The Big Dream (25 page)

In high school, people called me
the pretty one
and Des
the smart one,
even though my grades were decent and she looked better in a miniskirt. And now we are both zooming past 40, and both powerfully employed and single, and I imagine we are unlikeable in more similar ways now. At least, I think she's still single – she could have fallen in love with a fellow chemist or my mom's nurse, and I wouldn't have known.

On the highway, the flare of brake lights reflects off the slush. I am bleary, tired, and scared a strong sudden sneeze will shut my eyes and jerk my hands from the wheel. It would be so awkward at work if I died: I am a VP. They would have to have a memorial for me in the large conference room, with urns of coffee and a PowerPoint presentation with photos of me wearing a crooked Santa hat in front of a pile of toy-drive presents. The night cleaners would not be invited.

At Islington, I realize it's Friday. Friday, a TV dead zone when even those who fail to have plans would at least rent a DVD, or PVR something, or sedate themselves. It is Friday night, I have a wheeze in my throat, maybe some old eps of
Top Chef
, and I
can not remember
whether the marshmallows my mother gave my sister and I when she had to work late were coloured or plain, or, for that matter, which I preferred. Why didn't I savour my childhood more, so that now, when for the next 60 hours no one expects me anywhere, I could have something sweet to look back on?

I turn off Rexdale onto Martingrove and finally sneeze when I'm at the lights, waiting for green, waiting to be at Etobicoke General, the only place I want to be. The snot courses onto my
upper lip and into my mouth, but someone beeps – green – so I can't find a Kleenex until I am parked, idling so the heat can stay on, rummaging in my purse, gazing up at the warm safe lights of the dying.

I am comfortable here. This car is expensive, well-cushioned, and fully paid off. I am the only one to have driven it, with almost no passengers, besides my mother on the way to doctors' appointments. Perhaps she dropped something in beside the seat – a barrette or receipt. If I find it after she is dead, will it be a tender moment or a creepy one? I could probably use more to remember her by. I think I would be happy if I found her barrette.

I sneeze into my shoulder even though there is no one there. I count the lighted windows of the hospital, trying to figure out which one is my mom's, if I'm even on the right side. As long as I sit here, I will be nearby and accessible when the final call comes. I realize that I am a stalker of death. Maybe I am bad luck. I have my phone in my hand and am speed-dialing before I can think about it anymore.

“Hey, Des, how is she?”

“Fine. She was tired tonight, actually. She fell asleep.”

“She could use the rest.” I flop back so the snot won't ooze down my face.

“Did you wind up going home?”

“I'm on my way now.” This is nearly true. An ambulance flashes loud and red into the lot. If Des hears it both through my phone and in her world, she doesn't say.

“Maybe I'll head back to mom's place and sleep, too. May as well.”

“Did you eat? You could come by mine, if she's out for the night? We could eat something . . . You'd have to stay well away from my germs, of course.”

A low chuckle. I can't think of the last time she was in my house, or I even wanted her to be. “Belinda, that's nice of you, but is there anything in your fridge?”

“We'd have to order in,” I admit.

“Well . . . fine. I'm just gonna go check on her, and then I'll – Oh, shit, it's snowing again.”

The wet flakes are splattering my windshield. “I can pick you up, so you don't have to drive. It's practically on my way. I can bring you back to your car tonight, or even in the morning.”

“Oh, Belle, you don't have to. I'll be fine.”

“It's no trouble, Des, none – I'm really close right now, so it'd be easy. Where I am right now, I'm so close.”

Several of these stories have appeared previously in journals and anthologies, some in slightly different forms. I wish to thank the editors of
Canadian Notes & Queries, Hart House Review, Room, Prairie Fire, The Fiddlehead,
and
Best Canadian Short Stories
for their support and guidance.

 

I'd also like to thank my fellow writers who read these stories early and late, and told me what they really thought: Kerry Clare, Brahm Nathans, Nadia Pestrak, Mark Sampson, and S. Kennedy Sobol. Gratitude to Fredérique Delaprée for offering the inspiration behind “Dream Big” and by extension the whole collection. Thanks to Jessica Grant, for whom “How to Keep Your Day Job” was originally written as a performance piece, and to Penny McDougall for the good idea that sparked “Research.” And thanks to all my delightful friends for good company (especially the members of Proofville, Lunch Club, and the Women's Writing Salon).

 

Thanks to everyone who participated in the “professional interviews” on
rebeccarosenblum.com
– Ben, Fred, Jamie, Jennifer, Kimberly, Martha, Mary, and Scott. While I did not “use” these in the book, your insights truly illuminated my writing.

 

I'm grateful to my agent, Samantha Haywood, for her astute reading and warm support. It goes without saying (but I will anyway) that I am so lucky to be working with Dan Wells, Tara Murphy, and everyone on team Biblioasis, and that it is always a pleasure. And of course, sincerest thanks go to my editor, the wonderful John Metcalf, for time, insight, interest, and intelligence. Also books. And humour.

 

Always and forever, thanks to Barbara, Gerald, and Ben Rosenblum, for being my family. And to Mark, for everything.

Rebecca Rosenblum
's fiction has been short-listed for the Journey Prize, the National Magazine Award, and the Danuta Gleed Award, and she was herself a juror for the Journey Prize 21. Her first collection of short stories,
Once
, won the Metcalf-Rooke Award and was one of
Quill & Quire
's 15 Books That Mattered in 2008. Her first chapbook,
Road Trips
, was published by Frog Hollow Press in 2010. Her blog is
www.rebeccarosenblum.com
. Rebecca lives, works, and writes in Toronto, Ontario.

Copyright © Rebecca Rosenblum, 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

 

 

 

Rosenblum, Rebecca, 1978-

The big dream : stories / Rebecca Rosenblum.

eISBN : 978-1-926-84557-9

I. Title.

PS8635.O65B55 2011

C813'.6

C2011-903446-8

Biblioasis acknowledges the ongoing financial support of the Government of Canada through The Canada Council for the Arts, Canadian Heritage, the Canada Book Fund; and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Arts Council.

PRINTED AND BOUND IN CANADA