The Second Trial (26 page)

“Same as the Hallowe'en party?” she asked.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“At Frank's again?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Have fun,” she said, handing him his allowance.

He tucked the money into his jeans.
One more detail to take
care of before I leave,
he thought,
and it'll go smooth and easy
. Danny waited until his mother left the kitchen, then slipped a green garbage bag from the cupboard. He walked to the front door and quickly stuffed in his anorak. He pulled on a short jacket and hurried out the door, shoving the garbage bag under the steps.

The wind shot icicles through him as he turned the corner to Todd's. The house was easy to spot. A couple of cars were parked with one tire on the sidewalk, and footprints crisscrossed the walkway. Lights behind the drapes cast a twilight glow onto the snow. The deep thrum of bass speakers seeped through the walls.

He hesitated at the curb. His hand groped in his jacket pocket and he toyed with the fourteen dollars. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and made fresh tracks to the door.

No one heard the doorbell. He wavered, then grabbed the knob, and pushed. Abandoned boots blocked the entrance and soaked the carpet. Coats sagged on bent wire hangers poking from the closet. Sandalwood incense was burning somewhere, but it was no match for the smell of cigarettes and greasy fast-food containers left too long in the trash. Loud voices competed with thumping rap music.

He plowed through the boots. A gangly youth clutching a beer confronted him. He looked Danny up and down and, satisfied Danny was not an intruder, turned and slunk away.

Danny pulled the money from his jacket and transferred it to his jeans. Half a dozen kids were sprawled around the living room. He recognized Todd hunched on the floor in front of a blonde girl, his back pressed against the chair. His feet were set shoulder-width apart with his knees pulled toward his chest. The girl's hand dallied on his head. Her fingers combed through his hair, a lit cigarette pinched between her first and second fingers. Two opened cans of beer sat at his feet. He'd balanced a cigarette on an ashtray full of stubbed butts.

“Davey-boy!” Todd called over the music. “Where's your beer?”

Trying to look cool, Danny reached into his pocket and produced his cash. He held it up and stared back. Todd jerked his head to the side. “Back door. Next delivery in 'bout an hour.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the girl's caresses.

Danny turned toward what he figured must be the kitchen. He could hear voices. One of them was Chad's.

There he was, leaning against the counter. His feet were spread apart, and between them, with her back to Danny, stood a girl. She was bending forward, as if about to kiss him. Looking over her shoulder, Chad spotted Danny and grinned.

“Davey,” he said, as he raised his arm in the air. “Right on time.”Danny made a show of lifting his left arm and pulling back the sleeve, revealing the identical watch. “Right on time,” he agreed.

Chad put his hands on the girl's shoulders and roughly pushed her aside. “Got yer brewski?” Chad asked.

“Next delivery,” he replied, as if this were all as familiar as old news.

Chad gave him a greasy smile. “Let me front you one,” he said, turning to the fridge. Cheap brands packed the shelves. Chad tugged a can free from its plastic ring. He kneed shut the door, snapped the tab, and handed it over.

“Helena,” Chad said to the glassy-eyed girl, “meet Davey-boy.”

Helena giggled and raised her hand to play with her long black hair. The whites around her green eyes were bloodshot and she blinked slowly. She started shaking beer cans and draining the dregs.

Danny lifted his chin and took a long drink. The beer bubbled bitterly on his tongue, reminding him of molasses. He'd tasted beer before, of course, but it had been crisp-tasting, more like ginger ale. He swallowed quickly, not letting it linger in his mouth. He lowered the can and wiped the back of his hand across his lips, as if he drank beer every day.

They stood staring at one another. Danny wondered what to do next. Sit down? Leave the room? Talk to Chad? Do nothing? He noticed the cigarette pack tucked up under Chad's T-shirt sleeve.

“Gimme a fag,” he said, in a voice he hoped sounded commanding.

Chad's eyes swept deliberately from Danny's head to his feet, sizing him up. He flipped the pack from under his sleeve and tossed it to Danny. Danny downed half his beer and opened the pack. He plucked out a cigarette and the lighter and casually lit up. Leaving the cigarette dangling from his lip, he reinserted the lighter, closed the pack, and chucked it back to Chad.

Chad caught it and twisted it into his sleeve. He leaned forward and sucker-punched Danny on the shoulder. A beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, Danny felt like he'd arrived at his future.

At some point the supplier arrived, slipping in and turning off the back light. Danny traded his fourteen dollars for three cans of beer, four cigarettes, and a lighter. He moved through the night on an alcohol and nicotine slick. Someone hooked his arm around Danny's neck and pulled him into the kitchen, and he didn't notice when the beer can disappeared from his side. By the time Danny had finished the last cigarette, the booze had dulled his brain and his mouth tasted like tar and ashes.

His muddled mind wondered where Todd's parents were, how he managed to have the house to himself.

Parents. My mom. She's expecting me at ten thirty.
Danny blinked at his watch. It was already eleven fifteen.
Damn.

He rose woozily. He wove his way past sprawled bodies, and pawed through the closet until he found his jacket. By the time he dug out his boots, his socks were soaked. No one noticed him leave.

Hard pellets of snow fell like hail from low clouds. The temperature had plunged, but at first Danny felt warm, as if he'd swallowed an antidote to ice. He pushed on through the snow-hushed streets until he saw New Haven. He stopped, scooped up a handful of snow, and crammed it into his mouth. He spat it out, grabbed another handful, and did it again. One more time, and then his lips were blue and his teeth hammered together. His tongue felt thick and seemed to fill up the whole of his mouth. He raked wet fingers through his hair, trying to force out the smoke that clung to it.

He reached the steps and hauled out the bag. His anorak fell into the snow. His fingers felt like sticks as he clawed off his jacket and pulled on the stiff anorak, the nylon sliding like cold steel against his skin. He was shivering now, his wet socks draining the last warmth from his body. He kicked his jacket under the steps. His fingers were paralyzed and he couldn't unwrap the gum he'd stashed in his pocket.

The curtain was closed but the light was on. His mother was waiting up for him.

He tried to be silent when he opened the door, but Buddy was right there waiting for him. Buddy's tail swept back and forth, but his nose twitched, taking in the smells Danny couldn't get rid of, on his pants, his shirt, his boots, his breath – smells clinging to him like a shadow.

He didn't hear anything from the living room. With exaggerated neatness, he draped his anorak over a hook and set his boots on the rubber tray. He peered around the corner and saw his mother asleep on the couch, wrapped in the thin gray blanket from Value Mart. The book she'd borrowed from the school library lay beside her.

He crept up the stairs, slipped like a spider into his room, and closed and locked the door.

His mom opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned out the light.

His head was still pounding when his bladder forced him out of bed the next morning. He felt like someone had shoved a rasp down his throat, and his mouth was as dry as sawdust. His arms and legs felt too heavy to move. He returned to his room, locked the door, and fell back to bed.

The vacuum cleaner woke him the second time. His sinuses stung like he had an infection. He waited until his mother had finished in the hallway, before stumbling into the bathroom. He swallowed three aspirins, hurried through a shower, and put on clean clothes. He slipped back into his room to wait for the pills to work.

His mom knocked. “I'm collecting laundry,” she said to the closed door. He massaged his temples. He had to open the door.

She stepped in and eyed the jumble of clothes piled against the dresser. He couldn't smell anything, but she could. He could only hope she wouldn't catch on about the beer. She stood quietly, then said, “David, please don't make bad choices.”

He looked away.

“We've come so far…all of us,” she said. “We've all made sacrifices greater than any we thought we'd ever be called on to make. Our old lives were worth nothing. It's in this new life that we can thrive and shine. Come with us, David. Change with us.”

He gritted his teeth.
It's a change, all right,
he thought.
Like a
butterfly into a caterpillar.

Chapter 20

His report card came in the mail – with a letter.

November 2002

Dear Ms. Mayer,
I have enclosed a copy of your son's report card. It is school policy when students receive failing grades that we send it directly to the parent or guardian.

David's record shows a large number of excused absences. Please review the dates and times to ensure our records are correct.

I invite you to make an appointment for a parent-teacher conference. I also ask that you encourage David to resume his appointments with Mr. Ishii.

Finally, I have also enclosed a letter from Social Services Income Support which is self-explanatory.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Conrad Kindermann
Principal

Mom flipped to the Social Services letter.

Dear Ms. Mayer
Your son David has missed the hot lunch program more than 7 times. It is our policy that more than five unexcused absences disqualify your son from continuing in the program.

If your son was required to attend appointments during the lunch hour, please provide copies of documents showing the time, the date, and the name of the person with whom your child had the appointment. Acceptable appointments include doctor or hospital visits, counseling sessions, special educational requirements, and legal counsel.

Unless we receive copies of these documents by November 29, your son's eligibility for the hot lunch program will end on November 30.

Yours truly,

T. Timm
Income Support Worker
Social Services Income Support

Susan opened the report card:

The teachers' comments were variations on the same theme:

“David is an intelligent young man and just gets by on his in-class work. If he applied himself, he could be an honors student.”

“David does not do his homework.”

“David does not participate in class.”

“David has the potential to be a strong athlete but he does not try. Make an effort, David!”

She shook her head, then straightened her back, and got on with her work.

While Danny gulped down his stew, his mother's eyes alternated between her son and the envelope on the counter. She waited until Julia was settled at the table with her homework and Danny was in front of the TV. She went downstairs, turned on the standing lamp, and turned off the TV.

He straightened up. “Hey! I was watching that!”

“You watch too much TV,” she replied sharply. He scowled and slumped back. He'd seen the envelope in her hand.

She sat and turned her body so she could look him in the eye. “I got your report card today.” She paused and bit her lip. “What's going on?”

“Nuthin'.”

“Nothing. You call this nothing?” she bristled. She dumped the envelope onto the couch. She grabbed the report card and read out the marks.

He shrugged and looked at the blank TV.

She read out the absences.

He ignored her.

She took a breath and toned down her voice. “Look, Da –” She stopped saying his name. “I know you're not happy. And I know it's going to take some time to…to find your feet again, to find your way. But this –” she gestured at the papers, “you've taken a wrong turn. Education is important. You need to look ahead to your future. You're going to need a good job to support yourself, and to get that job you need an education. These marks, skipping school – you're throwing away your future.”

He slowly turned to face his mother. His eyes were hard, his voice sharp. “How can I throw away what I don't have?”

“Danny! Don't you ever say that!”

“Why not?! It's true!”

“It is
not
true! Because we're here and
have
a life, because you're David Mayer and not Danny McMillan,
that's
why you have a future!”

“That's crap! Then why did you just call me
Danny
?” He leapt up. “You got us into this mess! You let this happen!” His finger stabbed out each word. “This-is-all-your-fault!”

His mom froze. Her wide eyes focused on Danny's finger and she went pale. She lifted her eyes to Danny's, and he saw naked fear.

He wanted to run away, but there was nowhere to go. He watched her pupils gradually contract to normal size, and some color return to her face. Then she flushed with anger.

“You will not abuse me like your father did! I will not take this from you! Don't you
ever
treat me like this again!”

Danny's teachers were sympathetic when Susan explained that the move to Winnipeg had been difficult and unexpected. She asked for patience, understanding, and that they focus on her son's strengths.