Going Down Swinging Part 10

"Achgg, frig off!" he screamed. Eddy balled up some spit as if he was going to gob it at her.

Sadie stared at him. "Try it, y' little t.u.r.d, and you're dead." Eddy swallowed and went back to his paper.

When I got to the top step, I looked at the pieces of gra.s.s and twiggy things Eddy had glued on yellow construction paper. Sadie chucked the melon skin into a bush. "I hope one of 'em bites ya!" she said and went into the house, banging the screen door behind her. I was Sunday-sad again and I even had it worse because Sadie and Eddy were my only friends now if Josh wasn't around and they didn't even act like they liked me. Eddy stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth while he added more glue. They were legs he was gluing, not gra.s.s: spiders, flies, earwigs and one moth. Around half of them were still alive; most of them were stuck by their backs and wiggling their other stuff.

"Go get me a spider." He always tried to boss me when Sadie wasn't around to do it.

"Get it yourself."

He glared and threw the page at me. I "eww" ed and wiggled out of the way. It landed on the welcome mat.

"What's your beef, jerky?" That was my new comeback I picked up off Josh's mum. Eddy didn't think it was so great. "Why do I cast my pearls before swine?" I asked the air. I got that one off my mum.

"You and Sadie, you think you're so big and Sadie super-even-more now she's friends with dork-head Sarah."

Sarah was the girl from ballet. I almost never saw Sadie lately, not since starting at the new school. I brought Josh over a couple times in the summer but the three of them seemed different together. The last time, Josh said we should all play doctor up in Sadie's room. He explained how it worked and I never brought him again. No one was taking out or touching or looking at any of my underclothes stuff.

Sadie came back out and walked down the steps. She was carrying a purse.

"What's in your purse, lady? Kotex?" and Eddy laughed the way he usually did just before he broke something.

Sadie sucked in an ahhh and said, "That's it! Say you're sorry or I'm tellin'," and she ran back up the steps and caught him before he could get away, slammed him down with her knee in his back and twisted his arm till his elbow went to his backbone and he yelled, "Mawwwwwwm!" She twisted harder till he squeaked, "Sorry," and their mum hollered from inside the house. Sadie let him go and yapped, "Yeah, you better run," when he dived for the screen door.

I asked her if she wanted to go play or something.

"Play?" she said, as if it was the most babyish thing she ever heard. "Nope. Can't. I'm going to Sarah's. Her mum's out and she's got tons of makeup. So. I'll see y'around." She started down the steps.

"Um, hey, are you still gonna take swimming lessons at Riley Park?" I said. I didn't want her to just go and me be alone with only Eddy. I kept having the sour beer smell in my nose and it made my mouth taste like sick.

"Yup, Sarah and me are starting Intermediate together."

"Oh."

Eddy came up to the screen door, still bawling his head off. "You're in trouble, y'know. You're getting grounded for sure."

"Get lost!" and she practically waltzed down the block. I heard Alice call her and Sadie kept going like nothing happened. By the time her mum was on the porch, Sadie was a block away and Alice mumbled and slammed back inside. Why didn't Sarah want me to be her friend and put on her mum's makeup? and swim with her. Sadie wasn't going to get grounded for practically breaking Eddy's arm. She'd just go around being cool and everyone would do what she said. Including me.

Eddy didn't even look mad any more. He kneeled over his paper; there was hardly a bug leg wiggling any more. "Wanna help me get more bugs?" he asked. So I did until it started to rain and it seemed even worse to be stuck with Eddy in his house than to go back to mine. He went inside and I started down their steps and tripped when my name got whispered in my ear. I got up off the ground getting ready to be laughed at for being accident-p.r.o.ne. I tried to laugh before anyone else did, but there was no one there. Then a Grace-whisper came over my other shoulder, but I didn't turn this time. My knee was banging from the pain and I scrunched my mouth and tongue tight to keep from crying. I figured maybe I should go home and have an orange.

The apartment smelled even worse after being outside. It was quiet, though. There was no one in the living room. And in the bedroom, my mum was curled up under her blanket with a bucket beside her bed. I went down the hall to the living room and my chest jumped when the droopy-moustache guy came around the corner from the kitchen. His s.h.i.+rt was all unb.u.t.toned and he had these s.h.i.+ny-from-dirt ripped jeans on. A cigarette hung out under his moustache and he scratched his sideburn, took his cigarette and held it lazy in his fingers. He was the skinniest man I ever saw. "Hi," he said, kind of shaky, and flicked ashes on the floor. "How y'doin'? Grace? Is that right?"

"Yup."

"Right." He said it like ry-eeet. "Your mum's still sleepin'," and he nodded and chuckled. "Rough night I guess, eh?"

"Yup." I sat down on the couch. The TV was on with no sound. I stared at another preacher-guy waving like crazy on the screen. He looked like he should be glued to a piece of construction paper.

Moustache-guy wandered over and sat on the couch beside me. "So," he said. "Mine's Gary. My name, eh?" and he chuckled again. I looked at the TV. He took a drag and I watched him blow smoke without turning my head. "So. You're not a real talker, eh? Shy?" I shrugged and kept watching the preacher. "What's this? mm, September? School's in, right? What grade 're you in?"

"Four."

"Right. Huh. So uh ... so you got a boyfriend?" I shook my head and got up off the couch. Went to the window where Henry was on an end table, resting his front paws on the sill, staring out at Main Street traffic. I ran my hand down his fur, watching what he was watching. Gary stood up, so I looked back and saw him stick his cigarette back under his moustache so he could give his arm a good scratch on his way over to Henry and me. Henry and me looked out the window. Gary did too. "Nice p.u.s.s.y," he said, then giggled at himself. "Oops, I mean p.u.s.s.y cat, kitty cat. What's her name?"

"It's a he." I wished I had the guts to gob a seed on him, like Sadie. I opened the window instead.

"Oh yeah? ... his name then ... ha."

"Henry."

"Humm. Good name. So. Grace. So what're you gonna be when you grow up?" I shrugged some more and kept looking out the corner of my eye to see what he was doing. I wondered if he knew that drinking alcohol and eating chocolate bars was probably making him into a juvenile delinquent. He smoked and looked me over. "You gonna pose for Playboy? You got a cute little a.s.s," and he patted my b.u.m and did that dumb laugh again, flicking his cigarette b.u.t.t out the window.

My arms went tight and I thought about being in every car that pa.s.sed on Main Street. I forced my shoulders back; they hurt like hair being brushed the wrong way. I squinted at him and said, "Pff, no!" to Eddy in the Sadie-est voice I could and saw him for the stupid-friggin'-nature he was, then turned and walked to the kitchen. My b.u.m felt clumsy and naked stuck out there behind me.

In the cold air falling out of the fridge, I stared at the milk and some shrivelled potatoes. I wanted to crawl in the fruit bin and pull the door closed. But I was Sadie. Sadie turned me around to look at him follow me into the kitchen. His eyes flicked and he picked up a deck of cards lying on the table, lazy-shuffling while he looked out the window into the building next door. I poured myself some milk, imagined the moustache it would make on Sadie's dark skin and then, bored as she could look, I took it down the hall to Mum.

"Mummy? Mum? Do you want some milk?" Nothing. "Mummy!"

"Grace?" she croaked like she couldn't move. "Please, let me sleep. I'm sick."

I couldn't decide about what he said yet. Maybe it was just "a.s.s" that bugged me. I should've told him the same way I would Josh. Sadie would've. I put her milk-moustache on as thick as it'd go and went back, acting normal, to the living room. I looked at him and his scrunchy-rumpled s.h.i.+rt and his reddy-brown whiskers and watched him walk around, shuffling cards. Sadie folded my arms.

"Know how to play cards?" he asked me.

"Duh. Everybody knows how to play cards. What about you? Can you do anything with them? Like magic tricks?"

"Na, not really ..." He kept sliding them in on each other.

My Sadie-self was disappointed. I wasn't sure if it was to make him change his mind or if she was just miffed that he wasn't answering like she wanted. "You can't do any tricks?!" she said.

He looked up at us. "Well, yeah, maybe a couple, if you're good."

"Oh yeah? Why don't you do a disappearing act." His bottom lip dropped open and his eyes squinted. Sadie got super-smug; I got b.u.t.terflies and tried not to smirk.

"You're a little cheeky, if you ask me. Your mother know you talk like that?"

"Where do you think I got it from?" Sadie was getting him good. I started to giggle and joined her. "So? Come on, Gar ... disappear."

"I leave when I'm good and d.a.m.n ready. You better watch your lip or I'll tell your mum."

"She's not gonna care. Maybe I should go tell her myself." Then I raised my eyebrows the way my dad's ex-wife, Gloria, used to do, and paused to get a good effect, then turned and walked down the hall to the bedroom. I closed the door behind me and sat as quiet as I could at the foot of the bed. Five minutes or so went by till I heard shoes come toward me, shuffle, and the apartment door open and slam. He stomped down the stairs of the building, down each one of my ribs until he exploded in a thousand tickles in my stomach.

Eilleen Seven.

OCTOBER 1974.

TAKE OFF YOUR COAT and get a drink down your gullet; steady your nerves. You get down on your hands and knees and gawk into the pot-and-pan cupboard for wine-ridiculous having to hide your own wine. Just seems like Grace is happier when she doesn't actually have to see it, though. Everybody's happier when you pretend you're not drinking-everybody's a hypocrite, all with their own crutches and they have the nerve to knock you. Stupid b.u.g.g.e.rs. You stand up with the bottle and brush crumbs off your knees, grab a gla.s.s off the shelf, pour yourself a half a one and slop burgundy back at your blouse. s.h.i.+t-dab it with cold water. You've got great t.i.ts, Eilleen. Chuck the cloth back in the sink. Screw it. You look back down, run a hand over the left one: t.i.ts'll get you a lot in this town. t.i.ts'll get you a lot in any town. You take a big gulp. Reach into your purse on the counter, pull out the white prescription bag. 25 25mg Noludar Dr. L.B. Henighan.

Twenty-five.

Should've given you a hundred, the fat f.u.c.k.

You down what's left and pour another one. It's not that big a deal. Pretty clever really-how many other women could've done it? You're no victim. You are a cunning seductress: This is the third time this month, Eilleen, I don't know that I can do anything for you. a.s.shole Henighan. If Peterson wasn't pulling his high and mighty medical pract.i.tioner routine lately, you wouldn't have had to see Henighan in the first place-him and his third-rate Hastings Street dope-fiend's paradise. Not to mention Goldberg and Chan -every G.o.dd.a.m.n quack you know is pulling this ethics s.h.i.+t, this holier than thou, I'm-sorry-but-I-can't c.r.a.p. Going to have to put together a new stable, that's all. Screw 'em.

You fight with the bottle cap. Childproof lids, only way you can get the d.a.m.n things open is to get your kid to do it. Push and lift, no push and twist and-f.u.c.k! Push and twist and lift. Huh.

Sit down at the table and pull out the cotton batting, tilt the bottle around in your hand, sip some wine and look at their little two-tone selves rolling around in there, twenty five of 'em. Little coloured cylinders, like teeny tiny c.o.c.ks. Not much smaller than teeny tiny Henighan. Only teeny thing on him. You stare into s.p.a.ce and watch black flecks float past your eyes like water bugs, until the kitchen blurs and you're standing in Henighan's examination room again, sitting up on his table with your legs crossed. Maybe we should give you a physical today, Eilleen, rather than just rattle off another prescription. A physical, he says, and starts jotting down G.o.d knows what on his clipboard, burying his first chin in all the others. Three pig-foot fingers slide the pen back in his breast pocket. Why don't you take off your clothes, Eilleen.

Wouldja quit saying my G.o.dd.a.m.n name! is what you want to say, but you just start unb.u.t.toning blouse. He puts down your chart and watches. There is no nurse in the room. He watches each b.u.t.ton slip through its hole; you raise your eyes and watch his jowls s.h.i.+ft as he tilts his head. You slide off the table and unzip your skirt, let it fall to the floor, step out of it. He doesn't say anything yet, just looks at your crotch. You look down, flesh is buckling at the top of your pantyhose, tummy's sticking out a little. S'pose I could lose a few pounds, you say. Not necessarily, he says, you've got great t.i.ts, Eilleen. You hold your head up. Well thank you Doctor, how kind of you to notice, smile like you know what's what and wonder what the h.e.l.l this b.a.s.t.a.r.d's up to. About three hundred pounds you figure, and chortle before you can stop yourself. He doesn't reciprocate, just takes two steps and puts his stethoscope to your breast plate. Pardon the cold, he says, looks at the floor; it's dead silent until his breath catches on something in his nose. He cups the metal in his palm, slides it into the left cup of your bra; his fingers wrap around as much b.o.o.b as they can get. He shuts his eyes just longer than a blink, tucks his lips together, opens his mouth and you can see his tongue flicking lonesome hungry in that fat head of his. Then you see the cost of Noludar has just gone up. Your heart sounds OK, he says. OK, Eilleen, what I'm going to get you to do is run up and down the steps and then I'm going to check your heart rate again. Steps? Look around the room and step out of your shoes. You never had to run up and down anything before. This is ridiculous, if it's a f(ee-iz)ucking b.l.o.w. .j.o.b he wants, why doesn't he just say so so you can get the h.e.l.l out of here.

He walks to a block against the wall with two steps built into one side. He drags it out. All right now, I just need you to run up and down for about sixty seconds and then I'm going to take your pulse. You might want to take off your pantyhose. And if you wouldn't mind removing your bra. Son of a b.i.t.c.h-does he have to make you look like a goof in the process? You sigh, look at him. He looks back. His face is stone with a faint twitch at one corner of his mouth. You know a put-out-or-walk smirk when you see one.

Starting at the waist, you roll your pantyhose down, trying not to look like a moose when you pull them off your toes and throw them with your skirt. You reach back and unhook your bra, let it slide forward off your arms, feel your b.r.e.a.s.t.s falling. A sound comes out of Henighan, a kind of whimper, and your shoulders crunch forward like protective dogs; there is nothing you can do to call them back. You turn to the steps, put your hands to your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, try to hold them up, keep things from drooping and jiggling.

This is, this is silly, I can't do this, you say, turn and look at him.

Just for a minute, Eilleen, one minute, he says. Keep your arms straight out to your sides.

Foolish. You step onto the first step, b.o.o.bs sway, the next step and back yourself down.

-and you step up and your b.o.o.bs stay down-feel like they're trying to wrench themselves free and leave on their own if you're not going to take them.

-and back down you go and they slap to the side, flop up and down, stupid-stupid-stupid exercise in idiocy and it's starting to hurt- -and up- -and down. They fall hard again and your hands leap to cradle them and you stop and say over your shoulder, OK, this is-I've had enough and Henighan steps fast to the block before you can get to the floor. Good girl, he says, good girl and he pulls you backward into his barrel belly, one arm round your ribs, bringing your feet down on cold tile, other hand fumbling with something, the stethoscope, over your shoulder he brings the cool metal to your chest, his breathing is getting harder in your neck. He leaves the scope dangling and jerks his hand back around and under so that both his arms are under yours, one holding you steady while the other mashes the stethoscope into your b.o.o.b. He's lurching and shoving you forward with his stomach, pus.h.i.+ng you to the examination table. Good girl, he says, good girl, listen to your heart, I'm not gonna hurt you, bend forward, put your t.i.ts on the table, oh your heart, lemme feel your t.i.ts on the table, lemme pull your panties down, but you're not wearing any and he brings his empty hand between your back and his belly, thras.h.i.+ng around back there, trying to get his belt undone, he can hardly get his breath now. Christ, what a production, all that grunting to get his pants open, trying to get it out, listen to your heart, Eilleen, let me in, let me in, and then this wee bony thing poking from behind, good girl, good p.u.s.s.y, and he starts to cough and you think it must be a finger inside until that bulbous gut thumps twice against your tailbone and there's a thin kitten mew against your back. He collapses on your shoulders, squas.h.i.+ng your face to the paper on the table, his arms splay past your ears and he lies back there, breathing, breathing. You got off, now get off, you think, but you want your G.o.dd.a.m.n prescription. You try to get some air when you realize there doesn't seem to be any in or out of him. It's dead quiet again and you feel his slow drizzle down the inside of your thigh. Hey, how you doin? you say, terrified he's had a heart attack or pa.s.sed out and you're not going to get anything out of this-or worse, you'll be left to suffocate-no one'll find you until they get enough people together to cart him away. This isn't the bang you wanted to go out with.

The water bugs come in focus and you are back in your kitchen with a pill bottle in your hand. He came to all right, did up his pants, straightened his tie and wrote 25 25mg Noludar. Should report him to the Better Business Bureau. No other man on this planet would think you were worth less than fifty.

You glance past the bottle, jabber pills around inside and bring them down to twenty-four Noludar with a swig off your gla.s.s before snapping the cap back on. The buzzer on the intercom goes. s.h.i.+t, who the h.e.l.l's that? Maybe Grace forgot her key-nah, it's just three o'clock now, unless she had another row with that teacher of hers and stormed out.-h.e.l.lo?

Hi, Mum, it's me.

Charlie?

Yeah. And you oh and stutter and buzz her up. s.h.i.+t-s.h.i.+t-s.h.i.+t. Cork up the bottle and put it back with the pans, rinse your mouth. Where's your Clorets? Why is she showing up like this, unannounced? You check your blouse, look around the room, look for anything you could get in trouble for.

The light sound of knuckle on wood, you go to the door. Hi! she says. She's carrying the baby, leans and gives you a kiss, her nose twitches. Little b.i.t.c.h, she's not kissing, she's smelling. You hi back and touch the baby's cheek, close the door behind her.

I was visiting friends around here and I thought you might like to have tea with your grandson. She sets down a baby seat on the table, puts him in and sits her diaper bag or whatever that is beside him.

You mean you thought you'd try and catch me in the act while at the same time shaming me into being a grandmother, you think, but you just say oh.

She says, Is Grace around? and takes the diaper bag off the table, puts it beside her on the floor.

No, she's not home from school yet, she'll probably just be a few minutes. She's going to a different school now, so the walk's a little further.

Hmm, she says, and you can't help noticing, as she plops down into a chair, how big her a.s.s has gotten since the baby. All right, you're a s.h.i.+tty mother, but there's a certain satisfaction in knowing she won't be parading her pert little t.i.ts and a.s.s around in front of every boyfriend you get any more. She pulls her tight T-s.h.i.+rt smooth, reading your mind, and says, How do you like my new milk jugs! Practically as big as yours now, eh! and she laughs.

You laugh back. Yeah, I guess you'll be watching your weight again now. G.o.d, when Grace was born I never stopped moving, always rocking her or walking her, and I had my figure back in no time.

Charlie reaches and squeezes the baby's foot, says she wasn't really thinking about it. Adds, But I'm young, I'll bounce back. Theres a pause in the room and she says, So. What've you been up to, you look dressed up today, you're not working again, are you?

Not working again, are you-no dear, I'm still a worthless welfare drudge, just like you-Ah, no, I looked into teaching again, but the rules are different in B.C. and my teaching certificate isn't any good here, I probably told you that.

Yeah. That's a drag, and she looks you over, looks at your chest as if the sheer size of them proves you're a s.l.u.t. Not like her new maternal b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The first time she had her creepy boyfriend, Ian, over, she was still staying here, and she had you change your s.h.i.+rt before he arrived. Had you change into something a little less showy. You laughed. What would that young pipsqueak be looking at me for! But you changed; after all, it wasn't a compet.i.tion. Course he couldn't keep his eyes off them anyway. The experience was both gratifying and revolting.

Pull your brain back, change the subject. Yeah. So. No, I just went to the doctor and, I don't know, I'm not that dressed up, am I? Guess I thought I'd throw on a skirt and heels and brighten myself up a little, I guess. Ha. Uh-oh, so did you want some tea or juice or something?-here, let me throw the kettle on. So how's Ian?

She scratches at something stuck to the table. Um. Fine. He might be getting a construction job next week. Maybe. I don't know. He-he wins a few bucks here and there playing pool. She makes a smacking sound in her mouth as if she's just finished a toffee and picks your pill bottle off the table. He's always out, though, or hungover ... and rattles them, rattles you. Can't tell if she's p.i.s.sed off at you for taking them or for not offering her some.

You loiter around the stove, Noludar kicking in, forehead getting cool, back of your neck gone wooden, fairy dust at your wrists and going all the way up. Can never decide whether you want to smack her or soothe her-hold her against your breast and smooth your hand down the back of her head, Let me make it better, angel, or grab her by the scruff, How can you be so foolish? So you do nothing, just stand staring at the kettle, mute.

Then she makes some sound like a big puff through her nose, sets the bottle back down. And yes, the Noludar's kicking in for sure; you're getting stupider with each pa.s.sing moment. Why does she have to just show up like this out of the blue? She got herself into this mess-what are you supposed to do? She says, So how's Grace doing, how come she switched schools?

Well, a lot of those kids across the street were pretty rough, as you may recall ... And her friend downstairs was going to Wolfe, this other one, so ... She doesn't seem much happier now, though, at the new one. This woman she's got teaching her, Mrs. Annis-Grace calls her a.n.u.s-kills me whenever she says it. Charlie laughs and her face becomes almost beatific. Melting. Feel like reminding her Grace is her sister, her baby's on the b.l.o.o.d.y table. The fight the two of you had before Charlie ran off and engaged herself to Ian started out about Grace. Charlie had the ovaries to tell you she was as much Grace's mother as you were, that she'd looked after her when you were too loaded to know your own name. Anyway, you go on, I went in to see her, the, uh, Mrs. Annis, at the parent-teacher day last week.

You did?

Yes. Why is that so surprising?

Well, and she raises her eyebrows at the baby just as if he's holding up a picture of you and the very image of this face at a parent-teacher meeting is nothing short of laughable, I don't know. Nothing. So what happened?

You clear your throat. Anyway, so I was saying to her, "Do you realize all these kids are terrified of you, I mean really terrified." I thought maybe she had no idea and she might-well anyway, she looked positively thrilled and said, "Good. I like to keep them under my thumb." Ha-can you imagine! I was speechless. So, and then she said Grace had been a little difficult at first but she's doing the uh ... better now.

Charlie's head twists around as you're pouring hot water into cups. She is not difficult. She's just smart, that's all, she's ahead of her time. Stupid b.i.t.c.h.

Stupidb.i.t.c.h scalds you and you start and splash hot water on your thumb. Ow, s.h.i.+t, whip on the cold water faucet and hold it there a minute.

She sighs. Mum, you're so accident-p.r.o.ne-I guess that's where Grace gets it from.

Well, you don't have to tell me off for it, I didn't scald myself on purpose-I did it making your tea.

I'm not telling you off, I'm just saying. You're not that careful and Grace is just as bad, always hurting herself. It practically is like you do it on purpose, it happens so- Charlie! For G.o.dsake, can't we not have a nice visit visout-without, sigh, now you can't tell if you're stoned or just thrown off. This was going to be a pleasant afternoon before she showed up. There's a key in the lock. The baby's home, thank G.o.d. You turn the faucet off, shake your thumb. Doesn't hurt that much, and that ladies and gentlemen is the beauty of wine and pills.

Grace closes the door and comes in the kitchen. There's my baby! Charlie says.

Grace squeals, You made your hair red! and kisses her.

s.h.i.+t, she did, too. How could you not have noticed that, it's redder than yours. Maybe because you're so used to looking at your own. Or maybe it's the light. Maybe because you're a crummy mother and you never do anything right. You try. Oh, of course! Your hair! I couldn't think what was different! It's cute! but she doesn't look at you. And more than a small part of you thinks, Perfect. You've nearly got my t.i.ts, now you've got my hair colour, one baby down, one more to go, as she pulls Grace onto her lap and blows a loud raspberry into her neck. Grace laughs raucously and Charlie's baby starts to fuss.

Grace jumps down and goes to him. Can I pick him up? His mother says sure she can. Somewhere along the line, Grace has gone from seething jealousy to asking to diaper and feed him. Something like Charlie did when Grace was born.

She sits down holding the baby in her arms, rocking him like they do in cartoons. Charlie giggles at her. Well, aren't they all just too cute for words. Charlie says, So, Grace-face, how y'doin'? I heard your teachers kind of a creep.