A Black woman stood outside Everyting Taste Good Caribbean restaurant as Cory and Laura were walking past on their way to the No Frills grocery store. A hair net enveloped what seemed to be a perfect coif, and her stained apron covered her wide hips. She looked directly at Cory and he stiffened, wondering what she was going to ask for.
“You want free chicken?” she asked, to his surprise. She held out a vacuum-packed bag of eight perfectly good chicken legs. “It’s curry.” A bucket of similar bags labelled “Cow Heel,” “Chicken Pelau,” and “Curry Goat” sat at her feet. Diminishing ice cubes swam about in the bucket.
“Excuse me?”
She looked him up and down. “They’re spicy.”
Just as Cory was about to grab the bag from her, her cellphone rang. She reached into her apron to retrieve it.
“Yes? Uh-uh ... Yes … Well, I’m out here right now giving it all away before the expiration date.”
Cory stared longingly at the bag of chicken in her hands, now cocked on her hip like a baby. His stomach grumbled. The chicken would shave a big chunk off his grocery bill this week. More money for other things, like ciggies and beer.
She continued her phone conversation as if Cory and Laura weren’t even there. “Yeah, the freezer system is still warm as an armpit ... Must’ve been out all night. All the meat was soft and wet ... No ... My dimwitted cousin can’t repair the thing until next week.”
Cory shifted his weight from foot to foot, wondering if the woman would give up the chicken or not. He flashed a look at Laura who was listening carefully to the woman on the phone. The woman reached into the pocket of her apron for a plastic bag just as a young Black boy opened the door to the restaurant.
“Speaking of dimwitted, here’s my nephew ...”
“Auntie Winsum? I don’t know how to change the paper roll for the receipts.”
Her face contorted into a look of disgust. “I am on the phone, Melvin! Can’t you see these kind people waiting for chicken?” She gestured to Cory and Laura as if they were royalty. “Just go get the masking tape and put up the decorations. I will be there in a moment.”
Melvin grinned at Cory and Laura, then headed back into the restaurant.
With her phone still set between her shoulder and cheek, the woman spread an Oldham’s Wholesale plastic bag wide and placed the vacuum-packed chicken inside, then wiped her wet hands on her apron. Just as she was about to handle the chicken to Cory, she placed it back on her hip. “I’m telling you, this is the last time I hire family to work here. I don’t care if he is studying culinary arts at Centennial College. How about a diploma in common sense?” She laughed at her own joke and glanced sideways at Cory, who was glaring at her. Winsum kissed her teeth and finally handed him the bag.
As they walked away, Laura looked back at the skeleton and mock tombstone décor on the restaurant’s window.
“Daddy?” Laura asked quietly.
“Hurry up!”
“Daddy?”
“Come on. Pick up the pace. Once word spreads about their freezer, this entire place will be flooded with niggers.”
He turned to find his kiddo staring up at him, not knowing what to say.
“What is it, Laura Loo?”
“I need a Halloween costume.”
“Well, what do you need that for?” Cory asked, rain making crystals on his eyelashes.
“For Halloween.”
Cory sat by the supplies shelf in the literacy centre, his eyes wandering between Laura, eating Cheerios, and the bag of clothes labelled “free for the taking” in indelible marker. Surely there had to be something in there.
“Are you okay, Cory?”
Oh great. It’s her again. Cory turned his gaze from the plastic bag toward Ms Hina.
“I think ... I think Laura might need some spare pants. Just spare pants. I think she sat in some milk. I’ll clean them and bring them back tomorrow.”
“She seems to like the fairy costume. That green one over there with the wings.”
Ms Hina pointed to the wooden shelf standing at a tilt, its screws loose and two of its seven hooks pointed upside down. On it was the coveted fairy costume, wings and all, in a stiff tulle mess.
“I think the skirt would go down to her knees to cover the stain.”
She knows there’s no stain, but she’s playing along. They’re all so sneaky. She knows what I’m looking for, Cory thought to himself, knowing, had she not intervened, he’d be slipping a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt on his daughter and calling it a day.
Had it been the nineties all over again, Cory would have already taken a bat to the centre, like he took a bat to those tables at the Scarborough Town Centre food court. Those towelheads didn’t see it coming, it was so funny. Had it been the good ol’ days, Ms Hina would have known her place just by seeing his shaved head. Back then, Peter, who made all the decisions, decided the lot of them would go into the mall to scare a few folks and take their food. Kill two birds with one stone. They got to scare the shit out of a bunch of Pakis, and they got to be fed. Because God knows, they were hungry. By the end of the night, the gang of four gangly teens were clinking beer bottles to toast a job well done. One wallet with enough cash to buy booze and cigarettes. A half-eaten poutine. A bucket of KFC chicken.
Peter took a swig of beer, then rubbed Cory’s newly shaven head like a proud father—maybe like a father—Cory wouldn’t know. It just felt good. “Next time we raid, we’ll have enough money to get you some ink. You want a tattoo like mine?” Peter rolled up his sleeve to reveal an Iron Cross on his forearm.
Cory rubbed his head, feeling his hair, now greasy and overgrown. Peter’s voice, a fleeting echo. Cory was an adult now, no longer a homeless teen, and Ms Hina was facing him with a kind smile on her face.
“You’re more than welcome to take the costume, Cory.”
He hated hearing his name. The same name as the dad he never knew. He snatched the costume off the rack feeling foolish and clumsy. Who did she think she was, telling him what to do?
Ms Hina started storytime with all the children sitting cross-legged.
“Brown Bear Brown Bear, what do you see?” Ms Hina and the other rug rats began reciting in their singsong way.
Cory nudged Laura, her nose and tongue wiping the bottom of the bowl for any remaining milk. She got up from the table and pulled up her pants. Cory took the empty bowl and tossed it into the sink.
“Let’s go,” he said, putting on Laura’s My Little Pony backpack. “I fucking hate this book.”