Chapter Twenty
“We’re concerned about you.” Rie said.
“I understand,” I replied.
“Can you tell us about the accident?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. Can we review my homework list, please?”
I wondered what Blue’s mom had told them. Surely something dramatic and stupid. I knew the bridge had been closed the morning of the crash, but did Rie and P.J. know? I looked at the two of them leaning slightly toward me as though looking for hidden diamonds in my mouth.
P.J. set his teacup down. He swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes. “We need to know if you are safe in your home.”
“Of course I’m safe!” I laughed and took a big swig of cold coffee.
P.J. and Rie sipped their tea in silence.
“I wrote the letter to my family,” I said. “I have it in my bag.”
“That’s great, Chanie.” Rie looked at P.J. “We can talk about that in a few minutes.”
P.J. raised his voice slightly and put his hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry, Chanie. We have to ask. Are you drinking or using drugs?”
I looked right at him and said, “No! I’m not using anything. I’m just tired.”
He gently squeezed my forearm and took a deep breath. “Are you being abused in your home?”
I pulled my arm away. “Now that’s just ridiculous. Can we please stop with the drama?”
“We’re concerned.” Rie intervened. “We’ve noticed your grades and attendance slipping. If there’s something we can do to help, we need to know. But you have to understand you are accountable to us, and you made a commitment to this program in exchange for avoiding a jail sentence.”
“I am trying! I am committed!”
“I’m sorry, Chanie,” Rie said, her voice low but firm, clearly sick of my bullshit. “We have to make a note on your file saying we’ve discussed your attendance and missed assignments.”
I bit my lower lip; the salty taste of blood flooded over my tongue, reminding me of the first time Blue had hit me. “What does that mean?”
“It means your attendance has to improve, and you can’t have any more missed assignments.”
“Okay, Rie. I get it!” I pushed my palms hard into my temples.
“Chanie, we’re not trying to upset you,” P.J. said.
“I said, I get it!”
I left the office, hating myself for snapping at Rie and P.J. The Blue version of me, an exhausted liar, a junkie street whore faking decency, wasting everybody’s time. I carried my dark mood to English class, but I couldn’t focus because of the guilt fogging up my head. Mr. Lavoy walked up and down the aisles reading a Rumi poem out loud, but all I could hear was Rie saying, “You made a commitment to this program.” I’d made a commitment to nobody. Not even myself.
“Chanie. Chaannie,” Mr. Lavoy called. “Earth to Chanie.”
I looked up and raised my eyebrows.
“Would you care to answer my question?”
His question?
I shook my head and waved my hand as though shooing a fly.
Mr. Lavoy’s face dropped. “See me after class.”
My nostrils flared, and a chill coursed over me. It felt like a piece of plywood had been wedged through the back of my neck and across my shoulders. I didn’t want to talk anymore. It was too risky. All of my lies teetered at the tip of a mountain, one slip away from an avalanche. I felt like I had to consult a flowchart and cue cards before every conversation. My lies crowded and bumped off one another like plastic bottles in a dirty river. I ran home that day to avoid Mr. Lavoy. It’s not that I didn’t care about the consequences; I just didn’t know how to handle them.
Brenda intercepted me in the lobby when I walked into the building. “Get the hell away from me,” I said, swerving around her.
“Ya can’t talk to me like that, ya little slut. I’m sending Milos up!” She threw her juice bottle at me. It bounced off my shoulder and hit the floor. I kicked it back through the elevator doors, the overspray spattering the floor and walls.
I bolted from the elevator to hide in my suite but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a lavender envelope in a checkered bag hanging from the doorknob. I wished I knew what delight felt like. That seemed like what a normal person might feel if they’d received an unexpected gift at their door. But I didn’t have friends, aside from my school friends. And my neighbours didn’t like me and referred to me as the whore on the ninth floor.
I took the gift from the door, went inside, and threw it on the bed. I needed rum, vodka, codeine — whatever. I found Blue’s forbidden mickey of Smirnoff hidden in the freezer behind pizza boxes and an empty perogi bag. I yanked it out and took a long swig. “Don’t touch my personal stash, Chanie,” Blue had said when I’d gone for the bottle before. “I need it for when I’m stressed!”
I didn’t care.
I’d earned the rights to that bottle and the proceeds in the Nelson can. I considered looking under the sink to check if he’d robbed me again, but what could I do about it, anyway? My day had already sucked enough.
Back in the living room, I found Sox surrounded by tissue paper, ribbons, and remnants of the gift bag, purring and kneading a mauve blanket with a yellow satin ribbon. It looked like a kid had thrown a birthday party on my bed. A couple of toy mice poked their heads out from the covers as though checking to see if the coast was clear. I snatched the lavender envelope off the bed and tore it open. The faint smell of lilacs floated up from a pale purple sheet that resembled the texture of Bible paper. Tiny violets and green leaves filled the page borders, and the script was perfect and graceful, like my grandmother’s handwriting.
Our dear young neighbour:
A stranger’s prayer can give you wings. It can also give you hope. Please know that we pray for you. When you are scared and lonely, we are right next door. Even if you don’t come over, you can come over in your heart. We see you, young lady. And you matter!
We hope the blanket brings you comfort. God loves you.
Esther and Dan
Ah! The church people in the suite next door. Nice people. They cooked a lot of meals for dinner guests. Since they’d moved in, the hallway smelled of soups and baking, a great improvement from the usual stench of piss and cigarettes. One time, they’d posted a notice about a food drive in the lobby. Brenda tore it down, but I smoothed it out and reposted it. Dan and Esther were Pastor Josh’s kind of people. I wondered if they’d ever met.
I shoved the tissue paper into an old grocery bag and rushed it to the garbage chute. If Blue saw it, he’d freak out because I’d drawn too much attention to us. I tucked the note into my copy of Les Misérables and figured I’d tell him that Ginger had stolen the blanket from Chapters. I ripped a page out of my notebook. Compared to Esther’s stylish stationery, it looked like a note on a truck-stop napkin. I scrawled the note quickly, terrified that Blue, Brenda, or Milos would come crashing in and explode over the neighbours’ having “noticed me.”
Thank you for the note and gift. So very kind! Please keep this between us and don’t tell anyone else in the building. Thank you for your prayers.
I didn’t sign my name because I didn’t want to risk them saying it in front of Blue. He’d wonder how they knew it. Just one more thing to piss him off. Another reason to explode and slap me around. I tiptoed to Dan and Esther’s door and slid the note underneath. I returned home, drank some more, and tidied up. A big, lumpy sadness bulged in my throat. The same kind of sadness that had touched me after my first story night at the shelter. The sweetness of people. It stung.
I wrapped myself in the purple blanket, crawled into bed, and let myself cry. I could feel Esther’s motherly love as though it had been infused in the fabric. Sox nestled in and pushed his back into my stomach. He purred harder and harder, like he was sad there was only three pounds of him to comfort me. I gently rocked my body to sleep, imagining Dan and Esther praying for my wings, and then me — like a butterfly — flying away.
A loud bang woke me up. Sox leaped out of bed and shoved himself behind the dresser. It wasn’t Blue. I heard Serbian slurs and drunken cackles outside my door. Brenda and Milos, drunk again, pounding on my door. My head ached, like sugar had slipped between the membranes in my brain and stuck everything together. I closed my eyes, but they banged even harder. I stayed still and wished I could make myself invisible. It got quiet for a while, long enough for me to fall back asleep. And then BAM! Like a gunshot, the door swung open and smashed into the wall behind it.
“Get out!” I screamed.
“Oh no, honey. We’s talkin,” Brenda said.
“Nope.” I pulled the blankets up to my chest.
“Yep!” Milos said, grabbing my arm and yanking me off the bed.
“Looks like our little angel here fell off the wagon.” Brenda slapped her knee and laughed. “I always knew ya would.”
“Get out, you drunk whore!” I barked at Brenda, ducking away from Milos. But he was fast and slapped me so hard that I tumbled against the dresser.
“Get some makeup on. You go work now,” Milos said. “It’s only nine o’clock, for God’s sake. Who goes to bed at nine?”
“Where’s Blue?” I said, rubbing my cheek.
“Fuck Blue,” Milos said.
For the first time ever, I agreed with Milos.
Milos and Brenda dropped me off downtown. They parked around the corner, watching me like predators, waiting to take the money from my first trick. The only solace in my job existed in the moments between — between my home life, between school, and between tricks. That’s where glimpses of nothingness snuck in. Those moments were the only places I could catch snippets of rest. But Brenda and Milos’s presence invaded my between that night. I paced up and down, hypervigilant and anxious to get away from them. Even a moment in a john’s car might give me a sliver of relief, as long as Milos didn’t trail along behind us in his Lincoln. It would be hard to shake them. They had no cash and wanted to get high.
Esther and Dan must have prayed hard for me that night because he almost didn’t see me. The shiny black car purred as it passed me, moving swiftly, as though trying to get home after a long day. I recognized the brake lights: BMW 435. The car revved as it backed up for almost an entire city block, jerking to a stop at my feet.
“My sweet Chanie! Where have you been?”
“Oh my God, Mr. Tanji!”
He flashed a wide smile and said, “I always knew I’d find my way back to you, my sweet girl. What is wrong with Brenda? Why did you change your number?”
“I didn’t. They took my phone and gave me a different one a while back.”
“I’ve called her a hundred times trying to find you. I think she blocked my number.”
“That bitch!” I spun around looking for the black Lincoln. Gone!
“Well, get in before I lose you again.” Mr. Tanji patted the seat. “Let’s get you a chai and talk for a while.”
I couldn’t speak because I knew I’d start sobbing. I opened the door and hopped into the refuge of the BMW, grateful for the familiar dashboard and the scent of Mr. Tanji’s cologne.
“Now wait a second here!” Brenda staggered up to his window. Milos lumbered a few feet behind her like a distracted dog. “Ya can’t just come along and pick her up. We got a deal, Tanji.”
“Oh please, Brenda. We’ve got nothing.” Tanji shook his head.
“You need to pay up front tonight. Right, Milos!”
“Right! Pay up, buddy.” Milos stuck his hand out.
“And then you’ll both get lost?” Tanji gave me a crooked smile and reached for his wallet.
“How long ya takin’ her for? She’s got a quota, ya know.”
“I’ll take her for the entire night and have her back in the morning.” Tanji nodded to me, as though it mattered whether I agreed with him or not.
“Ooh, yeah — that’ll cost ya, big-time,” Brenda said. She clucked her tongue and tapped her foot.
Mr. Tanji opened his wallet and counted out a pile of bills. “Here’s $500. Good enough?”
Brenda snatched the cash from his hand.
He rolled his window up and drove away. “Oh my God, Chanie. Poor girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s happening to you? You look terrible!”
My face flushed with shame, and I looked away. “Are you really keeping me all night?”
“I’d like to. Are you okay with that?”
“Depends on who and what I have to do, I suppose. I have to be at school in the morning.”
“It’s just you and me tonight.” He reached over and held my hand all the way to the hotel.
I woke up the next morning in a king-sized bed at the Sawridge Inn. The only thing missing was Sox. Otherwise, everything was perfect. We’d spent the evening listening to the Chill Channel while munching on flatbreads, potato skins, nachos, and a dessert tray. He’d ordered us bottles of Perrier with lemon and lime wedges. He said, “We’ll drink another time, sweet girl. Tonight, you tell me about your life. And don’t leave out any details!” So I told him everything. And I cried a lot.
“Chanie, I’m not going to tell you that everything is going to be okay. You have lived enough of a life to know that those words are empty without action. But what I can tell you is that I will help you find your way.”
I kept my eyes closed but raised my head to look at him. “How will anything ever be okay when I don’t even know what I’m striving for? I think I want to be normal, but I don’t even know what normal is!” I opened my eyes.
Mr. Tanji squinted and tilted his head slightly. “Chanie, what do you think normal is?”
I honestly didn’t know.
And then he made me an offer.
In the morning, we ate eggs Florentine with fresh fruit. “Eating meat doesn’t sit well with my soul,” he said as he peeled a grapefruit. I never wanted to leave. I could have hidden away forever in that room, but Mr. Tanji had to get to work, and I had to get to school. On our way out, I lingered by the hotel room door, teary-eyed and sniffling. He turned me toward him and squeezed both my hands. I looked into his electric eyes, and he said, “Think about my offer, Chanie.”
Later that morning, I flipped through Les Misérables while we waited for Mr. Lavoy to show up for class. He poked his head in the door and told me to come out into the hallway. I figured it was because I was late again. I’d started hating my school life, mostly because of the fluorescent lights and prying eyes. The stress of living on top of the mountain of lies I’d created was making me paranoid. I was always waiting for the avalanche that would finally bury me and send me to jail.
I crossed my arms and pasted a concerned look on my face. Jeremy stood next to Mr. Lavoy, scowling at me. I ignored him. I had to, or I was afraid I might kill him.
Mr. Lavoy squinted at the two of us. “I’d make you two apologize, but that isn’t going to do anything. Instead, I’ve decided that you will co-write a five-hundred-word essay on empathy and emotional intelligence. Hand it in by the end of the week.”
“That’s today!” I said, a wave of heat coursing through me.
“Yes, it is. Better clear your evening schedules.”
Jeremy glared at me and walked into the classroom.
Mr. Lavoy scratched his chin and looked away for a second. “Chanie, I don’t know what’s happening in your life lately, but please fix it.”
“I’m just having anxiety issues and can’t sleep —”
“Cut it out, Chanie! You decide who and what you want to be. If you need help, there’s a whole army of people here to help you. But if you want to drown, keep on doing what you’re doing, and you’ll get there soon enough.”
“Mr. Lavoy, I —”
“You have one chance here. You can make or break your life. Write the essay and apply for loans or write your eulogy so one of us can read it at your funeral. You decide.” He walked into the classroom and slammed the door.
I stood outside the closed door and wished for freedom. Real freedom, like Mr. Tanji had with his high-end job and education. “Think about my offer, Chanie,” he’d said, his voice cool and even, the control of a polished politician.
“What do you mean, ‘We’ll hang out?’” I’d asked Mr. Tanji.
“Just like I said. We’ll hang out once a week. I’ll treat you to dinner, and then we’ll talk about things. Normal things, as you like to call it.”
“Normal things?”
“I can teach you about religion and politics. We can talk about current events. Things like how and why policy works and doesn’t work. Finances, savings, investments. Real-world normal and boring.” He paused and pointed one finger upward. “Boring, but essential!”
I giggled and shook my head. “Politics and finance?”
“We’ll also talk about poetry and literature. History. Social issues. What do you think?”
“I think I’m a hooker, and all that stuff is way over my head!”
“It’s not over your head. You just need a good tour guide, like me.”
“So, you’re saying you’ll help me discover a world that isn’t about drugs and blow jobs.”
Mr. Tanji laughed. “Well, maybe a little bit about metaphorical blow jobs!”
I laughed with him, even though I didn’t understand what he meant. But I had an idea that my world and the real world weren’t so different.
I met up with Ginger and Jeremy after school.
“We better get to work, Jeremy,” I said, tapping my foot, anxious to get home to Sox.
“Relax,” Jeremy said, punching my shoulder. “It’s your fucking fault we have to write this, anyways.”
“Jesus Christ, Jeremy.” Ginger shoved him. “Don’t fucking touch her!”
“Jesus, Ginger! Do you have your period or something?” Jeremy said.
“Yes, asshat! I do.”
“Well, chill the fuck out.”
“Easy for you to say, dick. Have you ever had a period?”
“What do you think, genius?”
“Then shut the fuck up,” Ginger said. She hugged me and gave Jeremy the finger. “Don’t kill each other tonight. You’re two of my favourite people.”
“Man, I love that girl.” Jeremy grinned as Ginger walked away.
“Do you want to work outside behind the school? It’s still sunny,” I said. Jeremy ignored me and played with his phone. I googled empathy and emotional intelligence. “It says empathy is the ability to put yourself into someone else’s shoes.”
“So basically, for me, that would mean I’d have to know what it’s like to suck a whole lot of dick,” he said, still looking at his phone.
“Jeremy, I have better places to be than here!”
He stopped texting and looked at me. “Like where you gonna go? To get beat up some more by your dad? Oops! I mean boyfriend.”
“Jesus, Jeremy! Why do you always have to be such a shit to me? You’re dating my best friend. Why can’t we make peace?”
“Okay, Chanie, you’re right,” Jeremy said, looking at the ground. “I had other plans for tonight, and now we have to write this fucking essay.”
“Did you and Ginger have plans tonight?”
“No, I had dinner plans with my mom.”
“Where were you going to eat?”
“What do you mean where were we going to eat? I was gonna grab a donair and eat at the cemetery.”
I paused. “What do you mean?”
“It’s the anniversary of her death. Five years today.” He took a long pause and shuffled a couple of times. “I always go have dinner at her grave.”
We sat in silence for a long while. His sadness moved me. It reminded me of how raw and broken I’d felt when my dad died. I reached over, stroked his arm, and said, “Hey, Jeremy. Let’s go get a donair and write this essay with your mom.”
“For real?”
“Of course,” I said. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it and flicked the ringer off.
The cemetery sat between two busy city avenues, but the greenery made it feel as though we were hidden in a big forest. The trees towered above us, their huge branches holding hands with one another as though praying for all the souls resting beneath their protective canopy. The grass glowed electric green and lit up the earth like a fuzzy blanket. The sound of wind chimes danced gently in the breeze and complemented the beauty of the flowers and statues amidst the gravestones.
I followed Jeremy to his mom’s grave. Giant magenta orchids stretched out of a copper vase, as though his mom was reaching out to welcome her grieving boy. Big, leafy greens poked up and out the sides of the vase, vibrant and healthy, like summer blossoms in full season. The arrangement shone like a floral celebration smiling up at the sun, so contrary to the sadness that lay directly beneath the stone on which they sat.
“I bought fake flowers at Dollarama,” Jeremy said, almost as if he felt like he had to defend the artificial flowers on the grave. “I can’t afford to buy fresh flowers every week.”
“They’re so vibrant,” I replied, hoping to put him at ease.
“Ginger picked them last time.”
“Very elegant,” I said.
“You know, Ginger doesn’t remember what happened to her.” Jeremy’s voice cracked. “She told me the cops picked her up when she was four years old, all bruised up and wandering around behind the York Hotel, clinging to a stuffed zebra. The hospital kept her for a few weeks before she went into foster homes.”
“She told me her mom overdosed.”
“She did. But the crackheads staying at the house might have messed her up. She doesn’t remember a thing. Nobody knows what actually happened to her.”
“Poor Ginger.” I felt like I’d turned into a weepy puddle, the visual of tiny Ginger, alone, scared, and battered, wandering in a hotel parking lot dragging a stuffed toy in the dust.
“You know, she still has the stuffed zebra. She pulled it out one night when we got drunk together. I slept over there while Petey-D was out of town.”
“That’s so sad.” I sniffled and wiped a tear from my cheek.
“What? The stuffed toy or that I slept over there?” Jeremy winked and flashed a cocky smile.
“Both,” I said, and we laughed. “On another note, any idea what happened to Tuffy?”
“God knows. He won’t talk to me about his life.”
“He probably won’t talk to me, either.”
“You’re probably the only one he’ll talk to, Chanie.” Jeremy looked down at his mom’s stone.
“How about I go grab slushes for us and give you a few minutes alone with your mom?”
Jeremy nodded. “Okay. Root beer if they have it.”
As I made my way to the north side of the graveyard, I read some of the names and dates on tombstones. So many sad stories: beloved mother, son, friend. What happened to people who were nobody’s beloved? Did they waste away in the ground in an unmarked grave like they’d never existed at all? Was that where Perry went after they picked her body off the pavement from beneath the yellow tarp? Mr. Lavoy’s words rang out in my head: “Write the essay and apply for loans or write your eulogy.”
I shivered as though all the ghosts in the cemetery had just crawled into my pockets. Mr. Lavoy’s words played over and over in my head. I got the slushes and almost sprinted back toward Jeremy, like he could chase the demons away. He didn’t look like such a bad boy, kneeling over the grave with his hands held in prayer. He looked as small and scared as I was.
“You know, my mom was nice,” Jeremy said, reaching for the slush in my hand.
“I’m sure she was,” I said, pushing down the ghosts and Mr. Lavoy’s warning in my head.
“When my baby brother died, she went off the rails. It wasn’t her fault we had a shitty, used baby gate because my cheap-ass dad wouldn’t spring for a new one. Fuckin’ twenty bucks could have saved my brother’s life.”
“That’s so sad.” I began to cry again.
“I was eleven when it happened. My mom got so sad she didn’t even brush her hair anymore. My dad blamed me for Mikey’s death, like I’m the one who didn’t buy a proper gate. He liked to slap me around. He always called me a piece-of-shit burden. Said that the wrong kid had died. That it should have been me.”
“What a jerk! You were just a kid —”
“Anyways, my mom and I used to try and avoid my dad a lot. He was a drunk and a junkie. That was a no-brainer, but my mom would always make excuses for him.”
“Where’s your dad now?”
“He’s over there.” Jeremy pointed to the back of the cemetery. “I haven’t talked about it — that night. Not even with Ginger.”
“Maybe you need more time.”
Jeremy’s breath caught, and he looked at me. “I left the house one night to get away from the fighting. Smoked a bunch of weed at my buddy Steve’s. Had a few beers too. I staggered home a few hours later. I could hear them screaming two blocks away. So I started running … If only I’d stayed home that night.” Big tears rolled from his eyes, and he slumped forward. He looked away, his face aged and tired, grief etched into his pupils like initials carved into an old tree trunk. We sat facing each other, cross-legged, like two kids playing patty-cake. I leaned toward him, and we pressed our foreheads together and cried for a long time. When we settled down, I placed my hand over his heart, and he took a couple of deep breaths before continuing his story.
“We had this Texas mickey. You know those great big bottles people fill up with spare change. We were saving for a trip to the mountains. When it was almost full, the son of a bitch made us pour it out on the floor to count it. I got so excited! My mom and I talked about all the wild animals we’d see in Jasper while we rolled the change together. But instead, he took the fucking money and went on a three-day bender.”
“Jeremy —”
“I knew I wasn’t strong enough to fight him. But when I came through the door, he was on top of my mom. He had his hands around her neck, and he kept bashing her head into the floor. I saw the mickey — grabbed it — and bashed his fucking head open!”
“I’m so sorry, Jeremy.” We cried big sobs, the kind of sobs that can only come from violent childhoods, dead parents, and lost innocence.
Jeremy spoke between sobs. “I’m not sorry — Chanie — I’m not! The only thing I’m sorry about is that I didn’t get there sooner to save my mom. But I’m even more sorry that fucker father of mine will never know it was me who killed him.”
We sat quietly watching the sunset, our sobs fading away into rhythmic breathing. I held Jeremy’s hands and breathed long, deep breaths. With each inhale, we peeled away the layers of pain he could no longer carry, and every exhale made space to plant the seeds of healing. Our energy felt like shy flowers in bloom, timid and afraid, but grateful to have finally found a safe place to grow.
When we got up to leave the cemetery, I looked up through the trees. Bronze streaks poked through the leaves, and the sun gently covered us in a golden light. I heard my dad’s voice say, “No matter how dark it is, Chanie, always remember, the sun is making its way back to you.” I lifted my face to the sky and whispered, “Thank you, Dad.”
We titled the essay, “The Magic of Transformed Hatred: The Magnificent Potential of the Most Powerful Human Emotion.”
“Mr. Lavoy will be pleased,” I said when we’d finally agreed on the last line.
“He will be. He’s a smart guy. Seems he knew exactly what we needed.” Jeremy smiled and nodded. “Let me walk you home.”
When we got to the end of my alley, he hugged me long and hard. “Thanks for the talk, Chanie.”
“I’m happy to be here for you,” I said, honoured that he’d seen something safe enough in me to share the darkest parts of his life.
“You know what, Chanie?”
“What’s up?”
“My mom had this look right before she died. Kind of grey. Empty. Like a picture of a war veteran in an old newspaper.”
“That’s so sad.”
“You have that same look, Chanie.”