Pallbearing

  Matty said, “You got the money you owe me?”

  “Not yet. But I got some. I’ll buy.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Rob took their plates up to the counter and ordered a pitcher. Back at the table, Matty took a sip and said, “What the fuck is this?”

  “What do you mean? It’s beer.”

  “No, I mean what kind of beer. It tastes like piss.”

  “It’s the special.”

  “You cheap asshole. Tell me next time and I’ll float you the extra dollar so we don’t have to drink beer that gives me the shits.”

  Matty lit a smoke and took a couple drags. Rob tried not to look until Matty muttered something and slid the pack across the table. Rob asked, “Can I have your light?”

  “What a guy you are.”

  They watched the game and played pool. Matty picked up another pitcher of “the good stuff”; it was empty by the fifth inning. Matty went for a piss and Rob fed his last quarter into the pull tab machine. He didn’t win. The empty pitcher sat there until the bottom of the sixth when the waitress came around and asked if they were getting another. Matty looked at Rob, who leaned back and patted his pockets and said it was maybe time he got going.

  “Ah, fuck it. I’ll buy. But you owe me.”

  “I’m good for it.”

  “You gotta be good for something.”

  The place started to fill up. Some of the boys Matty worked with joined them and a couple old friends sat at another table. A group of guys they knew from around showed up after their football game. It turned out to be a friend of a friend’s birthday and the party started picking up around eight. Someone bought a round of shots that Rob got in on and then he helped himself to a top-up from a pitcher. After a bit he bummed a quarter from Matty to call home.

  “You forgot the library books.”

  “I ran into some of the boys. I’ll be home in a bit.”

  “I won’t wait up.”

  “I won’t be that long.”

  “Did you take some DVDs?”

  “Huh? I lent Matty a couple.”

  “You lent Matty The Lion King?”

  “No. Die Hard.”

  “There’s a bunch of others missing.”

  “Maybe the kids moved them.”

  “Sleep in the bed tonight, huh? I don’t like the kids waking up to their father passed out on the couch.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  * * *

  Rob walked through the dark between streetlamps. He was climbing the hill home, sweating and smoking the last cigarette he’d bummed from Matty. He crossed through a pool of light and focused on the next. At the top he caught his breath and looked back. The streetlights bent with the road and back into town. Nothing stayed open late downtown; the only light came from the grid of streetlights and the big gas station sign out on the highway. He watched a car turn onto the highway and drive out of town, disappearing over the bridge, the lights blocked by the woods. He turned around and kept going.

  He focused and leaned toward the next light and then the next and then there wasn’t another until the corner of his subdivision. For a long time it didn’t seem to be getting any closer and then he was crossing under it and looking at the bank of mailboxes. He didn’t have the key with him, and anyways he was sure Jane had checked earlier.

  Rob cut through the schoolyard. He sat down on the edge of a slide and patted his pockets, looking for a smoke to have before he got home. He couldn’t find one but sat there for a few minutes, staring at the dark windows of the houses that backed on to the school. No one moved in any of the houses.

  He cut through one of the yards to get back to his street. All the lights were out at home. He put the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The dog was standing there wagging its tail. It whined and Rob shushed it. He went up to the bathroom and took a piss, sitting down so he didn’t make any noise.

  He looked in on Lily sleeping. She wheezed and he left quietly. In the boys’ room, Jack had climbed up to Billy’s bunk and they had kicked the blanket off onto the floor. They both looked blue from the nightlight. Rob pulled the blanket up over them. He bumped into the doorjamb hard on the way out. One of the boys rolled over, but didn’t wake up.

  Jane said hi when he got into their room. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his pants. She said that he smelled like cigarettes and onions and asked what time it was. Rob said it wasn’t that late and that he needed some water and would be back in a minute.

  He went down to the couch and lay down to sleep.

  Coming and Going

  Barb would sometimes almost miss a car coming or going. There were things that dragged her away from her station at the window, of course — dishes, laundry, cooking, sleep — but over the years she’d found ways to work around the distractions. Dishes were done at night, when the light from the cars shining into the living room let her know someone was there. A service handled her laundry. Her food was almost all pre-made, microwaveable. And she’d started sleeping on the couch across from the window so the lights would wake her up. But the runs into town to get groceries and fill her prescriptions weren’t easily handed off.

  She’d managed to get them down to one hour-long trip every two weeks — on Wednesday nights at eight, which she’d worked out was the time she was least likely to miss any action — but even that ended up being too much time away. Eventually, Barb was forced to get back in touch with her son. Claiming a bad back, she asked if he could help her out from time to time.

  * * *

  Mark always surprised her by being old and overweight and bald. In her mind, he was still a gawky teenager. But now he showed up every Sunday, sweating over the grocery bags as he backed in through the trailer door. The first time he’d come, she’d thought it was her ex-husband. That impression stuck.

  “Here’s your groceries, Ma.” Mark dropped the bags on the kitchen table and went straight to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. Sweat stains grew under his arms and spotted down his back; she could practically see them spreading, like a toddler peeing his pants.

  He gulped down the water and let out a sigh that she could hear across the trailer. “Did you get to the doctor about your back?”

  “I don’t need a doctor to tell me to stay off my feet.” A car turned into view, a neighbour. She didn’t bother marking it down in her book.

  “Yeah, Ma, but maybe you can get it straightened or something. Janice, down at work, she saw an acupuncturist. Fixed her right up.”

  “There’s that Janice you always talk about. Have you asked her out yet?”

  “No, Ma. She remains married.”

  “You’d find a girl if you lost a little weight. Women don’t mind bald men as much as they used to. It’s fashionable now.”

  “Ma, come on.” His hands went up to his head to straighten hair that wasn’t there, a habit he shared with his father. She could never figure out why it was that his dad never had any trouble finding women, but her son remained single.

  He came into the living room and sat down on the couch, sighing again. He lifted one leg to pull the blanket out from under him. “Do you sleep out here?”

  “It’s good for my back.”

  “Doesn’t the light bother you? I could help you move the couch under the window, then at least you wouldn’t get it right on your eyes.”

  “It doesn’t bother me.” He looked past her, out the window. Another car came in; she glanced and wrote down the first few digits of the licence plate.

  “What’re you writing there?” He got up to look.

  She closed the book and said, “Look at you, you left a sweat stain on my couch.”

  “Sorry, Ma, it’s like an oven in here.”

  “You’d sweat less if you lost some weight.”

  “Jesus, Ma.” He wiped his hand over his head a
gain and said, “Look, I got to get going. I’ll see you next week.”

  * * *

  Barb had barely noticed the cars when she first moved into the trailer park. She was busy with other things — still in the middle of her divorce and working full-time at city hall, where she made sure the bylaw complaints were all filed correctly and followed up on. Her living room window faced the intersection at the entrance to the trailer park; anyone coming in came to a stop with their lights shining into her home, through her blinds and reflecting off the TV. It was a minor annoyance, but one she thought was temporary.

  She hadn’t wanted to move to the trailer park and didn’t intend to stay; it was, after all, a trailer park. But she didn’t have much of a choice. Two months after Mark moved to the city for college, her ex left her for that whore of a waitress from the scuzzy diner out on the highway. Their house was put up for sale, her ex moved in with the waitress, and she was forced out on the street by a strongly worded legal note. There weren’t many options in town — rentals were either horrible apartment blocks full of divorced construction workers and drunks, or straight-up crack dens.

  Her real estate agent sold her on the idea of buying a trailer: she had just enough money of her own for the down payment, it would hold its value, and it would be easy enough to get out of when the divorce was finalized and her half of the house money arrived. Barb could even hold on to it and rent it out after she got a new place; it was a good investment. And it was a nice trailer park, the agent had said. Originally a campground, it was situated at the base of a mountain on one side, with a river on the other. The nearby highway was blocked by a noise-cancelling wall, and the industrial park next door contained light industry, not very loud at all. And you couldn’t beat the location, a ten-minute walk to town or a two-minute drive.

  Barb should have known the real estate agent was a liar. She found out later it was the same woman who was helping her ex buy a new place; they probably shared a good laugh about sticking Barb in a trailer park.

  It was a horrible place. The walk to town was impossible. There were no sidewalks and the trucks speeding in and out of the industrial park at all hours had no regard for pedestrians. The highway was loud and the mountain was nothing more than a hill where local kids hung out to do drugs and have sex. The river was just a bit upstream from the treatment plant, and any time there was flooding, it would back up and the whole park would smell of the city’s business. And the trailer park was anything but quiet — there were naked children running around, kids drinking and doing drugs, and adults doing the same. And there were dealers too.

  Barb went to work, kept to herself, and let her neighbours know she wasn’t at their level; she spoke to no one and actively discouraged anyone from speaking to her. It was, she’d kept telling herself, temporary.

  * * *

  Mark banged into the screen door with the groceries. It bounced off the wall and back into him. So loud, Barb thought, so sloppy.

  “Hi, Ma.” He dropped the bags onto the table and started to load the microwaveable meals into the freezer. He struggled to make room, tilting and forcing, eventually pulling everything out and starting over. A car entered the trailer park; she had to squint to get the licence plate. She wrote it down.

  “What is that?” She couldn’t believe her son could move so quick. He was standing over her, looking at her ledger.

  “It’s my book,” she said, pulling her forearm over it. He leaned over further to look. A drop of sweat landed on her forearm.

  “Oh, sorry Ma.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Ma, I sweat. I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

  “Lose weight. Fat traps heat.”

  “Anyways, what’s that book? Is it all licence plate numbers?”

  “It is.”

  “Why?”

  “We have trouble with drug dealers. If someone looks suspicious, I write down their licence number.”

  “And the time?”

  She covered the book more. “Yes, of course.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone has to do it. Kids are so bad these days. With the drugs.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She slammed the book shut when he stooped down to look closer.

  “Ma, why would you write down my licence plate? You think I’m selling drugs?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t know it was you until you pulled into my driveway.”

  He looked at her with that weak, soft face. She could never understand where he picked that up from — uncertainty, an inability to be direct. She wasn’t like that. His father wasn’t either. He would lie, hide, and cheat, but he was direct when he needed to be.

  He said, “I mean, that’s a bit strange, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  He sat on the couch and looked like he was thinking; she could practically hear the gears moving inside his head. Before he could come up with something to say, Barb said, “Get off the couch! It took me an hour to clean your sweat stains last week.”

  “Jesus, Ma.” He got up and they both looked at the couch. There was a wet mark where his back had been. He ran his hand over his hairless dome and said, “Look, I got to go.”

  * * *

  Barb was awarded alimony in the divorce but never saw a dime. And she didn’t get any money from the sale of the house either. According to her ex’s lawyer, the house sold under-value and much of that money was used to pay off debts and bad investments she hadn’t known about.

  She knew something was up. Her lawyer was a useless twit who’d been friends with her ex, and he obviously hadn’t been looking out for her best interests. She got a new lawyer, who, after she paid him for six months of work, let her know that her ex, technically, had no money; it had all been transferred into his new wife’s name. Barb would not be able to get her hands on it.

  Barb didn’t accept that. She was sure a judge would see things her way, if only she could prove there was money. She started driving by her ex’s new house after work. She bought a disposable camera and took photos of renovations. She saw his car was gone for two weeks — probably a vacation, which she confirmed with his employer when she called pretending to be a customer. She started keeping notes for the judge.

  One day, after looking at his house for a long time to be certain no one was home, she walked around back to the shed. She took a full garbage bag and headed home. Going through the old coffee grounds and apple cores, she found six receipts, but none for anything flashy or suspicious. Still, it was enough to keep her going back for more. She would take days off to be sure both her ex and the whore were at work, and then she’d sneak around back and grab a bag, replacing it with the last one she stole. Eventually, she found enough receipts for big purchases to prove that he was hiding money. If he could afford a ride-on lawnmower and a new stereo for his car, he could pay her alimony.

  And then a bailiff came to her door and served her a restraining order. When she realized what was happening, she became frantic. No, she said, it was all wrong. She was doing these things to prove that her ex-husband was the criminal, not her. By then, neighbours were looking out their doors at her. She saw herself, yelling at a police officer, in a trailer park, in her nightgown. She slammed the door in the bailiff’s face.

  For three months she argued her case everywhere she could. She took it to the police, the courts. She refused to get a lawyer — they’d only ever ripped her off — so it took her a long time to bully her way into a hearing. In the meantime, she let everyone know what a scumbag her ex had been: cheating, stealing, refusing to pay what he owed her.

  Mark eventually got involved. He came down from college and had the nerve to tell her she was becoming obsessive and should just let it go. He didn’t understand what she’d gone through — to have to live in a trailer park, hand-to-mouth, after she’d slaved away to raise Mark and keep his father happ
y.

  Mark told her that he was trying, really trying, but it was hard. He said his dad wasn’t as bad as she thought, that if she could see his side, maybe they could leave all the unpleasantness behind them. Barb asked what other side was there? His dad was a cheating so-and-so. But it was so like Mark to side with his father, since he was paying for Mark’s school with that whore’s money. Mark left after that.

  A month later, a judge upheld the restraining order. Garbage, he explained, was not admissible evidence.

  * * *

  “I’ve been thinking about your little project,” Mark said as he put away the groceries. He opened the peanut butter and peeled the protective cover off, dropping it in the garbage. As though she couldn’t do it herself; her arthritis wasn’t that bad.

  Barb asked, “What project?”

  “The cars. The licence plates.”

  She watched him struggle to reach the cupboard. His belly mashed up against the counter, divided by it. How had she raised a son who cared so little for his appearance?

  “If you’re worried about security, we could get you a camera to put in the window. I can hook it up to your computer.”

  “I don’t like computers. I barely use the one you bought me. A waste of money, that.”

  Mark ran his hand over his head and sighed. “Well, you don’t need to like it. I can set it up so that you don’t have to do anything. It will just record, and if anything happens, I can come over and go through the tape to look at the cars. You won’t need to do a thing.”

  “I wouldn’t want the expense.”

  “A webcam is, like, twenty dollars.”

  “You don’t need to waste money on that. Why not spend it on a gym membership?”

  “Ma! Jesus.”

  “Well, you just spend so much time on computers. I think some exercise would be good for you.”