think of it?”

  The Hoods must’ve said something to him. He was getting me back. I did my no-big-deal voice. “Dead.”

  Todd watched over the steering wheel till it sunk in. “Pardon?”

  “Dead.”

  I watched him without turning my head. He squinted like something really hurt. “Dead? He died?” He didn’t know.

  “Quite.” I was doing my best Mum imitation. “Last night, as it were.” I was sophisticated like crazy.

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me earlier? Did the cats get him?”

  “Nope. Musta got a bad bird. Probably had a short.” I got him with a Mum-and-me joke on top of it. I was stomping him.

  “What? What is that supposed to mean? What’s with you, Grace? Something on your mind? Because I’m sensing a little hostility here. You know, because if you’ve got something to share or get off your chest, then you needn’t be sarcastic with me.” I looked out my window. He kept going. “I feel as though you’re acting out at me sometimes, Grace, and I don’t feel I deserve it. I know it’s a drag what’s happened to you; I know you’ve had it rough, but at the same time—you’re so damn used to getting your own way, you just make it harder on yourself. Maybe you’re used to adults thinking it’s cute, your precocious snide little remarks, but I’ll tell you right now, it’s not going to get you very far. My politics, my job, my life are none of your business.”

  I couldn’t think all the sudden, so I said, “Me too,” and my stomach hurt like maybe I would fart and then Todd Baker would win because I’d be ugly and disgusting and riff-raff.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Tears ached under my eyeskin.

  Todd Baker turned to me as we pulled up in front of the house my mother’s place was in. “Grace … what is with you? You are so—moody. Sometimes you’re such a great kid, you’re bright and funny, and other times you’re nothing but aggressive and manipulative. Don’t start crying, it’s—forget it, it’s no big deal. You’re here. Maybe you just need a little time out. You won’t have to see the Hoods or me again for another four days.” I sat straight, gulping myself back. Todd watched me and wobbled his gearshift back and forth.

  I shoved open the door and climbed out, grabbing in the back seat for the suitcase Mrs. Hood loaned me. It caught on something and I banged it back and forth to get it free. Todd told me to hang tough and he’d be right there while he ran around to my side, hanging on to the car so he wouldn’t fall on the ice. But it was too late, the slush slid out under my feet; everything flipped up and sideways and slammed me down on my bum.

  Todd got there just as I landed. “Aw Grace, com’ere, let me help you. If you could ever be patient.” He smiled and tried to catch hold of my arms.

  “Lemme—just leave me alone, I can do it myself.” I slid around in the dirty slush and grass until I got standing enough to hold on to the car roof, then backed up to the sidewalk.

  Todd picked the suitcase out of the slush and tiptoed through it. “Here, Grace, let me help you in—I’ll carry it.”

  “No. I’m fine—just—I don’t need help.” I grabbed the suitcase, doing my best not to touch him. “God. I’m going to see my mum, OK? so I’m fine—just—Thank you,” and dragged it up the walkway. Todd stood there and I didn’t look back until I heard both car doors slam and the engine go burping down the street.

  Eilleen Eleven

  DECEMBER 1974

  GET READY. Peering out your window, moments ago, there appeared to be a war on your sidewalk. You open the door and glee Lamby-Pie at the soggy lump on your doorstep.

  Your child is grey-slushed from ground to elbows, her eyebrows arm-wrestling above her nose; there is a glob of mud sticking hair to her jaw. Don’t you look lovely, you say and pull her in by the coat collar, await the tirade, the stomping …

  Nothin: she just stares at her boots, tight-mouthed. You undo buttons, thinking, Christ, those foster people have cruddy taste in clothes, then slide the dismal brown coat down off her and say, Wanna step out of these? Her eyes are welling as you pull off black gumboots, stand them on the doormat and heap that coat over top. What’s wrong? and you take her jaw in your hands and kiss her smack on the mouth. What’s wiff oo? poor antface and tears fling themselves out of her ducts and you’re half-surprised she hasn’t taught them to shriek as they go. You wish for her sake she could say, You should see the other guy, but you saw him yourself and he was dry-dr
y, just a bit of social-worker dismay stuck in his teeth. You put your arms around her bony body—it’s bonier than usual —and hug, kiss three times: temple, cheek, neck, and say What’s the matter? Say something. What were you and Baker fighting about?

  I don’t know, she says and squashes herself against you, stuffs her face in your neck.

  Uh oh. What did you say? and she yowls and pulls off; you’ve stepped on her tail. Well shit, it’s not really an accusation, it’s just—Well, don’t get your shirt in a knot, come back here. I just wondered, just seems like he’s too nerdy to actually start a fight with a beast like you.

  She likes being called a beast and this has a calming effect. She takes a breath, then, I asked him what a draft dodger was.

  Gasp here. You and your big mouth. Oh, Grace! Gees. That’s all you can think of before a laugh squirts out of you. What a bugger you are!

  Oh well, a girl’s got to survive and you hold her to your chest and pat between her shoulder blades, the loose amethyst in your ring giggling against her back. She gurgles and slurps tears over your shoulder and you pull back to look at her, kiss her cheek as you pass it, say Ew, are you getting me all snotty?

  And her gurgles round into giggles and she shudder-breathes and says, And he asked why Lyle died and I said that he must’ve got me a bad bird and maybe there was a short in it.

  Ack! That’s all you have to say to that. And all the giggles—yours, hers, your ring’s—turn to cackles because nothing is more hilarious than flipping a family joke about men on a man like Baker, since Baker’s just the kind of man who started that joke: the kind of man who picks up any broken household appliance, cocks his head and then, like a belch after beer, must follow with, Ah huh, well, must be a short in it.

  Well! you say, enough about him, let’s talk about us … Looky-looky—and you reach into your blouse and whip an envelope out of your bra. And her eyes splash at the frivolous oh-so-naughty gesture. She squeaks Charlie? before you can open your mouth again.

  She snatches it out of your hand, tries to rifle it open, drops it and looks about to cry again. She sorrys, picks it up and pulls out the pages, scans Charlie’s looping squirrel script and asks you to read it to her:

  Dear Mum,

  I hope you get this. The last one I sent came back. I’m going to try mailing it to Lilly Darling at Welfare. She’ll probably know where you are. I hope you guys are doing OK. God I miss you. I feel like I’m going to die of homesickness. But guess what, I’m coming home soon. I wanted to call you so bad and tell you but Ian won’t let me have a phone. He says I’ll just run up long-distance bills. Everything’s kind of weird right now. I’ll tell you when I get back. Oh god, I can’t wait. Every day takes a week but at least I know I get to see you guys soon and Sam’ll get to see his Nana and his Aunty Grace. Probably after Christmas, around the beginning of January. Tell Graceface I love her like crazy and I can’t wait to hug her again. I love you.

  Love Charlie

  xoxoxoxoxox

  P.S. Do you think you could call Lilly Darling when you get this and ask her if I can get Welfare again when I come back?

  P.P.S. And also tell Grace that I’m sorry I won’t have money for Christmas presents this year. I wish I had bags of money to buy her everything in the world, xoxox

  Grace looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. Did it come in the mail? she says, Who’s Lilly Darling?

  Lilly Darling is Charlie’s old social worker Remember, she was over last year when we first moved to Vancouver. Maybe you were out. Anyway, I guess she dropped it off because it was under the door this morning.

  Well, are you gonna call her, Lilly Darling, are you gonna call and tell her Charlie needs a welfare cheque at beginning of January?

  Yes. Yes I am, in fact I already did. So they know she’s coming. They’ll do up an emergency assistance cheque when she goes into the office.

  Her face looks stunned, stuck in limbo, as if she’s too scared to get excited. So you grab her and start to waltz round the kitchen—Charlie’s coming soon, chachacha, her boyfriend’s a baboon, chachacha, we’re gonna sing a tune, chachacha, cause we’re crazy like loons, chachacha. And she giggle-shrieks at the ceiling as you dip her.

  You realize the first night how uncomfortable she is discussing the Hoods, and you’re not sure who she’s scared of: you or them. Or Baker. But she won’t come out with much in the way of details. You must infer things, deduce from the way her body buoys up when you suggest making popcorn in the middle of the afternoon, to watch The Newlywed Game and Match Game back to back, that this isn’t the way things go in her current abode. Must assume that Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gormes announcement on Tattletales that they would probably live together first if they met today would not be tolerated in the Hood house by the way Grace glances from the screen to you and back. By the way she suddenly plunks a television trivia question on the table: Rhoda slept over at Joe’s sometimes before they were married, right? And you say, Sure.

  She looks vindicated—Just cuz Wendy and Lilly said no way that Rhoda never did that before she was married or they wouldn’t watch the show.

  Well, the yoke’s on them. Is there a lot you’re not allowed to watch over there?

  She shrugs, mumbles and clams up.

  And so that’s how it goes, she drops crumbs and you try to make stuffing. It’s good, though. Mostly. You gave her the bed and you’ve been sleeping on the pullout couch—figured it would benefit both of you, since you can’t sleep and end up pacing around the house at all hours and you don’t want to bomb yourself with the pills it would take to put you out because—well, just because.

  Because it feels good to be awake sometimes and hear her squeak and the blankets ruffle, to be able to go in there and say there-there, ask what she dreamed. The second night with you, she woke up and sat staring out the window. When you came to her, she said, I feel like I’m forgetting something, like I’m supposed to be somewhere. I feel like someone’s coming.

  Just Charlie, you said and kissed her.

  Nights you can’t sleep and nights you can, you dream schemes of driving away, and it’s so real the steering wheel just floats under your hands and the top is down and Grace is bouncing on her side of a white leather bench seat, playing with the radio dials. You’re somewhere on the Prairies and there’s a breeze and the two of you are getting pink in the sun and she’s singing that song, that one she used to sing about a brand new pair of roller skates. “I ride my bike, I roller skate, don’t drive no car, don’t go too fast but I go pretty far. For somebody who don’t drive I bin all around the world; some people say I done all right for a girl.”

  “Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without presents.” That was the first line of your favourite book when you were Grace’s age. Little Women. Maybe you were older. But you bought it for her anyway. And you bought her one of those little Kodak cameras and two games: Payday and checkers. And goofy things like a straw that coils around in circles before it gets to your mouth, and you were going to get her a Pet Rock but the really goofy thing was the price. And she got you these enormous fluffy purple slippers that you’ll never wear because they make you look like Carol Burnett. There’s one last one to open; it’s for you from her. Wait, Grace grabs the camera while you examine your present, wondering what in god’s name she’s picked out: shiny and flat and could only be a record. You shake it anyway, gaze up at the lights on the tree. She says it’s a new basketball and laughs uproariously, looks through the camera and tells you to be Christmassy. Flash! she yaps. You bring the present down on your lap and start lifting the edges of taped paper. Faster! she orders and reaches over as if she’s going to help.

  Get lost, goofball! you say. She rolls her eyes and leans back to flash another Kodak moment. Quit it, you, I was busy savouring and now I’m going to look like an old hag in that picture.

  And it’s—who? You smile at the Cellophane-covered jacket, say, How do you know who the Ray Charles Singers are?

  I don
’t. You said it once and I wrote it down.

  It’s one in the morning, Christmas Eve, and you’ve never been so grateful for another human being in your life.

  Hoffman, Anne Eilleen

  22.12.74 (T. Baker) As by agreement, Grace taken to her mother’s for the holidays. She will be staying until December 26th. I have already made arrangement to go to court on January 6th to request an early return of Grace to her mother, as Mrs. Hoffman is managing very well now. We had talked of a V.I.P. placement earlier in the month, and now that she is physically stronger, she has taken to the idea of a job quite well. She is still attending AA.

  Except for pressure to visit her mother, Grace has not had any requests and has been doing very well, except for minor conflicts with Mrs. Hood’s little girls.

  26.12.74 (T. Baker) Grace taken back to Mrs. Hood’s.

  27.12.74 (T. Baker) Grace had tantrum over her allowance, slamming doors, etc.

  Grace Thirteen

  DECEMBER 1974

  WE ALL COUNTED the days until February third, when I’d be gone for good. Mrs. Hood still tried to make me feel included, though: she told me one morning, while Lilly and Wendy were arguing about Jews and whether they’d survive through Armageddon, that their family vacation was coming up. Lilly’d been explaining to me, “We don’t get blood transfusions cuz it’s wrong. Or any bloods at all, even. Like in the war, Hitler tried to make us eat blood sausage but we wouldn’t but the Jews ate them, plus they fought amongst themselves. See, they’re not at peace with each other and they prob’ly won’t survive Judgment Day.” I was wondering if I should tell Josh that or if he rathered not know. I couldn’t stand it if God hurt Josh. Then Wendy yelled at Lilly that she shouldn’t talk about the Jews because they were God’s chosen people. And Lilly yelled back that she never said anything bad about them and “I can say Jew any time I want—Jew-Jew-Jew!” Mrs. Hood told everyone to simmer down and changed the subject with this thing about a trip to Harrison Hot Springs. She said they had friends there with a place and there would be room if I wanted to join them. Lilly rolled her eyes and I suddenly got a jumping under my jaw, like a big hopping nerve, while I tried to think of an excuse not to go. “I don’t have any money, though; I don’t think I can do trips.”