DAD AND LEON TOOK me camping at Frontenac Park at the end of June. We rented kayaks to paddle to the camp site. A loon passed right by me. A cool wind made the waves choppy and blew us sideways. Trickles of water climbed down my oar and up my sleeve when I tried to back-paddle to correct my steering. Dad dumped in Birch Lake and couldn’t get back in his kayak. We tied it to the back of Leon’s, and Dad hung on to a rope at the end of the boat and floated on his back with his arms above his head. Leon towed him and the boat the rest of the way to the camp ground, paddling hard. Leon swore at him, but Dad laughed all the way. Most of Dad’s stuff got wet and we had to rig up these ropes to hang everything around the fire. We sat in close that night, roasted wieners on sticks and breathed in the steam coming off Dad’s clothes.
When we got back, I saw the second postcard in the mailbox and stuck it in my back pocket. I locked myself in the bathroom to read it.
That one was like lightning going through me. I thought for sure...two postcards in two months. This had to be it. I almost told Dad about them, I was so, so sure, but I thought I’d hang on until he got the call. If it was going to happen, if we were going to meet, she would have to call Dad.
It got so that every time the phone rang, I thought, “This is the one, this is the call.” But it never was, so I dropped it.
Here’s what the second postcard said:
Dearest Gwendoline,
I am still on the move, but hope to settle down soon. I saw an apartment last week that had a bedroom I know you would love. You could almost jump in the river from the window. Unfortunately, it was far, far too expensive. Oh, well. C’est la vie.
I miss you so much.
Love Mom
This one has a picture of a window opening onto a beautiful mountain view. On the back it says that it is a picture of the Swiss Alps, but I think the stamp is French.
It’s been almost a week since school started and I haven’t gotten any new postcards. I’m probably doing something wrong. I do the spell the same way every time and if I make mistakes I start over. Last night I had to start four times because I couldn’t get the box to stand up and the energy went out of the cards. My hands got angry and kept shaking, trying to get the walls up. It only worked after I took a break and breathed deeply for ten minutes before trying again. I started at 11:23 and didn’t get to sleep until after one.
Which part of my spell is the working part? It might not be the spell that works. Maybe it was not having any friends this summer that made the postcards come.
Maybe my mother only communicates with me when nobody else will.
Clara has got into the habit of waiting for me where Raglan meets Patrick so that we can walk to school together. She never asked if it was all right with me. I’ve tried being early and late, but she’s always there.
I can see her singing to herself as I come up the street. She holds her hands in front of her and has this dopey look on her face, like she’s in the middle of some sad love song. She stops when she sees me coming.
“Hi, Gwendoline Isabella,” she says. She still calls me that.
I grunt. I don’t stop for her. I keep moving and she falls in. I’m trying to be a loner and she is ruining it. I promised myself this morning that I wouldn’t say anything to her unless asked directly. Clara starts talking.
“My brother took forever to get out of the bathroom this morning. Then I go in there and it reeks. I swear he uses a ladle to put on his aftershave.” I clench my teeth. Clara’s sniffing her arms to see if she’s got any aftershave smell on her. I try to sniff without her seeing me sniffing. I do catch a whiff of a perfumey smell that sticks in my throat.
“My brother thinks he’s so hot because this girl called him last night. He was on the phone for over two hours. We were watching TV and we saw two sitcoms and a drama before Dad flipped out. The whole time Garth — that’s my brother — didn’t say anything. I mean, all he said was ‘uh-huh...yeah... sure...get out...get outta here...no way.’ Stuff like that.” She nods her head like she’s the one on the phone talking. She hasn’t noticed that I’m not saying anything.
“He didn’t use any nouns,” she adds. We go about half a block in silence. I’m waiting for her to notice that I’m ignoring her.
“The phone’s in the hall by the living room, so we had to listen to the whole stupid thing. Dad said he wanted to watch ER in peace and he flipped out and unplugged the phone. Then Garth stomped upstairs and slammed his door so hard that a piece of the hall ceiling came down. It was pretty intense. I thought they were going to hit each other. During a commercial, Dad runs up the stairs and knocks on Garth’s door. Garth won’t open it, so Dad yells, ‘Congratulations on having a girl call you, Garth.’ It was too much.”
It’s obvious her entire family is crazed.
I can’t be her friend. I can’t have any friends or my mother will never call for me. I know it. I know the postcards have stopped coming because Clara’s trying to be my friend.
We turn the last corner before school. I can see J.W. Reane up ahead of us, waiting for Clara like he has something to say to her.
“Uh-oh. I’m not in the mood for him this morning,” Clara says, ducking behind me.
“What do you want me to do?” Her breath hits my right ear. It smells like raisin bread and makes my stomach churn. I step sideways, but she shifts.
“Cover me, all right? He thinks he can hang out with me because we knew each other at camp. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not my type.” We’re getting closer to J.W, who’s smiling like it’s some big joke Clara’s playing on him. Then I can see it dawn on him that Clara’s maybe hiding. His eyes begin to turn to the sky. Clara steps on my heel. I take a deep breath and turn on her.
“You’re squashing me. Get off.” I march past her, then J.W. and run the rest of the way to school.
I see Marcia on the steps talking to Tony. She is standing with her arms crossed in front of her, trying to look casual. I run past them up the stairs.
“Hey, Gwen.” I turn at the sound of my name. Tony’s looking straight at me.
“Uh. Hey.” I run into the building. He probably thinks I know where he can get hold of Anisha. That’s what she wants to happen.
Even after we stopped being friends, Anisha made sure that I had her address in Ottawa. I can’t believe she remembered where I lived. I answered the door, but I wouldn’t let her in the house. I asked her what she wanted and she shoved her new address at me. “In case of emergency,” she said, standing on my front stoop. Sure, like the emergency of Tony wanting to talk to her. I closed the door in her face.
Later, I found the paper with her address on it shoved under the doormat.
Ms. Lenore puts us back into our groups to come up with the mural idea. Clara’s sitting across from me. I’ve been avoiding her eyes all day. It’s easy in class because I can look straight ahead. But here, we’re supposed to talk to each other.
Ms. Lenore wants at least four ideas per group. She goes on and on and on about what a terrific opportunity this is to show off our young imaginations because the construction walls will be up for a good part of the year. Then she gives us a bunch of her own ideas which mostly include kids of different races stuck in wheelchairs. By the time she’s finished blabbing, half the period is gone.
“How does she expect us to do this if she keeps yakking like a beaver,” Tim says.
“Beavers don’t yak, you idiot,” says Clara.
“They’ve got huge chattering teeth,” Tim says.
“Come on, I think this could be cool. Like doing graffiti except it’s legal. Everyone’s going to see it so we don’t want it to end up being some lame-ass thing like flowers with books inside,” says Tony.
“That doesn’t sound lame-ass,” says Clara too loudly. Tony and Tim laugh at her and I have to press my lips together to keep from grinning. “What?” she says. “I thought that sounded like a good idea. But I thought sports equipment was good, too. And birds.” I stare at the table and run my thumbnail down a crack in the corner.
“That’s what I don’t get,” I say. “Why do we have to work in groups of four if we’re supposed to come up with four ideas anyway? Why couldn’t we come up with our own ideas? What do we need the group for?” I’m waiting for them to agree with me, but they look like I told them their goldfishes died.
Tony turns to Clara and they start talking about flowers with books in them. Tim says that if we’re going to use books they should be on the backs of construction trucks. They don’t seem to notice that I’m not part of the conversation anymore. I sit back in my chair and start drawing a digger being operated by a girl in a wheelchair. Two minutes before the bell is supposed to ring I shove the thing on the table. Clara picks it up.
“Hey, that’s good,” she says. “You can tell your dad is an artist.” I can’t believe she’s being nice to me after I tore into her this morning. Tony picks the picture out of her hand and nods his head like he has final approval. That thing was supposed to be a joke.
“Yeah, maybe Gwen was right about us each coming up with our own idea. The presentation is next Friday. Maybe we should each come up with something for Tuesday’s class.” Clara and Tim seem to think that’s a good plan. Nobody asks what I think.
After school Clara invites me over to her house to work on our mural ideas together. I stare at the sidewalk.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.” She stands there waiting for me to make an excuse but I can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be a lie, so I don’t say anything. I lift my head a little to try to see what she’s thinking.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks.
“No.”
“Is something wrong?” she asks. I feel tears beginning to bloom. She’s watching me. Clara, with her big eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow then?” she asks.
“Maybe.” I walk away. I feel the weight of her eyes on me all the way down Patrick Street, but when I turn to go into my house, she’s gone.