A Complicated Kindness (20 page)

Hell no, captain, I said. He didn’t like the word
hell
but he kind of liked the word
captain
although he probably associated it with the word
mutiny.

They called, he said. You have your driver’s test tomorrow at six o’clock at the arena.

I’ll need the car then, I said. Don’t sell it.

What’s for supper? he asked. Things starting with
J? K?

I went into the garage to get some stuff from the freezer but then remembered that the freezer was gone. There was a three-by-six-foot rectangle of clean garage floor where it had once been. I went back inside and sat down across from my dad and said: What are you doing?

He said, we don’t need such a large freezer. He blinked from behind the glass. His eyes were so green and pretty.

Dad, I said, do you even know what fabric softener is? He looked at his stack of coupons and sighed. We need…he didn’t finish. We sat together quietly staring at the coupons as if they were showing signs of coming out of a long coma.

Finally I said we should do something fun tonight and he said how about the Demolition Derby.

It was nice leaning up against the fence with him at the old fairgrounds watching cars smash the shit out of each other and then come back for more, smoke puffing out around their hoods and doors missing. My dad was the only person at the fairgrounds wearing a suit and tie, of course. During the intermission we walked over to the ditch by the highway to watch some boys do jumps with their mini-bikes. And we counted cars with American plates—twenty-seven. On their way to watch The Mouth read Revelations by candlelight in the fake church while the people of the real town sat in a field of dirt cheering on collisions.

Afterwards he let me practise my driving. I drove around and around the outskirts of town on Townline Road and Garson and back up the number twelve to Kokomo Road, like I was a real
thorough
or possibly forgetful dog marking my territory. My dad asked me what those fires were in the bushes off behind Suicide Hill and I told him: kids. Kids hanging out. Staying out of the wind, drinking beer, pairing off, and hoping to have a little fun before that endless swim-a-thon in the Lake of Fire. My dad asked me please not to
schput
—an old word meaning don’t make fun of eternal damnation and other religion-based themes.

I didn’t want to go home. I couldn’t get my hands to turn the steering wheel towards home. So I just kept driving around and around the same roads and my dad kept staring out the window like he’d never seen any of it before.

twenty-five

M
e and Travis sat on top of the monkey bars at Ash Park in the moonlight swinging our legs and slamming back warm Baby Duck. We tried to hang upside down and drink but it didn’t work very well and I dropped the bottle from laughing too hard and it broke and Travis used a piece of it to carve half an
N
for Nomi into his arm before it started hurting too much and he asked if he could stop.

After that we walked slowly around talking about stuff until we found a shopping cart and he lifted me up and put me inside and pushed me all the way to the RK Ranch. We went into the barn and gave each other haircuts with this horse razor we found on a shelf in the tack room and then made out soporifically in some hay in an empty stall until we heard one of the ranch guys drive up (he was whistling “We Are the Champions”) and we ran out the back door laughing our heads off because it was getting light outside and we could see how awful our hair looked.

We ran all the way to Main Street and climbed up to the top of the fire escape of the feed mill which was the highest place in town and kissed like crazy hoping some early morning farmer out in his field would see us silhouetted against the rising sun and feel excited knowing happiness was a possibility even in a town with no bar and no train.

Mist was coming off the Rat River and the fields around the town were blue and yellow and the little trees in all the yards were pink and purple and the heat was about ready to start shimmering and everything was so quiet and beautiful like a secret Shangri-La. It was the outdoor version of waking up to your mom making breakfast and your dad sitting confidently at the table with no plan to sell it and your sister saying something like Nomi, I’ve never really noticed before but you have nice teeth.

Used Tash’s Lady Schick to finally reveal my entire head to the whole fuckin’ world and found my old fish-hook scar again. I put in all my earrings, threw on a ton of mascara and eyeliner, and my cut-offs and a bikini top and my giant police boots and rode my bike to school.

Mr. Quiring told me he was still waiting for my written assignments. I…yeah…I will, I said.

You seem to have forgotten the school’s makeup and jewellery policy, he told me.

No…I said. I just…I didn’t forget.

So you’re flouting the policy intentionally? he asked.

No…I said…what? I mean…what?

Should you be seeing the guidance counsellor, Nomi? he asked.

Should you? I said. I’d reverted to age nine. I was sitting on the floor in front of my locker. I turned my cheek to feel the cool green metal.

Mr. Quiring grabbed my chin and said look at me, are you having a nervous breakdown? I told him not to touch me and he told me to get out.

I have to graduate, I told him. He said that wasn’t his problem which struck me as an honest thing for him to say.

One day, when I was nine years old, I got up early and went for a walk around town. I wore a thin white cotton T-shirt, navy-blue polyester pants meant to resemble real denim, and North Star runners with no socks. I walked around and around and I felt so good. I felt happier than I had ever felt in my entire life, perfectly content and absolutely carefree.

When I got to school I told my teacher I was on cloud nine. I told her I was so happy I thought I could fly. I told her I felt so great I wanted to dance like Fred Astaire.

She said life was not a dream. And dancing was a sin. Now get off it and sit back down. It was the first time in my life that I had been aware of my own existence. It was the first time in my life I had realized that I was alive. And if I was alive, then I could die, and I mean forever. Forever dead. Not heaven, not eternal life on some other plane…just darkness, curtain, scene. Permanently. And that was the key to my new religion, I figured. That’s why life was so fucking great.

I want that day back. I want to be nine again and be told, Nomi: someday you’ll be gone, you’ll be dust, and then even less than dust. Nothing. There’s no other place to be. This world is good enough for you because it has to be. Go ahead and love it. (Menno was wrong.)

Rolled a giant spool of purple hydro cable up and down William Avenue for old times’ sake. I went to my dad’s school and tapped on his classroom window. He didn’t hear me at first but I could hear his voice through the screen. He was talking about his class doing some kind of performance, maybe choral or poetry or something like that. He was sitting on his desk which was crowded with containers of lilacs the kids had picked for him.

There’s something I need to tell you, I heard him say to the class. And I’ll say this even though it might hurt, he continued.

I thought he was going to tell his kids they were all hopeless monotones, that they couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag or some such thing. I saw him grimace and fold his arms across his chest, hating himself for being the bearer of bad news.

It’s a good idea to smile periodically at the audience, he said. His grimace didn’t fade, not even slightly, and he appeared to be looking at the floor, embarrassed.

I should have empathized with his suffering but I started to laugh and that’s when he heard me and looked up. He came outside and stood in the shade with me beside a stucco wall. His sleeves were rolled up and his tie was stuck between his buttons.

Whatcha doing? I asked him.

What I do, he said.

Same old thing, eh? He said yup.

And you? he said. I shrugged.

I see the idea of attending school today left you…cold?

Yeah, I agreed. It did kind of. He nodded and stared off at the parking lot. He told me he’d better go back inside or it’d be a zoo in there. I could see some of his kids staring at us through the window. I waved and they got shy and ducked.

They’re so cute, I told my dad. They’re good kids, he said. Then we said goodbye and he went back in.

I went home and tried to read
The Screwtape Letters.
I tried to make another list of ways to self-improve. I got as far as: Pretend you’ve already died and things will matter less. I lay in my bed and tried to relax to a degree that would allow me to levitate. I fell asleep.

When I woke up I went into the living room and discovered the body of an old woman lying on the floor next to
the stereo and Ray standing at the kitchen sink staring out the window with a glass of water in his hand. Oh, he said, shhh. He opened the back door and gently pulled me outside into the yard. I found her wandering around the halls at school, he said. She’s completely disoriented. He told me that she was an adjudicator from the city and that she was here to give marks to all the choral and poetry groups. I think it’s the heat, he said.

I asked him why he brought her home and he said that she needed to rest. A couch would have been good for that, I said. He nodded. He’d forgotten about the couch not being here any more.

I’ll make her some tea, he said. She can have it when she wakes up.

I asked him if his class had performed yet.

Tomorrow, he said.

I went back into the house quietly to have a peek at the woman but she wasn’t in the living room. I heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open and then the woman came walking down the hall and into the living room.

Hello, I said.

She smiled and shook her head and said oh boy, that was…She wore a turquoise woollen skirt and jacket ensemble. I think she was about seventy years old. Ray came in and asked her how she was doing and she said much better and he introduced her to me, her name was Edwina McGillivray, and then the three of us stood there smiling at each other until I offered to make the tea and Ray suggested they go outside and sit on the front step and get some air, it was cooler now, and after that he could drive her back to the school.

I brought the tea outside and sat in the grass next to Ray and Edwina. Ray had given her his yellow lawn chair and he was sitting on the step next to her like a little kid. She could have reached out and patted him on the head.

So, she said, is it just the two of you? Ray and I looked at each other and I nodded and he said well, yes, for the time being I suppose it is.

Mrs. McGillivray nodded politely and sipped her tea. Ray swatted at a wasp that was flying around her cup and saucer.

Now, she said, what did you say your last name was? Nickel, said Ray. Ray Nickel.

Nickel, Nickel, said Mrs. McGillivray. Why does that sound so familiar? Ray smiled and I shrugged. Mrs. McGillivray shifted a bit in the lawn chair and looked down at Ray. Would you happen to know a Trudie Nickel? she asked.

Ray cleared his throat and said yes, yes he did. In fact, she was his wife. Her mother, he said, waving in my direction. I nodded to confirm that fact and stared at Ray who was looking up at the sky with what seemed like awe but might have been panic.

How do you know Trudie? I asked her.

Well, I don’t really know her, said Mrs. McGillivray. She sang. Didn’t she?

Did she sing…I guess, I said. I mean…

Yes, said Ray. Yes, she sang. Yup.

But, I mean did she sing, I asked him, or did she…

She sang, said Ray.

She sang? I said.

Yes, said Mrs. McGillivray, oh did she sing! I saw her perform oh what was it now…my goodness, that was long ago…a musical at Pantages Playhouse on…

What? I asked.

Ray said oh, that was a very long time ago. That was…yes, well, that was…she was very young. Can I get you more tea?

Was it
West Side Story
? asked Mrs. McGillivray.

Ray stood up. It could have been, yes, very likely.

Tea? Please, said Mrs. McGillivray.

So you saw her perform in a musical? I said.

Yes, she was delightful, said Mrs. McGillivray. Just a real live wire.

Ray went into the house.

Well, but…I said.

Oh, she was talented, said Mrs. McGillivray. Her voice…she sighed and laughed. I smiled and then wondered if I would ever have another afternoon as interesting as this one. Mrs. McGillivray whispered: Do you mind me asking where she is?

We…I said. She…you know, they…

Mrs. McGillivray nodded and said she understood.

Ray came back out with some more tea and began to talk about the migration of the monarch butterfly, because one had just landed on Mrs. McGillivray’s turquoise skirt. He talked loudly, and with very few pauses. None, in fact. And then Mrs. McGillivray felt that it was time she got back to the school for the evening performances.

Do you feel all right, now? Ray asked her.

Oh yes, she said, I’m much better now, thank you. Much better.

Do you mind cleaning this up? he asked me. And then took Mrs. McGillivray’s left arm and hustled her down the sidewalk and into the car.

I got my bike out of the garage and rode to the museum to tell Travis everything was cool. I whispered it to him in the doorway of the house so his wife wouldn’t hear me. He was so sweet. He rubbed my bald head and said my scar added character and he said he’d finish the
N
on his arm that night.

We walked over to this outdoor clay oven where they baked old-timey bread and Travis lifted me up so I was sitting
on it and I put my legs around his waist and he rubbed his face against my chest. He let his suspenders drop off his shoulders and his black felt hat fall to the ground.

After that we did some stupid racing where he runs backwards and I run forwards and he still wins. His wife came out of the house holding on to the Cabbage Patch doll and told Travis to get his ass back in there.

Don’t, I said. Leave her. He smiled. Hey, I said, do you know any songs from
West Side Story
?

He said no and told me he had to go and he’d pick me up around eight. I wandered over to the windmill to watch these Dutch guys work on the new blade. They waved and I blew them kisses and laughed and tried to act sexy in the dirt by lying on my side with a blade of grass in my mouth. Then this weird thing happened.

I remembered my car-washing job at Dyck Dodge. Mr. Quiring had told me that I had to start making plans that I stuck to, so I decided right there on the spot that I would never go back to my job, ever. It felt good.

I got up and waved goodbye to the windmill guys and walked over to the forge and sat on the hitching post in front of it swinging my legs and smoking a Cap. I had missed six or seven Saturdays of washing cars and nobody had bothered to tell me. I guess the job was officially over.

An American male teenager came walking up to me and said hello. I smiled.

Do you speak English? he asked.

Yes, I said.

Are you a Mennonite girl? he asked me.

I said yeah. He nodded and smiled and asked me if I had an extra cigarette. We sat on the hitching post together and smoked. I asked him if he was here with his parents and he said yeah.

What’s good here? he said. I asked him if he had checked out the threshing and flailing demonstration. He said no.

He asked me if I knew where he could score and I gave him directions to the Silver Bullet. I asked him how he felt about being an American and he shrugged and said he never thought about it. I asked him what he did in America and he said nothing really. I liked him. Then his parents came walking up to us and said they were happy they’d found him.