Leap (11 page)

Maybe she
is
recovering. I suppose a month of nonstop reading might make even the most hardened addict wonder if there's any more to life. Either way, I sensed Mom might actually be able to hear me today, so I said, “Sort of.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't know.” I wasn't about to rehash it, especially since Mom didn't even remember the Gina Incident. “I think her family's going through kind of a … rough patch.”

“She could probably use a friend right now, then.”

“You think I should invite her to stay here?”

“I don't want you staying here by yourself. But it might be fun for you and Sasha to be independent for a week, don't you think? You could buy groceries and experiment in the kitchen and … play your music. I would phone every day. Of course, you're welcome to come to the cabin too. Marine said, ‘Be sure to tell Natalie she's welcome.' I just don't want you to be bored.”

Meaning,
cranky.

So, it has got me thinking: maybe it's time I made a real effort to heal the rift with Sasha. I
did
go behind her back to date Kevin. Worse, I stopped calling her.

Speaking of Kevin … I still fantasize about him, but three weeks have passed since our trip to the lake. The last time I saw him, we were cycling in the dark, and that was already two weeks ago. The intensity of his image is fading a bit. Maybe he has even left town.

Later

Called Sasha. Her voice sounded guarded. I kept things light and asked if she wanted to go to the beach tomorrow. She said she couldn't. (What's she doing all day, scrubbing the floors?) She hesitated a bit and then said, “You can stay over tomorrow night if you want. No one will be here.”
Where is everyone
? I wanted to ask, but I couldn't: prying would make her angry. These days, the slightest thing sets her off. I just wish I understood why.

Friday, July 30th

The horror. I can't think about it yet. I'm too shocked to sleep. My legs twitch from all the walking. I've had one charley-horse already. I'm going to toss and turn all night. Maybe some music.

Saturday, July 31, 11:00 a.m., beach

I'm sitting on a log, my sandals kicked off. I crunch and release my toes and burrow them into the sand until I hit the wet stuff. I trace patterns on the slate of wet sand until I have to move to another log to find a smooth surface again. I'm hoping that focusing on my feet will lead to peace.

But it's not working. I'm still in shock. There's only so much I can take.

3:00 p.m., Con Brio

Came here seeking refuge. Lisa isn't here, and neither is Petra, but this place reminds me of them and their support. I've ordered a bowl of soup and a panini (I hope that's Italian for sandwich). I'm going to review the whole weird story. I certainly can't go home until I have.

So, Part 1: Sasha's Place

As planned, I arrived at 6 p.m. with a change of clothes and a toothbrush in my knapsack. When I rang the bell, Mrs. V. opened the door, wearing a tracksuit. Her bloodshot eyes and blotchy face made me flinch. She slurred her words. “Whadisit? Are you the paperboy? Come to get paid? Where's the paper? Can't get paid if you don't bring the paper!” She squawked a laugh. She was clutching a tumbler of amber liquid and ice cubes. When she saw me looking at it, she thrust it up in a toast. A bit of Scotch (?) sloshed over the side and I smelled alcohol. “Cheers, Natalie!” So she had recognized me.

A lit cigarette hung from her other hand. I've suspected for years that Sasha's mom smoked—underneath her Estée Lauder perfume, her pores exude the stale smell that I've noticed on other smokers. But I'd never actually caught her in the act.

She sucked hard on the cigarette and squinted. She shifted her weight unsteadily and leaned on the door frame. She looked at me over the rim of the glass and her eyes sparkled. Something funny hung in the air, and despite myself, I started to return her smile.

“So whatcha doin', Nat? Sniffin' around for my son like a bitch in heat?” She raised the tumbler and sipped.

The words stunned me. I couldn't move.

From behind her came an outraged cry. “You are
not
my mother! Get out of my way, you stupid drunk!” Sasha shoved past her mother and slammed the door.

The door opened as Sasha pulled me down the steps. “If you're not my daughter, I guess you won't be getting free room and board here anymore.” She called Sasha an ungrateful bitch.

We walked. As if with one mind, we fell into step with each other. We walked in silence; no words were necessary, or possible. We walked together; separating was unthinkable. We walked to the water because it was the only place to go. We walked until we were tired and then we sat on the beach and watched the surf.

After a long time, Sasha found a stick—half bat, half paddle. She collected stones the size of golf balls and stood at the water's edge. She threw them up and hit them one by one. She swung so hard I worried for her shoulder. Eventually, the stick snapped in two, and she flung the bottom half out to sea. It twirled like a propeller, fast as it rose, lazily as it sunk and then smacked the water. She turned and approached me, studying her palms. She looked up and shrugged. “Splinters.”

I fought an impulse to touch her fingers and kiss them better. Memories were falling into place. When Sasha and I used to hang out in her room and her mother called us from downstairs, she yelled louder than she had to, sounding harsh and annoyed. When I phoned on weekend mornings, Sasha often said she couldn't talk to me because her mother was sick. A couple of times lately, Mrs. V. sounded vague and slurry on the phone, and later on, Sasha said she didn't get the message.

This is the twenty-first century and I know about alcoholism. As the Health teacher said, it's an illness, people are biologically predisposed towards it, it's not their fault, it needs to be managed, you go to AA, take medication, etc. etc.

But this was
my best friend's mother
.

“How 'bout pizza?” I said.

“Pacific Rim?” Sasha raised her eyebrows with the hint of a grin. Pacific Rim pizza was downtown. Our mothers didn't like us to go downtown by ourselves at the best of times, but they forbade us to go without telling them.
Our mothers
.

“You're on,” I said.

We widened our strides and swung our arms.

As we ate slices of artichoke-heart and sun-dried-tomato pizza, Sasha filled me in. Her mom has always been an alcoholic, but she managed to stay sober for years at a time when Sasha and Kevin were growing up. Lately, she has relapsed more and more. She has sold hardly any houses for months. Her dad wants to move out but can't afford to support two households and doesn't want to just abandon her mom.

Kevin got caught in the crossfire. When he started partying—just the ordinary teenage stuff—fights happened. Their dad came home and found Kevin and his mom drinking together a couple of times. Bottles were poured down the sink, glasses smashed against the wall. Kevin got blamed for their mom's relapse. Now he couch surfs.

Only crusts remained on our plates. “And what about me? I can't keep living there with her ragging on me all the time. You heard her! She was supposed to go to my aunt's for a few days and give me some peace, but my aunt won't even talk to my mom if she's been drinking.”

“You can stay at my house tonight.” I dabbed a napkin at my mouth to soak up the grease.

Sasha stared over my shoulder so long that I turned to see what she was looking at. There was nothing there but a blurry painting of a lighthouse in a storm. She blinked and said, “It's okay.”

“Are you sure? My mom really won't mind.”

“She'll be passed out by now. I should go check on her. Make sure she's not choking to death on her own vomit or something.” She checked to see how I'd reacted to that last comment. “I'm kidding,” she said. Her bitter tone made it hard to believe she was joking.

We paid the bill and I walked Sasha home. The night hugged us, a dark cocoon. We turned off the main drag to escape the exhaust fumes. Wild roses scented the air. I ran my hands up and down my bare arms, chafing cool, goose-pimply skin. I hugged Sasha with one arm. We were alive, we were breathing, and that was all that mattered for now.

We reached the row of town houses where Sasha lived. “Do you want me to come in?”

She shook her head. “I'm used to it. It's no big deal.”

“Are you sure? Why don't I just come in for a bit?” I started to move past her and up the cement path to their unit. She grabbed my upper arm and held it with a grip so strong, it made me suck in my breath.

Sasha stuttered in a husky whisper, “I don't … want you … to see her.”

My stomach clenched. Slowly, I pried her fingers off my bicep. “Okay, Sash, I won't.”

There were no lights on in the town house. I waited until she made it inside and then, with a caved-in chest, turned and began the trek home.

9:00 p.m., curled up on my bed

I couldn't face writing about Part 2 in Con Brio. I just wanted to be in my room.

Mom made chili and we ate together in silence. She peered at me to see what was wrong, but she doesn't suspect anything. She obviously doesn't know I saw.

Part 2: Our Place

My legs were burning by the time I arrived home. I noticed Marine's blue Honda in the driveway. A light glowed in the living room. Mom and Marine were probably watching a video. At the side of the house, jets of water were arcing and falling, arcing and falling. Mom had forgotten to turn off the sprinkler and the grass was soaked. A rivulet of water streamed down the curb, wasting itself in the street. To reach the faucet, I had to pass the living room window. I glanced inside and froze.

My mother and Marine were embracing on the couch. Marine's back was to me and my mother's hands were gripping it. Their faces were joined and they were twisting and turning their heads as if they couldn't get enough of each other's mouth but wanted to dig deeper, get under something.
Tongue wrestling, tonsil hockey, sucking face
… Kevin. I'd never seen Mom and Dad kiss like that. Mom pulled away and looked past Marine's shoulder right at me. She looked flushed and dreamy. I sprang back, afraid that she saw me, but I'm pretty sure all she could see was her own reflection.

Or maybe she had a moment of mother's intuition and knew one of her kids was suffering. Because I was. Suffering. I collapsed on the grass and soaked the seat of my jeans. The sprinkler continued to arc and fall, arc and fall; it traced feathers of water over my body on each pass until I was drenched. Despite the warmth of the night, I shivered and my teeth chattered. I had to get up. And since I had nowhere else to go, I went inside.

In the bathroom, I peeled off my wet clothes and turned on the shower. Steam rose as water pelted the stall. They would hear me and have a chance to compose themselves. I dried off and crawled into bed. Sure enough, Mom tapped on my bedroom door.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” I didn't attempt to disguise my mood.

“Can I come in?”

“I'm trying to get to sleep.”

“I thought you were spending the night at Sasha's.”

I'd totally forgotten. Mom thought she had the house to herself tonight. I softened my voice a little. “Sasha's mom was sick, so they weren't up for having me stay over after all.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. She obviously wanted to spend the night with Marine, and now that I had returned, Marine was going to have to leave. Well, tough! I
live
here. What am I supposed to do, go couch surf like Kevin because I'm in the way? Fuck that.

“'Night, Mom.”

“Good night.”

I switched off my light but tossed and turned as my quads and calves threatened to cramp. I'd just dozed off when an engine revved in the driveway.
Good night, Marine.

This morning I acted like nothing happened. I'm walking around under a veil. This must be what they call denial. It means things are too screwed up to deal with so you pretend they never happened, that you didn't notice. You gloss over the facts with little half-truths like “Sasha's mom was sick.” You avoid looking each other in the eye because you're both hiding what you know. It deadens you. Layers of something like gel separate us. All we're left with are secrets and shame.

August

Sunday, August 1st

When I joined her in the kitchen this morning, Mom announced that she had just called Sasha's house to talk to her mom about Sasha staying with me. That was bad enough, but then she explained that Kevin had answered. “He sounded like a very nice young man.”

Kevin?
The kicked-out Kevin was at home answering the phone? “What did you tell him?”

“I asked him if I could speak to one of his parents. He said his mom was visiting her sister and might be away for a few days. He wasn't sure where his dad was.”

“Then what?”

“I said that Sasha was invited to stay with you this coming week while I'm away.”

Does she know what she has done? Informed a homeless sexual predator that her fifteen-year-old daughter will be home alone for a week?

“He said he'd be sure to pass the message on, but that he didn't see a problem. He said he would keep an eye out for you girls.”

“How nice of him.”

She registered my sarcasm. “Natalie, I think he recognizes that he's too old for you. I mean, it's been a month since he asked you to the fireworks, and he hasn't asked you out again, right? I really got a good feeling from him.”

I wanted to blurt out everything to let her know how clueless she really is, but my mouth felt dry. What was there to say, really?

I never did invite Sasha to stay here. Mom just assumes I have. She's obviously desperate to be alone with Marine, or she wouldn't be so hasty. Fine. I won't burst her horny little middle-aged bubble. I guess it's about time she got laid. Who knew, though? Who
knew
this was the reason she never showed interest in men after she and Dad split up? God. Wouldn't Dad be shocked? Or does he know? Does he
know
and is that one of the reasons they got divorced?? I'm going to go insane if I don't get my mind off this.

Night

Mom came into my room just now to reassure me that I'm welcome to join her and Marine if I don't feel comfortable staying here. Or at any point during the week, to just call and they'll come pick me up, even though it's a three-hour drive. She doesn't mean it, though. I can tell. She wants time alone with her
lover
.

I haven't felt this unwanted in as long as I can remember. Even Paige hasn't returned my call, and it has been two days. I suppose she is having the time of her life with Dad and Vi—that Dad has made this the year he finally learns how to take a vacation. Go, Dad.

Monday, August 2nd, 11:00 p.m.

I spent some time snooping as soon as Mom left for the cabin. In the drawer under her bed, I discovered a small set of books with words like “lesbian” or “coming out” in the title. One was called
Gay Parenting.
Does that mean Mom isn't the only one? How reassuring. I slammed the drawer shut.

The fridge paid better dividends. I found a carton of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream at the back of the freezer and planted myself in front of the TV. I spooned it straight from the carton as I flipped channels, in a trance, numb. When the phone rang, I ignored it.

The pit of my stomach rebelled. I glanced down to find the carton three-quarters empty. I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet as my bowels rumbled and fussed. Diarrhea, sort of. I felt sick to my stomach and my head swam. I'm still spinning out on sugar now.

Abusing food isn't that much fun. How 'bout another vice?

Tuesday, August 3rd

You must have been expecting me.

Did you miss me?

I stayed away as long as I could.

He arrived on the doorstep tonight with Chinese take-out and white wine. Five-o'clock shadow didn't hide the dimple in his cheek. My guts churned. They always churn when I see him. He makes me feel.

Friday, August 6th

hope floats

trees finger the sky

waves lap the dock

smoke in my throat

heat in my belly

a hand between my thighs

relaxed at last

warmth spreads

do it again

This week is a stolen jewel. We don't answer the phone. Mom calls once a day and I return her call when things are quiet and I'm sober. Kevin shops with the money she left for groceries, and we borrow his friend's car to get to the lake. That's what the poem is about. Kevin says it reminds him of haiku. I got stoned for the first time—Kevin brought weed—and now we do it every day. We sleep in the nude in Mom's double bed. We haven't gone all the way, but we, how should I put this, pleasure each other. Pretty much all we do is drink and smoke weed and laugh and fool around. Kevin answers the door for the pizza guy with a towel wrapped around his waist. One time I heard a woman's voice at the door. He came back without pizza. “What happened?” I asked. He looked embarrassed. “I must have scared her off!” When the doorbell rang again, it was a man.

I've discovered I have a strong sex drive. What I mean is, I feel all tingly and hot below the waist most of the time. It's delicious. Kevin is dying to go further but he doesn't pressure me. I'm not ready. I'm discovering all these new sensations. Like tickling, but better. So much better.

Night

Kevin and I snuggled on the couch as we watched
Spinal Tap.
I haven't done that in years! Mom stopped cuddling with me, or maybe I stopped wanting to cuddle with her, when I was about eleven. We barely even hug anymore. I forgot how
good
it feels. We didn't drink or smoke or make out. We were both tired and content to just sit there.
I think I'm falling in love with him!

Saturday, August 7th

According to Kevin, we're broke. He asked if I could get more money from Mom and that made me mad. I know she left enough to last a week but if we've gone through it on “extras,” then that's not her responsibility. Mom isn't there to support Kevin's habits. He got pissed off and left. I'm going to spend the afternoon cleaning up this pigsty. Things have gotten out of hand in the past few days. We've left pizza boxes and dirty plates and wet towels all over the house.

Sunday, August 8th, 2:30 a.m, post party

Party, property damage, police.

And not only that.

What have I
done
?

I'm going to take a bath.

9 a.m.

Mom will be here by noon. It seems like she called just after I'd drifted off to sleep. The owners of the resort had woken her up at 8 a.m., frantic, saying the police were on the line. So these are my last few hours of independence. It's probably just as well.

Yesterday, Kevin came back to find the house cleaned up and called me Martha Stewart. I said maybe he needed to find another couch to surf. The honeymoon was definitely over.

He told me he wanted to have some friends over. I didn't think it was a good idea.

We argued about it for a long time and then we made up because he came up behind me, nuzzled my neck, and slid his arms around my waist. My knees practically buckled. I twined my arms around his neck, he sucked my earlobe, and we ended up in the bedroom again. The sun slanted across the bed, and after the fight I felt extra emotional. We were both sober. He looked into my eyes, and, well …

Afterwards, I still didn't want him to have the party. He said it was too late, his friends were already coming over, but not to worry, they were all mellow.

I worried. I tried to party-proof the whole house by hiding valuables and breakables. I piled dining room chairs on the stairs to block off the top floor. Kevin thought I was overreacting. The one thing we agreed on was that everyone would smoke outside. People are used to that, anyway, Kevin said. Smokers like to hang outside, especially on beautiful August nights.

I dressed up a bit and put on makeup before the party so I'd look older. Kevin said I looked sexy and sixteen and a half at least. When his friends showed up, he presented me with a six-pack of citrus coolers. He said I was a good sport about drinking beer, but he knew girls liked girl drinks and these were all mine. I kissed him on the cheek in front of his friends.

The stoners really were pretty mellow, though I was nervous the smell of weed would carry to the neighbors' yard. I refused to toke, wanted to stay clear. When the three guys from The Ice Cream Place parking lot showed up—good old Tyler, Steve, and Brad—things got a little rowdier. They changed the music to heavy metal and had beer-chugging contests in the living room. I don't think they recognized me. They didn't make any pedophile jokes, anyway.

But apparently Tyler invited the whole Canwest soccer team. Even Kevin got nervous when he heard that. Once the team started streaming in, half of them still in their red-and-white tracksuits, all we heard about was the game. They had won, but with controversy. One of them had body-checked an opponent without being penalized, and the other side resented the victory. The Canwest players themselves were divided about the call. The body-checking teammate didn't even come to the party. The few girls who came weren't very friendly. One of them, named Vanessa, warmed up a little bit when I complimented her auburn and blonde streaked hair. (I didn't mention that she could be the Canwest mascot: red and white!)

Then tires were squealing out front; the other team showed up looking for a fight. People swarmed the lawn. Someone threw the first punch, and a rumble broke out. They snapped a sapling in half and trampled flowerbeds. By the time the police showed up, most people had scattered. The place was strewn with beer bottles. The stoners slipped out back and down the alley with their stash just in time.

Kevin vanished.

I faced the police alone as a few remaining partiers gathered their things and left.

When the cops questioned me, I fell apart. I blubbered and couldn't get words out. They finally called Mom's resort, but she was in a cabin with no phone and the main office was closed. They couldn't reach her. They called Dad in Oakville and left a message. His cell phone was turned off (he's obviously taking this vacation stuff seriously now), and I've lost the number for Vi's family cabin, if that's where they are. They asked me who my local guardian was. I thought of telling them: Kevin Varkosky.

After all, he's nineteen: legally an adult.

I overheard the cops talking about calling the detachment in Parksville and getting them to send someone out to Mom's cabin, but when I pictured an officer banging on the door and surprising Mom and Marine in bed, I pulled myself together. “Please don't disturb my mother in the middle of the night. I'll be fine on my own. Really.” They said they'd follow up in the morning.

Mom's on her way. What do I tell her?

There's stuff I can't think about.

Night

I stripped the sheets from Mom's bed just before she arrived. No time to do laundry. A couple of Kevin's dark hairs clung to a pillow. I pulled off the case, the size of my torso, and held it in front of me. Fists level with my heart, I yanked hard, tearing fabric to my abdomen, making rags from where his head had lain.

She pulled into the drive in her green Volvo just before noon. I opened the front door and waited. Kermit's engine rumbled and sputtered before it died down. Mom lumbered out of the car as if she had forty extra pounds strapped to her back. I'd never seen her look so old. She hadn't combed her hair and when she pushed her sunglasses up, her eyes had sunk in their sockets. Marine wasn't with her and I was glad.

She reached the porch and I stayed in the door. “Natalie, what happened?”

“Sasha's brother threw a party here last night.”

She hung her head. “Was anyone hurt?”

I joined her in looking at the door mat. “No.”

“Thank God!”

She flung herself at me and scooped me into a hug. I let her hold me for a little while but then I started thinking about Kevin and Marine and it felt gross and confusing. I pushed her away.

“I'm sorry if I gave you too much responsibility. I forget that you're still just a kid sometimes.”

“I am NOT a kid!” I shouted.

“No, well, I mean, a teenager.”

“I'm a WOMAN!”

Mom just looked at me. I burst into tears. I could tell she wanted to comfort me but was scared to touch me again. “Let's go inside,” she said. She led the way to the kitchen and we sat facing each other at the table.

“Did anything happen that you want to tell me about?” she said at last.

“No!” I shouted. I kept sobbing.

Mom made some chamomile tea. She boiled the water, scalded the pot, and set the cups in their saucers as I wept. Seeing as she wasn't asking me any more questions, I calmed down and pulled a cup towards me. She patted my hand. It was like she knew, she instinctively knew, and she sympathized.

I was thinking of telling her what happened with Kevin when an image flashed of her and Marine kissing. She doesn't
deserve
to hear my secrets, she hasn't
earned
them. She keeps secrets from me. I scowled and snatched my hand away. I wanted to say that I hoped she and Marine had lots of “adult fun” at the cabin.