Going Down Swinging (24 page)

No
,
she’s not home from school yet, she’ll probably just be a few minutes. She’s going to a different school now, so the walk’s a little further
.

Hmm
, she says, and you can’t help noticing, as she plops down into a chair, how big her ass has gotten since the baby. All right, you’re a shitty mother, but there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing she won’t be parading her pert little tits and ass around in front of every boyfriend you get any more. She pulls her tight T-shirt smooth, reading your mind, and says,
How do you like my new milk jugs! Practically as big as yours now, eh!
and she laughs.

You laugh back.
Yeah, I guess you’ll be watching your weight again now. God, when Grace was born I never stopped moving, always rocking her or walking her, and I had my figure back in no time
.

Charlie reaches and squeezes the baby’s foot, says she wasn’t really thinking about it. Adds,
But I’m young, I’ll bounce back
. Theres a pause in the room and she says,
So. What’ve you been up to
,
you look dressed up today, you’re not working again, are you?

Not working again, are you—no dear, I’m still a worthless welfare drudge, just like you—
Ah, no, I looked into teaching again, but the rules are different in B.C. and my teaching certificate isn’t any good here, I probably told you that
.

Yeah. That’s a drag
, and she looks you over, looks at your chest as if the sheer size of them proves you’re a slut. Not like her new maternal breasts. The first time she had her creepy boyfriend, Ian, over, she was still staying here, and she had you change your shirt before he arrived. Had you change into something a little less showy. You laughed.
What would that young pipsqueak be looking at me for!
But you changed; after all, it wasn’t a competition. Course he couldn’t keep his eyes off them anyway. The experience was both gratifying and revolting.

Pull your brain back, change the subject.
Yeah. So. No, I just went to the doctor and, I don’t know, I’m not that dressed up, am I? Guess I thought I’d throw on a skirt and heels and brighten myself up a little, I guess. Ha. Uh—oh, so did you want some tea or juice or something?—here, let me throw the kettle on. So how’s Ian?

She scratches at something stuck to the table.
Um. Fine. He might be getting a construction job next week. Maybe. I don’t know. He—he wins a few bucks here and there playing pool
. She makes a smacking sound in her mouth as if she’s just finished a toffee and picks your pill bottle off the table.
He’s always out, though, or hungover
… and rattles them, rattles you. Can’t tell if she’s pissed off at you for taking them or for not offering her some.

You loiter around the stove, Noludar kicking in, forehead getting cool, back of your neck gone wooden, fairy dust at your wrists and going all the way up. Can never decide whether you want to smack her or soothe her—hold her against your breast and smooth your hand down the back of her head,
Let me make it better, angel
, or grab her by the scruff,
How can you be so foolish?
So you do nothing, just stand staring at the kettle, mute.

Then she makes some sound like a big puff through her nose, sets the bottle back down. And yes, the Noludar’s kicking in for sure; you’re getting stupider with each passing moment. Why does she have to just show up like this out of the blue? She got herself into this mess—what are you supposed to do? She says,
So how’s Grace doing, how come she switched schools?

Well, a lot of those kids across the street were pretty rough, as you may recall … And her friend downstairs was going to Wolfe, this other one, so … She doesn’t seem much happier now, though, at the new one. This woman she’s got teaching her, Mrs. Annis—Grace calls her Anus—kills me whenever she says it
. Charlie laughs and her face becomes almost beatific. Melting. Feel like reminding her Grace is her sister, her baby’s on the bloody table. The fight the two of you had before Charlie ran off and engaged herself to Ian started out about Grace. Charlie had the ovaries to tell you she was as much Grace’s mother as you were, that she’d looked after her when you were too loaded to know your own name.
Anyway
, you go on, I
went in to see her, the, uh, Mrs. Annis, at the parent—teacher day last week
.

You did?

Yes. Why is that so surprising?

Well
, and she raises her eyebrows at the baby just as if he’s holding up a picture of you and the very image of this face at a parent-teacher meeting is nothing short of laughable,
I don’t know. Nothing. So what happened?

You clear your throat.
Anyway, so I was saying to her, “Do you realize all these kids are terrified of you, I mean really terrified.” I thought maybe she had no idea and she might—well anyway, she looked positively thrilled and said, “Good. I like to keep them under my thumb.” Ha—can you imagine! I was speechless. So, and then she said Grace had been a little difficult at first but she’s doing the uh … better now
.

Charlie’s head twists around as you’re pouring hot water into cups.
She is not difficult. She’s just smart, that’s all, she’s ahead of her time. Stupid bitch
.

Stupidbitch scalds you and you start and splash hot water on your thumb.
Ow, shit
, whip on the cold water faucet and hold it there a minute.

She sighs.
Mum, you’re so accident-prone—I guess that’s where Grace gets it from
.

Well, you don’t have to tell me off for it, I didn’t scald myself on purpose—I did it making your tea
.

I’m not telling you off, I’m just saying. You’re not that careful and Grace is just as bad, always hurting herself. It practically
is
like you do it on purpose, it happens so—

Charlie! For godsake, can’t we not have a nice visit visout—without
, sigh, now you can’t tell if you’re stoned or just thrown off. This was going to be a pleasant afternoon before she showed up. There’s a key in the lock. The baby’s home, thank god. You turn the faucet off, shake your thumb. Doesn’t hurt that much, and that ladies and gentlemen is the beauty of wine and pills.

Grace closes the door and comes in the kitchen.
There’s my baby!
Charlie says.

Grace squeals,
You made your hair red!
and kisses her.

Shit, she did, too. How could you not have noticed that, it’s redder than yours. Maybe because you’re so used to looking at your own. Or maybe it’s the light. Maybe because you’re a crummy mother and you never do anything right. You try.
Oh, of course! Your hair! I couldn’t think what was different! It’s cute!
but she doesn’t look at you. And more than a small part of you thinks,
Perfect. You’ve nearly got my tits, now you’ve got my hair colour, one baby down, one more to go
, as she pulls Grace onto her lap and blows a loud raspberry into her neck. Grace laughs raucously and Charlie’s baby starts to fuss.

Grace jumps down and goes to him.
Can I pick him up?
His mother says sure she can. Somewhere along the line, Grace has gone from seething jealousy to asking to diaper and feed him. Something like Charlie did when Grace was born.

She sits down holding the baby in her arms, rocking him like they do in cartoons. Charlie giggles at her. Well, aren’t they all just too cute for words. Charlie says,
So, Grace-face, how y’doin’? I heard your teachers kind of a creep
.

Yeah, giant super-huge creep. I hate her guts. You should’ve seen her today, she was in fine form—she’s a big hag and I bet she has warts on her boobies
, and she blushes and ducks her head into the baby as she giggles. Charlie giggles back. Why shouldn’t she. She’s
practically her mother
.

You bring two cups of tea with milk and sugar to the table, tell Grace one’s for her, knowing she’ll want it because she’s such a big tea-hound. She says maybe she should put the baby in his chair so she doesn’t burn his bum or something. Charlie laughs and helps her put the baby in his seat, adjusts his soother, and he’s asleep before they can get back in their chairs.
Hey, I almost forgot
, and Charlie goes into her diaper bag, I
passed by a bookstore this morning and I saw something in the window you might like; I think you’re old enough now
.

You’re just settling into your chair as Charlie pulls out a thin green and white children’s book that says,
Where Did I Come From, Anyway?
on the cover.
It’s about how babies are made
, she tells her. Grace snaps it up before you get near it, flips it open and fans through pages of line drawings and thick print until she gets to one of a man lying naked between a woman’s spread legs and stops dead, scanning the text till her cheeks flush again and she turns the page fast to a giant egg with dozens of sperm zipping toward it. Charlie giggles.

You pluck the book.
Anyone mind if I take a look at this first?

Grace yaps a
Mummy!
at you and swings a paw to get it back, catches a page and you know she’s not going to let go and this is not a fight you want to have in front of Charlie, who has just said,
Well, Mum, she’s almost nine, it’s probably time she started learning the facts of life now. Better than finding it out the hard way in five years!

Exactly!
her little sister says.

You let the book go, afraid it’ll rip and all hell will break loose.
Yes, well. Honestly
, and you try to keep the tone playful.
I don’t see Grace running the streets at that age
. Charlie’s face drops, edges toward a glare. You say,
Well for godsake, I mean I’ve never kept any secrets from you kids, I answer every question she has as they come up and I just think, well, I just think I should be the judge of what she reads about this subject, that’s all. I’m not being a prude, I’m just—
I am
her mother, after all
.

Well, I’ve read it and I think … I think it’s comprehensive and progressive, really. And I think it’s cool
.

You glance at the back of the book in your child’s paws and see
A comprehensive and progressive look at basic sexuality as told by Doctor
…

Well, be that as it may
… you say, and the two of you lock eyes. Unbelievable—who the hell—Grace is back to staring at the naked couple, sees she’s been caught again and flips to the front of the book.

Well, I wanna read it, it’s my present, Charlie gave it to me, not you. Anyway, why shouldn’t I read it, everybody’s doing it
—you,
you had sex before!
and she cackles and brings the book over the lower half of her face.

Charlie looks at you.
Look, see, she’s curious, and now you’ve made her all embarrassed
.

Oh, for god’s sake, Charlie, I didn’t make her embarrassed, she’s embarrassed because all her friends are embarrassed. Quit making everything about me
.

She gives an exasperated sigh.
I just meant you won’t let her see it. And anyway. I’m not making this about you, you’re making it about you. I didn’t make you feel guilty, you did. Because you don’t want her to read a normal book about the birds and the bees. I bought it so she could just read it and you wouldn’t have to feel all weird talking to her about sperm or whatever
.

Isn’t this charming: your judgment usurped by a recently knocked-up, all-of-eighteen-year-old tramp, posing as a—as a what—an all-knowing earth mother. And you’re supposed to keep your mouth shut. That’s the beauty of it. You have to be civil and maintain decorum while she casts her eyes like aspersions and dares you to just try it, pick another fight in front of Grace—tell your children how you know best, as evidenced by your fabulous track record.

Grace gives you her cartoon smug-face. So you say,
Go ahead, read it, see if I care, I’m sure there’s nothing there you don’t already know
. And you do for Charlie your best imitation of Grace smuggery. And the tone of your voice is echoing in your head, are you talking too loudly? But Charlie’s laughing some kind of laugh, the nervous hollow one the family uses for certain situations; can’t remember which ones just now.

Grace Eight
OCTOBER 1974

I
WAS IN GRADE
4 probably around two months when Charlie told us her and Ian, the albino guy, were going to move to the States. Ian’s dad was American and worked with a sportswear company in Portland, Oregon—he said he could get Ian a real job, not just hustling in pool halls—Ian said he was going to take care of Charlie and her baby, Sam, even if Sam wasn’t his. Charlie made it sound kind of fun in a way, like everything would be different once Ian got with his family. And he had a big family, a real one with a mum and dad and aunts and uncles and cousins.

The night after I heard, I laid awake trying to picture Portland. It sounded like Vancouver but better; people would live in sunny houses and have tans and boats and yellow jackets and good jobs with sportswear companies. I wished she could take us with her.

The day before she left, she brought me early birthday presents:
Winnie the Pooh
and
Charlotte’s Web
and
Stuart Little
, all hardcovers, she said, patting them like kittens, and held me in her lap on the edge of Mum’s bed. Mum was propped up on pillows. Sam was in his baby seat on the floor watching us. Charlie’s chest shook against my back and her arms wrapped around my ribs while she looked over my shoulder, keeping her cheek on the side of my head. Tears wheezed through her nose and she stuffed her face in my neck. My own throat was strangley and burning and I told her not to get snot on me. She giggled and wiped her cheeks and started to make scared-voice promises: she was going to start a new life in the States. She didn’t have a phone number or an address or stuff yet, but as soon as she was settled I could visit her. She hugged my back to her front and whispered that everything would be different.