After the Birdie betrayal I stopped hanging out with her. Instead I came to the mall after school to look out for Colby, a guy from my English class who loved reading as much as I did. He hung out all the time at the comic store because he collected Batman and Green Lantern comics. He was a skinny, quiet kid with a hank of dark hair that covered his eyes and shielded him from the rest of humanity.
I’d become the only other member of his reading group the second day of English class and listened in awe as he let loose with his take on Raskolnikov, the consequences of alienation and the merits of nihilism. We were the only two reading Dostoevsky. The other kids in class – the cheerleaders, jocks, stoners and car fanatics – were still stuck on books with one-word titles like Busted, Ripped or Slammed or teenybop series like The Baby-Sitters Club or Goosebumps.
Miss Potter, our teacher, hadn’t even read Crime and Punishment. Her eyes bugged out when she read the first page, a look of incomprehension creeping over her doll face. But she shrugged and smiled, happy to let us sit together in the corner and keep a daily journal of our observations and discussions.
I liked her. At least she didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. Sometimes I sat on the floor in the hallway outside the classroom talking with Colby about the isolation of intellectual superiority and the concept of a human Superman, while the other kids made character posters, composed acrostic poems and created media collages that they plastered all over the classroom walls. Colby and I watched from our intellectual fortress, finding much to identify with in the solitary agonies of the tortured student, Raskolnikov.
I waited by DB’s every day after school, until Colby ambled out, jamming a new comic into the pocket of his denim jacket. Then I fell into step alongside him. He always ignored me for the first few minutes until I said something that piqued his interest.
“I know exactly how he felt,” I said, panting to keep up. “Raskolnikov, I mean. I looked up the meaning of his name. It means schismatic, dissonant, dissenting. He feels separate. Apart from the common mass of humanity.”
Colby nodded. “Hmmh. Good.” He darted a sideways glance at me through the curtain of hair. “Who smacked you in the eye?”
“Just some inferior louse from the mediocre masses.”
“Well rats like that need to be exterminated.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. Only I wouldn’t feel the same guilt as Raskolnikov. I’d take extreme pleasure in squashing this particular parasite,” I said, picturing Loni’s painted face with a broken nose in its center.
The first time Colby held my hand, I thought I’d faint. He pulled me into the narrow corridor that led to the washrooms and pinned me against the wall right beside the coat lockers. My insides melted when he placed his palms on the wall, enclosing me in his shadow. When he bent over and placed a soft kiss on my sore eye I almost burst into tears. It had been a long, long time since someone was that gentle with me.
“You ever had sex?” he said, his breath warm on my cheek. He smelled of greasy hair and gum with a faint note of something sweet and spicy.
I shook my head, not daring to speak in case I made a fool of myself.
“Me neither,” he whispered into my ear. “But you’d be the first if I was going to. Would you let me?”
“Yeah, I would.” My voice was so hoarse he had to lean closer to hear me.
We stood there for a while, bodies trembling with the urge to touch and kiss each other, until he suddenly broke away. “Gotta go home. My old man’ll be pissed if I miss supper.”
I felt a twinge inside. Patti barely roused herself from the TV to make meals and usually expected Lester to bring in KFC, or Subway. Birdie and I waited for the leftovers, though Birdie had barely been home for supper since the incident at the fountain. Not that Lester or Patti noticed.
“Yeah, better get back.”
“See you in English class?”
“Sure,” I said, aware that we’d crossed a line and couldn’t step back even if we wanted to.
I checked my watch. I was due at Gord and Nancy’s in just over an hour. But something held me there, compelling me to stand in front of DB’s Comics’ window. Maybe I still believed Colby might walk out, head down, chewing a piece of hair, but the place was quiet. Only a few bedraggled looking kids sat round a trestle table playing Magic Cards, a game I’d never really understood even though Colby tried many times to explain it to me.
Time was short so I forced myself to move past DB’s and the tattoo parlor to Toonz, the music store.
I wondered if I’d see Carla there. Persuade her to come back to school. The electric blue sign flickered on and off and I was suddenly short of breath as if a weight was pressing on my chest. I had history there. Long-buried history that stopped me from pushing open the door and crossing the threshold.
I leaned forward trying to see beyond the posters to the long display cases stacked with CDs and videos. It hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. One wall featured death metal music and the usual posters of skulls and hollow-eyed clown bands. On the other side was reggae, hip-hop, R and B and rap. An eclectic mix, welcoming anyone and everyone with a taste for music.
It was there Colby and I had discovered Nick Drake, a brilliant but little-known British musician from the seventies whose brief rise to stardom was curbed by his debilitating depression. After a few years of obscurity, he took his own life at the age of twenty-seven. His music was a revelation to us with its rippling guitar sounds and gorgeous orchestrations, not to mention the singer’s soft, plaintive voice. The fact that there was no known video of him only added to his cachet. We were hooked and Toonz had rare copies of his few albums.
I remembered that I’d kept them when I left my apartment and made a mental note not to dispose of that suitcase until I’d removed them to someplace safe.
Now I saw a couple of customers rooting through the display cases. It was a miracle the place had kept open this long when most people were pirating music now.
Fifteen years ago we all knew there were secret screening booths at the back of the store where – for a few bucks and proof of ID – you could watch porn videos in private. But when the internet came along and all the porn was free, the owner moved on to other income sources.
I found out about all that much later.
But I couldn’t help wondering how the place was still going. Now that YouTube was here and CDs were on the way out.
This was a bad place in my history. I felt it deep in my bones. And like so many places, people and events from my past, I’d blocked some memories so entirely they’d almost been erased. Rachel Levine said it was one of the aftereffects of extreme trauma. Your life history becomes warped and twisted as you try to create and recreate the experiences that shaped you. And sometimes you’re not sure if you’re actually making up your own version of reality or whether it’s actually true.
It was a tough way to live, but at the time I managed to keep going.
The moment I opened the door the years slid back. That musty odor like mildewed book covers and sweaty laundry lurking behind the musky scent of patchouli incense sticks. I’d bought incense there to remind me of Dennis.
The owner was sitting behind the counter talking to someone. I hid behind a tall stack of Disney movies and peeked round to see him. Fingers of heat plucked at my neck when I saw him; a golden-skinned, baby-faced guy with close-cropped red hair and cool, green eyes. Earl Rafferty. Record store owner, DJ, amateur filmmaker and God knows what else. The guy who’d promised to get Carla into modeling. A sweet-faced soft talker who offered vulnerable young girls free manicures, shoes, clothes, hairdos and food. But they paid a high price for his generosity.
This was the guy I’d seen at the nail salon.
I peered around the other side of the stack. All I could see was the back of a head of white, well-groomed hair that twisted sideways to reveal Peter Karrass’s profile complete with chiseled goatee. That guy turned up everywhere like a bad penny. But I couldn’t figure out how he was connected to Gord. And why he kept showing up in all these sleazy places from my past.
I watched from my hiding place trying to listen in on their conversation, but their voices were too low to make anything out. When my phone rang loud and clear into the silence, both of them turned to see where the noise was coming from. I ducked for cover behind a CD rack. It was Guy.
“We’re done,” he said. “Come over now. Mom’s making supper.”
“Okay,” I whispered, peering over the shelves to see the two guys disappearing into the back room. That was my cue to get out of there. I’d had enough of that hole in the wall and its creepy owner.
I needed fresh air. The goddamn store was suffocating me.
Nancy, looking fresh and tailored in a crisp white shirt and jeans, slid a plate of herbed chicken garnished with rosemary and wild mushrooms onto the table. Guy passed round bowls of endive salad and roasted cauliflower. I heaped my plate up, realizing I hadn’t eaten all day. Nancy kept a close eye out for any spatters and stains, wiping them up immediately with a clean cloth. Gord and Guy paid no attention, but I couldn’t help wondering if she ever served red meat or pasta in tomato sauce. Maybe the thought of blood or tomato spatters across her pristine kitchen counter was too much to bear.
“Looks great, Mom,” said Guy, squeezing my hand and smiling. His way of saying sorry. I smiled back. After seeing Earl Rafferty I needed to feel safe and get the balance of my life back to normal.
We ate in silence but I could tell that Gord was bursting to talk. He kept smiling to himself as if conducting a private inner conversation. Guy looked tense and apprehensive while Nancy’s gaze bounced from one to the other. Then, when Gord had chewed up the last piece of chicken, his face broke out into a broad, beaming smile.
“So, Anna,” he said, directing his hooded, blue eyes at me. “Guy tells me you’re looking for an opportunity to broaden your horizons, turn a new page in your life – maybe get your feet wet in an exciting new venture.”
I winced at the string of clichés, but decided to follow suit. “Yes, I’m definitely interested in branching out. Striking out towards pastures new.”
“Good, good,” he said, dabbing a napkin against his lips and leaning back in his chair. He really got off on those hackneyed phrases. Guy stared at me with raised eyebrows, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Well, as you may have realized, I’m a firm believer in family first. Family is the backbone of our society. More to the point, there’s solidarity in blood.”
My jaw ached. When was he actually going to get to the point?
“To that end, I’m happy to tell you that I’m the recipient of a very generous government grant, courtesy of my friends in high places who really came through for me yet again. It’s earmarked for an important assessment project and I thought you’d be the perfect person to assist Guy in getting it off the ground. I know it means mixing business with pleasure, but you can be sure our Guy is a consummate professional and won’t let personal matters interfere with the work. In other words, no shenanigans in the boss’s office. No kissing in the copy room.” He winked. Guy gave a half-hearted grin.
“I-I’m not sure what to say,” I stammered. I should have been gloating.
After all this was exactly what I’d wanted.
“If I was in your shoes I’d say yes,” said Gord. “You’ll be doubling your salary. Not that it matters. What’s ours is yours after all.”
“Say yes, Anna,” said Guy. “I can’t wait to work with you.”
“I should finish the semester,” I said, my voice a little wobbly at the thought of leaving all my students. “There’s only a month left.”
Gord leaned forward. “Of course. Then I take it that’s a yes.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Gord pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “Nancy, champagne’s chilling in the fridge. Bring out the glasses and let’s toast the newest member of our team.”
Nancy set out the glasses on the polished tabletop, watching anxiously as Guy clutched a white tea towel over the neck of the bottle. When he pulled out the cork with an explosive pop I felt suddenly light and disoriented – untethered, as if my body would somehow spin off into the air. The school and Robin and all those kids had been like family to me for years, a steadying force – an anchor that had kept me stable and grounded. Now I’d agreed to become part of this perfect family and their successful business. I grasped the arms of my chair. Had I made the right choice?
Or had I screwed up everything I’d worked so hard for?