Mitochondrial Curiosities of Marcels 1 to 19 (18 page)

‘Well, thank you, Dree.'

‘Almost done, Ms. Riddell.' I lean against her desk. ‘Okay, so I've explained about apoptosis, cell death, right?' Nods. ‘And
how, on a mega-level, mitochondria have programmed the entire species to become extinct because we've killed sex?' Nods.

‘We would call that extreme speculation, class, and not of the scientific method,' says Ms. Riddell.

‘Yeah, but walk through Churchill Square,' I say. ‘Especially with the Christmas tree.' They listen, not laughing, mostly, as I say, ‘Look at the shopping frenzy, the Santa pedophile, the dead tree, the virgin birth
FGS
.' We're synched, the class and I. We're cellular – some of us ribosomes, some of us endoplasmic reticulum, who knows about the nucleus – whatever, we're one and it's magic. I want to kiss Lawrence. Full-on liplock. I want to kiss Rachel, put my palm against her cheek, kiss Shannon, hold her face with both hands, kiss everyone, even Colm, I smile at him too. Everyone's my darling, I'm theirs and we shine.

‘Christmas is when you choose sex and life or you choose shopping and death, and that's your choice for that whole year. So if you can't choose sex, choose crafts. I mean, we're talking the whole year.' ‘Bummer,' someone says. ‘No doubt,' says Shannon. ‘We have the power,' says the last slide. I used the same graphic for my T-shirt, Mitochondrial Eve doing the power salute. I hold open my cardigan to show off the T-shirt. A few cheers. ‘You can download this off my blog,' I say. ‘Dree's Do-or-Die
DIY
.'

Paige has her hands over her face in fake shock, something she has to do, really, to preserve her whole Paige thing. Riddell pulls on her chin but you can still see the smile. ‘Now class, rampant sexual activity is not actually your Biology 10 homework. Please do not report anything sordid over the dinner table tonight, look sharply now, I do advise you to be entirely lucid about the Krebs cycle, Shannon, a few words about pyruvic acid? Anyone?'

Even once you've survived a presentation, posting an event on Facebook is terrifying. But my fingers did it, they typed out
Treasure Hunt, Churchill Square, this Sunday at
4:30
p.m
. I used Dad's two clue envelopes, plus four of his favourite other clues, plus four I invented myself. Since it's twenty-two below, most of the clues are inside City Hall and pedways, but the first has to be Churchill Square and the last one has to be in the library.

Of course you fantasize about thousands, about the square being packed, but after twenty minutes in the Second Cup that's connected to the library and across the street, I am pretty much whatever. Then I see something stranger than baby Jesus. Colm and two of his back-row boys looking under a tree. The wrong tree, but nonetheless. I grip the table so hard my water spills which is okay since this particular Second Cup has many unusual customers. The boys are looking around to see if anyone else is there, and, what about those two people with the Thermos? Really? Really? Okay, now I'm on the fringe of odd behaviour even for here.
OMG
OMG
. I can't stop saying it. The Thermos people look at Clue Number 1, and the other guys come to look at it too. By the time I get myself normed up, hands down and mouth closed, there are nine people in a group talking and pointing at trees. I get a bit teary. The man next to me moves one seat down.

Maybe I should go out and help, they're freezing, the guys bopping around, Thermos people pointing the wrong way, not the Christmas tree, you fools, good good, Colm heads to the right tree, the one behind the Churchill statue, and everyone follows. Look under that big branch, c'mon somebody, before they all lose
their ears to frostbite, someone lift that branch – yay! Thermos woman goes for it, Thermos man looks underneath and Yes! Yes! They have Clue Number 2, and oh, they love the angels. I put prizes in the odd-numbered sites, the angels being the best in terms of shiny hopefulness since they're made out of Rita's miniature vodka bottles. Later, people, play with them later
FGS
. You're going to die out there. That's it, Clue Number 2, easy-peasy, people, c'mon, zoo brochures, where the hell else could they be, exactly, Thermos woman, you're so right, go, go, what are you all looking at. More people! Two crafty girls with scarves and hats and bags all handmade. Thermos woman goes under the tree and gets two more stars, meaning there's only two left because ten prizes was all I could reasonably do without a factory in China. Another girl comes and you can tell it's all Hi! Hi! even with their backs to me. When they're up the steps to city hall, I can't help myself. I run across the street to the square.

‘Hey,' I say to sad security guard, ‘people came!' ‘Better than nothing,' he says to me and ‘Can I help you, ma'am?' to the woman behind me. Where did they come from? A tired woman holds onto the back of a girl's jacket. The girl, about elevenish, yells, ‘Mom, that's the tree, c'mon.' ‘Camille, look, no one's here,' says the mother, and to the security guard, ‘She found this crazy thing on the internet, it's nothing.' The security guard's mouth curves up and quivers in possibly his first attempt at smiling. He walks them over to the tree, the girl pulling away to get the clue and the last stars, and in seconds, yanking her mother towards City Hall. I can hardly wait to tell Santini: A) Peer group possibility and B) Contribution to society. ‘Moi, Santini. Feel free to mention me as you encourage other students.' Or, even when you're making out with Rita, which is something I never again want to consider.

Paige and I brought Rita an angel last week and she cried. She kept crying when she brought us cranberry juice and ginger ale, when she gave us the cappuccino maker, when she handed me an empty envelope with my name on it. ‘Those two little clues were in there, and I'm sorry, but I just wanted there to be something.' She sobbed too hard to talk for a few messy seconds, then said, ‘And I wanted it to be for me.' Her sponsor was there with two
AA
women and they were planning Christmas dinner as if things were golden. ‘It's good she's finally getting it out,' one of the women said. We nodded, and Paige said we had to go to catch our bus. Rita blew her nose again, and said, ‘Leonard loved you, that was never a lie.' Again, we nodded, and the same woman told me to no, no, just leave those when I took my glass and Paige's into the kitchen. Paige was up getting the coats, and I wrote
He loved you too
, on the message board on Rita's fridge. We're done here, I thought, but Rita was standing, not crying, at the door. ‘How's your Mr. Santini these days?' she said. ‘Oh, he asked about you, actually,' I said. ‘Twice. He asked if you were in town for the holidays, did you have any plans, then he kind of blushed.' ‘Correction?' Paige said when we were out the door. ‘That's what he wanted to say,' I said. ‘I could tell.'

Excitement can provide only so much body heat and my fingers are numb. They should be at Clue 5 now, the bus schedules, where I've put a collection of short poems on ten different index cards. Okay, library, I should just go wait in the library because that's the only hard clue. I can Facebook Jessie again. Yeah, right. As if I can focus enough to spell. Hold it. Colm? Yup. Colm is running back, waving, his friends waiting. Oh, god, do not get hit by a truck, not in this weather.

‘Yeah, so – '

‘You're going the right way,' I yell through my mitt because my mouth is frozen.

‘So's Paige around? No biggie, we're just, you know – ' Colm motions to the other two guys, now jumping up and down to keep their toes alive.
Oh. My. God
.

‘Call her,' I yell. He holds out his cell. I yell our number, tell him it's totally cool for him to call, then run to the library to call Joan and Paige.

I didn't tell them about the treasure hunt because rejection is so much worse with family members present. But people came! And how très très excellent when Joan answers her cell and tells me she and Paige are in the library parkade. We meet in front of the multi-coloured buffalo. We hug, we smile, I say, ‘What the hell?' and Paige says, ‘Excuse me? Facebook is also a social utility for family members?' Paige is trying to scrape the last tape bits off the wall where I had stuck the clue.

‘So, guess who loves you,' I say.

‘Do you want something?' Paige says. ‘Because, inappropriate?'

‘God, you're cynical,' I say. Really, my whole mood is busted, especially when Joan says, ‘I know he was your dad, but I cannot believe you were wandering around down here in a parkade.'

‘Joan,' I say. ‘Let it go.'

Joan tells us, Lovely, but she's got to run to Winners before it closes at six. ‘I've got to pick up those slippers for Mom,' she says and we have yet another awkward pause. Grandma Giles isn't coming for Christmas this year. She hates me. That's the truth. Joan says no, oh not at all, but then why Grandma doesn't call me back? I've left her a million voice mails. And why didn't she call when she got the excellent recipe roadmap and star-of-the-west I sent last week? I ask Joan for the phone and she leaves us her whole purse because it weighs a ton and she's got her credit card. The term
credit card
is still delicate in our household. I automatically look down and take the purse.

Paige comes back to the Second Cup with me, and the coffee people look at us in that can-I-help-you way so I look through my wallet like I'm deciding what to get. And I'm all magic again because how did I forget about the free coupon, still folded and tucked behind my school id. Way to go, Dad. Extra-large hot chocolate with whipped cream on the side for Paige and me. Your M-less dream. The phone rings when I'm in the line-up and Paige turns away when she says, ‘Oh hi.'

They're coming across the square, the girl in front, pulling her mother, Colm beside them, two craft girls, Thermos woman and Colm's friends zig-zagging between the others. Everyone's moving in the same direction, one big messy animal with a lot of puffy limbs. Maybe the clues in the copper-pipe sculpture were taken. Maybe they got too cold. They look happy but maybe that's some weird reflection from the heinous Christmas lights.

They're coming across the square and I run to meet them.

This book was helped along by many people. Thank you to Norm Sacuta, Glen Huser and Doug Schmidt for critiquing the first draft; to the students at Victoria School for the Arts for their thoughtful input; to Faith Wiley, Maureen Brown and Claire Theaker-Brown for their ongoing insights and general brilliance; to Alana Wilcox for astute editing and kindness; and to my generous friends for everything.

Thank you to the Alberta Foundation for the Arts for financial support.

Jocelyn Brown is the author of
One Good Outfit
and several short stories, including ‘Miss Canada,' which won the Journey Prize. She lives in Edmonton.

Typeset in Charlotte and Charlotte Sans

Printed and bound at the Coach House on bpNichol Lane, May 2009

Edited and designed by Alana Wilcox

Cover art and design by Jason Logan

Cover sock puppet photos by Andrew Tolson