Jeremy was learning which steps to avoid for their creaking, and which windows let in what amount of light at which hour. There couldn’t have been a better job assigned to him. He could retreat there for a full eight hours minding the garden, sanding the porch, coming up with an ever-expanding job list to justify his time spent there.
The house was nearly swallowed by the trees surrounding it. Everywhere you looked, trees. Viewed from the tallest turret of the house, treetops lined the acres like green cotton candy with not another house to be seen. It was such a shame no one lived there, because this sort of home deserved a family. So many rooms with so little sound within them seemed cruel and mocking somehow.
Sometimes, Jeremy imagined he was part of that family. That it wasn’t just him, alone, every day. That he wouldn’t be nervous by the presence of other people, that he would enjoy their company, and that they would enjoy this home. It was like playing house for grown-ups, except he did it all alone.
When he was five, Jeremy began to recognize loneliness. It had always been there, that hollow feeling in the bottom of his gut, a bit like he’d swallowed something metallic, but he’d never known a word to attach to it. It was his mother herself who had finally given it a name.
He’d come home one day to find her, Gloria, crying on the couch. Wet sobs, where he could hear various liquids pouring out of her nose, her eyes, her mouth. In one hand, a lit cigarette, ashes an inch long with no ashtray in sight, scattered grey bits decorating the carpet below. In the other, an almost empty bottle. She sloshed the dregs around. He knew those bottles meant trouble, as if they were a special sort of pop that had a bit more sugar, or something strange that made his mother equally so.
“Mom?” he called timidly. He never knew whether to speak up or to cower in the corner, sneak to his bedroom and close the door behind him. Usually, that was the best idea. She had seemed so pitiful that day, though, and she actually looked at him. He was emboldened.
“Jeremy,” she wailed. “What am I doing? What do I do? I just don’t know what to do.” This, between hiccupping sobs and slurps of the bottle’s last drops. He was terrified, and wondered if she was really asking and waiting for him to answer. To him, it seemed fairly obvious that she was sitting in their makeshift home, on their dirty couch, surrounded by ashes as the smell of that mystery elixir oozed from her every pore.
He took a few steps forward. The little boy of five took the cigarette out of his mother’s hand, grabbed the bottle from the other, and began to stroke her hair. He remembered feeling too big for his body; looking down at his hands in her tangled, tatty hair and thinking they looked too small. They should be bigger.
Gloria closed her eyes. She kept mumbling incoherent ideas that Jeremy couldn’t understand, but one of the clearest things she said was uttered right as she was about to submit to slumber.
“I am so lonely,” she said in a husky, flat voice.
Lonely. Jeremy toyed with the word in his head. If this was lonely, his mother on the couch, not knowing where she was or why, then maybe there was a little bit of that loneliness inside of him, too. He often wondered when he might get a hug from his mother. In school, his teacher said that you should get two hugs a day for maintenance and three for growth. At this rate, Jeremy felt that he would stay stunted forever. There was no one to cuddle him, to stroke his hair when he was the one sobbing. She wasn’t capable. Instead, his tiny body huddled next to her, breathing as quietly as his little lungs would let him so that she could finally fall asleep and be at peace, for a couple of hours at least.
When she began to snore, he left. Took himself out the door, and walked down the darkening street.
That was the day he found Buster.
The puppy had been whimpering in the corner of an alley, and it struck Jeremy immediately how similar his mother’s cries had sounded just minutes earlier. He saw the outline of the dog’s ribs in the streetlamp’s glow.
The puppy kept whining and Jeremy began to notice the traces of soft fur, the soft eyes on a body where no softness should have remained.
Lonely dog. Lonely boy. Now that he had possession of the word, he wanted to do something about it. Make it go away.
He inched forward slowly and gently. The puppy retreated as far back into the corner as it could go, digging its dirty paws into the asphalt to push against the wall. But Jeremy crept forward, step by little step, talking quietly to the mutt that he was already beginning to think of as his own.
“It’s alright puppy. It’s okay. I’m lonely too. I won’t hurt you.”
Jeremy reached out his hand, and watched the dog lean toward and then away from his palm and fingers, questioning their motives. It didn’t take long. By the time Jeremy got close enough to touch him, the puppy was licking his hand. What a sticky tongue, and so much stronger than he expected. That dog kept licking him, on his hand, his arm, even his cheek when he got close enough. Jeremy giggled and fell in love.
“Whoa! Thatta boy, Buster!” The new name popped out of his mouth. Probably fresh in his head from some cowboy movie he’d seen, full of guns and lassoes and things other kids in his class would never have been allowed to see. Buster it was. There was no questioning it.
He had no idea how to bring Buster home with him. Gloria might kick him out immediately. She might scream and yell and terrify the dog all over again. Jeremy was struck with a fierce sense of stewardship. He had rescued Buster, and he would take care of him.
No collar hung around Buster’s neck, but Jeremy was afraid he might get startled and run off somewhere. He dug around in a trash bin for something of use; some twine or string. When those failed to emerge, he ripped a strip off a garbage bag, twisted it into something resembling a rope, and made a little noose with a strap long enough for Jeremy to walk comfortably beside him. Buster gently lowered his head as Jeremy applied his new leash.
They walked along the road together and got home to find Gloria snoring, unmoved, on the couch. With an unnecessary “Shhh,” Jeremy led Buster to the kitchen and from the fridge took out bits of things he thought a dog might like. A little bit of cheese, a cob of corn, even some crackers from the cupboard. Buster ate it all.
Unexpectedly, Gloria didn’t seem to mind Buster. Jeremy promised to walk him every day, to feed him, do odd jobs around the neighbourhood to save money for dog food and, on special occasions, even a bone or two. Gloria remained unaffected.
Once, he caught Gloria on her knees looking right into Buster’s eyes. Jeremy froze in the doorway, unsure of what she might do. He thought she might strike him, but when she raised her hand, she did so more gently than Jeremy had ever seen. She stroked that dog’s cheeks, grabbed his tail gently.
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You are Buster, yes you are”
It was just that once he caught her at this, but Jeremy liked to hope it happened all the time when he wasn’t looking. Sometimes he would purposely leave them alone in a room. Maybe if she were around Buster more, she would become that gentle with Jeremy, too. Maybe she would pat his head and tell him he was a good boy. That didn’t happen, but Buster did end up being a faithful companion.
Buster would have loved the old Victorian house. Jeremy was struck with a fantasy of making the place into a little zoo, an animal farm. He could round up raccoons and try to tame them; lure them with bits of garbage and train them to love him while sitting gently on his shoulder. He imagined them eating ticks out of his hair, although he supposed that was more ape-like than raccoon and hoped he had no ticks to pick.
Jeremy had heard enough silence for a lifetime, and maybe he could deal with a little noise. He wanted to feel like he had rescued something again. As he’d walked that dog home so long ago, he had felt a godlike pride at his garbage bag leash.
Animals would wreak havoc on the property, however, and he knew it. There would be shit all over; too much for him to ever collect alone. On the floors, in the carpets, scratches on the walls. And how would he know what to feed each
species? They’d probably all need something different and he didn’t like the idea of scrounging up dead bugs and little rodents to shove into their expectant mouths. He would have to think of something else.
Jeremy bent over to pick up a canister of paint. It was mauve. A beautiful purple. Almost like Violet.
4
Violet came crashing out of the kitchen with four plates, two in each hand. She’d only recently learned to do this. Before, she could handle only three, one in each hand and the third balanced on her left forearm. She couldn’t help but feel a bit proud when she saw the incredulous looks on her customers’ faces as she brought out all four of their family’s plates at once. Granted, they always looked a little scared. She was rarely graceful, and sometimes the plates would totter on her capable arms. But she almost always delivered them successfully, with only a few stray slices of toast or fries lost along the way.
People always asked if working in a restaurant took away her desire to eat in them, but the answer was not at all. It felt nice to sit and be served when you’re used to doing the serving. On weekend mornings, she would look on longingly at factions of friends who stumbled in together, so hungover they could barely mutter, “Coffee,” before their heads retreated into their hands.
Violet saw that the hostess was seating someone new in her section; a redheaded man, alone. He looked tall from behind. She went to get him a coffee, because almost everyone wants one and won’t even say hello until they get it. Violet despised some people’s willingness to throw away civility so easily. No one needs a coffee that badly. Regardless, she grabbed a mug, filled it, and brought it over.
“Good morning!” she said before seeing his face. She then recognized the long limbs of the friendly tipper from the other day. Her face lit up; she couldn’t help it. And not only because she wanted another good tip. It was just nice to know that there were people in the world who appreciated her and chose to let her know she was doing a good job.
“Long time, no see,” she added, smiling widely.
Damnit, Jeremy thought to himself. That was the line he’d been rehearsing in his head. He’d thought it would be perfect, acknowledging that he remembered her and poking fun at the fact that he was back so soon. Now he was left wordless, defenceless, and a little embarrassed.
His heart began to pound against his ribs. Blood surged up his neck and blotted his cheeks. He felt transparent; he’d even asked to sit in her section, just in case, which was humiliating enough. “Can I sit by the bar?” was how he had disguised the request. Another of the lines he had rehearsed endlessly in his car before summoning the grit to walk back in.
There were men who came in every day and sat in Violet’s section. She wondered what their insides must look like, or their pocketbooks, after eating and paying for the same unhealthy meal every day. She thought of Andrew, who slipped her a dollar after every meal. Very seriously, as if sharing a secret or some prized possession.
The last words spoken had been Violet’s and he knew it was his turn. He stuttered for a moment but language finally arrived on his tongue.
“I just couldn’t stay away,” he said with what he hoped looked like a smile but was really a quivering of his lip. “It’s a beautiful day out,” he added.
In that moment, Jeremy was glad to live in Canada where the weather changed as often as the time.
Violet didn’t mind the small talk. “I know!” she replied heartily. “I feel like it might be one of the last hot days before fall really sinks in.” She clasped her hands at her clavicle.
“But the leaves, they’re pretty much done for the year,” Jeremy found it in himself to add. It amazed him that she smiled and nodded.
“I’m a fall baby,” she admitted. “I love the colours of September, how quickly they change. It’s over in a heartbeat but so beautiful while it lasts.”
Jeremy felt a strong desire to collect handfuls of fallen leaves for her. He wanted to find one of every colour and lay them out so they blended into each other, so that they created a rainbow of greens and oranges and reds and yellows and browns.
“Why were you crying?” he blurted. His hands immediately flew to his lips. She was caught off guard and took one tiny step away from him.
“When?” she asked cautiously.
“The other day. I saw you in the parking lot, I’d been running some errands,” he lied. “I saw you get into your car, and you looked so upset. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m okay. That was a long day. I’d been here for hours and someone wasn’t all that nice to me, and I couldn’t help it. It’s not a big deal,” she quickly added as she saw something more pressing than concern register on his freckled face. She realized she had said a whole lot of words without telling him anything at all, but really, what more could he expect from her?
“Well… I’m really sorry,” Jeremy repeated. “I know what it’s like to have bad days.” His voice wavered. The way he said it made Violet think that every day might be a bad day for him, and it made her heart break. Here he was, this gangly thing, opening up to her. Before she even knew it, her hand was on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “That’s very sweet. I’m fine. But it’s really nice of you to ask. It feels good to have someone concerned about me, and I don’t even know you.” She had meant this as a compliment but Jeremy felt it as more of a slap. He didn’t want a reminder of how incredibly far off he was from knowing her.
“Anyways!” she continued. He liked that she added an “s,” it always felt better coming out of his mouth than an anyway alone. “You’re probably starving. What can I get for you?”
She’d forgotten the mug in her hand, cooling while she stood and talked, and hurriedly presented it to Jeremy like a gift before he could even answer her question.
“Well, that’s a good start!” he said. “I think just the regular breakfast would be good.”
“Great! How would you like your eggs?” This was part of her morning script; it didn’t vary too much from person to person, but she still made a point of smiling and looking into eyes as much as she could.
“Over medium, please,” he asked politely.
“Right! I should’ve remembered. Next time.”
Next time. Jeremy felt a thrill of excitement at the thought.
“What kind of meat would you like? Sausage again?”
She knew! He didn’t realize that every person who stepped foot in the place on more than one occasion expected their server to remember their order somehow.
“Yes please, and brown toast.”
She said brown toast at the same moment he did. It was a lovely trick when she did remember, Violet had discovered, although sometimes it only served to inflate the very sense of self-importance she loathed.
As Violet walked away from the table, Jeremy followed her with his eyes. He searched his memory for experiences with other waitresses. Were they all this sweet? Did they remember his order if he’d been there more than twice in one week? He wanted to listen to her talking to others to see how much kindness crept into her words. Maybe she was saving all of it for him.
He dressed his coffee and sipped it, not minding that it wasn’t nearly as hot as he preferred. He wanted to ask Violet what temperature she liked her coffee. He wanted to call her by name. She did, after all, remember that he liked sausage and brown toast, but was it too invasive for him to use the name that she’d circled for him on a receipt?
Before he knew it, she was back with a plate of food and a steaming pot of coffee. “I figured you’d like a warm-up,” she said. “I stood there with it for so long that it must have been awful. It’s no good if it’s not hot.”
He tried not to let his jaw drop, to say not a word except for, “Thanks.” For once, he bit his tongue to keep from speaking instead of having to desperately drum up thoughts.
“Cheers,” she said. He wondered if that was an acceptable use of the term, but didn’t mind either way. Of course she would say cheers; she
had cheer pouring out of her. He ate with relish as she tended other tables, and he tried not to stare. When he finished eating, he hesitated to put down his cutlery. He didn’t want to push his plate away.
But, inevitably, she came over to ask if he was finished, like the attentive server she was. He nodded. “It was delicious,” he said, having no real recollection of how any of it had tasted on his tongue.
“Excellent,” she smiled. “I’ll be right back with your bill.”
Jeremy couldn’t help but feel a little discarded. The instant he finished eating, she was done with him as well. He tried to remind himself that it was part of the job description, and he accepted the bill as she handed it over to him.
“Thank you, Violet.” He’d done it again, used her name. He breathed in and out before she finally replied.
“You’re welcome!” She even smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Jeremy,” he said quietly. “I’m Jeremy.”
“Well Jeremy, it was good to see you again. Hopefully you’ll be back soon.”
“Oh, I’ll be back,” he said with what he hoped was confidence.
As he walked out of the restaurant, an idea began tugging at his insides.
What if… he started to think. What if she needed rescuing? What if whatever had made her cry in her car was worse than her cheerful disposition allowed her to show? She might not realize it, but what if she needed him to save her? She had been so kind, so intimate, and maybe she was just what Jeremy needed to feel fully human. They could help each other. She could learn to love him.
5
There wasn’t ever a full plan, not really. There were bits and pieces floating around in Jeremy’s head. He was on a mission, but his tactics were not clearly mapped. He would have been a poor excuse of a general.
Before the week was over, he found himself back in the diner parking lot. He knew he looked pathetic hovering there alone; he felt naked and bare to his bones. There was a real breeze in the air and he began to shiver. He had taken a cab there. Violet was soon to finish her shift. In a bold move, he’d called the restaurant to ask when she would be done.
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