Dying to Go Viral

by Sylvia McNicoll

  “Yeah, yeah,” he answered. Then in a much cheerier tone he talked to me. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay, bye.” The fudge bubbles snapped and crackled furiously now. Meow! Oreo’s voice at my feet complained. A bubble erupted so high it spit onto my hand.

  “Ouch, crap.” I stamped my feet. Oreo stared up at me. “I’m dead. I shouldn’t have to wear oven mitts,” I complained at him. “There should be some advantages.”

  Meow!

  I pulled the fudge off the stove. “All right already. I’ll get you some food.” I threw some Cat Crunchies in his dish but he meowed again. “Okay, you can celebrate my birthday, too.” I went into the fridge and took out his favourite food in the whole world. Oreo’s tail did a slow curve to the left. I peeled off the lid. The tail curved to the right. I placed the vanilla yogurt on the floor and he stepped close. No playing hard to get for him. Pure happiness, he purred as he lapped it up.

  Back to my fudge. I was supposed to stir it now till it lost its gloss. This wooden spoon method was way too slow. I took out our hand mixer and gave the gloop a long buzz. An amazing transformation occurred right before my eyes. The liquid changed from fluid to a pudding that was growing thicker by the moment. I pulled out the mixer and licked off the beaters. Yum. But then I stared at the pot. The caramel had hardened into a solid rock. So much for Never Fail Fudge. It wouldn’t even come out of the pot. I chipped off a pebble. I couldn’t give the candy to Scratch. How could I even clean it up? I banged it on the counter in disgust and shook my head.

  Then I peered out the window. Drops slid down over the glass pane.

  It was still raining. I would never make fudge that turned out in my lifetime. In the face of everything else that had happened and was going to happen, it seemed stupid to have to blink back tears over failed candy.

  The doorbell rang. I quickly wiped at my eyes with the backs of my hands and ran to open the door.

  Scratch stood there, flowers tucked into a fist at the end of a lime-coloured cast. Not just any flowers. They were red roses. Oh my gosh! This didn’t happen last time. He brought me chocolate for my other birthday. Something swirled in my head and I saw my coffin for a moment, half-covered with the same fragrant velvety petals. And I’d wished then a boy could have given me my first roses. Mind you the boy I had pictured giving them to me was the love of my life, Aiden, not my pal, Scratch.

  Still for the first time I dared to think, maybe things could go differently in a good way. Certainly, most things weren’t happening the same way.

  “What’s wrong?” Scratch asked. “You don’t like them? I was going to get you chocolate but my mother said you might like flowers better.”

  “They’re beautiful. I love them. It’s just…” I sniffed and then tried to smile. “Never mind.” I gave him a peck on the cheek. “How’s your wrist?”

  “Great, apart from being broken. The painkillers really work.”

  “Come into the kitchen. I’ll put these into a vase.” I opened cupboards and banged them shut. We never got flowers so we didn’t have anything to put them in… except, hold on—the tall beer glass would have to do. I set the roses on the centre of the table.

  “What’s that?” Scratch asked pointing to the pot.

  “Never Fail Fudge.” I sniffed again. “I tried to make it for you but…I failed.”

  Scratch snickered but stopped when he saw my face.

  “I don’t even know how I’m going to get it out.” What a crybaby I was turning into.

  “It’s no big deal, really. Try heating it again. You could maybe boil water in it.” He sat down and waited for me to turn normal again.

  I dried my face with paper towel. This dying stuff certainly made me emotional.

  Embarrassed, Scratch peered around, avoiding my eyes and my tears. “Hey, did you get that for your birthday?” He pointed to the skateboard leaning against the wall.

  I nodded as I sat down across from him.

  “Wanna take it out for a spin?”

  “It’s raining out.” I sunk my chin into one hand.

  “So?”

  “And you have a concussion and a broken wrist.”

  “So, what do you wanna do?”

  I thought of my list and sighed. Neither Dad nor Devon was around. “Go to Africa.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “Really. I want to drive in a jeep through the Serengeti and watch all the giraffes and zebras run beside me.”

  He squinted at me. “Are you all right, Jade?”

  “No. I mean…sure.” How could I make him understand without telling him about my death? “It just feels like I keep getting older but I never get to really live my life, you know?”

  “Totally.” He frowned for a second. “Well, how about the zoo? We can check out the African exhibit at least.”

  “In this weather the lions won’t even come out.” I was feeling sorry for myself again.

  “Hey, I know. Do you still own a copy of The Lion King?”

  “Somewhere. I haven’t seen it in a long while. Probably the last time was with you when we were in second grade.” When Mom died and we’d had everyone over at the house, Dad had put it on for me and Scratch.

  “Why don’t you look for it? Cartoons always make me feel better. And the story is set in Africa.”

  “Well, let’s see if we still have it.”

  He followed me to the lower level where Dad had created our home theatre. Our television, a demonstrator from the last trade show, was almost as big as me. Massive speakers surrounded the room. I searched through Dad’s shelf of older movies. He filed them alphabetically. “Not under L.”

  “Let me look.” He ran his finger along the bottom of the shelf. “Yup. Here it is, under T for The.” He pulled it out and handed it to me. I popped the DVD into the player.

  We both sank down into the couch.

  Immediately, in the opening scene, the huge African sun rose. I may have missed the real sunrise because of the rain but on this mega screen, the weather didn’t matter. Then the “Circle of Life” song came on and I was there. In my dreams, among the animated meercats, elephants, and zebras, leaping and running as fast as I could. Why did I feel like crying again? I’d forgotten the words to the song or maybe never really paid attention. Now suddenly it seemed as though they had been written especially for me.

  “This is probably way better than really being in Africa. Your dad’s set-up is so cool. You’re lucky.”

  In some ways. I thought about my list again and Scratch’s mother. “You know that barbecue neither of us wanted to go to this Thursday night?”

  “The one where we meet the high school creatures and the principal?”

  “Yeah. I wanna go.”

  “Why? Do you really want the teachers to know our parents? This is our first chance to be free.”

  “Remember what I said on the phone.” I explained about the new Glowing Ember account I had opened for Dad and the two scary candidates I had screened. “And that’s why I want us both to bring our parents.”

  “I’m missing something. Why?”

  “My dad needs to be in a relationship. Preferably with someone who doesn’t call herself Me Free Spirit. I think he might go for your mother.”

  “What! That would be seriously weird!”

  “No, come on. Think about it. All your mom has in her life is you. Imagine if she went out on dates.”

  “Maybe she’d get off my back.”

  “Exactly! Promise you’ll come, then. I don’t want to be there all by myself.”

  “That should be easy to arrange. Up till now she’s been threatening to go even if I didn’t.”

  We were talking through the entire movie but it didn’t matter. It’s not like we wanted to follow the plot. I just needed some Africa in my life even if it was a cartoon version.

  In the middle of it, I heated up the hard fudge and we poured it over microwave popcorn. Sweet and salty, and very crunchy—still pretty good. When th
e movie ended, we headed back upstairs where the sun was coming out on one side of the sky. On the other, the sky looked bruised. I slid open a patio door to the deck. “Scratch look! A rainbow.”

  “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so bright before.”

  “Like a floodlight, almost. What do you think it means?”

  “Global warming?”

  I keyed a search on rainbows into my new smartphone. “Lots of info on refraction of light in raindrops, but nothing on brightness. Hey, listen to this: ‘In the Bible, a rainbow is a covenant or promise. In Norse mythology, it’s a bridge between God and man.’” I thought of my mother standing in the pagoda across that little wooden bridge. It was arc shaped just like a rainbow. I took the rainbow to mean both: a promise of better things to come and a bridge back to my mother.

  There are wonders for us to explore together. I smiled when I heard those words in my head.

  “Pretty cool…So, do you wanna try out your skateboard now?” Scratch asked me.

  “Sure.” I really would have liked to go somewhere, maybe to the beach or Niagara Falls but half the day was gone and he really couldn’t swim with that cast on. We took the board outside. I jumped on it and took it for a spin on the sidewalk.

  “Want me to show you how to do an ollie?” Scratch asked.

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “I don’t think you should. Not with your concussion.”

  “Come on, I can ollie in my sleep. Besides I’m only going to demonstrate in slo-mo. Nothing can happen.”

  Still I worried for him. In this altered destiny how much could things go worse for him? Arguing with him would only make him more determined. “Fine,” I answered. He wanted to try Aiden’s skateboard out. That was his choice to make.

  “Okay then. So you put one foot on the tail, the other in the middle like this.” He started rolling. “Then you slide your front foot up as you apply pressure with the back one.” He kicked the board in the air then and bent his knees so he was about a foot off the board.

  When he landed, he bent his knees again and kept rolling. Beautiful.

  In the distance, I watched a beige Volvo that looked like his Mom’s turn onto our street.

  “One more time and then your turn,” Scratch suggested.

  I pointed. “Um, isn’t that your…”

  But Scratch didn’t listen. Instead he shifted his feet and kicked up again which is when the Volvo reached our driveway and honked, startling him. As the skateboard touched down again, his legs stretched out to meet it but the board pitched over as he landed.

  “What the heck are you doing Steven Chalms! You should be lying in bed recuperating. Instead you’re ready to kill yourself again!” Mrs. Chalms slammed the door of her car.

  “He was just showing me something,” I explained.

  “Why are you even here, Mom?” Scratch asked as he picked himself up.

  She tapped her watch and shook a vial of pills. “You forgot your pain medication. It’s been four hours and I thought you might need it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” He reached out for the pills.

  “Oh no. I’m taking you home now. There’s no way I’m going to let you skateboard after we spent all night in Emergency.”

  This was mostly how the scene played out last time, too. Scratch argued that it was my birthday. How could he leave me alone? Only this time his face looked pale and he gripped his forehead—he’d fallen on his head pretty hard, after all. His mom was right—no way should he be doing tricks on any skateboard.

  “That’s okay. Dad’s coming home early—any minute now in fact—to celebrate my birthday,” I fibbed, to stop the argument. Not like Scratch wouldn’t have been included in anything Dad had planned anyway. But that didn’t matter, the fib worked.

  Scratch shrugged and I walked him to the car.

  Chapter 9

  DON’T SHOOT THE MESSENGER

  After they drove away, right on cue, my new phone rang.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Listen I’m sorry but something’s come up.”

  “You have to work on my birthday.” It hadn’t even been that big a surprise the first time. We planned the waffle celebration in advance in case he got busy, as he always does, later in the day.

  “Yeah, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

  This time I made a suggestion. “How about you take a personal day tomorrow? Remember, how you used to always take Wednesdays off? We can even go fishing if you like.”

  “Even fishing, eh?” He sounded irritated or maybe just in a hurry. “There’s a possibility that I’ll be done in time to go somewhere Friday. As for tonight, you and your brother go out for dinner as we planned. Take friends, if you like.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Who was I kidding? How could I make things better between us in less than seven days?

  “You’re welcome, Jade.” He hesitated for a moment. “I love you, too.”

  He had heard me this morning! A pinprick of hope sprang up inside of me again. Even small changes could be good ones and they could have a ripple pond effect too.

  “I love you, too, Dad. I’m sorry you have to work.”

  “Me, too. Bye.”

  I tucked the phone in my pocket. Last time this happened I just moped around the house. But this time I knew the clock was ticking—no time to waste. There was nothing more I could do for Dad or Devon so I decided to do something for myself. I ran in and put a bathing suit on under my clothes. I fixed a hummus and lettuce on rye sandwich and tucked it and a novel, along with my towel, into a backpack. I was going to the beach.

  Mreaow, Oreo whined. I opened a can of tuna for him. He was too skinny anyways. Dad thought it might be his kidneys breaking down but didn’t want to take him to the vet again, he just wanted Oreo to enjoy his remaining days. A lifetime ago I had disagreed.

  But right now Oreo was happy. He nodded as he ate as though agreeing with my menu selection. He was going to get spoiled this week. When he finished he swished around and between my legs gratefully.

  “Do you want to come to the lake with me?”

  He stared up at me. Cats’ eyes try to tell you more but I never quite get what. Mreaow!

  I picked the cat up, not his favourite thing. “Well, I think you do,” I told him as I stuffed him in my backpack. “It’s my birthday and you don’t want me to be alone.” He burrowed in the bag as I walked to the bus stop but I figured my lunch would be safe. Oreo wasn’t usually tempted by hummus.

  This was all new, freshly added destiny, so I didn’t know what the bus driver would say when Oreo peeked his head out.

  “You have a cat in your bag,” he pronounced as I dropped my fare in the box.

  “Yes, sir.” I smiled. It was the same driver who radioed dispatch for an ambulance yesterday.

  “He’s not going to be sick, is he?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, don’t let him out of that bag. Ha, ha, ha! Get it? Don’t let the cat out of the bag? It’s an expression.”

  The lady sitting at the front laughed.

  Smiling, I quickly headed for a seat before he could suddenly remember some anti-animal transit rule. I sat down and adjusted the backpack to rest in my lap so that Oreo would be comfortable. I reached in and patted him, and he purred his way to sleep. I looked out the window for the rainbow but it had disappeared. For a moment I felt a sharp longing but I forced myself to focus on the patch of blue in the distance.

  Burlington Beach is part of Hamilton Harbour on Lake Ontario—no one ever suggested it was the Riviera. People checked the water quality on the Internet before visiting and our family would never head there for a swim. Still, it was sand and water that I could get to by bus.

  I got off at Lakeshore Road, walked down a path, and then hit the waterfront. No dogs were allowed on the sand so I felt safe letting Oreo out. The sun filtered through a haze, warm on my face and arms, but I hadn’t brought sunscreen. Finally, an advantage to being dead—no chance of skin cancer. I spread my towe
l on the driest sand so I could dig my toes in and feel the sand squish warm between them. Then I stripped to my bathing suit.

  A guy sat on a beach chair nearby, hat tipped over his eyes, as a bunch of little kids played at the water’s edge. Seagulls screamed at us from near the water which smelled like seaweed and fish—anchovies, I thought with a grimace. Oreo picked his way toward the field separating the beach from the trees. Beyond the trees lay the road.

  Oreo’s tail twitched above the long grass, a cat on the hunt. I walked over the sand towards the water. The cat looked happy as he leaped and pounced for field mice. I waded in. While the sand on the beach wasn’t as hot as I would have liked, the water felt perfect and the waves had made these little ridges on the sand in the water. I lay back and floated. Who cared about water purity today?

  After a while, seagulls called from the sky: “Ow, ow, ow!”

  I looked to the shore and saw Oreo grinning with his sharp tiny teeth. “Did you chase them into the sky? Come here you bad cat.” I had to pick him up and carry him back to my towel where I unwrapped my hummus sandwich. Oreo stared at me while I chewed so I broke off a corner to share with him. He nodded as he tackled it. Oreo agreed with all his food lately, even hummus, apparently, even after a tin of tuna breakfast.

  When lunch was finished, we both stretched out. I grabbed the paperback I had brought. Nothing like a good book to read on the beach. I flipped to the spot I was at before I’d died, and started. At least with another week, I could finish the book.

  The lake breeze tickled through my hair. I heard the waves lap at the sand. Oreo licked at my fingers and I realized I just couldn’t concentrate. “Go ahead. Let him bite your neck already,” I told the main character. Funny how a story about vampires doesn’t hold your interest once you’re dead. “Fine for you. You’re going to live forever,” I complained at the pages, then slammed the book shut and shoved it back in the backpack. I looked around.