Niagara Motel (4 page)

6

The other kids at Bright Light weren't there because their parent was in the hospital. They were there because their parent was in jail or dead or an alcoholic or a drug addict or beat the living snot out of them. They were there because no one loved them enough to let them live with them. And even if someone
did
love them enough, that someone didn't trust them. I knew all this because I had what one of my grade-four teachers, Ms Wesley, called Amazing Powers of Observation. Which is not the same as having X-Ray Vision or Being Able to Predict the Future, but at least it was something. Also, I was good at blending into my surroundings, so I could listen to the kids talk and watch them interact with each other without them really noticing that I was there.

I knew that the leader of the kids was Leo. Leo was eighteen and had a buzz cut. He had a big red goatee that made him look way older than eighteen, and he had black letters tattooed on the knuckles of both of his hands. His right hand said
HARD
and his left hand said
CORE
, and I guess that's what Leo was. He'd been to juvie three times for selling drugs and stealing cars. Now that he was eighteen, he could be tried in court as an adult so he was trying to stay out of trouble. You could tell he wasn't trying
that
hard, though. Leo's mom lived in a crack-house in Niagara Falls and his dad lived in St. Catherines with his second wife and their two kids. Leo hated the two kids, the second wife, and his dad. I'm not sure why. Anyone who's lucky enough to have a dad should at least try not to hate him. One of the reasons I knew that Leo was the most powerful of all the kids in the house was because whenever he would walk into a room, everyone would shut up. And it wasn't because they were talking about him. It was because they knew that whatever they were saying wasn't
important enough for Leo to have to hear. Another reason I could tell that Leo was the leader was because kids were always trying to suck up to him. Like they would automatically give him cigarettes whenever he asked instead of saying they only had one left or they didn't have any, which is what they said to everyone else who asked. And when we ate together in the dining room around the big oak table, everyone would wait for Leo to start eating before digging in. Even the staff members sucked up to Leo, and no one ever gave him trouble for wearing his combat boots in the house or not getting in before curfew or not doing his chore on the chore wheel. Sometimes the other kids would do Leo's chore
for
him so he wouldn't have to do it, that's how big of a deal this guy was.

The kid who I figured was the lowest on the totem pole before I got there was a guy named Daryl. Everyone called him Dirtbag Daryl. Daryl was fifteen but looked younger. He smelled like wet socks and never combed his hair. He had so many freckles it looked like someone had splashed a bucket of mud all over him. He talked a lot and kicked chair legs and table legs and knocked over cups of water. He said rude things to everyone, especially the girls. He was constantly looking for something he'd lost—his key, his lighter, his pack of beef jerky—and he'd shoot into a room like a Roman candle.

I could tell from the way he laughed, with his head tipped back and his mouth wide open, that Daryl wasn't actually a mean person, it was just all he had going for him. Being mean, loud, and annoying, that was his shtick. Gina says everyone has to have a shtick. If Daryl didn't have that, he'd be nothing. Just a foot-tapping, finger-drumming, red-headed mess of freckles that nobody cared about. Even if they were only telling him to shut the hell up, at least people talked to him. Once, I asked Dirtbag Daryl why his knees always bounced around like crazy when he was sitting in a chair, and he said, “You'll find out when you're older.” People usually say stuff like that when
it has something to do with sex, but I know you don't use your knees to do sex so I'm not really sure what he meant. I guess I'll have to wait and see.

Basically, I just tried to keep out of everybody's way. I read some of the books that were on the bookshelf:
Catch-22
,
To Kill a Mockingbird,
and
The Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes
. I watched TV when everyone else did but I never got to pick the channel. Sometimes someone would switch it to
Cheers
, and I would be glad for it.

There was a girl who lived at Bright Light with long black hair who looked familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. Her name was Meredith, and she was sixteen. She wore dark makeup around her eyes and baggy black hoodies and didn't say too much to anyone. She had a nose ring, which was kind of gross, but kind of cool too. I knew she liked
Cheers
because she would laugh when it was on. I knew that she liked to read because I saw her staring at the bookshelf one day. She looked as if choosing her next book was the most important decision she would ever make. I wanted to wait and see which one she would pick, but it got awkward just standing behind her in the hallway while she stared at all the books so I went and watched Kyle and Shawn play foosball for a while. I asked if I could play, and they pretended not to hear me. I asked again, louder, and Kyle scored a point on Shawn. Then Shawn picked up the ball and looked at me and said, “If you
ever
talk to me again I'm going to shove this ball so far up your ass it's going to pop out your eyeball.” Kyle laughed and said, “Beat it, anus-face,” and they kept playing. I went to my room and got into bed. I stared at the underside of the top bunk where someone had written
FUCK THE WORLD 'CUZ THE WORLD IS FUCKED!!!
in black Magic Marker. I closed my eyes. I wished that I didn't have to be in here with all these mean-ass teenagers, and I wished that Gina wasn't in the hospital so she could take me to Marineland. I thought about dolphins doing flips. I thought about seals barking.
Then I thought about dogs barking. Then I remembered something Norm said on a recent episode of
Cheers
: “It's a dog-eat-dog world, Sammy, and I'm wearing Milk-Bone underwear.”

Then I started feeling a little bit better, because everyone has to wear Milk-Bone underwear sometimes. I thought about Sam for awhile and wondered what kind of dog he would have. Probably a border collie since they're the smartest. And even though people like Diane are always giving Sam a hard time about being stupid, he's not actually stupid, not when it comes to people. He's actually really smart. Plus, he stopped drinking and turned his life around. Stupid people wouldn't be able to do that. Stupid people can't see their way out of their own problems. But maybe Sam would have a mutt, because that would suit him too.

I knew that Sam didn't know that Gina was pregnant with me or else he never would have left. But one day soon I would find him, and he'd feel so sad and sorry for leaving and missing out on my whole life that maybe he would even get me a dog of my own. Sam would let me work at the bar sometimes. I'd help him polish glasses and change the kegs, and he'd let me bring the dog to work. The dog would sleep behind the bar or else rest his head in Coach's lap. Rebecca wouldn't like my dog at first—she'd complain about him all the time and she and Sam would fight about it—but eventually, she'd grow to love him. I'd teach him to sit and roll over and jump up and give me a hug and he'd be the best dog in the whole entire world.

I thought about my dog for a good while and what I would name him, but I couldn't decide without meeting him first. After a while I got out of my bunk and went downstairs.

Meredith was sitting on the stairs drinking a can of Coke and reading
Watership Down
. I knew which book she had finally chosen, and I knew I would read it next. Because even if you don't really know a person, you can sort of figure them out a bit by reading the same
books they've read. I'm not exactly sure what makes girls pretty or women beautiful, but I could see that Meredith had it, whatever
it
was. Her eyes were green as grass and her face was a nice shape, not square or pug-like, just round and smooth and nice to look at. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't like the girl in the Calvin Klein commercials, either. She was solid, like a tree trunk. I went back upstairs, not because I had to, but because I wanted to pass by her again. She didn't glance up or move over or anything and I wondered if I had been blending into my surroundings so well for so long that I had actually become invisible.

My grade-six teacher at Niagara Elementary was Mr Zabriskie. He was old and had grey tufts of hair poking out the sides of his head like a koala bear. He wore brown cardigans and drank out of a coffee mug that smelled like Listerine. He was so boring that he even bored himself, and he yawned all the time. I think he was going deaf, too. Either that or he pretended not to hear us. Nobody in my class really talked to me, and I didn't make too much of an effort to talk to anyone either. At recess I did pull-ups on the monkey bars or read my book or drew comics, and at lunchtime I went downtown and walked around. The truth was that no one in my class was even half as interesting as the kids in the group home.

One day, I was walking around downtown during lunch-hour, and I saw Meredith. She was leaning up against a brick wall in front of a cigar shop twirling her hair around her finger. She wore a short jean skirt with black pantyhose underneath. Her pantyhose had big holes all over them. Then I remembered where I had seen Meredith before. Standing on that same corner. Wearing a tight dress. Leaning into car windows. She looked bored, so I went up to her to say hi and
see if she wanted to get a Slurpee or something.

“Get lost, kid,” she said.

“Your name's Meredith, right?”

“Get out of here. I mean it.”

“I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“
Hi
, okay? Now scram. I'm trying to work here.”

“Oh.”

A brown station wagon pulled up to the curb and a guy wearing a Blue Jays hat rolled down the window. Meredith stood up, away from the wall. “
Fuck off
,” she said to me out of the side of her mouth.

I spun on my heel and fast-walked away. When I looked back, I saw Meredith sliding into the passenger seat of the station wagon.

I walked around the block twice but didn't see the brown station wagon anywhere. I knew what Meredith was doing. Pretty sure. I went to the 7-Eleven and got two Coke Slurpees then walked back to the cigar shop. Meredith was back. She was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

“I got this for you.” I held out the Slurpee to her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe you could use a refreshment.”

“Thanks, kid. That's sweet.” Her nose ring glinted in the sunlight. She took the Slurpee from me.

“My name's Tucker.” I stuck out my hand.

“Meredith.”

We shook hands.

“Are you hungry, Meredith?”

“Starving.”

“I was on my way to get something for lunch. There's this hot dog stand down by the falls—”

“Sure.” She took another sip of her Slurpee and then started down the hill. Her legs were longer than mine, and she walked fast and I had to hurry to keep up. We passed a bunch of wide-eyed tourists, we passed a screaming baby whose mom looked like her head was about to explode, we passed a group of skater kids and one of them spit so close to Meredith his phlegm-wad nearly hit her leg. She gave him the finger but didn't slow down.

We both put sauerkraut and mustard and ketchup and relish on our hot dogs. Meredith also put banana peppers on hers. Banana peppers make my stomach hurt so I don't eat them anymore. And besides, they don't even taste like bananas. We sat on a bench near the statue of Nikola Tesla and looked out over the falls as we ate. The sun was sharp in my eyes and I thought about buying Terminator sunglasses I had seen earlier in the 7-Eleven. Meredith finished her hot dog, wiped her chin with her napkin, and let out a gigantic burp. She didn't say excuse me.

“How old are you anyways?” she squinted at me.

“Eleven.”

“Jesus.”

“Tucker.”

She laughed. “Why are you at Lite Brite?”

“My mom.”

“Crack fiend?”

“No.”

“Alcoholic?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Klepto!”

“What's that?”

“When you have an irresistible compulsion to steal things.”

“No. She doesn't have that. She has narcolepsy.”

Meredith snickered. “She has sex with dead people?”

“No!
Ew!
”

Meredith laughed.

“She has a condition. It makes her fall asleep when she shouldn't. She falls asleep a lot. And she also gets these attacks where she's not really asleep. She just can't move or talk or anything. It's called cataplexy. She can't control it.”

“And they took you away for that?”

“No. Not for that. They took me away because she passed out in the middle of the road and got run over by a mini-van and now she's in the hospital.”