The Falls (7 page)

“Then why don't you?”

“What's the point? There are lots of jobs out there, but nothing any better. If I'm gonna do a crappy job I might as well do this one. Besides, I need something that pays more, and that's not so easy to find.”

“I didn't know the arcade paid that much.”

“I've been here for over a year so I got a raise. I get fifty-five cents an hour over minimum. It's not great, but it's better than I could get starting somewhere else and—”

“I need change!” a kid said as he pushed between Jack and me. He looked to be about ten years old.

“Can't you see we're talking?” Jack asked, sounding irritated.

“I need change . . . now,” the kid repeated, practically shoving a five-dollar bill into Jack's face.

I knew Jack, and I knew he wasn't somebody you bothered or pushed around. I had this picture of him giving the kid a backhand—maybe there'd be a job for me then.

Jack snatched the bill away from the kid and stuffed it into his pouch. Then he pulled out a fistful of quarters and started dropping the coins into the kid's outstretched hand.

“Where you from?” Jack asked the kid. He was now smiling and all friendly. That was the last reaction I'd have expected from him.

“New York City,” the kid answered.

“Great city you live in. Now enjoy your games, and if you need more change I'm right here.”

The kid grunted and disappeared back into the arcade.

“What a rude little puke,” I said.

“That's no way to talk about the customers.”

“Kid didn't give you a please or a thank-you,” I said.

“I should have thanked
him
,” Jack said.

“Thanked him for what?”

Jack smiled. “I guess you didn't notice either.”

“Notice what?”

“I gave him the change . . . for a
four
-dollar bill.”

“There's no such thing as a four-dollar bill.”

“Really? Are you sure? He
must
have given me a four-dollar bill because I know for a fact I gave him sixteen quarters.”

“Sixteen? You were supposed to give him twenty.”

Jack started to laugh. “I know what I should have given him, and if he'd have been polite I would have given him more . . . maybe eighteen quarters.”

“You ripped him off,” I said. “Way to go.”

“I just consider it my little bonus for putting up with people and their crap,” Jack said.

“Do you do that all the time?”

Jack leaned in closer. “Not
all
the time, but a lot. Like with that kid, some
tourist
gives me a five-dollar bill and asks for change. I give him back a quarter, maybe two, less than I'm supposed to. Most of the time nobody notices, but if they do I just apologize . . . you know, it was an accident.”

Jack laughed, and I laughed along with him.

“My favourites are those foreigners, people from France or Japan who don't speak English any good, or from anyplace where they don't know about our money. They hand me a ten-dollar bill and I give 'em back change for a five. What the hell do they know? Besides, if they can afford to fly halfway around the world to get here they can afford to lose a few bucks.”

“It sounds like it could be more than a few bucks.”

“Never more than five from any one person, but I just keep track of it and make sure I take out the extra money. Amazing how it adds up!” Jack started laughing again,
then stopped himself. He suddenly looked worried. “You won't tell anybody, will you?”

“Come on, man, you should know better than to ask. Just get me a job and show me how to do the same thing.”

“You know it. Besides, I only hit the tourists. Never anybody we know.”

“Fair is fair,” I agreed.

There was an unstated rule that it was okay to take advantage of the tourists. They were only here for a day or so, and usually they had too much money to begin with . . . at least, too much compared to those of us who lived here. You wouldn't do that with somebody you knew, somebody local, but the tourists were fair game.

“You headed over to the power plant?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“It sounds like everybody is going there. That's where I'd be if I wasn't working tonight. Have a couple of beers for me, okay?”

“If I don't get there soon I won't even be able to have a couple for
me
. See you later.”

“I'm off at one. Maybe I'll see you after that!” Jack yelled out as I started off again.

I hadn't gone more than a dozen feet when I spied somebody else I knew—Kelsey, a girl I used to enjoy talking to in math class. She was behind the glass at the Daredevil Museum, selling tickets. She was busy with a customer and didn't notice me. I hadn't seen her since school ended. She didn't hang out with the kids I hung with, and she never went to any of the bush parties. She did pretty well in school. She seemed nice, too. If she worked to lose a few pounds, and maybe did something about her hair, she
wouldn't be half bad-looking. She looked up, saw me, and smiled. She reached her hand out of the little window at the bottom and waved. I waved back. I liked her.

I saw a gap in the traffic and ran across Clifton Hill just as the volcano started its fake eruption once again. Everybody else on the street and people in their cars— including the drivers—turned and gawked. The way they were staring, all open-mouthed and wide-eyed, you'd have thought they were watching the Second Coming of Christ. Fat chance of that. If Christ was coming back to earth, this was the last place he was going to appear. Or maybe it would actually be one of the
first
places. The people here certainly needed his help.

I cut down the alley beside a motel—
Vacancy, Cable TV, Free Movies, Heart-shaped Tubs
the glowing sign advertised. In addition to the gamblers, Niagara Falls still attracted a lot of honeymoon couples, visiting to celebrate their wedding. A couple of friends of my mother worked as maids, though, and they both said the heart-shaped tubs were a pain to clean.

Leaving the alley and Clifton Hill behind was like leaving one world and entering another. The streets here were quiet and much darker. With no neon signs glaring, the only light was from the few scattered street lamps, filtered through the leaves of the trees lining the street on both sides. No one was here. The only signs of life were porch lights, or an occasional voice, or faded music coming out of open windows, or open curtains allowing a glimpse of the life inside. Actually, I liked looking into people's houses as I passed. When it was all light inside and dark on the street you could see them, but they couldn't see you.

I hesitated at the corner, knowing that the route to the right was shorter. I went straight instead. That way I'd pass right by Candice's house. I wanted to go by her place. Maybe because I wanted her father to see me walk by, so he'd know he didn't scare me, that he didn't own the street—that I could walk anyplace I wanted. I'd show him! Then again, what were the odds that he'd even see me? Even if he was sober enough to be standing up, he probably wouldn't be looking out the window. And even if he were, he wouldn't be able to see well enough to know it was me. The only way he could know it was me was if I went up and pounded on his door, and I wasn't about to do that. I wasn't scared, but I wasn't stupid, either.

What I hoped would happen was that Candice would just come out of her house at that instant, just by chance. A coincidence. Or maybe
she'd
see me and then come running out after me. Then I'd say something cool—I wasn't exactly sure what, but maybe something would just come out of my mouth—and then we'd start talking and I'd invite her down to the power plant. I could just picture the look on Timmy's face when I waltzed into the clearing with Candice beside me. I'd offer her a beer and—damn! Would there be any beers left by the time I got there? It was getting later and drier by the minute.

 

I
DUCKED MY HEAD
to get through the hole in the high, barbed-wire fence. The fence had been cut open and then patched up dozens of times over the past two years. Finally the power company had decided they were just wasting wire and stopped fixing it. I couldn't figure out
why they'd even bothered to begin with. It wasn't like anybody was going to go near the actual power plant. It was a massive cement building that occupied one little piece of land by the river. Most of the property was acres and acres of woods and bush, and that's where we all went to party.

The trees formed a roof overtop of the path, blocking out the stars and moon and making it even darker. I knew the path well. It was straight and smooth, worn down by generations of kids coming out here to party. My mother had once told me that when she was a kid she used to come out here, so she knew what went on. That was why I never told her about my trips to the power plant.

The trail branched out in different directions like little streams from a big river. I could hear voices off to the left and music coming from the right. I hoped Timmy and Bobby had made a fire. I liked sitting around the flames, watching the little embers drifting up and off into the sky, facing the fire and feeling all warm and toasty.

I turned off the main path and toward the spot where we always hung out. It was still some distance away when I started to hear laughter and voices and music. Obviously it wasn't just the two of them. That was both good and bad. More people meant more friends and a better chance that maybe Candice was one of them, but more people also meant there was almost no chance I was getting any beer tonight. I guess that was okay, as long as there was a fire.

Yes, they did have a fire! That was great—especially if I could sit around the fire with Candice! I stopped at the edge of the clearing, just beyond its light. I was only a few
feet away, but I was hidden in the darkness, invisible to the people in the clearing I could see so clearly. It was just like looking into people's houses. It felt safe. Nobody could see you, so nobody could judge you—or hurt you.

There were more than a dozen people standing around the fire or sitting on milk crates or logs, staring at the flames and talking and laughing. Lots of people had beer in their hands and there were lots of dead soldiers, empty and overturned beer bottles, littering the ground. Timmy and Bobby were there, of course, but there were other friends, too. Even the people I didn't know, I
knew
. It was a small town, and it seemed like everybody knew you— or knew about you. It was hard to escape people's ideas or expectations in a place like that.

I looked from face to face. Five girls—two of them had their backs to me. One of them did sort of look like—she turned her head slightly to the side—it was Candice! I felt a little jolt of electricity. As that subsided it was replaced by an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Had she been standing at the window watching when her father chased me away, or maybe he had said something to her? What would she think of me now? Did she think I was a loser? Or maybe the fact that she was even there to begin with meant that she thought differently. Had she come because she wanted to see me? That meant that she probably expected me to do something, so I had to put a move on her . . . or did I?

I was still standing there in the dark. Nobody even knew I was there. I could just leave, or I could stay in the shadows, seeing and hearing everything without being seen or heard. I wouldn't have to say or do anything. I'd be free.

I thought back to other times and other places. How many times had I been the new kid in a new school, standing by the fence, by myself, watching as they all stood together and talked and laughed? How many times in how many houses had I watched through the window as kids played on the street? Not so many times that I couldn't have counted if I'd really wanted to, but too many times to even want to recall. Being on the outside looking in was safe in some ways. I stood there looking for a few more seconds. But I didn't want to add one more time to the list—one more time I simply stood on the outside looking in. I took a deep breath to steel myself.

“Hey guys!” I called out as I stepped into the light.

 

 

 

 

T
HE PEOPLE I KNEW
yelled out a greeting, while a couple who weren't much more than strangers eyed me suspiciously, as if they were wondering whether I belonged there or not. Timmy ended any doubt as he rushed over and gave me a big hug, like I was his long-lost brother. Timmy always got that way when he'd been drinking—probably drinking
my
share of the beer!

“Any beer left?” I demanded as I untangled his arms from around me.

“Course, man! You didn't think we'd leave you dry and not high, did you?”

Timmy staggered back to where he had been sitting. There was a beer case at his feet. He opened it up to reveal one beer sitting among the empties.

“Hey, there's supposed to be more than this left! Who's been taking my beer?” he demanded.

Nobody answered. They were all busy talking, laughing, drinking, and listening to the music blaring out of the boombox sitting on the ground between two of the girls.

I reached into the case and grabbed the beer. I twisted off the cap and took a sip. It wasn't cold anymore, which made the taste even more gross than usual. I couldn't
understand how guys said they liked the flavour of beer, or how they could tell one brand from another. It all just tasted like piss to me, and this one was
warm
piss. Still, I tipped back the bottle and started to chug it down.

“Take it easy, man!” Timmy said as he grabbed my arm.

“I don't think
one
beer is going to get me into trouble,” I said as I shook off his grip. I put the bottle back up to my mouth and drained it before returning the empty to the case.