Between the Cracks She Fell

by Lisa de Nikolits

  The walk into town did not take long, and I was soon standing in the lineup in the Tim Horton’s, looking around.

  There was a rowdy group of teenagers in front of me, and I recognized them as being the same bunch I had seen carousing at the library.

  I felt an immediate dislike for them, and it rose like a growl in my throat. I was annoyed that they hung out at the school, my home, but it wasn’t just that. Even now, in the coffee shop lineup, they took up too much space. They were noisy and boisterous, handing single cigarettes to one another like pieces of the Holy Grail, and they were dirty and skanky. And that girl, queen bee to the red-haired king, she set my nerves on edge.

  She was like any other teenage girl in super-tiny cut-off denim shorts. The frayed crotch area rode up in a high V, causing the soft baby flesh of her thighs to spill out like partially inflated balloons. There were flaming red patches on her thighs and she was wearing Uggs, a combination that I hated: Uggs and shorts. Uggs were, well, they were just slompfy, which is my own personal word for sloppy and scruffy all at the same time.

  The girl’s tiny T-shirt sat high on her breasts, and her fish-white belly spilled over the tight waistband of her shorts. She had long black hair that turned to rust midway down, with green stripes on one side. She cupped her unlit cigarette in one hand, put the other on her hip and swayed from side to side while she flirted with the king.

  The surge of dislike I felt for her was so strong I was startled. What was it about this girl that offended me to this degree? She was just a teenager, doing teenage things. But while I suffered a sharp distaste for her, I was fascinated by the boy who thought himself king.

  He was hardly more than a boy, and yet, in his world, he clearly was king. His hair was candy-apple red and tightly braided in narrow cornrows. The cornrows were woven in an intricate pattern, like the criss-crossing of a ploughed field, and they pulled tight on his pale scalp.

  The small braids wound into two thick girly plaits that snaked round his ears and made their way down the back of his head, and then, like curtain tie-backs, they ended in a small explosion of wiry ginger fuzz.

  The boy had shark’s teeth that reached inwards, and his nose was a large hooked beak.

  He slouched and gyrated in response to the girl’s movements, jabbing at the air with his forefinger and jerking his neck forward. His face was decorated with a number of piercings: he had a spike in his eyebrow, a row of small black beads underlined his lower lip, and he had stretched earlobes with silver-and-black empty-circle earrings. The waistband of his red jeans rode low on his balls and buttocks, showing the thick dirty grey band of his underwear.

  He and the girl swirled around each other like smoke. The boy had a studied ugliness to him, manufactured to shock, but he was not a bad-looking kid underneath that getup and when he smiled, flashing those sharp teeth, his face lit up and he was dynamic.

  The kids finally got their coffees, and I got my breakfast, and grabbed a seat by the window and took out my book.

  I was chewing a mouthful of bagel and enjoying rereading the opening chapter of The Satanic Verses when I felt a movement shake my table. I looked up. The boy had slid into my booth and was sitting across from me. I jerked back in surprise.

  Hi, the boy said. You’re new in town. I’m Lenny. I like that book by the way, he continued by way of introduction.

  You’ve read it? My heart was hammering fast in my chest, thud, thud, thud. I was frightened by this guy though I didn’t understand why. He was just a kid.

  He smiled. Shark teeth. I bet there were layers of jagged incisors on picket fence molars. His eyes were radioactive green.

  What, a guy like me can’t read?

  I wouldn’t have thought it high on your to-do list, I offered back, closing the book. I had highlighted bits and pieces I loved and I didn’t want him to see that.

  Power, he said. I read about power. I like power. He fingered a thick silver bracelet as he spoke, an ID bracelet with his name in block letters: LENNY.

  The book’s about religion, I corrected him. And love and trying to find a home.

  All of which equals power, he replied. You know it’s true.

  I’m still not sure why this book caused such a furor, I said, stroking the cover.

  Imagine someone said of your Bible that it has rules about every damn thing, that if a man farts, let him turn his face to the wind, or a rule about which hand to use for the purposes of cleaning one’s behind. You’d be upset too.

  Whoa, you have read it, I said. And who are you? Sulphur-snorting Chamcha the devil or Gibreel the Archangel?

  Gibreel wasn’t exactly nice either, Lenny stated, and I was bemused.

  I was sitting in a Tim’s in the backend of nowhere, talking about Salman Rushdie’s book with a high school drop-out, and presumably drug dealer too.

  Think about it, he said. What did Gibreel ever do that was any good? All he did was screw up things, screw them up big time. He was the kiss of death. And full of himself too. But they all loved him, because he was famous and charismatic. People love that, charisma. If you’ve got charisma, you can make people do anything you want them to and that’s power. Where are you living? He slipped the last sentence in quickly.

  With my Gran. The answer shot out before I could think.

  Where?

  Why? What’s it to you? I come here for some peace and quiet, and now you’re bugging me about where my Gran lives. Like I’d tell you. I smiled when I said it. I didn’t want to antagonize this guy.

  You worried about her silverware?

  She hasn’t got any, I charged back, and he looked at me.

  Who are you?

  What do you mean? I was discomforted.

  In the book, who are you?

  I’m an unformed idea, I offered. He grinned.

  You’re Hind, he said. That’s who you are.

  The fat café owner?

  He leaned in close to me, and I thought his breath would be bad, but it was sweet, and he smelled good, like hashish and Irish Spring soap. For a weird wiry red-headed guy, Lenny had something going for him, for sure.

  Black-haired and bewitching, he said. What’s your name?

  Joss.

  Those bastards down there won’t know what hit them. Meteor or lightning or vengeance of God. Out of thin air, baby. He said this suddenly, and I turned to the book. He had quoted it perfectly, from the beginning.

  How did you do that? Remember quotes?

  I’m a genius, he said, tapping his head. It’s a recorded fact.

  Recorded where? I teased him.

  At school. I had all kinds of tests. But I remember those lines because they sum up my life. Those bastards down there won’t know what hit them. So long, Joss. I’ll be seeing you.

  He got up and sauntered back to his gang, and he knew I was watching him go.

  His girlfriend scowled at me, and I returned her look, not caring if my dislike showed. Then I got back to my book.

  Hind. I liked that. Maybe he knew I would. Maybe his compliments were a way of asserting power over me. I would have to be careful of Lenny Gibreel Chamcha.

  I finished my breakfast and read for a while, and I waited until Lenny and his gang left. I followed shortly afterwards.

  13. THE STAR

  I FOUND A BENCH OUTSIDE THE PUBLIC LIBRARY and sat there for a while. Soon, I was aware of others like me, homeless people I would never have noticed before. So many lost people hanging around, waiting.

  A girl with a big dog was sitting nearby. The girl seemed lost in sadness. She was sitting on the edge of the concrete sidewalk with her feet on the grass, and the dog had his head in her lap. When she started crying, she did not move to wipe her face but stared off into the distance. Tiny, perfect tears flowed down her face.

  She looked like a dirty angel, with a tiny up-turned nose, w
ide-set brown eyes and a pixie cap of blonde hair. Her upper lip was pulled up slightly in a Cupid’s Bow.

  I watched her, wondering what to do. Something in me wanted to comfort her. After a while, I got up and sidled next to her. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why. I had come on this adventure to be alone. I’d decided that people couldn’t be trusted and were boring and unreliable, so what was I thinking, approaching this sad girl with her big dog?

  Hi, I said hesitantly. Are you okay?

  The girl looked up with suspicion, and even though her expression was harsh, I sat down next to her.

  Why are you sitting on the pavement? I asked, just for something to say.

  Pavement? The girl was curt.

  Sorry, I always forget. Sidewalk.

  I know what you meant.

  Then why did you ask me?

  Why are you bothering me?

  Because you look sad and I want to help.

  The girl laughed. Help. How can you help? What on earth can you do? Just leave me alone, will you? That will help.

  I didn’t move. The girl was wearing fancy flip flops with big shiny fake jewels in the shape of flowers. Her feet were filthy, and her pedicure was chipped and ruined. The polish had once been bright red. Despite it all, the girl had pretty feet.

  What’s your dog’s name?

  There was no reply.

  Tell you what, I said. I’ll be here tomorrow and I’ll buy you a coffee if you like.

  The girl laughed again. Thanks for nothing, she said.

  I got up and walked off. I felt strangely unoffended by the exchange. I took myself on a self-guided tour of the town and went into the Goodwill to see what books they had on offer.

  My exchange with the girl had reminded me of a glaring fact. Every time I opened my mouth, I branded myself as a noticeable stranger. I decided I needed to work on my accent, even to simply order a coffee. I needed to sound Canadian, or try not to speak at all, but then again, too much not speaking would be as glaringly obvious.

  I investigated the books, but there were slim pickings — just old paperbacks with hard spines, dusty yellowed paper, and red-inked edges.

  I went out and passed the public library again, wanting desperately to go in and get a stash of books, but I couldn’t risk the inevitable form and request for an address.

  I hungered for books; I had escaped into their worlds for most of my life, escaped into other people’s lives, been swept away by a beautiful turn of phrase that waved a magic wand and changed my reality. Books expressed how I really felt when I could not find the words, or didn’t even know what I was feeling.

  I felt angry that Lenny and his gang had appropriated the library on the school grounds for their club because I might have found some great reads in there.

  I wondered if I could put my accent to good use at the public library and pretend, like I had with Lenny, that I was staying with my Gran, on holiday from England. But I would tackle that another time.

  It was a hot summer’s day, and the stores and sidewalks were filled with mums grocery shopping and kids shouting a chorus cry, demanding games, food, entertainment.

  I threaded back through the sidestreets on my way out of town and passed a nondescript battered old red car parked in a side alley. Something seemed familiar about its occupants and I quickly found myself staring into the hate-filled gaze of the blonde girl, the one I had seen earlier with the dog.

  The big dog, panting with laboured breath, was sitting bolt upright in the passenger seat, his tongue hanging out. The girl had her hands neatly on the wheel, ten and two, and she was crying again.

  I walked over to the car and approached the passenger side. The dog’s window was rolled down and when I put my hands on the window frame, the dog licked me.

  Hey, big guy, I said. I looked over at the girl who was still staring ahead, refusing to look at me. I’m sorry you are so sad, I said. Remember, I’ll buy you a coffee if you like, tomorrow morning.

  The girl spun her head at me with palpable anger. I jerked back, such was the force of her fury.

  I shrugged. I’ll be there anyway. See you, big guy.

  I walked off and soon forgot about the girl. I was wondering if Lenny and the kids would be back at the school when I returned.

  14. THE SPIDER

  BACK AT THE SCHOOL, THINGS WERE QUIET. I sat under the oak tree reading my book, and I must have dozed off because I woke with rough bark digging into my spine and my neck twisted at an awkward angle.

  I had been woken by shouts, but I couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from. When I stood up I realized the loud noises were coming from the direction of the cafeteria.

  I edged around the corner of the admin building and there was Lenny and the gang. They were throwing ropes up onto the rooftop of the cafeteria and taking turns climbing up.

  I watched Lenny strutting along the roof’s ledge. He stopped and reached into his backpack and took out a spray can and started scrolling big jagged letters onto the already defaced wall.

  The girl I disliked was standing on the grass below Lenny, shouting cheers and calls and holding her yappy little dog.

  Lenny ignored her and focused on his artwork while a few of the other boys were intent on smashing the small glass brick windows. It was tough work as the bricks were nearly solid glass, but they had brought hammers and went at their work with dedicated anger.

  The whole thing was an exercise in anarchy and pointless destruction. The late afternoon had grown cool and my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since my breakfast bagel and coffee. I was about to leave when Lenny abseiled down the side of the building and dusted off his pants. I kept watching, curious to see what happened next.

  He walked over to the girl and gave her a deep kiss that went on for a long time, at the same time grinding his pelvis into her.

  I recalled the sweetness of his breath when he leaned in to talk to me, his soapy cleanness, and spicy hash smell, and how the girl had looked so dirty. What did he see in her? And why did I even care? I put it down to idle boredom, but the truth was that Lenny sparked something in me I would much rather ignore. But, reality check, I was far too old to be of interest to him and besides, what would I want with a loser street boy like that?

  He finally broke away from the girl. Time to party, he shouted and the gang cheered. They jumped to their feet and followed Lenny to the library. I could hear their calls and shouts and then suddenly, exactly as it had been the previous day, there was no sound at all.

  I crept over to the library, crouching low in the grass and going a circular route; past the gym, away from the cafeteria, then doubling back through the thick trees until I was alongside the part of the building where they had vanished. I couldn’t see a way in, but there had to be one. I got closer to the building and sure enough, I could hear faint shouts and pulsating music coming from inside.

  Definitely party central.

  It was growing dark. I didn’t want to stick around. I just wanted to be back in my room, having a dinner of sorts, and calling it a day. I climbed into bed and picked up my book. I was disconcerted that Lenny knew this book so well. It made me feel strangely connected to him, as if I was privy to his thoughts, which was just plain stupid.

  I’m not myself, he thought as a faint fluttering feeling began in the vicinity of his heart.…

  Masks beneath masks until suddenly the bare bloodless skull.

  I felt disturbed by what I read. I put the book aside and picked up Imran’s binder.

  The Prophet went to Ta’if and everybody there started stoning him so much that his slipper got clogged with blood. The Angel Jibreel asked him to collide the two mountains to kill them. But the Prophet made dua for them.

  I wondered what dua was. I would have to find out.

  It was a curious coincidence that Islam was wr
apping a ribbon around Lenny, Imran, the place I had found shelter, and myself. I had no idea what to make of any of it.

  I read further.

  Scientific Miracles in the Holy Qur’an.

  When comparing the appearance of an embryo at the mudghah stage with a piece of chewing gum that has been chewed, we see similarities between the two.

  Below this audacious announcement, there were two drawings, a fetus with a clearly delineated spinal column; below that was the drawing of a piece of fetus-shaped chewed gum, with the teeth marks echoing that of the fetal spinal column.

  Baffled did not begin to describe my thoughts.

  I paged through the rest of the handwritten chapter, finding it hard to understand in some places, but I got the gist of it: God had created man as an alaqah, which, in one meaning was a blood clot. This blood clot becomes a mudghah which, again in one meaning, was a “chewed substance.” Therefore, the chewed teeth marks on a piece of gum, which matched the somites on the back of the embryo, was scientific proof verifying the religion of Islam.

  But didn’t having faith mean unquestioningly accepting the rules and regulations without verification? We were not supposed to try to find scientific proof.

  I picked up The Satanic Verses and paged to a quote I wanted to find.

  Question: What is the opposite of faith?

  Not disbelief. Too final, certain, closed. Itself a kind of belief.

  Doubt.

  I lay back on my bed and thought back to the Catholic faith in which I had been schooled from an early age. Mum and Gran were both devout Roman Catholics.

  I attended a convent where I questioned the philosophy of religion in a way that never seemed to occur to my fellow students, and I couldn’t understand why they chose to just accept the dogma they were handed. We recited the Angelus at noon with the intention of returning our focus to the spiritual in the centre of the day, but I felt stupid standing there with my eyes closed, rattling off words that had no meaning to me.

  Ever since I was young, I had suffered from doubt. I returned to Imran’s binder.