Sketches (15 page)

I gave him a questioning look.

“He's right,” Ashley said. “You're really not that okay, are you?”

I hesitated and then shook my head. I felt queasy and my legs were shaking.

“Why don't you two go to Sketches and I'll meet you later,” Brent said. “Okay?”

I nodded my head, and then the tears I was trying to hide came flowing. Ashley and Brent surrounded me and put their arms around me as I sobbed.

“Hey, don't cry, kid. This is what family does. And in this family, you're the little sister, the little sister who'd be lost on her own. You need us to take care of you. And don't you go arguing with me about that.”

I shook my head. “I'm not arguing.”

“Besides, if it gets too hot for you here, if we need to, if worst comes to worst, we'll just leave this all behind and we'll head to another city,” Brent went on.

“Another city?”

“We could head out to the coast,” he said.

“Lots of people do that,” Ashley said. “Weather is warmer. Winter on the streets here can be pretty rough.”

My father was living somewhere out in Vancouver. But did I really want to run from my mother and end up getting closer to my father? It's not like he made any big effort to see my sister and me after he left. Probably the last thing he wanted was to see his messed-up teenage daughter standing on his doorstep.

“How would we get there?” I asked. We were talking about travelling thousands of miles, not hitching a ride to the mall.

“Like we do everything else,” Brent said. “We'll make it up as we go along! Anyway, that's not a problem for today. What is a problem are these flyers,” he said, holding one up. “Every minute we're talking is another minute when somebody could be reading one of them.”

“You'd better get moving,” Ashley said.

“I'll see you two later on tonight. How about I catch up with you in the arcade?”

“Around six?” Ashley asked.

“It might be later. If you can raise a little cash, get yourselves something to eat.”

“We could always dip into the money we raised yesterday,” I suggested.

Brent shook his head. “That's not what that money is for. Just try to scrounge enough to get yourselves a meal.”

“How about you?”

“Save me something . . . if there's enough. If there isn't, don't worry,” Brent said.

“We'll save you something,” I said. “Whatever we get, one-third of it will be there waiting for you.”

He smiled. “Appreciate it.” Brent turned and started off. I watched until he disappeared into the crowd along the street.

“He really is a good guy,” I said to Ashley.

“That's where you're wrong. He's not a good guy, he's the
best
guy.” She paused. “At least, the best guy I've ever been around.”

“He is pretty special. Did you ever think that maybe you and him . . . ?” I let the sentence trail off.

“Me and him . . . what?”

I suddenly felt very embarrassed. “You know . . .”

“Me and Brent together, like girlfriend and boyfriend?”

I nodded.

“Thought about it,” she admitted.

“And?”

“And nothing,” she said. “I'm not his type. Oh, wait a minute, have
you
been thinking about you and Brent?”

“No, honestly!” I protested.

“'Cause you're not his type either,” she said. “It's not going to happen for either of us.”

“Why not? I know how much you like him, and how much he likes you.”

“It's more than that. I love Brent, and I know he loves me.”

“Even better,” I said.

“But it wouldn't work.”

“Why not?” I persisted.

“I told you, I'm not his type.”

“Sure you are. You're smart and funny and really pretty and—”

“And female,” Ashley said, cutting me off.

“Isn't that the idea? He's male and you're female and . . . you don't mean . . . is he . . . is he gay?” I said, my voice almost a whisper, like I didn't want anybody to hear.

“I probably shouldn't be saying any of this,” Ashley said.

“But he doesn't look gay,” I said.

“And what exactly does gay look like?”

“I don't know,” I mumbled.

“And he doesn't
act
gay either, because gay people and straight people are just about the same. Who can tell the difference?”

“Obviously not me,” I apologized.

“That's okay, you're not the only one who's confused about Brent.”

“Who else?”

“Brent,” she said.

“But . . . but . . . how can Brent not know?” I asked.

Ashley didn't answer right away. “Look, I shouldn't have said anything in the first place so I shouldn't say anything more.”

I wanted to talk about it, but there was no point in pushing. Pushing Ashley just meant getting pushed back.

Ashley looked like she was thinking. “If I tell you more, you can't talk to Brent about any of this, understand?”

“I understand.”

“All right, so I'll tell you what I think. It doesn't mean I'm right, just . . . this is what I think.”

I nodded.

She said, “I think Brent is gay, but he can't really admit it yet, even to himself. At least not completely.”

“But there's nothing wrong with being gay,” I said.

“Nothing that I can see, but you have to know where he's coming from. He doesn't talk a lot about his family, but I guess in some ways it's fair for you to know something because he already knows something about your family. He even met your mother.”

I felt a shudder go through my whole body. For a split second I'd forgotten all about her being there, looking for me.

“Do you know anything about Brent's family?” Ashley asked.

“A bit. He's from a little town, right?”

“A little town up north. Do you know what his father does for a living?”

“No idea.”

“He's a minister, a preacher.”

I remembered Brent quoting from the Bible. I'd thought it was strange at the time. Now it made sense.

“Brent told me his father's church is one of those gospel churches. You know, the type where the minister is always yelling, and there's all sorts of talk about Hell and damnation and sin. Those churches are real strict. They don't believe in drugs, or even drinking, or dances, or sex before marriage, or divorce . . . or gays.”

“And Brent is gay,” I said.

“That's what he's trying to figure out, and he couldn't figure it out there with everybody watching. He said it was better for his father to have a kid who was on the run than a kid who was a
faggot
.”

“His father said that to him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But Brent knew what he
would
think. Funny, I doubt Brent even remembers telling me any of this stuff.”

“Why wouldn't he remember?”

“He was pretty wasted at the time.”

“Wasted on what?”

“You name it. Brent used to do a lot of drugs back then.”

“But he doesn't do any drugs now . . . does he? Except for grass, right?” I asked.

“Nothing. He doesn't need to any more. He needed them before to try to blank out his mind so he wouldn't have to think about the things he was doing to survive.”

“What sort of things?”

Ashley didn't answer.

“It's not fair to take the story this far and then just stop!” I protested.

She nodded her head ever so slightly.

“You remember how we talked about what that cop said to you . . . about how all street kids hook?”

I nodded.

“Brent hasn't done it for a while . . . more than a year . . . but when he was first on the streets he used to hustle. Men would pay him money. But not any more. He doesn't do anything with anybody. Not boys. Not girls. It's all part of him figuring things out.”

“Poor Brent.”

“Poor everybody,” Ashley said. “But he'll figure it out sooner or later.”

I didn't know what to say. I dug my hand into a pocket and discovered the supper leftovers I'd been saving.

“Can we go for a walk?” I asked.

“Depends where,” Ashley said.

“Not far. Just a couple of streets over. In the alley.” “To feed that cat, right?”

“Yeah.”

We started off for the alley. First we had to cross the street. I looked anxiously one way and then the other. There was basically no chance of me running into my mother, but I still looked for our car—her car. I ran across the street, dodging traffic, and didn't stop until I'd reached the safety of the alley.

“Do you think me feeding the stray cat is strange?” I asked.

“I think it's so . . . so . . .
you
.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know. Did you ever have cat-feeding lessons?”

I gave her a dirty look.

“Don't look so annoyed,” she said. “I'm just teasing you a little.”

“You're always teasing me.”

“Well,” Ashley said, “I tease you because you're like my little sister . . . because I love you . . . you know that, don't you?”

I nodded. I felt the same way about her.

“Didn't you tease your little sister?” she asked.

“All the time.”

“I wish I had a little sister, or a big sister, or a brother, or anybody,” Ashley said. “You're an only child, right?”

“Right. Although sometimes my mom made me call her by her first name and told people she was my older sister.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Why did she do half the stuff she did?” Ashley asked. “I guess she just didn't want people to know she was a mother—especially not the mother of a teenager.” She laughed. “In some ways she was right. She wasn't really much of a mother.”

We walked along in silence for a while.

“And maybe I tease you because I'm a little jealous,” Ashley continued.

“Jealous of me?”

“Jealous of the things you had. Maybe it would have been nice to have had piano lessons, or dance, or swimming, or something.”

“You must have had something like that,” I said.

She shook her head. “I was once in Girl Guides.”

“Well, Girl Guides is kind of fun.”

“I never really got a chance to find out. I only went a few times before I left the foster home and went back to my mother's place.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. I didn't know what else to say.

“Feeding that cat is like you because it's a nice thing to do. Who, besides you, goes out of their way to feed stray cats? And that's one of the reasons I love you.”

“It is?”

She nodded and I felt all warm inside. It was nice to have somebody love you, somebody being there to help and take care of you.

“This is where I usually see Pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin? You named it?”

I shrugged. “She answers to it.” I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Pumpkin! Pumpkin!”

“That seems to be working real well,” Ashley said.

“Pumpkin!” I called out louder. Suddenly the cat came running down the centre of the alley. “There she is!”

Pumpkin ran up to my leg and started rubbing and rubbing and rubbing. I reached down and picked her up, cuddling her in my arms. Her little motor was purring away in its strange way.

“Ashley, this is Pumpkin. Pumpkin, this is Ashley.”

“Pleased to meet you, Pumpkin,” Ashley said as she gave the cat a pat on the top of the head.

“She smells a little funny,” Ashley said, crinkling up her nose.

“I hadn't really noticed.” I put her down and reached into my pocket to pull out the chicken nuggets. I placed them on the cement and Pumpkin started to eat them.

“Chicken nuggets are her favourite,” I said.

“Is that why you've been ordering nuggets for lunch and supper?”

“Well . . . I like them too. Do you know why I named her?” I asked.

“Because she's orange and a pumpkin is orange . . . I can figure a few things out,” Ashley said.

“That's why I named her
that
. The reason I named her at all was that once you have a name you're not a stray any more. Pumpkin's not a stray. She's my cat now.”

“Would it be all right if I saved her some food, too, sometimes?” Ashley asked.

I smiled. “I guess there are two people who go out of their way to feed strays. Pumpkin would like that. I'd like that.”

Ashley bent down and gave Pumpkin a rub. Pumpkin rubbed back against her leg.

“I think she likes you,” I said. I almost felt a little bit jealous.

“You know, Dana, it's not just cats who are strays. You ever wonder about me? Why I'm out here?” Ashley asked.

“I wondered. I just didn't think I should ask.”

“You shouldn't. But I'll tell you. I'm out here because of my mother,” she said.

“What did she do to you?” I asked.

“She didn't do anything
to
me. It's more like she hardly ever did anything
for
me, either. She was always too busy.”

“My father was so busy that there were weeks when we didn't even see him.”

“What does your father do?” Ashley asked.

“He's a businessman, a big-shot executive. Some people think that careers are more important than families. I guess your mother just focused on her career.”

“I've never heard being a stripper referred to as a career before,” she said.

“Your mother is a stripper?”

“I guess I should say
exotic dancer
. That's what she always called it. I can think of a few other words that fit even better.”

“I didn't know.”

“And you know how that cop said street kids and hooking go together?”