FLAMINGO

THE TWO OF US had booked some time off to visit a small town that was internationally known for its gummy candies. Every single one was apparently lovingly handcrafted by a little old woman in a little old house that was now a major tourist attraction with its own sign on the highway. The woman didn’t do the advertising herself. She had a team. All she did was make gummy goats or pizza slices or lightbulbs or teeth. Basically whatever she felt like making. We were going to purchase a couple of her so-called “one-of-a-kind” confections and then, as a way of denying their specialness, eat them really quickly.

Around the back of the house there was supposed to be a rosebush with blooms that resembled children’s faces. That was another reason for our impending trip, although not the main reason. We had read about this place in the travel section of the newspaper. The writer gave it a rave review. He said the flowers were a stunning example of nature at its freakiest. He said the gummy xylophone he had consumed had endowed him with superhuman strength. He said bring your kids if you have them, or just go alone. It was a wonderful experience for the young and the young-at-heart alike.

We thought, Good.

We had been parents once. After that didn’t work out, we went to Las Vegas. Everyone was sad there, which was a disappointment because we were expecting to have fun. There were these flamingos, just standing on a little circle of fake grass next to a fake, I don’t know, I guess it was supposed to be a lagoon. We were drunk when we saw them. We wanted them to perform for us, but they didn’t. They were pretty quiet. Do flamingos even make sounds? They were pink, and their legs were like sticks. That was pretty neat. But it’s not like that was them doing anything exceptional. It’s just the way flamingos are.

We had a good amount of sex in our hotel room. I got all into a frenzy the first night and crawled across the carpet on my hands and knees and Greg was like, “Yes!” Then we hit the casinos and did some gambling, and drank too much butterscotch schnapps at a dance club that had a female midget in a fairy costume hooked up to a wire on the ceiling. The next day we hit the mall and did some shopping, and we hit the Whole Foods to grab an assortment of microbrews with amusingly offensive names like “Bang That Bitter Bitch!” and ate at the buffet there because it’s organic. Then we went back to the casinos and gambled some more. We went to Fremont Street and paid five dollars to have our picture taken with two fat girls dressed up in American-flag bikinis and feather boas, even though their lack of enthusiasm made us feel vaguely uncomfortable. We passed a blind guy begging for change and Greg said to me, “I’m glad I’m not blind. Have you seen blind people?” Which is his joke that he always tells so I’ve heard it a million times already, but I still laughed.

Not every couple is like that, with the easy sort of jocularity we enjoy. Take for instance my friend Jeanie, who is pregnant and therefore will probably never get to Las Vegas. She and her husband Stuart do not have very good chemistry. They listen to different types of music and watch different types of movies. And yet Jeanie told me she is looking forward to embarking on the adventure of parenthood with this man she doesn’t even seem to like very much. She said that along with their cherished friends, like us — because Greg and I have all this free time now, is I guess her line of reasoning — they will team up to protect this tiny, vulnerable new person from all the evils in the world.

I said, Good luck. Because that’s impossible.

I told her I had read a news story about a man who had murdered another man with a crossbow at a library. A witness said, “He just walked in and walked out, but not in a hurry or anything.” Back between the shelves, there was a hole in the chest of a man who had been browsing the self-help section. He had been reaching for a book about how to turn grey skies sunny when the arrow pierced his heart, but of course he didn’t know it was an arrow at the time — or later, even. He probably felt a sort of thunking sensation, then a lot of pain. In that moment, he might have been making plans to pick up falafels for lunch with his wife, and reflecting how she never got onions on hers because she said the taste of them would stay with her all day. He was maybe thinking of saying to her, I’d like to stay with you all day, and hoping she would laugh and slap his arm and say he was silly. But instead she would scowl and roll her eyes and say she needed some space — Jesus, could she just get some space once in a while? Later on, his killer was interviewed and he said he had become enraged earlier that day when he walked past a kids’ birthday party in the park and realized he would never be as carefree and full of joy as those children had appeared to be.

That night I’d gone online and clicked on the mobile Jeanie and Stuart had registered for. We had never used a mobile because nobody had ever bought one for us. Theirs had a jungle motif. I pictured this helpless newborn staring up at those dangling monkeys and tigers and elephants going around and around. If that was me, I’d be like, Holy shit, what are those things? Are they going to drop down here and eat me? So I changed my order to some receiving blankets and a Moses basket, even though I don’t exactly believe in God anymore.

I used to believe in God. I used to wake up every morning and switch on my coffee maker and get our son out of his crib and read him stories and kiss his face until he squealed and then I’d marvel at the fact that this perfect human being had actually picked us out of all the possible parent combinations he could have chosen, and then we’d have breakfast.

But I can see now that when you have such a rigid and fixed routine, that’s what makes time speed up. When you’re doing the same repetitive things over and over, that’s when your life goes on fast-forward and eventually you open your eyes one day and think, Where did all that time go? I mean, holy crap, that’s a lot of time that went by.

So what you need to do is you need to mix things up. Do something different once in a while. Like journeying halfway across the province to get some wiggly bonbons and look at some weird roses.

In the days leading up to our excursion, bam! suddenly time started slowing down for me. I was noticing details that had entirely escaped my attention previously. My coffee still tasted like coffee, yes, but I could also detect a smokiness or an earthiness in this or that particular brew. And I was savouring it! I was gazing out my window and seeing a lady walking her dog in the park across the street. The dog was wearing a sweater, and that made me laugh. I was recognizing the comedy in those types of small, everyday moments. Dogs don’t need to wear sweaters because they already have coats, right? Of course.

Then it was time to leave, so we packed up our family sedan that was too large for the two of us, but came in handy for our suitcases. As we drove, Greg told me there’s a secret lab in Haiti where scientists are turning innocent people into zombies via ancient voodoo methods and using modern pharmaceuticals. The zombies just sit in a big room all day, creating Excel spreadsheets. He also said we should enjoy the feeling of a breeze on our faces now, because in the future there will be so many plastic bags floating around in the atmosphere that breezes will no longer exist.

He was wearing his T-shirt with the jokey checklist that said, Cocaine. Heroin. Poutine. There were three boxes next to the three words, but only the poutine box had a checkmark in it. I smiled at his shirt and frowned at his disturbing scenarios and thought about how it’s hard not to feel angry at all the people like Jeanie and Stuart who are so selfishly bringing children into this doomed planet of ours.

Jeanie told me about this dream she had where she and Stuart were adrift in the middle of the ocean on a flimsy life raft with huge waves all around them. Then her contractions started and Stuart somehow fell over the side and drowned, but she wasn’t too upset — big surprise, I thought — because there were experts monitoring her from the shore, so she knew that she and the baby were in good hands. I said, “What kind of experts?” And she said, “Just smart people, I don’t know.” As soon as she gave birth, a jet boat zoomed over and towed her to safety. She asked the waiting experts, Why couldn’t you have done that when I was in labour? They told her, We wanted to see how you’d handle it.

It sounded like a nightmare to me, but Jeanie said this dream was very empowering. She also felt calmer because her horoscope earlier that day had told her that The world is not out to get you, so stop being so dramatic.

I could relate, because when I was a mother I used to get bent out of shape about every tiny thing. I was a lot more stressed out. So stressed out that one night, I left Greg and our baby at home and went to a bar and cuddled up to a guy who told me that my hair looked like Daryl Hannah’s hair in Blade Runner. I said, “You think I have replicant hair?” He said, “Fucking right on you do.” We did a bunch of shots and the bartender told me that I should feel lucky because I was drinking with their Regular of the Month. They didn’t have a picture of him up or anything, but it was an honour just the same. I thought that was awesome and said how it’s rare in this day and age when an ordinary person is celebrated. I said, “Where are the awards for Excellent Spouse and Parent, right? Oh, sure, you can go to the bakery at the Superstore and ask them to ice that on a cake for you. You can take the cake home and sit down with a fork and eat the whole goddamn thing and feel good about yourself until you allow your brain to ponder how many calories you just consumed.”

When I got home, my family was asleep and the house was very quiet. I got my iPod and stuck my earbuds in and put on my Party Singles playlist, and after a while I threw up and went to bed.

Did I feel guilty? It’s hard to say. Sure, my husband tells me I’m beautiful, but do I believe him? Would he marry a woman he found unattractive? I doubt it. But once the three of us were at the park and there was a dog there, and Greg said, “Look at the cute dog!” And I looked at it, and it was hideous. Its jaw was malformed, or something. So there’s that.

Another time it was winter, and it was too cold to walk around outside so the three of us went to a large shopping centre so we could walk around inside.

Our child was not yet at the age where he knew enough to ask us to buy him things. He was happy to look at the animals in the pet store and make friends with the child-sized mannequins in the clothing stores and ride the escalator up and down over and over again. We bought him French fries and ice cream and he clapped his hands and said, “Ooooh!” He was appreciative and loving and rarely kicked up a fuss about anything.

In the pet store, a single hamster sat alone in one of the cages. There was a bright yellow sign on the cage that read, $3.oo off. This hamster only! Greg thought that was funny but I thought it was the opposite of funny. Our boy couldn’t read yet so he just squeezed our hands and made cooing sounds at the discounted hamster, which seemed to soothe it. I wanted to buy the poor thing, but Greg said, “No way. No rodents.”

When I was a little girl, I had four hamsters in a row. The first one’s name was Peanut, and he lived to be almost three years old. I loved that hamster so much. He used to sit on my shoulder and fall asleep in my hands. I even trained him to climb the stairs. Then with Peanut II, I paid less attention. By the time I was onto the third and fourth ones, I was hardly ever changing their wood chips. They died of neglect. I still have nightmares about it. They’re pleading with me in these squeaky voices to add a few pellets to their food bowl, or just for God’s sake give them some water because they’re so very, very thirsty, and I say, Peanut II — or Chelsea, or Chelsea II — please forgive me! But they never do. I wake up crying every time.

The night before the two of us set off on our pilgrimage, which was what we had started calling our gummy-candy trip in a zany but also sort of desperate way, a man stood on the grass in the park across from our house and watched us while we ate our dinner.

Greg noticed him first and said, “Whoa, look at that crazy dude!” Then I could tell he immediately regretted saying anything because I am a worrier, and Greg had plans to go out later that evening but after that I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want him going out with his buddy and having a good time mixing up obscure classic cocktails. I became worried that the man was deciding if he would try to find a way into our home and kill us. Most likely he would wait until Greg left and then he’d know it was only me, and that’s when he would kick down our door. Bad things like that happened all the time.

The man stood on one leg and then the other, like his feet were getting tired and he wanted to give them a break. But otherwise he didn’t move.

I told Greg I would feel safer if he stayed home. He said, “How do we know we’re ever safe?” I said, “I like to live under the illusion of safety, but now that illusion has been shattered.”

The sun set and the clouds went pink and the man was still there. Greg looked at the clock and said, “But he hasn’t done anything.” I said, “Please don’t go.” He said, “Okay. But I’d really rather be making Brain Busters and Maiden’s Prayers and Corpse Reviver No. 2’s with Dave.” I said, “Fine, then go.” So he went.

Then I was all alone in our quiet house and I felt really bad. Every sound outside was a threatening sound. I really, really wished he had stayed. I wished I had been able to make him. My heart was pounding and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep so I opened a bottle of wine and found an erotic thriller on Netflix that was recommended to me based on my previous choices.

After a while I paused it, and I turned off all the lights and looked outside, and there he was. I had the feeling that he might do something at any moment, but he didn’t. He just kept standing there on the grass. I was sick to death of him just standing there. I wanted to open the window and scream at him, Why don’t you do something? But I didn’t.

After all that, the gummy treats were a letdown.

I got a lobster and Greg got a cowboy boot. Big deal. They were prepackaged because the little old woman was on vacation. We said, “But this is our vacation!” The cashier shrugged and rang in the next customer’s merchandise.

Then we walked behind the house, which was neither little nor old but the explanation for that was they had to upsize to accommodate the overstock, as if that made sense, and we lined up to view the semi-famous and inexplicably German-sounding “KinderBush,” and prepared for another letdown. Our impatient fellow sightseers tried to jostle us out of position, but it was our turn and we were taking it. We held hands and stood our ground, and then we saw them.

We pointed out the faces to each other as they appeared. There was one with curly hair. There was one with chubby cheeks. The one in the middle would smile his radiant smile until you begged for mercy. The one at the bottom would pretend to be a stegosaurus sometimes. Between those two branches was one who’d know what you were really like, but would love you anyway. The one that was just beginning to bud would squirm away whenever you tried to snuggle him. The one surrounded by all those thorns would grow up and go to school. That one would really appreciate your zucchini bread. The one near the top would steal your freedom and your sleep and your peace of mind.

Our favourite was the one near the bottom, who would gradually insinuate himself into your peer group. Whenever you got a babysitter and went out without him, everyone would say, Hey, where’s he at tonight? They would like him more than they liked you. When he was old enough, he’d go out with you to the bars and buy rounds for all your friends and they would cheer and raise him up onto their shoulders and adopt him and take him home, and that would be the end of that.

When we were done looking, we shuffled along. We exited the viewing area through a pergola decorated with a few old pacifiers and some scuffed-up Lego blocks. The other tourists oohed and ahhed loudly behind us, but after we left the premises we decided that the whole experience had been overrated.

The travel writer had probably been paid a lot of money by the little old woman’s publicity squad to say what he’d said. Superhuman strength? We doubted it. Who knows — maybe the roses had actually been doll heads spray-painted red, or something.

We hadn’t eaten anything besides the candy so we stopped for French fries and ice cream before we got back onto the highway. The fries were sufficiently crispy and the ice cream had a reasonably silky mouthfeel, but we still couldn’t shake our disappointment. This whole time we’d been waiting for something wonderful to happen, but nothing did.

We threw away our garbage and Greg said, “Shall we go?”

I said, “Wait a minute.” I took a photo of the chip truck because I thought we might want to remember this someday. Then I deleted it, because who was I kidding.

We got in the car.

When the three of us used to take road trips together, Greg would drive and I would sit in the back seat with the little guy, to keep him entertained.

I read him stories, and it took us forever to get through each book because he asked “Why is that happening?” at the end of every page.

I pointed out clouds that looked like rocket ships or corn-cobs or alligators. He’d always claim that he couldn’t see the shape at first, so I’d have to explain which part of the cloud was the nose cone or the kernels or the deadly snapping jaws, but by that time it would have drifted apart anyway.

We played I Spy but he never understood the rules. He always told me the thing he spied before I had a chance to guess it, which was frustrating.

Occasionally he would amuse himself, but not very often. He played hide and seek with his teddy bear once. He sat there in his car seat and put the toy under his blanket and closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he said, “Ready or not, here I come.” He opened his eyes and looked around like he’d forgotten where he’d put the bear. After doing that for a while, he finally glanced down at the lump under his blanket. He gasped, and smiled, and pulled the teddy bear out. He held it up and shouted, “I found you!”

After the chip truck, Greg and I were both sitting in the front seats, like we always do now. The car was quiet. Greg was driving and I was tired.

There were trees on both sides of the road, just trees and not much else, nothing interesting to distract me. The sky was clear blue.

It would have been easy to close my eyes and sleep, if I’d really wanted to.