Blasted (30 page)

“Sorry about the… well… anyway, yeah.”

“Mmmm,” he replied.

We walked in silence all the way to Bathurst. Humiliation wound cold in the pit of my stomach; it was almost unbearable to be next to him, and as the feeling grew, I entertained thoughts of begging off dinner and quietly leaving town.

At Bathurst we walked through the usual painful crowd of panhandlers, some quiet and polite, some aggressive, some walking corpses, some with shreds of humour clinging to them like dignity. Outside Honest Ed's a First Nation guy reeled up to us stinking of piss and beer. He mumbled something, looking at me intently, but I couldn't understand him.

“Sorry,” I said, with the no-money gesture.

“Sorry? Sorry? You're sorry? What do you think I just said?” he replied.

“I thought you asked for some change.”

“
I
asked
you
which way to Dupont. That's what I asked. You think just because I'm an Indian I go around asking for change all the time?”

“Okay, sorry…”

The guy doubled over in wheezing laughter. “Spare a dime, brother, eh? Spare a dime?” he said to Blue between gusts.

Blue made a noise in the back of his throat and dug some money from his pocket, dropping it in the guy's palm.

“Thanks, brother,” the man said sarcastically, and lurched away. I felt like he had just pissed all over my friend. Embarrassed and uncertain, I stared at the huge yellow-and-red signs of Honest Ed's, the mesmerizing lights trailing like electric comets in a eulogistic round: “HONEST ED'S A FREAK – HE'S GOT BARGAINS COMING OUT OF HIS EARS!” “HONEST ED'S AN HONEST MAN – PEOPLE LOOK AT HIM AND THEY SAY, ‘HONEST, IS THIS A MAN?'” “HONEST ED'S NUTS – BUT LOOK AT THE ‘CASHEW' SAVE!” Finally I looked back at Blue. He stood gazing at our friend's progress down the street, his face neutral. And then right there, on the street, outside Honest Ed's, he offered to let me move in with him. And I uncoiled my useless pride and accepted.

The next day was very hot. I stripped naked, closed all the blinds and curtains, and packed my things. My belongings consisted, mostly, of clothes, and the odd
objet
to which I had become attached over the years: a silver salt-and-pepper holder from the old Newfoundland Railways, a little cloth-covered rosewood trunk that had belonged to Great-Aunt Door (a.k.a. Dorthea), a cheesy Newfoundland postcard, a framed still from a video by Blue, a little painting of Brendan's, my pots and pans and dishes, a couple of small articles of furniture. Much of the latter I had found in other people's garbage; I decided to leave most of it for the next tenants of this god-forsaken place.

As I packed up my clothes, I pulled out the things I hadn't yet gotten around to unpacking from the knapsack. Gramma's evening dress was solidly bunched into an irregular oblong. I smoothed it out as best I could, and on an impulse, stepped into it. It zipped up easily, loose on my sweaty, skinny frame. Chiffon crinkled over rustling satin, and pouffed over my shoulders like little truncated wings. Tiny sequins twinkled as I pirouetted in front of the mirror. Gramma had been much more woman-shaped than I, and I fully expected the bust to sag on me, but the dress seemed to more-or-less fit me. With one hand I held my hair coiled at the nape of my neck. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, I could almost see Gramma's light hair and plump little body super-imposed over my own; for a moment, in motion, the dress and I seemed to become her.

“You're calling
again
?”

“I'm moving.”

“You're what?”

“I'm
moving
. Leaving
this
apartment to live in
another
apartment.”

“Moving? Why?” Grandpa was instantly on the offensive.

“A friend offered me his place and I accepted, that's why.”

“Oh, a friend? And who is this friend?”

“Blue.”

“Blue? What sort of a name is that?”

“It's my
friend's
name.”

“Boyfriend, you mean.”

“
No, he's not my boyfriend, he's gay!!!
” I shouted.

A long silence greeted this pronouncement. Then, “Oh.”

“He's very nice,” I appended.

Grandpa cleared his throat. “Why are you shifting off
this
time?”

“Meaning I'm a shiftless, rootless, useless nomad?”

“Did I say that?”

“Huh.” After a pause, I tried changing tacks. “Well, when I got back to Toronto there was this insane
smell
and…” I started to tell him about the fridge, trying to make an amusing story of it, but suddenly the whole thing just didn't seem so funny any more and I trailed off in the middle.

“So, uh, how's the weather down there?” I winced, but persevered. “Has summer started yet or what?”

“Yes, it was hot as blazes today,” Grandpa said, adding, “Lily and I spent the afternoon out in the garden, didn't we, girl?”

I suspected that I was going to get very tired of hearing about Lily.

“Hot. How hot?”

“Everyone was walking around in shorts and T-shirts.”

“Not that it takes tropical weather to get a bunch of Newfoundlanders out of their top coats,” I replied. Grandpa laughed through his nose. We chatted about the weather, God help me, and so rang off pleasantly enough at the last.

And then I threw my cell phone out the window into the darkness below.

Five minutes later I came to with my palms pressed to the glass, staring down at two lovers strolling hand-in-hand. Why do lovers always appear at such propitious moments? Do they have radar? My hands drooped, and of their own volition stroked the skirt of the dress, light and airy. The softness of the fabric felt soothing, and I smoothed the dress again and again. I imagined it was a wedding dress, that somehow I had achieved certainty, faith that someone would always be there for me. That I had cast cynicism, fear, and truth to the void and given my heart over to someone else. It was horrifying, and rather sweet, and I rocked myself in my arms until I felt sleepy enough to go to bed. Last time here, in this squalid little apartment. Last night playing big girl in her own house.

I turned from the window and suddenly was swept with a memory so vivid it rocked me on my feet. I was in my old house, a child. Coming down the hall into the kitchen, I could hear my parents. Fighting – my mother screaming at my father, him not answering; I crept to the door and stared, unseen. All of a sudden my mother overturned the table with desperate strength. Dishes broke all over the floor. She ran at my father, grabbing him, shaking him so his head snapped back and forth on his neck. She was sobbing
You're not the man I married. I don't know where you put yourself. You're not you.
Her voice rose into a panicked shriek on the last
you
, for my father had thrown her away from him, thrown her into the cupboard doors. I watched her slide down the cupboards until she crouched on the floor. Her face was in her hands. My father stared at her with flat eyes. His face was wrong. I backed away down the hallway, silent as a mouse, frightened that he'd see me.

I remembered I'd shut myself into the bathroom, the only room in the house that locked. There were no more noises from downstairs, but I crouched under the sink, trembling, listening with all my might. I closed my eyes and imagined that Shanawdithit was with me, whispering to me, “There are no big people any more. There are only little people.” We stayed together for a long time.

There's something to be said for remembering almost nothing from your childhood. I took off the dress and went to bed.

When Tad and Steve came by the next morning with Tad's truck, I was perched in the front room on top of a large, battered suitcase held together by duct tape, in the midst of the pile of everything I was bringing to Blue's.

“Is that
all
?” Steve was obviously disappointed at not being able to display his prodigious strength.

“Yes, that's all. If it makes you feel better, you could carry everything up and down the stairs several times, with me on top.”

“Would that please your Highness?”

I hopped down from my suitcase. “Let's just get out of here.”

Tad sneezed as dust whirled along the floor in the breeze from the open door. “You sure don't believe in cleaning.”

“Oh, I can be quite domestic.”

“Yeah, right,” he chortled, and Steve echoed him, “Yeah, right!”

“There's no point in cleaning a dump like this,” I defended myself. I turned my back, grabbed the suitcase and lugged it out the door.

“Hey, Ruby, you sure you don't want to take the fridge?” Steve hollered after me.

“We worked so hard on it and all,” Tad chimed in.

“NO I don't want the goddamned fridge!”

Inevitably, Earl shot onto the scene. “What's going on?” he addressed Tad and Steve from behind his half-open door. “Who are you?”

“They're my friends, Earl,” I explained, resting the suitcase on a step.

Earl refused to look at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Why are you so hostile?” I snapped at him. “I mean, with me you're just generally unpleasant, but as soon as there's a guy around you're positively bellicose.” Steve and Tad pushed past first Earl and then me on their way down with a dresser. Tad grinned at me, and I wanted to hit him.

“I'm the super now,” Earl whined.

“What?”

“Frank fired Izzie. Finally. He kicked her out last night. So I'm the super now.”

“Frank kicked her
out
?”

“Like I care. She didn't deserve the job anyways.”

“Where the hell will she live?” Poor, poor Izzie.

“So like I said,” he went on, “why are those guys taking your stuff?”

“Because I'm leaving, that's why.”

“Leaving?”

“Yes. L-E-A-V-I-N-G.”

“Oh,” Earl hung his head like a little kid. Too late I saw the devastation on his face. “Is that what the big party the other night was about? The one that went on
all night
? You're just going to leave, without even saying goodbye.”

“Earl, I…” I was at a loss. Steve and Tad came back up the steps like a herd of wild horses and shoved past me, vanishing into my place. They emerged, Steve with the trunk looking small in his huge arms, and Tad with a battered cardboard box full of my books. I waited until they were gone.

“I was going to say goodbye, Earl. I was just going to load up first, then…”

“And what about your rent? Bet you haven't paid that yet.”

My sympathy evaporated. “That's between me and Frank.”

“It's my business now, I'm the super. You have to pay up.”

“Look, Earl, it's been great knowing you, best of luck, fare thee well and all that.” I grasped the handle of my suitcase and heaved it up. Just then, a small, grey-furred head appeared by Earl's foot.

“Rrrrroooooowrrrrr.”

I froze. Earl bent and scratched its head. “Puss, puss!” he said.

“Earl, shut that thing inside until I leave, okay?” Tight panic rose in my voice.

“RRrroooOOOOWW
ww.” The thing showed its teeth.

“Earl…” My voice cracked. Its muscles bunched. “
Earl
!” I shrieked as the cat launched itself at me. I wielded the suitcase like a shield. The cat smacked into it and scrambled up, trying for my face. I screeched and threw the suitcase, burr-stuck cat and all, into the air. The cat leapt up and the suitcase landed on the stairs, bursting open; clothes scattered everywhere. I fled outside.

“What the…” said Steve.

“Cat's a killer, I'm staying in here.” I dove through the van's back doors, scrambling recklessly over my things, two spare tires, and some of Tad's band equipment.

Steve and Tad loaded the rest of the stuff without mishap. I could hear them talking to Earl as I huddled in the van, but I couldn't distinguish words. I hoped they'd know enough not to divulge where I was going. I stared at what had been Izzie's windows, the child's fairy sheets now hung askew.

“You didn't kill the cat,” Tad grunted as he threw my now-even-more battered suitcase into the back, clothes hanging out the sides, “in case you're interested.”

“I tell you, it's a
killer
,” I called after him, but he walked away to get a last load. Once the boys had finished packing my stuff into the van, Earl actually braved the light of day and emerged halfway out onto the front porch. He stood squinting in the weak, smoggy sunlight. Touched, I hauled myself out the passenger window of the van and waved at him over top of the roof.

“Goodbye, Earl!” I called, my eyes shifting to Izzie's front window, half-expecting the faded sheets to twitch and her slack, fishy face to peer out at me. “Hope your next neighbour provides plenty of entertainment for you!”

“What about your
rent
?” he wailed. Steve clambered through the driver's door and squeezed his shoulders between the two seats to sit on one of Tad's amps, followed by Tad who took the driver's seat.

“It's all taken care of. Don't you worry about it.”

“Goodbye,” he said dismally.

“Goodbye!” I pulled myself back inside as we drove away. My last glimpse of the house featured Earl, dwarfed by the two grotesquely misproportioned, peeling columns, his hand raised in farewell.

“I think that guy's got a little crush on you, Ruby,” Tad said, running an amber light.

“You've got to be kidding.”

“Yeah, and he's not the only one!” Steve sniggered, bracing himself as Tad swung into the tight turn onto Bloor.

“Whaddayamean?”

“Shut up, Steve. Nothing,” Tad replied, eyes on the road.

“Whaddayamean, someone else has a crush on me?” I persisted.

“Nothing, no one,” Steve coughed.