Detached (2 page)

I hoped my lie seemed credible. I mean, this man was a complete stranger and there was no way I wanted to go anywhere with him. Sure, maybe sometimes I wanted to stop existing, but I didn't want some creep to murder me.

“Okay, but just stay away from the railing. It's a long way down,” he said and started jogging lightly on the spot.

Before he left I managed a weak smile and “thank you.” Then I watched him disappear into the sun-soaked morning.

My feet were so thick and heavy, I felt like an elephant lumbering through the savannah. When I got to the other side, I continued on to College Avenue and up to the university gates. I dragged myself past the Law building and the School of Business. I couldn't have felt more exhausted if I was climbing Mount Everest.

I'd only been to my brother's apartment a few times before, but I remembered exactly where to go. I climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and knocked on the door to his suite. There was no answer. I figured it wasn't even eight so it was a good bet he'd only been in bed a few hours. I pounded louder. Finally the door swung open.

“What's up?” his sleepy-eyed roommate asked.

“Is Joe here?”

“He's sleeping. His first class isn't 'til ten.”

I pushed into the apartment my brother shared with three other students. When I looked around it became clear how all of them managed to fail enough courses that they were stuck in summer school.

“Tough life, starting the day at ten,” I said.

Joe stumbled out of his room in grey boxer shorts.

“Anna! What's up?” He brightened when he saw me standing there.

“I was out for a walk and sort of lost track of where I was. I was hoping you could give me a ride home?”

I felt hollow standing there. Even seeing his puzzled expression didn't bring me back to reality the way it should have.

“You walked all the way here this morning?” he asked.

“Yeah. I couldn't sleep.”

“Are you okay?” He stepped close to look into my eyes.

“I'm fine except for this blister on my foot.”

I reached down to pull off my sandal as he scrutinized my eyes.

“Joe! I'm not on crack or anything. I just walked farther than I meant to. Can you please drive me home?”

He sized me up a minute longer, then said, “Sure. Let me grab my keys.”

Then he disappeared down a narrow hall.

“Grab some shorts too!” I yelled after him.

Jamal was still standing by the door watching me. It made me feel creepy.

“What?” I finally asked so he'd say or do something — anything.

“Nothing. It's just, do you know how long it takes to walk across the city like that?”

I glanced at the clock in the kitchen.

“An hour and forty minutes. So what?”

He shrugged. “Seems a little odd this early in the morning.”

“I like to get fresh air and it'll be too hot later.”

He nodded, but I could tell he didn't buy it.

“You might try some walking shoes next time,” he said.

I didn't get a chance to answer because Joe came out of his bedroom rattling his keys.

“Okay, let's hit the road before the traffic gets bad. You know what it's like getting across at this time of the day.”

“See you, Jamal,” I said, and followed Joe out the door.

I watched the top of Joe's head as we walked down the stairs. It took me a while to figure out what was different, then I realized he'd cut his hair, like, military short.

“That's a pretty drastic haircut. I haven't seen your ears since grade school.”

“Yeah, it's cooler.”

“I didn't know you were so worried about your street cred,” I sniped.

“Temperature-wise,” he sniped back.

We always tease each other. It's our thing.

I followed him across the parking lot in silence, then sat down gratefully in the passenger seat of his beat-up Toyota. It smelled like something was decomposing under one of the seats, but I didn't complain.

“Everything okay at home?” he asked when he started the car.

“Pretty regular. I sort of had a fight with Dad this morning, but nothing serious.”

“Otherwise everything's normal?”

“Yep. Dad went to LA this morning. Just one night.”

“Mom's on mornings?”

I nodded.

He turned on the air conditioning and, after an initial blast of heat, I welcomed the cooler air. It chilled the sweat at my temples and made me shiver.

The traffic was backed up for three blocks before the bridge, which is pretty standard for a weekday when everyone is trying to get downtown for work. The closer we inched toward it, though, the more nauseous I felt.

“Hope you don't miss your class,” I said.

“No worries. I'll make it back in time.”

I leaned my head against the headrest, but the movement made me dizzy so I sat up straight again. Joe glanced over and I tried to smile.

“Maybe I'm getting the flu or something. Or it could be heat stroke,” I offered. “I feel like I might throw up.”

He looked at me sideways.

“Don't worry. I won't lose it in your car.” I leaned a little closer to the air vent.

We were pulling onto the bridge when I reached up and locked the door. The urge to bolt from the car was overwhelming.

“You're not pregnant or something?” Joe asked. I could see him trying to puzzle through my unexpected visit.

“Not pregnant, not a druggie, not addicted to gambling. Maybe I'm just a little nervous about heights.”

“But you can't even see how high you are from here.”

“I still know.”

“Then how'd you walk across in the first place?”

“It was foggy,” I managed to squeak, even though I knew there was no logic in my answer.

When we got home, Sherlock met us at the door. His tail slapped the wall with the excitement of seeing both me and Joe arriving at once. Joe leaned down and rubbed his ears.

“Hey, Sherlock, how's the old boy?”

Sherlock dropped to the floor and let Joe rub his belly. For a dog who's supposed to be a guarding breed, he's a total coward. We have a lot in common that way.

Joe stood up and looked at me.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine. I've got Sherlock.”

“You want me to call Mom?”

“No. You know how she gets when she thinks you're getting sick. She'll be all over me like fleas on a stray dog.”

Joe walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and drained the milk jug in one long gulp. He put the empty container back, then grabbed a hunk of kielbasa.

“That's disgusting,” I said when he started gnawing on it.

Joe just laughed. “I won't have time for breakfast. Anyhow, I gotta run or I'll be late for my computer lab.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

“No worries.” He kissed me on the cheek and slammed out the front door.

I wondered all morning if Joe would text Mom and tell her about me showing up at his dorm and needing a ride home, or if Dad managed to talk to her about our argument that morning. So when I heard her car pull into the driveway, I braced myself for a hundred questions. It must have slipped both their minds, though, because when Mom found me in my bedroom reading, she was cheerful.

“Hi, honey. How's your day going?”

“Good. I went for a walk this morning before it got too hot. Had a swim. Gisele and Aliya came over for a bit before lunch.”

“Was Joe here?”

“Yeah, he stopped by. I think he picked up a piece of computer from his room.”

“Stayed long enough to finish the milk?”

“He ate the rest of the kielbasa too.”

Mom smiled and shook her head. “Figures. Anyhow, I'm going for a quick swim, then I thought we could make a pizza for dinner.”

“Sounds good. I'll join you.”

The thought of changing into my bathing suit seemed like a lot of effort, but I knew if I didn't go swimming, Mom would start to ask questions. And the last thing I wanted was her fussing over me.

I was floating on an air mattress, watching the sun turn my eyelids bright red and thinking about my walk across the bridge, when Mom slipped into the pool.

“That feels so good,” she said and flipped onto her back.

I didn't answer, just continued to stare at the inside of my eyelids.

“Hey.” Mom splashed water over me. “What's got you so preoccupied?”

I cracked one eyelid.

“Nuthin. Just enjoying the sun.”

Mom climbed onto another air mattress and we floated together, but lost in separate thoughts.

I was thinking about how from the outside I look like a completely normal teenager. I live in a normal city, on a normal street in a very normal sidesplit house. We have a hedge around our backyard and a big maple tree in the front. Even my family is normal: two kids and two parents. I'm not ridiculed, bullied, or singled out in any way. I'm not fat or ugly and I don't have acne any worse than any other sixteen-year-old girl. I've never been beaten, neglected, or abused.

As I floated on the air mattress I thought about how someone on the outside would look at my life and think I was very average and middle-class. Some people, like Aliya, might even see me as privileged. The thing I was sure about, though, was that nobody would understand why I so badly wanted to stop existing. It's not that I wanted to kill myself. I just wanted a break from being me, which meant the thought of dying was never very far away. In fact, whenever I let myself think about it, I felt the torment fade away. I felt more at peace than usual. I know it's ironic. My whole life is one big irony. For instance, it feels like I've wanted to finish this life since I can remember. When I was a child, I wanted to hurry up and get old so I might finally fit in. I never felt like I belonged with other children, not even my brother. I didn't know how to play like the other kids. I didn't know when to laugh or how to be silly. I felt like a foreigner in my kindergarten class. It's like I knew from the beginning that I somehow ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess it's like ordering fettuccine alfredo at a restaurant and the waitress brings you a fruit salad instead. Even though it's perfectly edible, it just isn't what you want.

Mom kicked herself off the side of the pool and a few drops of water landed on me. I rolled over onto my stomach. Not surprisingly, my mind turned to my grandparents, which it did about every thirty minutes. Before they died I was resigned to the detached complacency that dragged on me every day. But after they were plowed into the river by a chronic drunk, I began to feel desperate, and after a few months of waking up to the same feeling of hopelessness every day, I started to get scared. I mean, you always hear people say they reached rock bottom before things started to get better. The thing that scared me most was that I might not have a rock bottom. I was afraid I'd keep going down into a deeper, darker hole.

 

 

By grade nine I'd been the new kid so many times I'd stopped stressing about the first day of school. When I was little, I'd worry about what to wear and what to take in my lunch. I'd worry about if I should try and make friends right away or if I should wait and see who wanted to make friends with me. But by grade nine, I'd pretty much given up on any sort of plan. If I made a friend, I wouldn't have to eat alone, but if I didn't, well, I wasn't going to starve. But then I met Anna on my very first day at Bachman and everything turned around. I'd never met someone like Anna before. She was pretty and smart and she was exactly the type of artist I wanted to be — dedicated and focused.

Of course, my mom offered to go with me the first day of grade nine, but I straight up refused.

“Mom! This is like my sixth new school. I think I have it figured out by now.”

She was getting ready to go to work and fussing over me at the same time.

“I can drive you, make sure you get to your homeroom okay. This one's a lot bigger than any of your other schools. What if you get lost?”

“I'll stop at the office and get directions. I can handle it. Stop worrying. You're already late for work.”

“I'm allowed to be late now and then. This is a big day for you. Your first day of high school. I'm still so proud you got accepted.” She was starting to get that nostalgic look on her face which meant I either had to get her out of the apartment or get out myself before the tears started.

“I'll be fine,” I insisted, and picked up my book bag.

“But you have to catch two buses. Remember to get a transfer from the driver.”

“I've been riding the city buses my whole life. I won't forget.”

“But now you'll be alone. And it's not you I'm worried about. I trust you. It's everyone else you have to watch out for.”

“Okay, really, Mom! I love you but you have to chill. I'm almost fifteen.”

I gave her a reassuring hug and kiss, then slipped out the door. I knew she was standing in the hallway, watching me walk toward the elevator, but I refused to turn around.

“Do you have your cellphone?” she called out.

I waved it in the air above my head but continued walking.

“Call if you need anything,” she called again.

The elevator opened and I jumped in. Thankfully it was empty.

I saw Anna get on my second bus but I had no idea who she was or that we were headed to the same school. Still, I noticed her right away. It would be hard not to notice Anna for a few reasons. First, she's beautiful, but not in an obvious self-conscious sort of way. When she walks in the room everyone turns to look, even the girls. Second, she has a mysterious quality about her. It's like she's distracted and you want to know what's got her attention. I'm sure most guys wish they were the distraction, but she barely seems to notice guys. And finally, it's hard not to notice someone carrying a big black case.

Anyhow, she climbed on the bus and all the men followed her down the aisle with their eyes. Most of the women did too. Then she sat down across from me and stared out the window. She sat so still she looked like a painting. I ached to sketch her, but I didn't want her to think I was stalking her or something. Still, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not into girls. I LIKE guys. But Anna had me intrigued from the start. When we stood up at the same time and got off the bus together, I couldn't hold back.

“Do you go to Bachman?” I asked her as soon as we both landed on the sidewalk.

She continued and I walked a little faster than I normally would to keep up.

She nodded.

“It's my first day,” she said. When she turned to face me, I almost fell into her eyes.

“Really? Me too. I'm starting in the visual arts program. What about you?”

“Same.” She smiled.

I nodded at the case in her hand. “What's that?”

“I like to use my own art supplies,” she explained.

“Oh. I assumed it was a saxophone or something.”

She laughed and said something like, “No, nothing musical. I'm completely tone deaf. I can't even sing ‘Happy Birthday.'”

We made small talk as we walked the last block to school and it felt like we'd been friends forever. She asked which school I'd gone to and stopped walking when I listed them all on my fingers.

“You've been to five schools?” she asked like she couldn't wrap her head around the thought of changing schools so often.

“We move around a lot. My mom hates to commute, so when she gets a new job, we move.”

“What about your dad?”

“It's just me and my mom.”

I didn't have to ask where Anna lived. I saw where she got on the bus and I wasn't surprised she came from one of the rich neighbourhoods, one of those areas with wide lawns and big trees, where the houses are set way back off the street and the backyards have garden sheds the size of my bedroom. She was dressed like she was loaded, but she didn't once glance at the holes in my high tops or seem to notice the front of my book bag was pinned together.

That was it, from that moment on Anna and I were best friends. We had most of our classes together and the same lunch period so it was easy to hang out and sit at the same table in the cafeteria. Because the school draws kids from all over the city, neither of us knew any of our other classmates. But it turned out Anna knew a girl, Mariam, from her middle school and I knew Kyle from my junior high. Mariam and Kyle were both in the performing arts stream so we immediately formed a group. That meant there was always someone to hang out with. I was so happy, I didn't even mind that Kyle was interested in Anna from the very beginning.

“Who's that girl you were talking to this morning?” Kyle asked me the first morning. Somehow he'd tracked me down at my locker between classes.

“Kyle!” I said. “I didn't know you were coming here?”

“I got accepted late.” He watched some girls walk past. “Someone dropped out and I was on the waiting list.”

“Sweet.” We bumped fists. “It's going to be a wicked year.”

“So who was that girl?” he asked again.

“Her name's Anna. I just met her today. She's in visual arts with me.”

“Can you introduce us?” He looked so pathetic I didn't have the heart to tease him.

“I guess. I mean, I hardly know her but if you're both standing beside me of course I'm going to introduce you to each other.”

“Thanks.” He smiled like I'd just told him she thought he was hot.

“How'd you find me, anyway?” I shut my locker and started walking to my next class. I was pretty sure I was going in the right direction.

“I asked at the office and they gave me your locker number. I came between periods one and two, but I missed you.”

“What? Are you like stalking me or something?” I laughed.

He shook his head and looked worried, like I was going to get the wrong impression about our friendship.

“Just kidding,” I said. “Both my morning classes are in the art wing so I hung with Anna. She showed me her paintbrushes. Sable. Her grandmother gave them to her or something.”

“Just don't forget to introduce us. Maybe tomorrow at lunch?” he suggested hopefully.

“Chill, Frozone.”

By Thanksgiving, Kyle was discouraged. No matter what he did to get Anna to notice him she never seemed to pick up on it. She talked to him the same as she talked to the rest of us, but she never singled him out and I think it drove him crazy. I don't think Kyle ever had to work so hard to get a girl's attention.

He found me on Facebook that long weekend. Even before he mentioned her name I knew where he was headed. I mean, sure we were friends in junior high but it wasn't like we spent our weekends together. It wasn't like we chatted every night.

“Do you think she likes me?” he wrote eventually, after he'd steered the conversation like a race car driver to end up at her.

“I'm sure she likes you.”

“I mean, do you think she LIKE likes me?”

“Dunno. Hard to tell with her. I think your best bet is to play it cool,” I wrote, even though it stung a little. I mean, this is Kyle we're talking about and he's basically smokin' hot.

“Put in a good word for me if you get a chance.”

“I'll do my best :o)”

By December I was used to the situation. Kyle secretly drooled over Anna and she pretended not to notice, or maybe it's not that she was pretending, but something was holding her back even though I was pretty sure she liked him too. I mean, who wouldn't? Whenever I asked her about him, she changed the subject. That's when I knew that even though we spent so much time together, she wasn't one for sharing all her secrets. And I was okay with that. I mean, there was a lot I hadn't told her either. I hadn't told her about all the crappy years I spent at school without any friends, or that my mom's sister had committed suicide in high school, which meant my mom was basically an overprotective nutbar.

Then, just before Christmas, Anna's grandparents got in that accident and it was tough on her. I mean, she wasn't a basket case or anything. She didn't miss much school and she didn't come to class with red swollen eyes. She didn't go out and party away her sadness or mouth off to the teachers because she had an excuse to be in a crap mood. She just seemed more distant. Sometimes it felt like I was more upset about her grandparents than she was. I'd only met them a few times, but they were really cool for old people, especially her grandmother. I went sketching with Anna and Granny a few times during the fall of grade nine. We went down into the ravine by the west branch of the river, where, like Granny used to say, “the sound of the water lets you get lost in your work.”

Anyhow, after her grandparents were killed, Anna changed a bit. I know it's completely understandable considering the circumstances, but instead of wanting to hang out in the cafeteria at lunch, she started going to the art room to paint. It just about drove Kyle mad that she was always sneaking off. It sort of bugged me too. I mean, I know she loves to paint and I totally envy her dedication. But by grade ten, painting had taken over her life, especially the creepy bridge painting that Kyle fell in love with, the one Mrs. Galloway chose for the student exhibit. Normally it's only the grade twelve students who get their art chosen. But Anna painted a picture of the West River Viaduct that was so remarkable, I knew before it was even finished it would be chosen.

The viaduct is the biggest landmark around. There's a whole bunch of history to it too. Apparently seventy-seven workers died in the early 1900s while they were building it, so there are all sorts of legends and myths about the souls of the dead luring people to jump off. It's the kind of thing kids talk about at parties, especially around Halloween. I think it's a bunch of crap, but the painting was so haunting it almost made me believe the stories. I think Anna is the only person who can turn something as normal as a bridge into a beautiful piece of art.

When Kyle found out about the exhibit, he begged me to take him. We both knew Anna would tell him not to come if he said he wanted to go, but it would seem normal if he came with me. So, of course, being the good friend I am to them both, I agreed to meet him ahead of time and walk in together. We arranged to meet at the Starbucks down the street and have a quick Frappuccino. When I arrived, he was already sitting there with two iced drinks sweating rings of condensation onto the table. He was acting edgy and weird.

“What's up with you?” I asked him finally. “You're acting suspicious, like you're packing a gun or something.”

“Yeah, right,” he grunted. “I'm just nervous.”

“About going to the art exhibit?”

“No. I made up my mind to ask her out. Once and for all. I've waited long enough. I just have to know if she likes me or not.” He fidgeted with his cellphone as he spoke.

“You're going to ask her, like, on a date?” Even though they'd been friends almost two years, I couldn't imagine Kyle and Anna alone together at a movie or eating at a restaurant. It seemed too weird.

“Maybe just for coffee to start. Tonight after the show or something.”

“You're going to ditch me?”

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. It was obvious he wasn't in the mood for me to be difficult.

Anna's picture was hanging on the wall in the front entrance to the student gallery. Her painting could be in the city gallery, it's that good. Even from outside the door, I saw it and felt chills go up my back. She painted it in early morning, with mist rising up from the river and muted sunlight in the background. There's a single girl standing in the middle of the bridge, her head turned toward the bank of the ravine, looking off in the distance.

When we first arrived, Kyle and I did a lap of the gallery together. The place was packed so it took us a while to find Anna. Groups of students and teachers were huddled around talking about use of colour and how this painting used a modernist technique and that one had an eighteenth-century quality. Within ten minutes Kyle was complaining.

“I feel totally out of place here. All I know about a picture is if I like it or not.”

“We come to your dance recitals,” I pointed out.

“That's different. It's a show. It's entertaining.”

“This is a show,” I countered.

We found Anna tucked away in a corner. It looked like she didn't want to be there at all, even though everyone kept going over to tell her how wonderful her painting was and how it evoked so much emotion. She looked uncomfortable and examined the floor. It's not that she's shy. When you get to know her she's funny. But maybe she doesn't like attention the way some kids in the performance stream do. Take Kyle, for instance, he loves being in front of an audience, but I guess not everyone's like him.