Gravity Brings Me Down (12 page)

T
he next day, I sleep in late, but it doesn’t matter because it’s Saturday. I take my time getting motivated, then tell my parents I’m going to the library to do some research. I don’t know why I feel compelled to lie about where I’m going, because there’s nowhere I’m supposed to be. It just seems easier than explaining about Mabel. They don’t question me. They just insist I take my cellphone, which I would have done anyway, so it’s no biggie.

Halfway to Mabel’s, my phone rings. Stupidly, I answer it before checking to see who it is. It’s Sharon. She wants to meet so we can talk about our CPPs. There’s no way she’s going to let me off easily so I attempt to keep it vague.

“I can’t meet right now. I’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Like what?” she says.

“Stuff.”

“You’re going to see that old lady again, aren’t you.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

She grunts with disdain. “Why are you being all secretive?”

“I’m not being secretive. I have things to do.”

“So I’ll come with you.”

“No … I mean, it’s just boring stuff.”

“If you’re trying to ditch me, just say so.”

“I’m not trying to ditch you.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, whatever,” Sharon says, then hangs up on me.

What a drama queen.

I get to Mabel’s and ring the buzzer. There’s a longer than usual wait and I think maybe she’s out or can’t remember how to work the intercom or something. But then she answers at last, her voice small and shaky.

“It’s me … Marie,” I say loudly.

The buzzer sounds. I step into the foyer. It’s delightfully Mario-free. I hit the button for the elevator and I’m relieved to see the car is empty as well.

When I get to the fourteenth floor, Mabel isn’t waiting in the hall. I test the handle on her door. It’s locked. I knock, lightly at first, then harder. Did she forget I was coming since I spoke to her on the intercom? I bang louder still, until one of Mabel’s blue-haired neighbours pokes her head out to investigate.

I smile, giving her an innocent wave. “My mom,” I say, to cover up.

The blue-hair pops back into her hole. Probably gone to call the police.

I press my mouth close to Mabel’s door. “Mabel, open up … it’s me.”

The bolt finally turns, and I can hear Mabel fumbling with the chain. The door creaks open. I push it tentatively and walk in.

Mabel’s sitting at the table, dabbing at her eyes with a hanky.

“What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer. She just stares out the window.

“What happened? What’s going on?”

“It’s that horrible man.”

“What horrible man?”

I notice a wad of cash just sitting out near the phone. “Were you robbed?”

Mabel looks at me in shock. “Robbed? Oh, my dear, you must be more careful.”

“Not me … you.”

“Me?”

This is going nowhere. “Why are you so upset?”

“I’ve been ousted from the choir.”

“What do you mean?”

“John … that horrible man. He told me I shouldn’t come back.”

“But why?”

“He says I can’t follow the music properly—it’s just nonsense.”

“Who is he?”

“Oh, you know… the man at the front.”

“The choir director?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Mabel purses her lips. “I know why he really doesn’t want me there. He’s sweet on me, but I want nothing to do with him.”

This sounds so silly I almost burst out laughing, but I control myself because Mabel is obviously torn apart. I place my arm lightly on her shoulder.

“When did all this happen?”

“Last night.”

“What did you say to him when he told you?”

Mabel’s eyes flash with anger. “I gave him what-for. I told him I know exactly what he wants and he won’t get away with it. I even threatened to speak to Father O’Rourke.”

“And what did he say?”

Mabel turns away. “He said Father O’Rourke knew all about it and it was his suggestion in the first place.
Sixty years
I’ve belonged to that church.”

“What about the other people in the choir? Didn’t they have anything to say about it?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re happy I’m gone. They’re just a bunch of gossips.”

“So why do you want to go if they’re all so awful?”

Mabel frowns, her face pinched with frustration. “I went to that other church down the street. They were very nice at first. They said I could sing with them. But they wanted me to change.”

“Change? What do you mean?”

She reaches for a pamphlet. At the top is a logo for the United Church. I give the pamphlet a quick scan.

“It’s just about tolerance, Mabel.”

She waves her hanky. “Keep reading … it’s in there.”

“What, the part about the ministers being gay?”

“See?… They want me to change.”

I sigh in resignation. “Not you, Mabel. They don’t want you to change. That’s the whole point. They accept everyone.”

“It made me nervous, so I left.”

“Why? Half the people on
Coronation Street
are gay and you love that show.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, of course you do.”

She furrows her brow and looks more bewildered than ever.

“Well, there are other Catholic churches in town you can go to …”

Mabel shakes her head.

I’m not exactly sure what else to say or do so I just sit there, wondering where Mabel has gone. I mean, one day she’s funny and sharp, and the next she’s all addled and confused. It’s like the real Mabel has been abducted by aliens, and this fragile old woman has taken her place.

The clock ticks loudly on the wall. With each tick, I feel the invisible forces creeping their way in. They begin filling my cells with little beads of lead, dragging me down. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by disappointment. I was really looking forward to talking with Mabel about things—interesting things. But now everything’s wrecked.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, then replace Mabel’s photos under the bed where they belong. Back in the kitchen, I put the kettle on for tea. As the water heats, I reassure Mabel that everything will be all right. I tell her not to worry about it and that I’m sure the situation
will sort itself out. Once the tea is steeped, I bring her a cup, the way she did for me when I was so upset. She doesn’t acknowledge it. I try to think of something else to say but can’t come up with anything. I stay long enough to be polite, then tell her I have to go. Before I leave, though, I point to the money by the phone.

“It isn’t safe to keep piles of money lying around.”

Mabel glances at the money indifferently. “Just take it if you want.”

“I don’t want it. It belongs in the bank.” I search her desk drawer for an envelope. Putting the money inside, I stash it between two books with her other envelope of cash. “Will you be able to find it again?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Mabel. You may not care now, but you’ll care later on.”

Mabel sniffs dejectedly.

“I’ll see you soon. I promise. Don’t forget to lock up behind me.”

“Wait,” she says, getting up from the table. “There’s an extra set of… oh, you know, those things for the door…”

“Keys?”

“Yes, keys, that’s right. They’re here somewhere.”

Mabel starts poking around. I look to one side and see a set of keys on a hook by the door.

“These ones?”

“Oh, yes … I think so. Try them.”

I test the keys in the lock and they work. “Are you sure you have another pair?”

“Yes.”

She starts digging aimlessly around again. I pick up her purse and find her keys at the bottom.

“Here they are. Lock the door behind me. I’ll see you soon.”

Mabel lifts her head and kisses me. She smells of lavender powder and stale milk.

“Lock the door,” I remind her again before I leave.

I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get to the church but I hope inspiration hits me before I walk through the doors. At the top of the stairs, I stop. I’ve never been inside the Church of Our Lady Immaculate. There are about a dozen doors on the building and I’m not sure which one to choose. It’s like some kind of test. I don’t even know if the church will be open, or if the priest and choir director will still be there. Grabbing the handle on the big arched door at the front, I give it a shake. It’s locked. I go around the side. There’s a skinny set of metal stairs leading to a small door at the top. I climb the stairs and check the door. It’s open.

Stepping into the church is like going down the rabbit hole to another dimension. The levels immediately shift. The invisible forces are strong here. I’m all disoriented because it’s dark and heavy with the smell of incense and musty old books. From somewhere deep inside, the strains of choir music filter through. When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize I’m standing in some kind of vestibule.

Moving down the hall, I find another set of doors. They’re thin and arched at the top, with strange symbols carved in the wood. Next to the doors, there’s a little
stone bowl attached to the wall. Holy water, I think. Pushing the doors open, I’m swallowed by the music. The building is gigantic, with huge stained-glass windows stretching all the way to the ceiling. Everything is gilded and ornately carved, even the statue of Christ behind the altar. The organ is so loud, I can feel the wooden floor vibrating through my shoes. The whole experience is so surprising, so completely foreign and strange that all I can think is this:
What am I doing here?

Suddenly I’m feeling that none of this has anything to do with me. I should just turn around and go home. Mabel’s expulsion from the choir is a horrible injustice but I really didn’t sign up for any of it. I just wanted to help Mabel out a little. I mean, I don’t even really know her. Maybe the director actually had a good reason for kicking her out of the choir. Besides, where are her kids? Why aren’t they helping her? What can I, a total stranger, really do on her behalf?

I’ve almost convinced myself to leave when all at once, the music stops.

A man’s voice calls out.

“Can I help you?”

I look up. A gaunt man in horn-rimmed glasses hunches over the railing in the choir loft, blinking back at me like a vulture from on high. The echo of the music reverberates in my ears.

“I’m here about Mabel… Mabel Wilson.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah … I… um … want to know why you kicked her out of the choir.”

The vulture disappears and thirty other vultures take his place.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I wait, the fury of sixty prying eyes pressing down on me. It’s cold, and I’m nervous my kung fu will be no good here.

The small doors swing open and the vulture walks toward me.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I’m, urn, Mabel’s daughter.”

Murmurs rise from the choir loft. The vulture tilts his head, scrutinizing me. “We’ve never met before.”

I know he’s trying to pull some kind of Jedi mind trick so I ignore his implied question and get right to the matter at hand.

“So, what’s the deal? Why’d you kick Mabel out of the choir?”

“Oh, I see. You’ve come to strong-arm me, I suppose. It’s as simple as this: she can’t keep up with the music.”

“So?”

“We have standards.”

“Standards…”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“She’s been a member of the congregation here for sixty years.”

“We’re not preventing her from attending mass.”

“You just don’t want her to sing in the choir.”

“That’s correct.”

“Is this common practice here? To kick old women to the curb once their usefulness is done?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m sorry, Miss …?”

“Marie. My name’s Marie.”

“Well, Marie, as I said, we have our standards.”

I feel the heat rising in my face.

“You can call it anything you want, but in my books, it’s just plain wrong. This choir is all she has left in the world. How can you treat her this way? She’s been crying for hours.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you’re not.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re damn right about that.”

Just then, the little arched doors blow open and some beefy guy in a robe floats in. He has a face like a rump roast, and you can bet his sweaty hands are clutching the gravitation remote. In fact, he just might have the whole machine in his possession.

“Ah, Father O’Rourke,” the Vulture minces. “Perhaps you can set this young lady straight.”

The priest regards me with pious innocence. I toss him back a shovelful of frost because I’ve gone beyond the point of caring.

“Do you make a habit of kicking old ladies out of your choir?”

The priest clasps his hands together. “Ah, the exuberance of youth.”

“I guess you expect Mabel to just drift happily away?”

The priest looks heavenward. “Perhaps greener pastures await.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Who can fathom the Lord’s reasoning?”

“The Lord has nothing to do with this.”

“Omniscience is God’s privilege alone.”

For some reason this makes my blood boil. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to write letters to every newspaper within a hundred-mile radius about what you’ve done. I’m going to expose you for what you really are … a bunch of heartless … cruel…
ageists
.”

A loud gasp escapes from the choir. The priest’s eyes flicker for just a moment. His lips form a tight smile as he presses his hands together in prayer. “Blessings upon us,” he says, then turns and floats away, leaving me with the choir director.

“If you don’t mind … I have my flock to tend to,” he says.

“Flock is right,” I say, lamely, as if I’m arguing with Peggy. “Flock of vultures.”

I trot down the church stairs, my mind white with rage. I can’t believe those people! Who do they think they are? And as if all this weren’t bad enough, Sharon is waiting at the bottom of the steps.

“Have you been following me?” I say, taking the offensive. “God, you’re as bad as Tod.”

“I
know
you went to see that old bag.”