earthgirl

earthgirl_

Jennifer Cowan

Text copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Cowan
Published in Canada and the USA in 2009 by Groundwood Books

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit
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Groundwood Books / House of Anansi Press
110 Spadina Avenue, Suite 801, Toronto, Ontario M5V 2K4
or c/o Publishers Group West
1700 Fourth Street, Berkeley, CA 94710

We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and the Ontario Arts Council.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Cowan, Jennifer
Earthgirl / Jennifer Cowan.
ISBN 978-0-88899-889-7 (bound).–ISBN 978-0-88899-890-3 (pbk.)
I. Title.
PS8605.O9252E27 2009    jC813'.6    C2008-905688-4

Cover photo by Tim Fuller
Design by Michael Solomon
Printed and bound in Canada

For their encouragement, friendship and insights, huge thanks to Tim Smith, Stella Harvey and the Whistler Vicious Circle, Ann MacNaughton, Cynthia Macdonald, Anna Stancer, Robbie Rosenberg, Karen Freedman, Julie Lacey, Douglas Coupland, Amy Stulberg, Bronwyn Cosgrave, Rolph Blythe, Shelley Tanaka, Sarah MacLachlan, Patsy Aldana, the rocking team at Groundwood Books and the Ontario Arts Council.

To Mutti for the typewriter, Grammy for the sense of humour, my dad for teaching me to kick ass, and my mom for letting him.

It was just after the freakish summer of humidity and hailstones, around the time that the cows got mad again and the chickens went crazy. One of those September afternoons made for skipping the scarring effects of school and healing with your grrlz.

Maybe even kick it up with some retail therapy, if you were so inclined.

“Relax, Sabine, Somerville isn't even here today, so it's not like anyone will miss you,” Carmen Vanucci said in the conspiratorial shout-whisper that was my best girl's trademark. As if shopping during school hours was actually something to be encouraged.

“Except us if you don't ditch, too,” Ella added with her best moony look perfected after years of staring into reflective surfaces (reflective, ha!).

True to form, our moody English teacher Ms. Lesley Somerville was away again. No doubt another messy reaction to her latest meds. Or internet date. Or both.

“You of all people know we'll learn way more if we go to Kensington Market,” Carmen said. “It's a seething petri dish of humanity, unlike this cesspool of losers.”

“Tempting, but I think I'll pass,” I said.

“C'mon, Bean,” Ella sighed, tugging gently at my sleeve. “It won't be the same without you.”

“Yeah, who'll give the running commentary on our every purchase?” Carmen mocked.

“I rode my bike,” I said, as if that would qualify as a legit excuse to not ditch and head downtown.

“So, get it on the way home,” Carmen said, leaning in close. “Besides, we don't just want you there. We
need
you.”

Ella beamed and nodded as they locked arms, stepped closer and ganged up on me. The tough-love slutz.

“Tell you what. I'll rep us for English and meet you at 4:30. By the burrito place,” I said, heading down the hallway toward class despite the magnetic pull in their direction. “Later, chiquitas.”

•••

I should have gone with them. Our perma-sub slug Mr. Mendoza's incoherent ranting combined with the lack of air circulation in the class nearly left me comatose. Were it not for staring at the back of Shane McCardle's beautiful baby-dreaded head and imagining myself gently combing out the gnar-gnar nest of tangles, all might have been lost.

The second the final bell went, I bolted to hot-pedal it downtown.

Within a few blocks, it was apparent I was a tad over-dressed in my reflective nylon cycling jacket. But as a safety-first kinda gal, I opted to sweat and be seen. And really there's nothing quite like neon green and reflector tape to ensure you don't blend in with the background scenery.

The traffic was its usual snarly mess. Full-on rush hour, even though it wasn't really rush hour. Actually, it seemed like there wasn't even rush hour any more, just constant traffic tangles 24/7. Suddenly there were more and more cars occupying less and less space in the city. Then again, maybe trying to negotiate the mayhem without being squashed beneath the wheels of a semi or getting the door prize as someone winged their car door open into me made me more aware.

When I finally got my licence, I'd be a way more conscientious driver than these wingnuts.

I was pretty close to exhausted, not to mention beyond sticky and damp, when I cleared the intersection at College and Spadina. What was I thinking, riding down here after another hellish day of school? Though I was salivating for a spicy yam and chicken burrito.

So, even though I knew it wasn't proper cyclist etiquette, I decided to head south on Augusta, which yes, I know, is one way north. But hey, it's not like I'm not cautious and nimble on my two wheels. I would watch for pedestrians, as per the rules of the road, especially since, well, I was going the wrong way.

And really, was my wrong-way pedal more offensive than, say, that suburban she-monster in the scrunchie idling her champagne-colored minivan up ahead in the clearly marked No Parking zone? I think not. Ever heard of greenhouse gas emissions, lady? The disappearing glaciers and ozone? And really, I'm no slave to fashion, but let's not even start on the eons-over scrunchie.

Beside the stupid minivan, Carmen and Ella were already
at the burrito place, hanging out the swing-out window, meaning they hadn't waited for me.

I took a quick glance down at my watch. It wasn't even 4:30. Now I'd have to eat and walk as they did their –

THWACK!

There was a sharp popping noise and suddenly something soft, dark, gooey and wet was dripping down my face onto my jacket and top.

“Geez!” I huffed as I squeezed my brakes too hard, nearly taking a header over my handlebars.

What had just happened? Had I hit something? Or someone? Won the door prize? Been shot?

I looked around me with that strange super-fast yet ultra-slo-mo sense that seems to take over in situations like this. Up at the cloudless blue sky, at the sidewalk where a pocket dog in a plaid jacket was yapping wildly, down at the brown slime across my chest, then at the ground where I saw crumpled nugget and fry boxes and a drippy synthetic sauce container.

In the minivan beside me, scrunchie skank was wiping her mouth with one of those industrial strength napkins and redoing her lipstick.

And then what had hit me, hit me. The bitch had beaned me with the debris of her McFatty meal!

Almost instinctively, I picked up her crap from the pavement and tossed it back through her open window.

“Excuse me, ma'am? I think you dropped something,” I heard myself say in a calm, not the least bit hostile or sarcastic voice.

Wiping the goo of leaked plum sauce off my fingers, I was about to ride away toward Carm and Ella when the littering lunatic flew out of her car and pushed me. And despite, or maybe because of, my bike being straddled between my legs, I keeled over. Right on my butt!

“Now that was not very nice,” I screamed, boiling up with a rage I'd never felt before. A rage so big I could feel it in my belly, fingertips, toes and even my ears.

“Look what you did! You got grease and sauce on my interior,” she huffed back. “This car is two months old and you ruined it!”

“You threw garbage at an innocent passerby. I think you ruined it yourself, you nutcase,” I hollered back, looking around at the street signs and slowly building group of gawkers. “And besides, this is a Loading Only zone and I don't think that means loading your face with food in your big fat polluting car!”

“For your information, mouthy girl, you weren't supposed to be there,” she said, pointing at the One Way sign.

“And that makes throwing your crap into the street okay? The world is not your garbage can, lady. And how could you not even see me? I practically glow in the dark here. And then you push me? There are witnesses, you know. I could have you charged with assault, you and your big stupid truck car,” I wailed, feeling enraged and exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time.

“Oh, you little radical, riding your bicycle so smug and healthy. You think you're better than me? That you can
judge me?” she howled, climbing back into the minivan and slamming her door. “You and your people disgust me!”

And then she floored it, bombing straight through the Stop sign and was gone.

“You could have killed someone, you crazy crazy-person!” I screamed into the air after her.

“With her garbage? Gross, but not exactly deadly,” Carmen said as she and Ella suddenly appeared through the small crowd that had gathered, handing me a damp, grotty-looking rag.

“No, running the Stop sign, being a selfish idiot.” I plunked down on the curb beside my bike. “Not caring. And what's with the
my people
crap?”

“See, if you'd come downtown with us like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened – or at least not to you, anyway,” Ella said, inspecting the spot on my shirt. “I hope that glop didn't wreck your top. I love that color on you.”

“You're right,” I realized. If I'd skipped with them, I'd have already eaten my burrito and the loon would have chucked her crap on the street uninterrupted. Unwitnessed. Unaccountable. And this whole fabulous fiasco might never have even happened.

Except it did.

“Hey, way to go,” a guy with a soul patch and a bull piercing said, giving me props as he walked past.

“Isn't that the truth,” an older woman dragging a grocery-stuffed bundle buggy nodded. “You certainly told her. Sadly I don't think she was listening.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, feeling a little awkward and a lot chuffed that these total strangers were congratulating me.

“That was totally insane!” Carmen laughed as she slapped me on the back. “If I didn't video it, I'd have never believed it.”

“Yeah, you were pretty great,” Ella agreed. “Hey, lock your bike and come inside. We have the best table ever.”

“Front row seats, though I doubt anything as exciting will happen now,” Carmen said as they hooked arms with me and pulled me to my feet.

•••

“I might be too revved up to eat,” I said as we stood at the counter. I was feeling very zingy and a tad odd, a mix of adrenaline and anxiousness.

“Don't be stupid. You should celebrate,” Carmen said. “With extra hot sauce.”