Joe is taking the day off work so he can drive me to Creekside.
Its not far to Creekside he says. If we leave now youll be there this afternoon.
I make sure and thank him. He says no problem. Standing up we are the same size witch means he is a skate taller than me.
Joe drives a police car xept it does not have flashing lites or a siren and it is green. Joe is like a cop under cover—but not very far under cover. I sit in the big front seat. The sun shines in my face. There is a sheepskin rug on the drivers seat but not on mine so Joe can be warm and comfy but not me. Oh well. On the dash in front of me is a sticker of a flag I do not know.
Joe skids a bit coming out of the parking lot. It is still icy.
The clock says 7:34. Spencer will be awake. I ask Joe if I can use his cell phone to call my brother. He says no.
My phone battery is dead he says. Sorry Bunny.
We slip and slide getting onto the 401 but the hi way is clear and we go fast. Trees and fields flash past us and the tires hum and every time I look up there is another turnoff. I am thinking about how nice it will be to eat and sleep and not worry when I get back to Creekside. Especially not worry.
Worrying is hard on you. Its a voice thats always there. Worry worry worry worry worry worry worry worry. You dont notice it and dont notice it and dont notice it and then you do—and you realize its been there all along. Ive been worrying ever since they grabbed me from the city hall rink. Finally I dont have to worry. Im in an almost police car on my way home. I try to shake off the voice. Worry worry worry worry.
There are snowy fields on both sides of the hi way with trees behind them. White and dark with the blu sky on top. I take a deep breath.
The clock says 10:04.
Whats that? I ask Joe. Pointing at the sticker on the dash.
Oh that is the coat of arms of—some place he says.
If I was going to try to spell the some place it would come out Pee Yan Vee Ah. Thats not the way Joe says it but I cant write down his spitting and clearing his throat sounds.
I try to say it. Pee Yan Vee Yah?
I know that name. Ive herd it befor.
Close says Joe.
The sun glints off his teeth for a second when he smiles. He really does look like Superman—or maybe an ad for beer or happyness.
We pass a truck and a small car.
Wait—isnt Pee Yan Vee Yah the place you asked about back at the police station? I say. You wanted to know if my grampa had been there.
I was interested he says. My mother and father were born there. Im Canadian but my background is Pee Yan Vee Yan. Theres a lot of us in Canada he says. Toronto and Montreal have big Pee Yan Vee Yan communities. And Winnipeg.
Sure I say.
The next sine is for a gas station. Joe puts on his turn signal. Were running low he says. And Im hungry. Do you want a sandwich?
Sure I say.
There are 4 gas tanks under a tall roof. Joe gets out and rolls his sholders to make them looser. I stay in and yawn. When I stretch my left hand touches the rug on Joe’s seat. Its fur not sheepskin. Huh.
The country side is bumpy like the blankets when you get out of bed. The sun is above the trees. Its a winter sun—more white than yellow. Its trying to warm you up but it cant.
Joe goes into the Tim Hortons next door. He has his phone up to his ear and he is shaking his head. I check the driver rug. It is fur all rite—an entire animal. The hind legs hang down in front and the head stretches over the back of the seat under the head rest.
A wolf.