CHAPTER 15

I run along the concrete docking area and head up toward the road. The flags on the boats and buildings keep flapping. Are they calling my name? Are they really? Or are they just flapping and gusting in the wind?

You may think I’m going crazy. Do you? Or do you think I’m already there? Ha, ha, ha! You do, don’t you? You think I’m the mayor of Crazytown.

I get it. Part of me thinks so too. Confident me knows there’s no such thing as talking flags. But there are other parts of me. Scared me is shouting: Talking flags! They know your name! Run!

Hey, there’s a scared part of you too. Ever think about cursed clowns? Haunted cabins? Zombies? These things are as silly as talking maple leaves. And yet, your scared part is hard to ignore. That’s why you cover your eyes during the scary bits of the movie.

I know that flags are just nylon rectangles. But I heard them talk. Those two ideas don’t go together. But so what? That’s true of a lot of things. You couldn’t live without your folks, but you also wish they’d leave you alone. You love your sister, but she drives you crazy. Two different ideas, and you accept them both. Am I right?

Okay, back to the story.

I’m still running when I get to the road. Lungs working, arms pumping, hoodie flapping. There’s open water on my left and a tree-covered hill on my right. The road runs beside the water along the bottom of the hill. I see houses in the middle of the greenery, windows and chimneys and rooftops and stuff.

Here’s a bus stop! The sign says the Number 6 bus stops here. So it’s the right one. I wait.

I pant for a bit and then stop panting.

I keep waiting.

Where is it? Where’s the Number 6 bus? I’ll be able to find Ruby’s room once I can get to campus. I’ve been there. But I have to get to campus first. I get to campus on the Number 6 bus. That’s what Ruby said.

Where is the bus? It’s not coming.

I’ve had enough waiting.

I start running for the next stop.

Am I scared, tired, excited? Yes to all three. The farther I jog from scary maple leaves on harbour flags, the calmer I get. But I’m more tired and more excited. I come to a corner. No cars. I cross the street. Keep running. Another corner. And another. There’s the next stop! I look back. No bus is coming. I take some deep breaths. I check ahead. And behind. Still no bus. I decide to keep running.

Corner. Corner. Corner.

Bus stop.

Wait, wait, wait.

I hear a whisper of worry. Pssst. It may be inside me but it seems to come from all around, like wind in the reeds before a storm. Pssst. Persistent, logical, compelling. I think, What if this isn’t real?

I mean, it seems real. The details are there, down to a very pleasant and very strong smell of flowers — but I was fooled only an hour or so ago. I thought I was drowning and I wasn’t. Can I prove this scene is actually happening? Short answer: no.

The idea of flowers brings me back to riffing with Gale on liking yourself so much you buy yourself a corsage. The flowers around here would make a nice one. I inhale tentatively. I don’t know if I like myself enough to accept flowers right now.

Where’s my bus?

I start running again. If I keep going, I’ll get to Fitzwilliam. Unless I’m really still on the ferry, or at school, or in bed at home catching up on my sleep, or wherever this episode started.

Reality is a slippery slope.

My heart is pounding. Is this something I’m doing to myself? Am I making myself sick? Of course, it’s been a big day and I am running. I slow down to a walk. My heart keeps going hard. It sounds like a bass drum in a marching band. Boom — boom — boom, as everyone hurries in step-time to make a big letter M. Or whatever letter the college starts with.

I get the picture in my mind, and can’t help wondering how the halftime show would look if the band had a different kind of drummer. Maybe someone playing lazy jazz, pushing the brushes quietly. The jazz marching band would glide along, very cool, very mellow, maybe into the shape of a question mark.

Instead of boom, the drum would make a shoom sound. Shoom – shoom — shoom — shoom.

I get to the next bus stop. Dewson Avenue. That’s not the name Ruby gave me. I look back. No bus.

I decide to wait.