Lucy Unstrung

by Carole Lazar

  “Now it’s your turn,” she says. “Look, I bought Kool-Aid. We can give you pink streaks. It will make your hair way more interesting.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being blonde too,” I say.

  “Well, I couldn’t afford two packages of the real hair color. This is the best I could do. Are you going to try it or not?”

  “I’ll try it.”

  “We need hair conditioner.”

  I go to the bathroom and come back with the bottle. Siobhan pours a little bit into a saucer and mixes in the packages of Kool-Aid.

  We don’t use the cap or the crochet hook for me. Siobhan just brushes the colored paste she’s made through a strand here and a strand there. When she’s finished, I check it out in the mirror. I don’t like it as much as Siobhan’s. Hers looks natural. Mine looks kind of fun, though, and it will wash out after awhile.

  There’s some of the Kool-Aid mix left over.

  “We should give the dog some streaks too,” Siobhan says. “She’s feeling left out.”

  Anytime anyone says dog, the dog gets all excited, so now she is bouncing around my legs. I pick her up and hold her while Siobhan puts pink streaks in her fur. The dog panics when I try to use the blow-dryer on her, so we just leave her to dry on her own.

  Mom comes in at 8:45. We’ve cleaned everything up and we’re just watching TV.

  “How did it go?” I ask.

  “It was okay. He was a good sport about it. He said he was just disappointed he’d changed his sheets for nothing. Can you believe that?”

  “Mom!” I’m totally shocked.

  How can she say something like that to me, especially in front of Siobhan? I turn to glare at her, but she’s staring hard at me. The room is pretty dim. We only have one lamp and the TV on. She switches on the overhead light in the kitchen.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Mom, you shouldn’t say God like that.”

  She looks at Siobhan. “Your mother’s going to kill me.”

  Still, Mom doesn’t look that worried about it. Actually, she looks like she wants to laugh.

  Then she notices the dog. “Not you too!” And then she really does laugh.

  Siobhan’s mother, whose name is Colleen, does not kill my mom. What she says, though, is that Siobhan can’t come over anymore because my mom is single and dating and she isn’t able to properly supervise us.

  Siobhan tells me the news when she calls me early the next morning.

  My mom gets pretty annoyed when I tell her.

  “What a hypocrite,” she says. “They leave Siobhan there on her own with those kids all the time. You’ve been over at Siobhan’s when her parents have gone out.”

  eighteen

  The next day, Dad takes me to see the zero lot line house he told me about last weekend. It’s a really run-down dump of a place near the end of a cul-de-sac. The only nice thing about the place is the street it’s on. There’s a grassy island in the middle of the loop where the cars have to go round the circle and turn back. It’s almost like a very little park because they’ve planted three ornamental cherry trees in there. It would be a good place to walk a dog. All the houses on the street are about the same size and are on small lots, but they’re fixed up and look kind of cute. Dad says the house we’re checking out is about the cheapest one in all of Surrey. I’m not surprised.

  It looks so sad and abandoned. No one’s living in it. The yard is a jungle. There’s a strip of cracked pavement with weeds growing through it that leads right up to the base of the house. You can tell this is where the garage used to be, but now it’s closed in and there’s a boarded up window. Dad tells me this is the family room. There are shards of broken glass on the ground.

  Amy’s late. She’s supposed to meet us here. Dad has been through the house once but wants to have a second look. I can’t believe he’s seriously considering this place. We’re standing by the curb, waiting, when one of the neighbors comes over.

  “Hi there,” he says. “Roy’s the name.”

  Dad introduces himself and me.

  “Are you planning to buy? I sure hope so. It would be such a relief to have someone normal in here.”

  “We’re still just checking things out,” Dad says.

  I like the way he says we, like I’ll have some say in the decision. I wish. This place is a dump, but it’s not that far from Siobhan’s, and if I lived here, Grandma could drive me to Holy Name. If Dad wanted me to make a decision, what would I say?

  “Sure would be great if we could get a nice family in here,” Roy says. “This is a real family neighborhood.” He sort of waves his arm in an arc to indicate all the houses where there are bikes and toys in the driveways.

  “That’s kind of what appeals to us,” says Dad. “But there’s a lot of work to do here. The place is in rough shape.”

  “Yeah, I know. Guy who owns it lives in Hong Kong. Tried renting it out. It was a really ugly scene. One group of young guys after another. Police were always here. Nice to have a crack house in the neighborhood, eh? The rest of us got together and pretty well drove them out.”

  Dad looks alarmed. “Is the person who buys it going to have members of the old crowd turning up on their doorstep?”

  “Nah. Cops busted it months ago, and the owner’s just left it empty. He’s trying to sell it, but look at the shape it’s in. It’s a fixer-upper special now. He’s dropped his price a couple of times.”

  Amy pulls up and parks out on the street. She’s going to show us through the house.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to look it over then,” Roy says, and he wanders back across the road to his own house.

  Amy’s starting her sales spiel. “Of course, this place needs a little TLC, but you can see that it has great potential.”

  About as much potential as a chicken coop. I don’t see any at all. It’s a dive, plain and simple.

  The living room and the dining room have hardwood floors, but they’re all stained and scratched. There’s a hole in the drywall in the kitchen, like someone’s punched the wall or thrown something at it. The kitchen cabinets are all scuffed up, and some of the doors don’t hang straight. There are burn holes in the countertop. The stove is crusted with food. I don’t know how they can expect to sell a house in this condition. Who’d buy it?

  Apparently my dad might. This is his second time looking it over, and it’s not like he’s having Amy show him any other places today. He actually seems to be interested in this one.

  I can’t wait to tell Siobhan, so as soon as we get home, I call her. She isn’t in. Her mom says she’s at Megan’s. Who’s Megan?

  Siobhan finally calls me back.

  “Your mom says you were at Megan’s place,” I say.

  “Who’s Megan?”

  “She just moved in down at the Carlsons’ place.”

  “Which place is the Carlsons’?”

  “The one two doors down from us, toward the park. She’s a foster kid. The Carlsons just got approved to run some sort of a group home. They’re only taking teenage girls. They can have up to three, but right now, there’s just Megan.”

  “So why’s she in a foster home?”

  “Her mother’s in rehab.”

  “What’s she like? Megan, I mean, not her mother.”

  “Funny! She’s got a wicked sense of humor. I haven’t laughed so hard in my life. And it’s so nice that she lives right on my own street. It’s always such a major production when you and I want to get together.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it a major production. Dad says he’ll come and pick you up, if you want to come over.”

  “That would be cool. I’ll ask my mom.”

  She does come over, and she even stays the night, but it still bothers me that all week I’m going to be out in Langley and Megan is only going to be two houses away. It’s pretty obvious who Siobhan is going to be spending more time with. There’s no justice. Why is it that when Siobhan meets a girl her age that lives close to her, it’s someone who is a lo
t of fun. When I meet a girl my age that lives close to me, she’s a weirdo who wants to beat me to a pulp.

  With Mom driving me to and from school, and me making sure I’m never out alone, Brandy doesn’t have much of a chance to actually kill me. She can still bug me at school, though. I hate it that she sits right behind me in English class. I keep expecting to get a knife shoved between my shoulder blades. What happens Monday isn’t quite that bad, but it’s close enough to almost give me a heart attack.

  “All right, now last class we were talking about similes and metaphors. I asked each of you to pick a poem you liked and to look for the imagery the poet used.” Ms. Phillips looks around the class. No one has put up their hand. “No volunteers?” She looks straight at me; no, she’s looking over me.

  Suddenly I get this really hard poke in the middle of my back.

  “Put your hand up!” Brandy hisses.

  I don’t even think. Up my hand goes like Brandy’s put a gun in my back. I’m surprised I don’t throw both arms up into the air.

  “Yes, Lucy,” Ms. Phillips says.

  “I picked ‘Fog,’” I say. “By Carl Sandburg.” It takes me a minute to collect my thoughts. “He compared fog to a cat. It’s not a simile, I don’t think, because there’s no like or as in it.”

  I try to explain. Ms. Phillips asks me to read it aloud. Then she asks questions. Anyone can answer, but it’s mostly me who does the talking. We’re still discussing it when the bell rings.

  I’m gathering up my things, but Brandy’s faster than me. As she walks by my desk, she looks down and says, “I knew you had to be good for something.” Then she just walks out of the room.

  If it wasn’t for the way she usually treats me, I’d almost think she gave a bit of a smile when she said that. Maybe it was just a grimace.

  I’m about to describe what happened with Brandy in class to Harbie and Kuldeep, who are sitting in the cafeteria, but I don’t get a chance.

  “Your hair,” says Harbie as I approach their table. “I still can’t believe what you did to your hair.”

  “My parents would kill me if I did that,” says Kuldeep.

  Kuldeep and Harbie have been going on like this about my hair for a week now. You’d think I’d shaved my head bald or something. I wish they’d just get over it.

  It turns out, though, that they aren’t the only ones who get totally bent out of shape over a little change in hair color. Tuesday night, Ian has a meeting and so Gina comes over to visit Mom. I know she’s coming because probably for the first time in her life she calls first. As soon as her car pulls in to the driveway, the dog starts barking. The dog’s still at it when Gina walks in the door, so it’s not like Gina isn’t going to notice her right away. And she does. She stops right inside the door and stares.

  “What have you done to my dog?” she shrieks.

  Gina’s just standing there like she’s paralyzed. Her hands have flown to her cheeks. She’s looking at the dog as if this is the worst thing she’s ever seen. The dog is probably stunned by the response. She quits barking.

  “She looks ridiculous.”

  “It’s just Kool-Aid,” I say. “It will wash out in a bit.”

  “I’m not going to be seen walking down the street with a striped dog.”

  And when was the last time you walked this poor dog anywhere, I want to ask.

  “I just won’t put myself through that humiliation,” she says. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but you and your mom will just have to keep her.”

  She’s looking at my mom. Mom’s smiling. I look back at Gina. She is too. I look at the dog.

  “We can keep her?” I can’t believe my ears.

  “Well, if you want her,” Gina says. “Not everyone would want a silly little dog with pink-striped fur.”

  I pick up the dog and bury my face in her neck. “I would.”

  It feels like a big weight has lifted off my shoulders. I don’t know what to say. I’ve been so awful to Gina. The dog is wriggling. I set her down.

  “Thank you,” I say. I’m smiling now too, but it’s a wobbly sort of smile. Then, like an idiot, I throw my arms around Gina’s neck and start to bawl. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’ll take real good care of her.”

  “I know that,” says Gina.

  When I calm myself down enough to notice, I see that Gina and Mom are looking a little teary eyed too. We exchange looks, and then we all start to laugh. The dog just stands there watching us and wagging her tail.

  nineteen

  When we get home on Thursday afternoon, there is a letter from BCIT in our mailbox. Mom doesn’t open it right away. It sits there on the kitchen table while she makes dinner. It sits there on the kitchen table while we eat dinner. It sits there on the kitchen table while we do dishes. The suspense is driving me crazy.

  “Why don’t you open it?” I ask for the third time.

  “I’m afraid to,” Mom says.

  “I’ll open it for you.”

  “No, leave it alone. I’ll open it in a minute.”

  After we finish at the sink, she goes and sits at the table and stares at the envelope like she thinks maybe it contains anthrax or something like that.

  “As long as I hadn’t heard from them, at least I could hope,” she says. But while she’s saying that, she’s finally started to work her thumb under the edge of the flap on the envelope. She goes through the process of opening the envelope, unfolding the single sheet of paper, and smoothing the letter out on the table – all in slow motion. Finally, she starts reading it.

  I sit down across from her holding my breath the whole time. She’s so slow, it’s a wonder I don’t collapse. The thing is, I don’t even know what I hope the letter says. I know she really wants to take this interior design course, and so I sort of hope she gets in. But on the other hand, I really want to move, and there’s a better chance of that happening if she doesn’t get in.

  She’s finished reading. She just sits there, staring at me. Then suddenly she shrieks! It startles me so much I just about hit the roof. She grabs my hands and pulls me up.

  “I got in! I got in!” She’s dancing us both in circles around our little kitchen, screaming like a mad woman.

  I can’t help laughing. “Mom! You keep this yelling up and Mrs. Warren will call the police.”

  Mom is laughing and crying at the same time. “I don’t care. Nothing would bother me tonight.”

  Mom drives me over to Dad’s after school on Friday. She and Dad have things they have to discuss.

  Dad’s made tea and he’s bought some Nanaimo bars. I help myself. He pours tea in Mom’s cup and then his own.

  “You don’t realize how much stuff you’ve accumulated till you’re faced with the job of having to move it all,” he says. “We need to come up with a plan so we know who’s taking what.”

  “Lucy tells me at least you are going to have a house to move into,” Mom says.

  “I’m not moving to the house; I’ve rented an apartment in Burnaby.”

  Mom turns to me. “I thought you said Dad was buying a house off Eightieth Avenue.”

  “I am,” he says. “But I won’t be living there. I’ll be renting it out.”

  “And then you’re renting an apartment?” Mom looks puzzled.

  “Well, I thought it would make sense to move closer to my job, but I sure couldn’t afford to buy anything in Vancouver or Burnaby.”

  “So this house you’re buying is just sort of an investment?”

  Dad nods.

  “I got in to that course I was telling you about,” Mom says. She doesn’t sound excited about it at all tonight. Mostly she just looks worried.

  “Well, good for you,” Dad says. “So will you be staying where you are or moving closer in?”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says.

  She can say that again. I’ve asked her about a million times and she won’t even discuss it with me. My whole life is in limbo.

  “The thing is, the rent’s s
o cheap there and it’s close to the freeway, so the commute to BCIT wouldn’t take that much longer than if we lived here.”

  “So it would make sense for you to stay where you are then.”

  “In some ways, but has Lucy told you about Brandy?” Mom asks.

  I haven’t, so she does. Dad’s scowling while she talks; it gets worse when Mom tells the part about Mrs. Warren having to rescue me.

  “I’ve been driving her to school, and since this happened, I’ve arranged to work through my lunch hour so I can come home early and pick her up from school.”

  “But it’s not safe for her to go out of the house, even to walk the dog,” Dad says.

  It’s not a question.

  Dad stares into his tea for a second or two. Then he says, “Do you mind telling me how much you’re paying for rent where you are?”

  “I can’t really see that that is any of your business,” Mom says.

  “Five hundred dollars a month,” I say.

  “How much did Lucy tell you about the place I’m buying?” he asks.

  “Everything,” I say. “I told her it was an abandoned crack house on a nice street. That Roy’s not going to be very happy when he finds out you’re going to be renting it out again.”

  “It looks rough, but I’m taking two weeks’ holiday as soon as I take possession, and I think I can get it fixed up in that amount of time. Lucy’s right, though, Roy and the other neighbors will be very upset if I don’t choose really responsible renters.”

  “Look,” says Mom. “Shouldn’t we get down to discussing what we’re going to do with all our furniture? We do have to be out of this house in just over two weeks. And that’s why I came over.”

  “How do you know what furniture you want to take when you don’t know where you’re going to be living?” I ask.

  “Well, that’s the point I was trying to get to,” says Dad. “Kate, why don’t you rent this house I’m buying? I’ll let you have it for five hundred dollars a month.”

  This is an excellent idea.

  “No,” she says.

  “But Mom! It would be perfect. It’s quite close to Siobhan’s, and it’s not so far from Grandma and Granddad’s, so Grandma could drive me to Holy Name like before.”