Bow Grip

by Coyote, Ivan E.

  Hector’s T-shirt looked like it had just come out of the plastic wrapping, the fold lines still in it. He took a sip and made a face. “That’ll cure what ails you.” Fixed his brown eyes on me. “You married, Joseph?”

  He had a way of staring right at me when he asked a question that kind of threw me off. Like he asked because he wanted to know, not just to make conversation.

  “Divorced. About a year ago.”

  Hector waited for me to continue, his eyes dark brown and crinkled at the edges. I could feel the scotch working its warm way into my arms and hands.

  “Actually, one of the reasons I came to Calgary is because I need to drop off the last of her stuff. She’s living here now, with her new … partner.”

  “She’s remarried already?” Hector winced, sympathetic. “She didn’t run off on you with one of your buddies, did she?”

  “Not exactly.” I was about to leave it there, but for some reason it wouldn’t stay. “We were married for five years, and I was crazy in love. She changed my life. I thought we were going to you know, do the whole thing. Get old together, teach the grandkids to water-ski. I learned to like vegetarian food. She’d been to Europe.”

  I stopped, but Hector didn’t say anything. Just motioned for me to go on.

  “So there I was, thinking I was the luckiest guy I knew, until a year and a half or so ago. Me and Ally had been trying to have a baby for a while and it’s not happening, so she has some tests done and then I have some tests done, and it turns out, it’s me who’s, you know, shooting blanks. So I guess I went through a hard time about it all, and she swore up and down that it didn’t matter. But then last October she sits me down at our kitchen table and tells me it’s over. She’s leaving. And then she does, like, the next day.”

  I drained my drink. Hector held the bottle out, but I shook my head. My lips were already numb, and it wasn’t even six o’clock yet.

  “She leaves town with the wife of this guy I play hockey with. They leave together.”

  I looked at Hector to see if he was following me, but I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know why I was telling him all this. I guess it was because of his eyes, and his story about the airplane and the lake. How the young guy died and the old guy didn’t. How when he asked me a question, I felt like had to tell him the real answer, because any minute either one of us could be gone.

  “Together. As in lovers. The two of them.”

  Hector sat back in his chair, like he was thinking about what I said, as opposed to thinking about what he was going to say back. So I kept talking.

  “They are lesbians. Together.”

  “I understood the first time around, Joseph. I just didn’t want to interrupt you. Go on.”

  All of a sudden I felt like my chair was too small for my ass, like I had just woke up shirtless in front of someone I didn’t know.

  “That’s it. I’m in town to drop off her books, so I can move on. Get a hobby. I’m learning the cello. It’s either that, or my mom and sister’ll put me on the Prozac. I’ve been a little hard to be around, they tell me.”

  “That’s understandable, given your circumstances.”

  “I don’t know why I talked your ear off about my sorry love life like that.”

  “Because I asked.”

  “Well, thanks for the drink, Hector. And the chat. It was really nice to meet you.”

  He got up to shake hands. “The pleasure has been mine. You’re much more fun to talk to than the woman next door. Gin. Makes for a bitter outlook. Come by any time, Joseph, I’m here most of the time, typing away. I’m always up for some company, so don’t be shy to knock.”

  The scotch was making me itch for another cigarette, plus I was thirsty. I felt around in my pocket for change and went in search of the drink machine. A small bottle of water cost $1.75. Freaky, when you thought about the fact that the Americans were scrapping on the other side of the world for oil, and here we were whining about paying ninety cents for a litre of gas for the truck, meanwhile they’re dinging us twice the price for drinking water, right here next to the Rocky Mountains. That was the kind of thing that would drive Allyson to fire off a stern letter to some CEO somewhere. She was a seasoned veteran of the stern letter. In the five short years she had been in Drumheller, she had headed up the letter writing brigade that had single-handedly forced the city to put speed bumps in the school zones, stopped them from backfilling the marsh off of Highway 26, and shut down the fertilizer factory until the company properly installed filters in its smokestacks.

  There was another blue bench, identical to Hector’s and mine, bolted to the sidewalk in the little outdoor courtyard where the ice and pop machine stood humming in the dusk. I sat down and lit a cigarette, my bottle of water between my knees, weeping condensation onto my good pants. There were four stone and cement planters, evenly spaced on each corner of the courtyard, empty except for beer caps. Stand-up ashtrays full of white sand and cigarette butts next to both doors.

  A little girl about six years old suddenly burst through the door that led to the rooms looking out onto the road. She had a ring of dried tomato sauce around her mouth, and she was dragging a plastic basket full of freshly folded laundry. The smell of warm air and fabric softener hung in the air she brought out with her. A young woman in a matching velour tracksuit and flip-flops followed her, ten feet or so behind.

  “Hold the door for Mommy, Raylene, my hands are full.”

  I jumped to my feet to hold the door open for her. Mommy? She didn’t look like she could even be twenty. She must have had the kid when she was still a baby herself.

  “Thank the nice man, Bug.” She had an overstuffed garbage bag in both arms and was pushing a wicker basket through the door with one flip-flop.

  “Thank you.” The little girl suddenly went shy, popping one thumb into her mouth and reaching sideways through the air with her other hand for the leg of her mother’s track pants.

  I nodded you’re welcome and picked up the little girl’s basket with one hand and the top of the bag of laundry with the other.

  “Here, let me help you with that.”

  The young woman let the bag go into my hand, relieved.

  “Thank you so much. We just washed seven loads, didn’t we, Bug? My name is Kelly. This is my daughter Raylene.”

  We shook hands in the air without touching, on account of all the laundry. Raylene sucked her thumb and avoided looking right at me, twisting her upper body in half circles, alternating from side to side. Her hair was exactly the same red-blonde shade as her mother’s. Same nose, too.

  They were staying in the corner suite, right next to the parking lot off the highway. Kelly had the key for her motel room on a ring with the rest of her keys and an orange rabbit’s foot keychain. She held the wicker basket against the stucco wall beside her door with one hip and unlocked the door, kicking it open with her knee.

  Their room had a tiny little kitchenette, the remnants of their spaghetti dinner still on two plates. There were crayon drawings stuck to the mini-fridge with magnetic letters, and three different cereal boxes tucked into one corner of the counter, next to a toaster. Kelly and Raylene were living here in this one big room, with the headlights from the highway scrolling like a lighthouse across the wall over their headboards. A scruffy bit of lawn outside the barred window where the tourists let their poodles shit before loading them back into the minivan.

  I dumped the bag and basket on the bed, disturbing a pile of stuffed animals that had been arranged on the pillow. Raylene pushed past me to come to their rescue.

  “Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to bump anyone. I’ll get out of your way. Nice to meet you.” I stepped towards the door. “Nice to meet you both.”

  Kelly was scraping the leftover spaghetti into a plastic bag and putting the dishes in the sink. Under the fluorescent tube in the kitchen, she looked older than she did outside. She had pulled her hair behind her ears, revealing a cluster of earrings, maybe eight or so in all.

&
nbsp; “You wouldn’t mind lending me a cigarette before you leave, would you?”

  I took my pack out and shook three smokes out of the tin foil for her.

  “Thanks, James.”

  “It’s Joseph.”

  She followed me outside, placing one cigarette between her lips and unfolding a lawn chair she had stashed behind her door.

  “Read your books, Bug. Mommy’s having a smoke. No TV, okay, honey?”

  Raylene nodded, still in her puffy coat, sitting on her bed with her feet hanging over the edge.

  “And no boots on in the house.”

  “The carpet is sticky by my bed,” Raylene said in her small voice.

  Kelly pulled the door shut and sat down in her lawn chair. “Don’t mind her. She doesn’t like it here much. Do you have a light? I left my pack at work, in my locker.”

  I lit her cigarette, then mine. Stuffed my one hand into my pocket, leaned my ass against the concrete wall between her front door and the parking lot. Couldn’t blame her for wishing she lived somewhere else.

  “We’re not going to be here much longer, I keep telling her. I’m saving up.”

  I nodded, stared at the red end of my smoke.

  “I work at the Bay, downtown. Part-time cashier. Plus at the Esso, three days a week. You?”

  “I run a garage in Drumheller. I’m just in town for a couple of days. Little holiday.”

  “A holiday at the Capri?” She smiled and blew a perfect smoke ring. “Figures. All the nice guys only stay one or two nights. Just the losers move in here.”

  “How many people live here full-time? I never heard of that before. Forty-nine dollars a night? That must get expensive.”

  “Is that what that cheap fucker is charging you per night? That guy, I tell you. You should try to talk him down a bit. That’s almost what he charges the Americans. I pay the monthly rate. It’s way cheaper. Cheaper than that shitty basement suite me and Raylene were in at first, until we came here. Least this place has no mice, and the hot water works. We’re on the waiting list for this co-op, a place for single mothers. I’m a single mother. It has a courtyard, and a weight room, and ping-pong and everything. We’re getting a puppy. We got another six weeks in this dump and then we move in there, on New Year’s Day. Home sweet home.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “You don’t talk much, do you, Joseph?”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  “I like that in a man.”

  “I’m old enough to be your father.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Oh.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I lit two more smokes and passed one to her. She squished her first butt out with her flip-flop.

  “Besides, since when has that stopped your average man?”

  “We’re not all like that.”

  “I hope the fuck not. I wouldn’t know, though. I’ve got real bad taste in men.” She lowered her voice, looking towards the closed curtain, then back at me. “Raylene’s daddy is in Toronto, with one of the girls I used to work with. A friend of mine. Ex-friend of mine, I should say.”

  “Were you two married?”

  “Would that make it suck any less if we weren’t?”

  “Course not.”

  “Common-law. Same thing. Besides, we have a kid together. That means more than married any day, at least to me it does. Why? You married?”

  “I’m divorced.”

  “How many kids you have?”

  “None.”

  “See? You guys can both go your own way now, no strings. Not like me and Tony. That bastard’s gonna be in my life for-fucking-ever. Or at least his mom will. She doesn’t think I can take care of Raylene all by myself, but I’m showing her, we’re fine, and no thanks at all to her bastard of a son. I’m working two jobs, plus I’m getting my dog-grooming licence at the vocational school one night a week.”

  “I guess I should be glad Allyson and I never had a baby. We wanted to. I mean, we were trying.”

  “You had to try to have a kid? I wish. I had an IUD in when I got pregnant with Raylene. Can’t take the pill. Makes my ankles swell up like water balloons.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  “It’s not, believe me. Anyways, too bad about you and your wife. You woulda made a great daddy.”

  “You don’t know that. You just met me.”

  “A girl can tell these things, just by looking. We’ve got a special antennae for it. I should go in. We borrowed a VCR for a couple of days from a guy at work. The Little Mermaid. Thanks for the smokes. See you around.”

  Kelly folded up her lawn chair and went inside. I wondered, if she really did possess a special asshole antennae, how come she hadn’t used it when it mattered.

  It was full on night by the time I got back to my own room, and the red light on the phone was flashing in the dark. The room was chilly and smelled like disinfectant. I turned up the electric heater under the window and it made a buzzing sound, like a tiny airplane was in the room with me. I dialed zero for the front desk. It was Lenny himself.

  “Messages for 119? Just the one, where did I put it? Here it is. Allyson called you back. She’s out for the evening. Wants you to call her in the morning. You got enough clean towels?”

  I told him I was just fine, thanks, and hung up the phone.

  I was laying on my bed, my coat and boots still on, when someone knocked once on my door. It was Hector.

  “Joseph. I’m heading up to the Wong Kee for the all-you-can-eat deal. Would you like to join me? The food is pretty good, and I’m buying.”

  “Sure, Hector, that’d be good.” I hadn’t thought of dinner yet, and some company would be nice. Ally couldn’t stomach Chinese food. The MSG always made her break out in a rash.

  Hector had a suede coat on, the exact same colour as his brand new workboots. He had shaved, too, and smelled like cologne.

  We took Hector’s truck, a little Datsun about twenty years old, painted that green colour they made them back then. Still in good shape, no rust.

  “Diesel costs more these days than gas.” Hector turned the key and waited for the glow plug to light up. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I bought it.”

  “I used to drive a truck just like this when I was a kid. It was my first set of wheels. I loved that little truck. Mine was white.” I ran my hand over the gearshift, remembering how Sandra Jennings used to bitch about catching the hem of her skirt on it when we were fumbling out of our clothes, how the streetlight would light up the beads of condensation dripping down the windshield like pearls. It struck me that I hadn’t been laid in over a year, and all of a sudden this seemed wrong to me.

  Hector saw me eyeing a notepad and pencil taped to a string, stuck right on the dashboard.

  “That’s for when I think of things I want to write about while I’m driving.” He flipped over the top page of the pad, to hide what was written.

  “I met another one of our neighbours tonight, after I had that drink with you. The single mom and her little girl.”

  “Kelly and Raylene. She’s quite a remarkable young woman. Let me guess. She borrowed a cigarette from you?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s how I met her, too. I don’t think she can afford to smoke, poor girl. Raising the kid up all by herself.”

  “I’ll never understand how a guy could run off like that, and leave his own wife and kid to live in a motel.”

  “It sounds to me as though she’ll be better off without him around anyway. He’s a meth head.”

  “A what?”

  “Crystal meth. Nasty drug. Both those kids are better off without that business around. Kelly’s got a good head. They’ll be fine on their own.”

  “Maybe, but they shouldn’t have to be.”

  “People make their own beds though, too, Joseph. She obviously made some bad decisions somewhere along the way. Life has consequences. Sooner she figures that out, the better. Who’s to know what passes between t
wo people, anyway? What she was like to live with? All we ever hear is one side of the story.”

  We were parked outside the restaurant now. Hector turned off the ignition, but didn’t take his hand off the key, just sat there, waiting for me to respond.

  “So don’t you think sometimes it’s just the one person’s fault?” I said at last. “All of a sudden one half of a marriage decides, for whatever reason, that they can’t be there anymore, and they just take off, and none of it was the other person’s fault? That the person who got left behind just got screwed, like, and they didn’t bring it upon themselves somehow?”

  Hector pulled his key out of the ignition. “Do I ever think a divorce is the fault of only one half of the equation? I’d have to say hardly ever. Very rarely.”

  We sat there for another minute, both of us staring straight ahead into our own thoughts.

  “Let’s go eat, Joseph. Lock your door. You’re in the city now.”

  Hector was right. The food was good and cheap, and we both stuffed our faces without hardly stopping to talk at all. The place wasn’t long on ambiance. The waitress had long dirty blonde hair and mostly sat behind the take-out counter in the corner, talking on the phone. Every once in a while she’d set the phone down and make a quick round with the ice water to appease the few tables that had anybody eating at them, and then return to her stool to talk, the phone cord coiled around her fingers.

  Hector insisted on picking up the tab, even tipped the phone-talker a fiver, which I didn’t think she deserved. She did get off the phone to take our money, I will give her that.

  On the way back to the motel, Hector pulled over at a 7-Eleven and came back with two pouches of Number Seven tobacco, one of those little rolling machines, and a box of cigarette tubes.

  “Does rolling your own save you much money? Seems like a pain in the ass to me.”

  “I like to roll my own. I like the ritual. These are for Kelly.”

  I looked sideways at the old man. “I thought you said she had made her own bed?”