Interference

by Michelle Berry

  Each day is getting colder and darker. The leaves are all off the trees. Becky notices this when she walks home. She has nothing more to scuff along in. Christmas can’t get here fast enough. Becky has asked for a rechargeable DustBuster, among other things. She figures she can hang it in her closet and use it to suck up dirt anywhere in the house. Her mother thinks this is funny. “What twelve-year-old wants cleaning supplies for Christmas?” Becky heard her say to someone on the phone the other day. “What about jewellery? An iPad even?” She laughed.

  Ha ha, Becky thinks. I’m a joke. If she had a daughter who wanted to keep her room clean she’d be a pretty happy, lucky mother. What’s wrong with people? Becky worries her chipped tooth. Besides, Becky knows that her mother is just as clean as she is. Becky has caught her vacuuming the same rug three times in one day. She is aware that her mother wipes counters obsessively.

  For the last couple of days the guy in the hoodie has been standing outside the schoolyard looking in. He’s back. Becky has seen him. She has pointed him out to her teachers, but whenever they look the guy is gone. The teachers have begun to ignore her. One of them, Mrs. Spruce, even mentioned the boy who cried wolf. She told Becky to calm down, to stop “overreacting.” But he is there. After a while he appears wearing a down jacket. She can’t see his face clearly with his heavy jacket on and a scarf and a toque, but Becky knows it’s the same person. He has this casual way of standing, like he’s happy to wait there for the rest of his life, like he doesn’t ever need to move. Most people move from one foot to the other, they shift their weight, but this guy stands like a statue and watches the schoolyard. Same way the guy who raked the leaves stood. Becky has, however, come to the conclusion that he isn’t there to see her. Because when she runs back and forth he doesn’t move his head to follow her movements. She isn’t sure who he is looking at. Maybe he has his eyes closed, Becky can’t tell.

  And every time she draws attention to him, every time she tries to point him out, he isn’t there anymore. He is gone.

  Because of Annabel’s “overreaction” to the janitor in the bathroom, the kids in her grade seven class have to go to the bathroom in pairs. Girls with girls. Boys with boys. Down the long hallway, down the long staircase, to the basement of the school. Becky has been forced to pair up with other girls in her class even when she doesn’t have to pee. She wouldn’t pee at school anyway, not even if you paid her. The toilets are disgusting. No one bothers to flush. And the floor is wet and sticky with toilet paper. Becky usually stands just outside the door to the washroom and tells whomever it is she’s escorting that she’ll wait for her there. Becky won’t even lean against the wall while she is waiting. She stands stiffly, trying not to touch anything. Her tongue bleeds where she rubs it against the chip on her molar.

  Sometimes she has a stomach ache from holding her pee in all day, but Becky knows that a stomach ache is better than all of the things she would catch if she used the bathroom.

  The nightmares Becky has been having for half her life — since she was six — are getting worse. She used to wake crying only once a week — these days she’s up most nights, clutching her pillow. But because she is twelve, Becky doesn’t bother her parents anymore. She stays in her clean, tidy room, trying to stop her heart from exploding out of her chest, trying to remember what it is that is scaring her. She doesn’t know. Becky can’t remember her nightmares anymore than she can remember to feed the dog before school. When she wakes up sweating, the visions disappear as quickly as the guy standing outside of the schoolyard fence. As it gets closer to Christmas the visions stop, to be replaced by dreams about the Grinch and Santa and angels and bells. She remembers these ones. One night Becky dreams about eating an entire turkey on her own, just grabbing the meat off it as it sits on the kitchen table. Scarfing it down. When she wakes up, her stomach growls fiercely and when she goes downstairs for breakfast, she throws up in her bowl of cereal.

  “You’d better stay home today,” her mother says, feeling her forehead. “You’re sick.”

  Becky slumps back up the stairs and into her room. She disappears under her duvet and, feverishly, sleeps until noon.

  “I’ve got soup for you.” Becky’s mother places a bowl of soup on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

  “Uh.”

  “Uh as in better? Your fever has gone down.” Becky’s mother takes her cool hand off Becky’s forehead. “Would you be okay if I went out? I have some errands to run. I’ll take my cell phone. Or you can call Dad at work if you need anything.”

  Becky nods and falls back into her pillows. She doesn’t care where her mother is, as long as she can go back to sleep.

  When she wakes up, Becky hears nothing. Silence. The house is still. Her mother is gone. Becky knows, in her feverish state, that if she stands and walks over to her bedroom window and looks out she will see the guy. He will be standing there, staring at her house. And even though it’s only mid-afternoon, his face will be in darkness. She doesn’t even have to get up to know this. She can feel him there. She can also feel her tooth. Her tongue. Becky wonders if the chip will eventually be worn down by her tongue, worn to a soft surface. Maybe, if she waits long enough, she will fix her own tooth with her tongue. When she looks in the mirror she can’t see anything wrong with her tooth. But when she touches it with her tongue it feels like a huge, sharp, spiky, pointy thing. It feels enormous in her mouth.

  The front door slams. Becky jumps. Her mother is home.

  The principal has called Becky’s parents into her office. She has called Becky in as well.

  “We seem to be having a teensy bit of a problem with old Becky in the schoolyard,” the principal starts. Becky hates how she talks. Like everything is just peachy keen. Okey-dokey. “Becky, do you want to tell your parents what’s going on?”

  Becky shakes her head.

  “Beck,” her father says, “is something bothering you? What’s up, kiddo?”

  “He is,” Becky says. “The guy out there. He’s bothering me.”

  “She seems to think that there is a person watching the schoolyard,” the principal says. She shakes her head. She cackles. “But no one else sees him. He’s invisible.”

  “You don’t look in time,” Becky shouts. “You never look in time to see him.”

  “Calm down, sweetie.”

  “Inside voices,” the principal says. “Okey-dokey?”

  “But you never look in time. No one looks in time and then he’s gone.”

  “She had a fever a few days ago,” Becky’s mother starts. “It could be after-effects —”

  “Maria,” Becky’s father says. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “No, this has been going on since we had the police in to talk to the grade seven kids about Stranger Danger. I think,” the principal says, “she’s overreacting just an eensy-teensy bit to the messages the police delivered. It’s nothing new. Several other kids have been having similar problems. We think we might have to rethink these police visits.”

  “I’m not overreacting.”

  “Becky, keep your voice down,” her mother says.

  “It’s the same guy who raked our yard,” Becky whispers, but her mother is talking over her. “I know it is.”

  “We’ll talk about this at home,” her mother says. “Thank you so much for your concern, Mrs. Tanner.”

  “Oh, no problem at all.” The principal rises and shakes Becky’s parents’ hands. “You can go back to your class now,” she tells Becky. She puts her hand on Becky’s head and there is a spark.

  You stole my electrons, Becky thinks.

  “In the meantime, Mrs. Shutter, can I interest you in another wreath? I know you purchased one, but wouldn’t another one look lovely on your side door?”

  At home Becky can hear them talking. She crouches on the stairs and listens. Her dog tries to lick her face but she pushes him
away.

  “There’s something wrong with her,” Becky’s mother says. “I mean, seriously, Tom, someone watching her? And her cleaning. Have you noticed how much she cleans?”

  “That guy who raked our yard in the fall scared me too,” Becky’s father says. “I don’t blame her for being a bit worried. And you clean all the time, Maria.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “You’re too hard on her.”

  “She wants a freaking DustBuster for Christmas. A DustBuster.”

  “So what? She’s just a little different. There’s nothing wrong with being clean.”

  “Rachel wants a docking station for her iPod. Charlie wants a new basketball and some hockey equipment. Every other kid in the whole world wants something other than a DustBuster. I’m clean, Tom, but I’m not psychotic.”

  Becky can hear her father moving around the kitchen. Her parents’ voices move in and out as they walk. Becky feels a buzzing in her head. It’s from her tooth. It’s killing her. And her tongue. A permanent canker sore. Giving her headaches.

  “I’ve seen that guy downtown.” Becky hears her father clearly.

  “What? Where?”

  “He was walking down the street. I was driving. I couldn’t stop.”

  “Why would you stop?”

  Pause. A dish clinks. Becky can hear something being poured.

  “To pay him, I guess. I figure we owe him some money.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It was his problem that he left. We were going to pay him. He left. That was so long ago.”

  “I just feel like we owe him something.”

  “We don’t owe him anything, Tom. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not stupid, Maria. I’m just nice. You might want to try it sometime.”

  Becky stands, stretches her legs — her knees crack — and heads back up to her room. She isn’t imagining him. He does exist. Her dad saw him too.

  Christmas morning and Becky’s DustBuster works great. She has to charge it, but the little bit of charge that was in it directly from the packaging worked to suck up some of the dog fur on the carpet beside her bed. When she is busy with her DustBuster she forgets about her tooth. But when she has to put it back in the charger her tooth feels horrible. A pounding sensation. A boiling. It feels as if her gums are on fire. Becky is still not sleeping well. And the tooth makes it worse — every time she falls asleep she starts to grit and grind and she wakes instantly from the jagged pain. It’s a pain that shoots through her mouth, her jaw, her ear and up to her forehead. It makes her eyes water. And it bothers her that she can never remember what she is dreaming about. Not even if she concentrates as hard as she can.

  After Christmas vacation it is too cold to play in the schoolyard. Becky and her classmates go stir-crazy inside and end up in trouble most days. Lunchtime seems endless. They want to run and jump and play. Instead they are told to sit at their desks and do puzzles. The teachers refuse to stay in the classroom. Supervising during lunchtime is not in their contract. So the kids go wild and the classroom becomes worse than messy with cream cheese and butter and sandwich meat stuck under the desks and rubbed across the floor. One kid puts a piece of bologna in a heating vent and it rots and the room smells like death for weeks. Becky gets more nervous — the messiness is bothering her. She stands at the window most lunch hours and watches the schoolyard, wiping her hands on her jeans over and over.

  He is always there. Standing still. Just outside the fence. Beside the tree. Now you see him, now you don’t.

  One day Rachel and Charlie are sick. They have the flu. Becky is forced to walk home alone. She knows the guy is right behind her but she doesn’t want to turn. If she doesn’t turn she won’t see him and he won’t be there. Becky makes it home and bursts through the front door.

  “Hey, what’s your hurry?” Becky’s mother is standing in the kitchen, apron on, washing cookie trays. “I got off work early and thought I’d make cookies. Becky? Don’t slam —”

  Slam.

  “— the door.”

  Becky collapses and lies on the floor, lifeless.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong? The floor is dirty, get up. Take your boots off, Becky.”

  Becky leaps up. Of course the floor is dirty. She brushes herself off. She steals a glance at the front door but sees nothing through the tempered glass. There is no one there — or if he is there, he’s continued on down the street.

  “Oh god,” Becky’s mom says. “What happened to your mouth?”

  In the mirror Becky sees blood covering all her teeth. As if her teeth have been painted pink. And she can taste it. A sour, metallic taste. When she fell to the floor she must have bit her canker sore. Her tongue is ragged. Becky’s mother gets her to rinse in the sink and then puts ice on Becky’s tongue. She calls the dentist. She makes that dreaded appointment. She says, “You should see her tongue. And her tooth. It’s horribly chipped. I think she’s cut her tongue on it.”

  Becky spends the evening sucking on ice chips and drinking smoothies. She gargles with salt water. Tomorrow morning she has to go to the dentist and “get that chip looked after.” She is terrified. If there is one thing that scares her more than the guy in the schoolyard, more than her nightmares, more than dirt, it’s going to the dentist.

  It is 8:30 in the morning and Becky is furiously Dust Busting. She has sucked up the dust on her dresser, her desk and most of the floor. Her mother stands at the door of Becky’s room and watches.

  “Okay, are you ready?”

  They leave the house and get in the car. Becky is terrified. She is so scared that she doesn’t look for the guy. She is so afraid of the dentist that she almost wishes the stranger would just get it over with and kidnap her right now. Because that’s what he’s going to do eventually, right? Kidnap her and murder her and probably sexually assault her before he murders her. That’s what they do. To girls.

  But she doesn’t really mean this. She doesn’t want to get kidnapped. It’s just that the idea of someone putting their hands in her mouth — even with latex gloves on — makes her stomach ache, makes her lose the ability to keep her hands still. She is shaking wildly.

  “It’s just a dentist appointment, Becky. No need to worry. He’ll fix your tooth for you.”

  Becky burps up a bit of her morning cereal. She stares out the window of the car, not seeing anything. In the parking lot at the dentist’s building Becky’s mother has to take her hand and lead her out of the car and into the lobby. Up the elevator. Across the hall, turn the corner and they are there. Becky’s mother sighs. The waiting room is crowded. Becky’s mother looks at her watch. Becky sits quickly on a plastic chair. She ignores the sign that reads “Please Take off Your Boots” but Becky’s mother doesn’t and after she has taken her own boots off she pads over in those little sock-covers to Becky and takes Becky’s boots off. Even with the blue sock-covers on Becky can still feel the germs, the warts, the dirt, creeping into her toes through her socks. Athlete’s foot, fungus. Does her mother know that athlete’s foot is the same thing as jock itch? Becky read that the other day on the internet. The pictures that went along with the site made her gag. Even now, thinking about them, Becky feels ill.

  In the dentist’s chair Becky is shaking so hard that her mother and the assistant have to hold her down. The dentist wears a mask and picks at her teeth. He tells her that she has an infection. He tells her that she’ll have to get that tooth capped, that she’ll have to go on antibiotics for the gum and tongue infection. He tells her everything she doesn’t want to hear and she shakes wildly and Becky’s mother asks about a sedative.

  Hours later Becky is led up the front porch into her house. She is wobbling slightly and has a headache but her tooth feels fine. The temporary cap is slightly higher than her tooth but Becky actually likes the feel of it, soft and smooth, on her sore tongue. She feels giggly and dizzy. An e
ensy-teensy bit nauseous. She laughs.

  “Into bed little girl,” Becky’s mother says. “I’ll bring you up some soup in a bit. We’ll wait until the sedative and the freezing wear off or you might bite your tongue.”

  As Becky walks towards her bed, she glances out her window and sees Rachel, her face red from fever, in the window of her house. Rachel sees Becky. They wave. Rachel holds up a bear, one of her mother’s creations. Becky can’t make it out, but it looks like a Doctor Bear. It has a white coat, something hanging from its neck. Becky wishes her mom made bears. She gives Rachel the thumbs-up. And then they both look down into the front yard. There is no one there. No person with a big coat. No guy with a hoodie even. No guy with a toque and scarf. No scarred man. No one. Rachel points to the ground. Becky points too. Then Becky points at her tooth and gives Rachel another thumbs-up. Rachel points to her forehead and gives Becky a thumbs-down. Becky smiles. When she sleeps she dreams about basketball. And when she wakes up she remembers her dream.

  Her tooth is better. Her tongue feels great. There are some warmish days now just before winter really sets in. Those warm days, her parents say, deceive you. The calm before the storm. Blah blah. Becky refuses to listen. Instead she kicks around a soccer ball in the frozen dirt of the schoolyard. The snow will come soon, they’ve already had dustings, but for now it’s staying away. Becky spends hours each evening polishing and cleaning her cleats just in case spring really is around the corner. Her dad says she’s crazy. “We’ve got many months left, honey,” he says.

  The person is gone. She hasn’t seen him in a while. Becky listens each day and each night to the adults around her, watching the news with her parents, just waiting to hear something — a child missing, someone arrested. But she hears nothing bad. Only the regular things — break-ins and carjackings. He’s gone, this person.

  And, although it takes some time, Becky tries so hard to forget about him that she almost does. She almost forgets about Stranger Danger and the police. Her classmates are allowed to use the bathroom on their own again. Even Annabel goes down to the basement bathroom by herself. Which is good, because Becky can’t stand the filth.