Grief is like anesthesia.
You become numb and disembodied. A random mass of cells suspended in the ether. Your senses shut off from the to and fro of everyday life.
When Birdie left for good, I had no purpose left.
Protecting her had been my driving force – my reason to survive one nightmare home after another. Without her I was a non-person with no direction, no family, no identity. And with such a weight of sorrow on my shoulders it would crush me like an insect.
When I left the Flatts’ apartment and slammed their battered front door, I half-slid, half-ran downstairs to the street only stopping to flex my fingers and touch my face and body to reassure myself I still existed. I tried to settle my breathing – tried to erase the image of Lester’s bloodied face, and Birdie’s head nestled against Loni’s shoulder like a child reunited with her mother.
The street was deserted, Birdie, Loni and friends long gone. A bright moon shone behind ragged clouds, and I stood still for a moment to let the night sounds engulf me. A dog howled in a back yard, traffic hummed on a freeway bridge, then a siren sounded, its high-pitched whine edging closer. Patti had cleaned up the drug paraphernalia and called 911. The urge to escape jolted me into action. I ran, the damp air slapping at my face, until I shuddered to a stop at the corner of the block. Nighttime traffic flashed by. My head spun. Which way to go? I had no home. Belonged nowhere. I stood, temporarily blinded by the glare of headlights, and rested my hands on my knees, bent my head and gulped in chilly mouthfuls of air.
I had no home.
So I started jogging in the direction of the mall, my only sanctuary. I ran, the tears sticky on my cheeks until I reached a patch of grass near the mall entrance.
I flung myself down on the ground and rolled over and over in the gritty grass. Pulled my hair, ripped my clothes, howled until my throat was raw and my face covered in snot. Then I lay there, burnt out and hollow, staring up at stars that shone like silver pinpricks in an infinite black expanse of sky.
I’d already made my mind up to jump off the bridge into the river. The stars were just pointing the way. It would be so easy to let the muddy waters close in over my head and fill my lungs until they burst. Nobody cared anyway. My death would be insignificant – less impact than a fly smudged over a windshield.
I got up again and ran towards the river. Exhausted I stumbled down the bank towards the Stone Arch Bridge. The place where Birdie and I had eaten hot dogs and watched the tourists go by. Envious of the bright, laughing faces of those happy families. We didn’t know the truth then. But now I was wiser. Now I knew that families were just collections of disparate individuals thrown together by nature. Parasites who sucked the life from each other while trying to promote their own miserable, selfish needs.
I grasped the painted metal railing, hiccupping and retching at the same time. I howled into the night like a stray, unloved dog. The river lapped and sloshed below me, its muddy brown water flecked with golden coins of light from the streetlamps. All I had to do was hitch myself up onto the parapet. No problem. Wipe myself out.
I was done with everyone.
With every careless person who’d treated me as less than human.
I hoisted my body upwards and leaned over the parapet, when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I froze.
“Don’t move,” said a soft voice. “Stay absolutely still.”
I turned round to see a gray-haired man with a silver goatee. A hand with pink, manicured nails grasped my arm so tightly I couldn’t move.
“You might think things are so bad you don’t have a choice, but you can’t throw your life away.”
My head swam. The man’s face blurred in and out of focus, like a picture taken too closely. I jumped down and for a split second he loosened his grip. That’s all I needed to yank myself away from him and sprint away in the opposite direction.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” said an urgent voice. Someone was shaking my arm. I blinked my eyes and focused on the crushed coffee cup lying on the table. I glanced up at the red-haired barista. I was still at the outlet mall. At the coffee shop. I’d sat down at one of their tables after spotting Rafferty’s henchman, Jimmy. A puddle of brownish foam leaked over the edge of the table and soaked into my jeans.
“I-I’m okay,” I said, grabbing a handful of napkins and dabbing at the mess. Then I stuffed the whole lot into the garbage as I left, slamming the exit door open so fast I almost took out a middle-aged woman on the other side.
I could barely remember driving home, but somehow I got back to the empty condo, stripped off my coffee-stained clothes and poured myself a stiff shot of brandy. Afterwards I lay back on the sofa, trying to collect my thoughts and orient myself.
Guy was late because he’d gone to some stag party with Gord. I glanced at the pile of bags arranged in front of me. I’d been buying clothes for my new career with Gord’s company. And somehow Gord was connected with Peter Karrass, the man I’d remembered from the bridge the terrible night Birdie left me at the Flatts’ place. I hadn’t imagined his face glowing like a half moon in the darkness. Karrass. The man who stopped me from jumping into the raging waters. He was at the wedding celebration at Gord’s house. Now memories of places and people were melting into each other, blurring the lines of what was real. The past was bleeding into the present.
My phone buzzed with a text from Guy.
The address followed. Some swish area, about three miles away. I texted back.
Traffic would be light so it shouldn’t take me long.
To calm myself I unpacked all my new clothes and threw them onto hangers, slotting them into place among the silks, cashmeres and fine cottons. From the back of the closet I extracted a stretchy red and black dress. It was tiny, with a plunging neckline. Strange how small items from the past kept reappearing. Like Birdie’s ring.
I shuddered and snapped off the closet light.
The dress fit like a second skin, hugged at my hips and ass even though I hadn’t worn it in years. But the underwear had to go. Panty lines were a no-no in micro-dresses like this. A pair of red strappy sandals and a slick of scarlet lipstick and I was ready to deliver Guy from the bachelor party.