Pallbearing

by Michael Melgaard

  Debbie went to a different game and fed in the last of her money, telling herself she’d cash out with ten dollars left. But when she got down to that amount she decided ten wasn’t enough to really do anything with anyways, so she might as well keep going. A small win took her back up to twenty, which wasn’t much better than ten, so she kept going and then her money was all gone.

  The security guard was different when she left; he didn’t look at her. The parking lot was dark. Debbie walked to the restaurant and got into her car. The engine turned, coughed, caught. It only took her five minutes to get to her building; there was no traffic this time of night.

  The elevator took a long time to get to her floor, with its buzzing fluorescent light. She passed no one in the hall, then got into her apartment, tossed her jacket and purse on the couch, and lay down on top of them.

  * * *

  Debbie’s phone buzzed her awake. She dug it out of her coat pocket and tried to turn off what she thought was the alarm but instead picked up a call. It took her a second to register her brother’s voice asking if anyone was there. She brought the phone to her face and said yes. They made plans to have coffee that afternoon.

  She scraped all the old food off plates into the garbage and stashed them in the dishwasher. She swept and decided it would be better to shower than to tidy more. When she came out there was no time for curlers so she wrapped her hair in a scarf and then the buzzer sounded. She hit the button to unlock the front door and took a quick look around. She tossed a newspaper over a pile of unopened mail just as Dan let himself in. They hugged and talked about how it had been too long. Debbie made a pot of coffee while Dan sat at the kitchen table and set up the crib board.

  Dan skunked her in the first two games, counting out his winning hands without much enthusiasm. While he shuffled, he told Debbie that his kids were starting college in the city and both had found places to live and that his daughter had moved in with her boyfriend. He talked about his lighting store and the economy and how it looked like it was going to be a rough year, but it could never be as bad as it was back in ninety-six. Then he asked Debbie about her grandkids and job. The kids were good, she said, even though she didn’t see much of them. The job was still just part-time.

  Dan started a new game and they both looked over their cards and told each other what garbage they had. Debbie said, “Fifteen two, fifteen four, and there is no more.” She moved her peg.

  Dan said, “I hear you’ve been over at the new casino.”

  Debbie looked up. “I went over once to see what it looked like.”

  Dan put his cards down and moved his peg. He said, “Debbie. I hear it’s more than once. And from a few people.” Debbie didn’t say anything. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with gambling. I like Vegas as much as anyone, but that’s different — there you can take in a show, there’s entertainment. That place is just slots and Keno. You can’t win, and there’s no fun to distract you when you’re losing.”

  Debbie shuffled the cards and dealt another hand. Dan left his cards lying face down while Debbie sorted hers. Dan said, “I know things have been tight.”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  They played quietly after that. Dan won another game. He asked if they should play another round. Debbie said she actually had plans and needed to get ready. At the door, Dan pulled Debbie into a hug. He lingered by the open door and said, “I know it’s been a hard few years for you. You know you don’t need to worry about the money you owe me.”

  Debbie thanked him and closed the door. She put their cups in the sink and walked out onto the balcony and watched the cars driving by below.

  * * *

  Near the end of the month, Debbie gave in and checked her bank account online. Her work cheque had cleared and there was just enough to cover rent, but they were threatening to cut off the power so she had to deal with that first. She called her bank and let them know about her long history with them and explained that she had to make some unexpected loans to family members and wondered if they could extend her overdraft. The voice on the phone let her know that he was very sorry to say he could not.

  She tried one of her credit card companies. They could give her a higher limit, but that would change her interest rate to something less favourable. She okayed it, then paid off her hydro bill. She put a little on her phone to keep them happy, and paid the minimum on one of her other credit cards. Then she headed out for lunch. After, she explained to the waitress that she forgot her debit card at home and wondered if she could do cash back on the credit card. The waitress said she could.

  Debbie wanted to make her twenty last, so she stuck to the penny slots where she couldn’t bet more than ten cents at a time. She didn’t like these games. The screens had ten rows and dozens of shapes; there were more ways to win and more to lose, but it was just a swirling mess of lights that was impossible for her to follow. Sometimes her credits went up, sometimes down. She was never too sure why.

  “Deb?”

  Debbie turned around. Valerie Marston squealed and threw her arms around Debbie. They tried to remember the last time they’d seen each other and figured it must have been when their boys graduated back in ninety-nine. Could they believe it was that long? “And imagine, meeting at this shithole!” Val grabbed Debbie’s forearm and laughed.

  Debbie said, “I was just over at the mall. I’ve been wondering what this place looked like inside since it opened.”

  “Oh, shit. I come here every couple weeks for the Keno. Rick hates it. I blow half my pay sometimes.” Val laughed again. “But what the hell, right? You only live once.”

  Debbie said she probably should be going and hit the button to cash out. They left together and at Val’s car they hugged and made plans to see each other again. Once Val was clear of the parking lot, Debbie turned around and went back into the casino.

  * * *

  Debbie’s son visited with the grandkids for her birthday. He brought a small cake and a present that turned out to be a new coffee mug with a picture of her grandkids on it. Debbie divided the cake and when it was gone the two boys started tearing around the apartment. One of the boys knocked a stack of mail off a chair, so Braden finally turned on the TV and sat them down in front of it. He carried the enve­lopes back to the kitchen table and handed them to his mom. “Not opening your mail?”

  “Oh, it’s just junk.”

  “You doing okay, Mom?”

  “I’m doing okay.”

  “I was at Uncle Dan’s.”

  “Dan doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “He can help, Mom.”

  Debbie got up and poured herself a glass of water, then went into the living room where the kids were watching TV. She tickled her grandson and sat down beside him. Braden joined her and they watched cartoons for bit and then Debbie said she had some plans that afternoon and they needed to clear out soon. The boys ran around getting their stuff together and then they were all at the door trying to leave.

  She gave them a few minutes to get to the car before she pulled on her jacket and headed out. There was a fifty in one of the pockets. She was sure it hadn’t been there before and then she thought: Braden. She decided to leave it on the table and return it later, but then she was in the elevator, slowly heading down to the lobby with the fifty still in her hand.

  At the bank machine, she saw that a work cheque had cleared, which put her account just under zero. With the overdraft, that gave her a couple hundred to work with. She paid the minimum on two of her credit cards and fifty on her phone bill because they called every day to tell her they were going to cut her off. That maxed out her overdraft, and hydro was due and she was still driving without insurance and rent was coming up again. But she had that fifty, which wasn’t enough for rent or the months of insurance she owed anyways, and it was found money besides.

  She tried a different approach with the machi
nes. Rather than abandoning one that wasn’t paying out, she stayed with it — the more the losses added up, the better her chances of a win, she figured. She fed the fifty-dollar bill into a machine and went down to twenty before hitting a jackpot that sent her to a hundred. She switched machines, again, waiting for a big payout. She lost steadily, with enough occasional small wins to keep her going. When she levelled out at fifty she thought about cashing out and putting the money aside for Braden, but she was sure that she would get another win because there was no way a machine could lose that much. Her credits went down and she started betting two or three credits rather than the max. Her credits dwindled. With less than ten dollars left she decided to bet it all at once and be done with it.

  A light started flashing and she thought she’d somehow set off an alarm before she realized all the lines were connected.

  * * *

  A few weeks later, Debbie got pulled over coming home from work. She asked the officer what seemed to be the problem and he told her that her licence plate sticker showed that her insurance had expired. She let the officer know she was sure that couldn’t be right. She dug out her papers and told him how shocked she was and that she felt so silly that it had slipped her mind and promised she’d go in and renew her insurance right away. The officer asked her if she wouldn’t mind holding on for just one second and took her licence back to his cruiser. He came back less friendly; it seemed she’d already been given two warnings about the expired insurance.

  She waited with the officer for the tow truck to take her car away, then started walking home along the highway. It was going to cost two hundred and fifty to get the car out of impound and the cop had given her fines beside. The fines could wait but if she didn’t get her car back right away she’d be charged another twenty-five a day. She knew her overdraft was at its limit and most of her pay had to go to rent at the end of the week, but she figured there was at least eighty dollars extra. But that wasn’t the two-fifty she needed today, let alone the three-seventy-five it would be by the time she had any money at all. And then there was paying off the insurance on top of all that.

  Debbie unlocked the front door of her building and got in the elevator. The doors closed on the fake lobby plants. A minute later, the doors slid open to reveal the fake plants on her floor. She walked by them to her apartment.

  She took the pile of unopened mail to the kitchen table and fished out her bank statement. It was three months old and she knew how much was in there anyways. She looked in her purse and didn’t see much, then flipped it upside down to let everything fall out. There was about four bucks in loose change. She checked her other purses, then her coat pockets, her jeans, some drawers, and between the couch cushions. She slumped against the edge of the couch and wondered what her TV was worth; it was an old one, not even a flat screen. Probably wouldn’t even get picked up off the curb.

  Finally, she called Dan and said, “You won’t believe what happened . . .”

  * * *

  They met at the impound lot and Dan paid everything off without saying much to Debbie. He followed her back to her apartment in his car and parked beside her in the lot. Debbie asked if he needed something. Dan said he was coming up so they could sort this out. Debbie tried to say it was fine, but Dan just followed her in.

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Do you think I believe you got towed for accidentally parking in a handicap spot?”

  “What do you —”

  “Your insurance is two months’ expired, Debbie. You don’t have the cash to renew it, or to get your car out of impound. You’re not even making eye contact with me right now.”

  Debbie looked him right in the eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Dan sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. He said, “You’re broke, but you shouldn’t be.”

  Debbie left him sitting there. She went into the bathroom and ran the taps while she thought of how to get rid of her brother. When she came out, he was by the door, going through her mail.

  “That’s illegal.”

  “Then call the cops. Come on. Look at this.” He held up the envelopes. “Past due. Last notice. You don’t even open it.”

  “So, I’m a bit behind.”

  “Debbie, it’s more than a bit. I can help.”

  She thought about kicking him out. But then, she was broke. Even if she didn’t pay Dan back for getting her car out of the impound, her entire next paycheque was going to rent, which meant she was going to miss her credit card minimums. Which meant the debt was going to climb.

  Debbie went into the kitchen and sat down. Dan followed her in with the mail. He said, “Let’s go over this.”

  He had her find her insurance papers, tickets, rent receipts, anything that could help sort out where the money had gone. They laid the papers out on the kitchen table and Dan opened the mail and divided everything up — anything from her bank went in one pile, credit card companies in another, hydro bills, insurance. When he was done, the table was completely covered with stacks of paper.

  Then he sorted each pile, finding the most recent bills and scrapping the old. He started jotting down numbers, adding things up and making notes. Debbie tried to explain where the money was — one thing to pay off another to pay off another — but Dan told her that the reasons didn’t change anything: they were debts that needed to be paid. He said, “You’ll have to live cheaper. Get rid of cable, get rid of the car.”

  “I need the car.”

  “It will take you half an hour to walk to work. You can do that.”

  “But what will people say?”

  “That you like to walk.”

  “They’ll think I can’t afford a car.”

  “You can’t afford a car.”

  Another half-hour later Dan had laid it all out. The piles of paper, the years of debt, put into clean columns, various interest rates calculated, debts divided into the have-to-pays, the would-be-nice-to-pays, the can-waits. “You’ve been chasing the small debts and not worrying about the big picture. You’ll have to call some of these companies, tell them that they’ll get their money, but after the deadlines. They’ll go for it. It’s better for them to get money out of you late than not at all.”

  Debbie looked hopelessly at the numbers. It was worse than she’d thought. Dan continued, “There’s a lot of debt, but you make enough money to live and should be able to manage. It’s bad, but it’s not impossible. You have a job, you have your health. There are lots of people worse off than you. But you have to stop gambling.”

  “I barely —”

  “Debbie.”

  “It’s not like it’s all losses. I won two thousand dollars last month.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “I paid off some things.”

  “Those things needed to be paid off because of the gambling. Come on, Deb. You’re smarter than that.”

  They sat there a while, Dan repeated a few points, went over who needed to be called, saying that he was sure he could get his accountant to make calls if anyone gave her trouble. The main thing, he kept saying, was to make her payments and work away at the principal.

  They went through everything once more, then Dan suggested they go for dinner. Debbie said no, she really needed to be alone and think this through. Dan took forty dollars out of his wallet and put it on the table. “Take it. You’ll need groceries.”

  At the door, they hugged. Dan said, “You can do this. I promise.”

  * * *

  Debbie sat down at the table and looked over the notes. The debts, added into one number, broken down into payments to be made in the years ahead. Her future, laid out in interest rates and pay schedules. Money not yet earned but already spoken for. If her only expense was the debt, it would take three years to pay off. But with rent, food, and living her life, at her current wage . . . Maybe she could get a better-pa
ying job. Maybe that would shave a few months off, maybe a year. But that was so little, and the debt so much.

  But there was that forty dollars, not factored into the numbers. She pulled on her shoes and coat. It was so little to lose, after all; forty dollars was worth even the small chance of something better.

  Harold

  Harold bounced his van up onto the curb and tapped the horn twice. Maggie, across the street at the bus stop, shook her head. He rolled down the window and waved her over. She shook her head again and pointed up the street. Harold shouted, “Come on, I’m heading your way.”

  She ran across the street and said, “If my dad sees you picking me up, he’ll kill me.”

  “I was driving by and thought you’d want a ride. Sorry.”

  She went around the front of the van and climbed in. “Just go.”

  Harold shifted the van into gear and then put his hand on her thigh, just under the hem of her kilt. Maggie shifted toward the door and pulled down the sun flap. She looked at herself in the mirror and put on a new layer of lip gloss and added some more eye shadow to her already black eyelids. Harold told her she looked great and reached around the back of her neck to give it a rub. Her shoulders hunched. He said, “So what happened to you last night?”

  “My grandma was over for dinner and my dad’s really cracked down on me being on the phone after eight.” She undid the top two buttons of her shirt.

  Harold leaned back to get a better angle and said, “I was kind of hoping you’d come over tonight. You could tell your folks you’re staying at Allison’s again.”

  “I actually have plans. A friend’s party.”

  “Oh cool, I can drive us there?”