by Beth Goobie
She didn’t know how to get past her mother’s questions to tell her, Something’s changing, Mom. Something deep and sleepy inside me is starting to wake up. So she just said, “I fell and cut my hand, but my roommate Darcie fixed it. My roommate’s the archery instructor. She hits a bull’s eye every single time.”
She said good-bye three times before her mother let her go. Then she stood, one hand resting on the phone, letting the latest truth settle in. The phone call had been good. For the first time in two years, she had wanted to talk to her mother. Their voices had merged and run together—she couldn’t remember half of what they had said. What stayed with her was the feel of her mother’s voice, the tone of it—the love her mother felt for her, the love she felt back. At home in Saskatoon, she knew her mother was probably crying with relief. When she finished, she might relax and breathe a little deeper, smile a few times. Perhaps she would even be able to let the day be more than constant worry, the sickening lurch of fear.
Aunt Erin turned from the computer and looked at her. “How’s your mom?”
Adrien had forgotten her aunt was in the office. She stared out the window as hundreds of tiny hooks let go and slipped out of her. How she had worried about her mother.
“She’s good,” she said slowly. “I think she’ll be all right.”
Aunt Erin’s smile changed her whole face. “Glad to hear it,” she said. “Think I’ll ever get my sweatshirt back?”
“Maybe if the Tories get re-elected.”
Aunt Erin grimaced. “She can keep it. Now head on out there, you’ve got kids waiting.”
“Yes, boss,” Adrien said, and stepped out to serve the children.
eleven
As Adrien was closing Tuck’n Tack for lunch, Darcie came by with a large paper bag. “Din-din,” she said, shaking it. “I told the cooks you were helping me fix arrows.”
“And they bought it?”
“Well, you are.” With a menacing look, Darcie picked up the whistle she wore around her neck. Adrien covered her ears and cowered. “Not the whistle, not the whistle.”
They passed a group of children coming back from the corrals, but otherwise it was a quiet walk through rustling trees. The range was empty, just the equipment shed at one end and the targets at the other. Adrien snooped through the bag while Darcie unlocked the shed and brought out a canister of damaged arrows.
“Beans,” Adrien announced, opening two warm Tupperware containers. “It’s Canada Day and they give us sausages and beans.”
“Glad I’m working out here all afternoon.” Darcie sat down beside her. “Can you imagine being cooped up with a pack of little farts in Arts and Crafts?”
“Farts and Crafts,” said Adrien, remembering. They dug into their beans. “This must be the cheapest way to feed a couple hundred kids.”
“Yeah, but it’s healthy,” said Darcie. “Maybe it’ll improve their brain activity. One idiot was tearing the feathers off an arrow this morning. Complete barbarian.”
“Did you blow your whistle?”
“I blew his head off. You’d think kids would have some appreciation for the finesse of this sport. It’s supposed to be quiet and peaceful. Zennish, like meditation. The power of the mind—”
“—over a circle pinned to a straw bale,” finished Adrien. Darcie developed a distinctly huffy quality about the mouth. “You’ve got very nice trees around here,” Adrien continued hastily. “Lovely atmosphere for mind over matter stuff.”
Darcie gave her a suspicious glance, then decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “You should see the professional ranges.”
“That what you’re going to be when you grow up—a professional Robin Hood?”
“I’m not good enough. I can hit a straw bale, but ... What’re you going to do?”
“You mean if I don’t keel over first?” Adrien had never given much thought to a professional career. “Maybe I’ll work in a funeral home. Become a mortician. Find out how everything looks inside, how each organ works to keep you alive.”
“I don’t know if that’d really suit you, Grouch,” Darcie said carefully. “They don’t allow a sense of humor in funeral homes. You’d have to ditch all your snappy comebacks. Why not work in a nursery, with itty-bitty newborn babies? That’d teach you a lot more about how the body’s alive, wouldn’t it?”
Adrien sat watching the trees play with shadow and light. She had never held a baby. What would it be like to hold a tiny life that didn’t even know it was possible to die? “You think different from me,” she said grudgingly.
Darcie scraped up the last of her beans. “Yeah, but I’m a limited thinker compared to you. I can tell. You’ve got the kind of mind that travels to other planets, like the Doomsday Man.”
“Paul Marchand?”
“You’re blushing,” Darcie said softly. “It’s okay, I already know you’re crazy about him.”
Adrien wanted to scramble to her feet and leave. Why did everyone have to tease—was it the summer camp mentality? “Promise you won’t ever bug me about this,” she said, staring fiercely at a bull’s eye.
“Yeah sure,” Darcie said easily. “Cross my heart, hope to—”
“Die,” Adrien said, looking at her. Darcie’s eyes faltered, and then she nodded. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
Darcie switched to the non-death topic with relief. “Yeah, a couple. Not all at once, of course.”
“So, uh, how far did you go?”
Darcie looked startled. “You mean sex?”
Adrien nodded.
“I’ve never had sex. Yet. Came pretty close a few times, but that’s as far as I wanted to go. It has to be right, y’know. You have to feel right about it. It’s important, letting someone touch you.” She paused. “You and Paul haven’t—”
“No.” Adrien shook her head. “It’s just ... it feels so strong. Like if we just kissed, we’d go all the way, y’know?”
Darcie smiled knowingly. “Yeah, but it’s not like that. Feelings are strong, but you’ve still got a mind. You can take it in stages. Have fun with it. Play.”
“Have fun?” Adrien was stunned. Play? The whole thing seemed so serious, almost like a pact with death.
“Look, Grouch,” said Darcie. “You’re going to have a ton of boyfriends. I can tell. You’ll have a lot more than me. Paul’s a nice guy, but you’re not marrying him—just making out.”
How could she possibly explain to Darcie what was going on between Paul and herself? “I just really like him.”
“You go all gooey every time you see him.”
“I do?” Adrien was horrified.
“So does he,” Darcie soothed. “He sees you and he loses his knees. Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. Now, see this arrow here? This is how you glue a feather onto a shaft. Are you watching carefully, Grouch?”
“Yeah, I’m watching,” said Adrien. “But I’m not fixing any of your precious arrows, Spart. I can’t concentrate. I’m getting hot flashes.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“So next time you see him,” Darcie advised breezily, “jump him.”
All afternoon, she handed out this-or-that chocolate bar. All afternoon, she sat with her head cocked, listening for the sound of Guy’s pickup coming down the road. Time stretched, endless as the horizon across the lake. By the time the pickup finally pulled into the parking lot, everyone had gone into the dining hall for supper. Adrien rushed to the walkway and watched Paul climb out of the truck.
“C’mon in and get some supper before you head home,” said Guy. “Hey—Paul!”
Paul was standing, one hand on the pickup’s fender, staring at Adrien. She stared back. Guy removed his black cowboy hat and shook his head. “He’s all yours,” he said, coming toward Adrien. “Been thinking about you all day. Must be true love—couldn’t get a word out of him.”
He walked away, leaving the two of them watching each other over the pickup. “Can we go for a smoke?” Adrien as
ked. “Or d’you want to get some supper?”
He shook his head, then said quietly, “I should get my bike.”
They walked silently into the woods, the whir of the bike between them. She felt hollow and hungry, and wondered what they were having for supper. Paul leaned his bike against a tree and dug for his pack in the pocket of his lumber jacket. When she shook her head, his hand froze. She stepped toward him. Close. Closer. She could see the pores in his skin, the tiny creases in his lips. Warmth flowed through her, she wanted to touch him, she wanted—
“Whoa!” Paul stepped back, wiping sweat from his upper lip. “C’mon, Adrien. I told you—my head’s too crazy right now. Don’t bug me.” Grabbing his bike, he swung it onto the path. Then he mounted and pedaled off, leaving her standing alone in the shock of her skin.
She wandered the woods for hours, drifting with the dying light, touching the bark of trees. Adrien—don’t bug me. Don’t bug me. Just this morning, she had touched his hair and he had smiled up at her. She could remember the exact curve to his lips, the lines at the corner of his mouth. Where had that smile gone now, how had she made him change, what had she done wrong? Sick with a deep ache, she couldn’t imagine seeing him again, walking toward him, talking to him. Stupid, she had been so stupid, and Darcie and Guy had been wrong. Paul didn’t love her, no one loved her, she would die before anyone ever did because there was no way she was ever believing in love again—it hurt way too much.
As evening darkened, she came out onto the shore and walked along the lonely dock. Further down the beach, the older children were at a singalong campfire. The younger ones were already in bed. She had lost her hunger and sat dull-eyed and vacant, staring across the gray-blue water to where the spirits drifted, their bodies glowing as they slept. What good were they—they never did anything, never sent her any messages, never spoke. What did they matter, what did anything matter? A hot tear slid down her cheek.
Sudden laughter came dancing out of the night trees. Five girls were coming down the path to the beach, their pale bodies wrapped in towels. Whispering and giggling, they stepped onto the dock.
Adrien felt a clutch at her throat. There wasn’t enough room. What should she do—jump off the dock and watch from the water? Trapped in indecision, she scooted to one side and watched as they paused a foot from her, looking at one another.
“Now!” said Roberta, and all five dropped their towels. The moon lit every curve of their naked bodies as they stood shifting hesitantly on the dock.
“This is embarrassing,” said Cath.
“No, it isn’t.” Roberta stretched out her arms. “It’s glorious. The air’s kissing my skin everywhere.”
“I’m going in.” Nat took several running steps and dove into the water, followed by Sherry’s cannonball. Cath slipped in slowly, Roberta dropped off the edge, standing at attention. The last girl spun and dropped in backwards. Her face was frightened—the water closed over her head like dread and she came up fighting.
“Over here, Debbie,” Roberta called. The girl swam out to her and was promptly ducked. “This feels so cool,” sang Roberta. “I hate swimsuits. I’m never wearing one again.”
The girls splashed and dog-paddled, floated on their backs and counted stars. Even Debbie seemed to relax, losing her look of fear.
Adrien couldn’t stop watching their bodies. Their breasts floated gently in the water, their buttocks flashed in the darkness, going under, surfacing again. It was like a dance, the girls playing with the water, letting it touch and stroke them—some kind of utter freedom she had never imagined.
“What d’you think Erin is doing now?” Roberta called as she came paddling toward the dock.
“D’you mean what is she doing, or exactly what is she doing?” Nat called back.
Roberta giggled. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t know we sneak out while she’s gone. Otherwise she’d have to be responsible and lonely all night in her bed.”
“Thinking about Peter Pecker,” sang Sherry.
Suddenly Roberta surfaced directly in front of Adrien, grasped the dock firmly and hauled herself out of the water. Twisting, she planted her butt exactly where Adrien was sitting, then leaned back, shaking the water out of her hair. Adrien sat rigid and disbelieving as the other girl continued to lean back on her hands, her legs splayed, splashing one foot in the water. Gradually, Adrien let herself relax. She could feel the other girl’s body all around her own. Roberta was humming. Tiny vibrations rippled through her chest, there was the steady thud of her heart, the quiet lift and fall of her rib cage as she breathed, the cool slide of water over her foot. Adrien could even feel the air shift along the girl’s wet skin. She had never known skin could feel so alive—it was like an entire forest rippling in a slow breeze. If only she could read Roberta’s thoughts ... Adrien let her head fall back and saw the vast panorama of the night sky, its wild sprinkling of stars, the shadowy green glimmer of the Northern Lights.
“We should stop wearing bras,” Roberta declared suddenly, leaning forward. “Ditch all our underwear.”
“Like women’s libbers?” called Sherry.
“We’ll string them up the flagpole,” declared Nat, swimming small circles.
“Bras are different,” Cath said. “Everyone can tell you’re not wearing one. You jiggle.”
“You’re supposed to jiggle,” said Roberta, jerking her shoulders so her breasts swung. “We’ll have a Jiggle Revolution.”
Giggling, Sherry cupped her own breasts and jiggled them. Soon the other girls were following suit. Then Nat dove underwater and the Jiggle Revolution ended.
“I hate the way my boobs move when I walk,” said Debbie, up to her neck in water. “I always try to keep them, y’know, solid, like a guy’s chest, so I don’t get embarrassed.”
“Plastic Barbie tits,” agreed Sherry.
“It’s embarrassing, the way guys stare,” said Cath.
“They’re just jealous,” said Roberta. “I’m going to stick my tits out like a wooden mermaid on a ship’s prow.” Lifting herself up on her hands, she dropped back into the water.
The scene began to fade. No, Adrien thought desperately. Please don’t go. She hung on to what she could see—pale white flashes that glowed eerily in the water. Then she realized she was seeing two sets of girls, their bodies and their spirits, swimming together like dolphins, diving and surfacing, weaving around each other in a kind of caress. They never quite touched—the girls seemed unaware of the spirits, feeling their presence as a loose shifting joy.
This time the scene faded completely, leaving Adrien staring at the empty water. Above her, the sky was still light and a few stars had come out. Down the beach, the campfire was breaking up. She felt solidly, ravenously hungry and stood slowly, feeling every fiber in her body, a forest rippling quietly in her skin. As she climbed the path and crossed the lawn, she wondered who would take pity and feed her this late. Her aunt came out of the office and leaned on the railing, watching her approach.
“Paul called for you,” she said. “Several times. Wants you to call him back. You can use the office phone.”
“Could I borrow a quarter?” Adrien couldn’t have this conversation in front of anyone, especially her aunt. Digging a quarter out of her jeans, Aunt Erin dropped it over the rail. Then she gave Adrien the phone number and went back into the office. Adrien headed for the camp’s pay phone and punched the number in shakily.
“Hello?” Paul’s voice sounded husky, raw.
“Hi.”
“Adrien?”
“Yeah.”
He paused and she waited, teetering on the edge of everything.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he said. “I like you a lot more than Leanne. It’s just that everything’s like fire, burning so vivid. Everything I want’s on the other side of my birthday. I’ve got to wait until then, okay?”
“I don’t know when your birthday is,” she said. “My brain could blow. I could be dead by then.”
> “No,” he said quickly. “You’re always there. I dream it.”
She thought of the five girls, the joy in their bodies, the laughter they carried everywhere. The way they had dropped their towels. “I’m going to kiss you tomorrow,” she said, and listened to his breathing quicken.
“Adrien—”
“Paul, did you make Leanne do it?”
“No!” he exploded.
“Then maybe she was the one who made the mistake,” said Adrien. “Maybe she didn’t know enough to say no.”
“Maybe. I think I knew that, though. I just had my head in some fucked-up place.”
“Okay, so you both fucked up,” she said. “It didn’t kill you. Or her.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly.
“And—” She thought of the girls again and swallowed. “Well, I’m here now.”
“Yeah.” He was smiling, she could hear it. “You sure are.”
“Will you kiss me back?” she asked hoarsely. “I’ve never kissed anyone. I don’t know how to do it.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “You catch on quick. Don’t worry.”
A soft easy breath lifted through her. “I won’t then,” she said. “Worry.”
“This is going to be one long sweaty night,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “See you tomorrow.”
She hung up the phone and stood in the booth’s white light, listening to her heart beat. It was a promise repeating itself, becoming truer each time it spoke.
twelve
The master cabin was a one-bedroom apartment, equipped with a kitchenette and a washroom. The main room held a sofa, stereo and bookshelf at one end, the tiny kitchen, a card table and several stacking chairs at the other. There was no TV in sight. Telling Adrien to sit down, Aunt Erin got some cold meatloaf, mustard and milk out of the fridge and fixed her a sandwich.
“Drink the milk,” she said. “Good for you.”
As Adrien ate, her aunt sat across the table, toying with a piece of bread. Adrien waited for a barrage of questions about missing supper and wandering the woods all evening, but there was no interrogation, no advice. Maybe her aunt felt she had none to give.