I slept through the whole thing dreaming that I had a ton of chest hair.
When I woke up my dad had one buttock perched, barely, on the end of my bed. His arms were folded, his legs were crossed and he was staring at the floor.
Oh you’re awake, he said.
What are you doing here? I asked.
I just wanted to say something, he said.
Say it then, I said, and he told me about the storm. I listened and nodded and then he said don’t be too surprised if things are a little different when you get up. And then he left. I waited for a minute and then I got up and walked into the living room and found out that the couch and love seat and coffee table weren’t there any more. I went into the hallway and saw my dad’s Thursday shoes and they had little cards on them with writing as a reminder of what he was supposed to do the next day. I picked one up and it said: Develop new life strategy. Fridays clearly were big days for him. The phone rang and I answered it and it was him and he said I should really try to make an effort to go to school. He said he knew it didn’t mean anything to me and that he didn’t blame me or anything but that grade twelve was something I might want in the future.
What a funny word, I thought, future.
I said okay. I would. I asked him why he was getting rid of the furniture and he said he liked empty spaces because you can imagine what might go in them someday.
We were quiet for a long, long time. Then I told him I wasn’t going anywhere. That I’d never leave him. And he said well…and then nothing else.
Champagne corks, eh? I said. He said it was wild. He told me he had a library meeting after school and I said I’d have a really super-nice meal ready for him when he got home and we could watch TV together in the evening and go for ice cream later on. We said goodbye.
I looked down at the table and saw his note. He’d answered my question, sort of. She didn’t take you with her because you were sleeping when she left.
Finally. Hmmm. I guess he meant that I had stopped believing in hell and was no longer having nightmares. Maybe. Hard to say. I think I knew another part of the answer which was that she knew he needed me more than she did. I’m pretty sure she left town for his sake. It would have killed him to choose between her or the church. The only decision he’d ever made without her help was to wear a suit and tie every day of his life. How could he stand up and publicly denounce a woman he loved more than anything in the world. And how could he turn away from the church that could, someday, forgive his wife and secure their future together in paradise, for all time. He was stuck in the middle of a story with no good ending. He had the same disease I had.
I smoked a Cap and listened to “Down by the River” over and over while I got ready for school. I thought about all the things my dad liked to eat. I heard my mother say Nomi, there is always the possibility of forgiveness. Remember that. And I heard Tash saying oh my god. After she left I got a job at Kids Korner, the town daycare. My first job there was to hang out and play with the three-and four-year-olds but I got moved to babies after Mrs. Groening, the daycare director, caught us dancing to the Beatles with big pink hearts taped to our cheeks and foreheads. The next thing I knew I was sitting in the dark nursery while four or five babies in cribs had their afternoon naps. I couldn’t read because it was too dark. It was clinically impossible not to fall asleep, especially after I’d suffered so long from insomnia. I tried all sorts of things to stay awake. Thinking. Humming. Amphetamines. Nothing worked. Eventually I was caught fast asleep in the rocking chair and fired. The older kids gave me a going-away card. It said thank you for teaching us how to play toilet tag. No mention of the fact that I tried to teach them how to shake their Menno booties. I miss kids. The way they react to everything like they’re alive.
In the morning the two grade twelve classes had a baseball tournament. I didn’t have a glove so they put me in centre field four hundred miles away from the action and after about twenty minutes of walking around in a tight circle I decided to stand perfectly still with my hands on my hips and my legs spread wide apart and just not move the entire time. I could hear the far-off muffled whoops and cheers of the game and see tiny figures running around the bases occasionally. When it was our turn to bat Mr. Quiring yelled Nomi! Come in! and I’d sprint back to the dugout as fast as I could. I decided to do that all day. I would either speed-run or not move at all.
When it was my turn to bat I ran to the plate and then stood there frozen with the bat on my shoulder and the pitcher threw me four balls for a walk. Mr. Quiring kept saying to the batters: Leave one go by. When the ump said take your base! I dropped the bat and bolted like hell for first. Then when I got there I froze in the type of primed position that indicated my readiness to take off to second. I wondered if I could spend my entire life in two gears, neutral and fourth. I was so tired of shuffling. Martin Schultz was playing first base and he asked me if I was retarded.
In the afternoon we went swimming at St. Malo, past the closed-down drive-in and the dump. There was a dam that was covered in green slime and perfect for sliding headfirst into the water. A group of girls from my homeroom were sitting on the sand crying and hugging and when I sprinted over to ask them what was wrong they said, this is the end. I’m sorry, I said. I sat perfectly still except for lighting a Sweet Cap. Tina asked me if I was trying out for Up With People in the fall. Then we had hot dogs and popsicles and chips and the confident boys snapped towels at the pretty girls and the other kids stared at them or played Frisbee. Len brought me home in his Vauxhall. He asked me if I wanted to see what it was like to ride in the trunk and I said yes I do. He opened it up but it was full of shit he was too lazy to move around so I sat perfectly still in the front seat and then bolted from his car to my house when he dropped me off. When I got inside the phone was ringing. It was Sheri from the yearbook committee. She was wondering if it was okay if they wrote under my picture: Do do do do do do do do. I asked if that was the theme from The Twilight Zone and she said yeah. I asked how the readers would know and she said, They’ll know.
And then I went into the empty living room and sat on the floor away from the shattered window. I closed my eyes and saw nothing but I heard her voice, serious but not, at the same time.
Tash: Do you know what a hard-on is?
Me: Of course.
Tash: That’s all you need to know.
Me: Get out.
Tash: Nomi, world. World, Nomi.
twenty-four
It was time to make Ray’s birthday dinner. It wasn’t much of anything but it was very elegant in its nothingness. Paper-thin crêpes with a fine syrupy drizzle, and cantaloupe. I dimmed the lights and closed the curtains and lit a couple of scented candles and put on Tash’s record of Keith Jarrett playing a live concert somewhere in Sweden.