Interference Page 7

  “The sooner we get this over with,” she says, teeth tight together, lips barely open — and she wonders why her jaw always aches — “the sooner I can get on with my day.”

  “Sigh.”

  Did he actually say “sigh”? Trish isn’t sure, but she thinks that’s what he said.

  Knock, knock. Sigh. He’s a sound effects man.

  “We got off on the wrong foot,” the man says. In fact, he bends down and rubs his foot, draws attention to it. Punctuates his sentence with the physical. The foot that was caught in the door. “Literally.” He laughs as if she didn’t get it. One laugh, one “ha.” And his laugh is like a shot. It rings into the living room and startles the dog from his nap on the floor. The cat, slinking by, takes off like her tail is on fire. Trish shivers.

  The phone rings.

  She doesn’t move to answer it.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  “No.”

  “But —” the man stops talking and looks at her, curiously.

  The answering machine kicks in. “Trish? Hi, it’s Mary, from the school. Your Christmas wreaths are in. Give me a call and we can arrange a time to pick them up. Or Rachel can bring them home. If she can carry them. I’d give them to Charlie but, well, you know how he is. Anyway, call me when you get a chance. It’s Mary.”

  “Beep,” the man says. He says it in time with the beep on the machine.

  Trish almost expected him to do that.

  “At least I’m not the only one you ignore.” He laughs again. That bark. “Ha.” Trish, her pets, they all jump slightly and then settle themselves quickly.

  That’s when Trish looks down at the pamphlet. That’s when she sees what she has in front of her, what she’s holding in her hands. And she almost drops it. She gasps.

  “Get out of my house.” Standing now. The man looks up at Trish and smiles. Trish can feel her heart beat in her neck.

  “Seriously, you really have to stop being so difficult. People will turn from you. People will turn their backs on you and walk away. These boots,” he says, pointing to his shiny shoes, “are made for walking.”

  Trish moves fast towards the kitchen, meaning to pick up the phone. She waves his pamphlet in the air. Furious. “I will call the police. I really will.”

  “But think of the children. Laugh, laugh.”

  “Get out.”

  Her dog barks. Once. A squirrel outside.

  The man stands from the sofa and follows Trish into the kitchen. His shiny shoes tap-tapping on her floor.

  “I thought you meant my children. And then I thought you meant children in general. Like poor children or sad children or starving children or children who don’t get Christmas.”

  “I meant all those things. Children.”

  “What do you mean?” Trish’s hand is on the phone. “What do you mean?” Shrill now. “This,” she throws the pamphlet down on the floor as if it has burned her, “this is disgusting.”

  The man bends to pick up the pamphlet. “Sigh,” he says again. And he begins to cry. Little tears squeeze out from the corners of his eyes. He’s working hard at it.

  “You’re crazy. I’m calling the police. I’m phoning 9-1-1.”

  He turns and begins to walk quickly out of Trish’s house. Down the hall, past the dog, past the cat rolling on the floor, digging her claws in the hall carpet, and out the front door.

  “Wait. You can’t leave.” Trish’s hand is on the phone. Her heart in her throat. “You can’t pretend this doesn’t exist.”

  “You never think about the children,” he says. He turns and says this to her. “Bang,” he says, as the door slams shuts behind him. “Clip clop,” he says as he starts down the wooden steps. “Whoosh,” he shouts as he starts to run up the street. Trish is on the front porch now, watching him rush away. A little bald man who looks like a monk in a brown suit. She doesn’t even have one of his pamphlets anymore. He took it with him. If she phones the police she has no proof he even exists. Now Trish understands Tom’s dilemma about the scar-faced man, his hesitancy to call the police. Tom didn’t have anything to go on but the man’s horrific face. And the fact that the man spent all day raking his leaves for free. That wouldn’t have impressed the police. But Tom didn’t see what Trish has seen. There were things in that pamphlet, in the second it took Trish to look at it, that she will never forget. She will close her eyes at night and those pictures, those children, will haunt her. They are imprinted on the backs of her lids. Trish will tell the police, she will warn them, they will write everything down in their little books, but still those images will cloud her vision, blacken her dreams.

  Sometimes you forget just how vulnerable you are. You move through the world, taking things for granted. Just last spring her friend Claire was diagnosed with breast cancer. Just last spring. One day she was laughing about something, going on about her life, the next day she visited her doctor and then suddenly saw her future a little too clearly. She told Trish she had no symptoms, no lumps. No warning. And now there is a small man out there holding tightly to his sick pamphlets, rushing headlong down the street, towards the rest of the city, towards the rest of the wide, wide world.

  Although Trish often feels unbalanced and unsafe in her life, there sometimes comes — full-force — those crisp mornings when the world moves quickly off-kilter and presents her with a new way of seeing things. A new way that isn’t an act, that isn’t part of the stage, the drama of life. A reality that crashes into existence. Those cold mornings when what little time Trish has taken to straighten up her life and get on with it really doesn’t matter anyway.

  Dear Parents and Guardians,

  As you may have noticed, it is getting close to Christmas. Our halls are decked, our mistletoe is hung — just kidding! Can you imagine what would happen if we hung mistletoe? — your children are trying hard to be good. Santa will soon be here. It’s a magical time of year and nothing, absolutely nothing, can dampen our joy. Please don’t forget, during this beautiful season, to think about decorating your own houses. Order your special Christmas wreaths soon. They are selling like hotcakes — or candy canes! Large wreaths are $40, medium are $30 and the very small, to decorate your dog’s house, perhaps, or maybe even your side doors, are $15. All proceeds go to the Abernackie Men’s Shelter on Braithwaite Drive. Remember, these poor souls aren’t as lucky as we are. They need warm clothes for winter, and hot plates for their rooms. They need good cups of coffee. So share your Christmas spirit! Don’t hesitate to order your wreaths.

  Please phone Mary in the office or send your cheque in a letter with your child. We will call to let you know when you can pick up the wreaths.

  Merry Christmas one and all,

  Marge Tanner

  Principal, Oak Park Elementary School

  P.S. Of course, Happy Hanukkah and Kwanzaa to those of you who don’t celebrate Christmas. Please visit the special room in our school, room 401, that is dedicated to your traditions.

  Build-Your-Bear™

  Your way is the right way . . .

  Come Build, Come Play, Come Love.

  Your Bear.

  Dear Ms. Patricia Birk,

  Are you serious? A Monk Bear? What were you thinking?

  We have — as I am sure you are well-aware — a Priest Bear, a Buddha Bear, a Muslim Bear, a Sikh Bear, a Jewish Bear, a Hare Krishna Bear, etc. We have them all. Even a Good Samaritan Bear. This is your last warning. We will not hesitate to pursue legal action.

  Sincerely,

  Maisy Crank

  CEO and Head Bear of Build-Your-Bear™

  Madison, Wisconsin

  5

  Becky listens to Rachel. Rachel says she has been kicked out of the house because she was eating a muffin on the couch in the living room. “Can you believe how unfair that is?” Rachel says her mother scooted her out, t
old her to get some “air.” “Air? It’s freezing out here.” Rachel says it’s not fair. Her brother, Charlie, gets to stay inside, but she has to go out and it’s cold and miserable.

  Rachel moves on to bad-mouthing Charlie. She’s always on about him. He’s eight years old and a pain in the butt, she says. Becky shoots hoops and tries to avoid stepping in the torn-up grass, in the dirt around the basketball net. She doesn’t have a brother so she doesn’t wonder about Rachel’s brother, Charlie. She has a dog. But Rachel has a dog too. And Becky’s dog is nothing like a brother, even if he is the same age. Eight. Which is old in dog years.

  Rachel says, “You aren’t paying attention, Becky,” and quickly steals the basketball from her. She shoots and sinks it. Then she runs around in circles, whooping and waving her arms around, and then she falls in the dirt.

  “Why’d you do that?” Becky says. “I was on a roll. Five more and I would have made thirty.”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Rachel says and rolls around.

  “Dog poop,” Becky says, staring at Rachel. She holds the ball close to her chest. “You’re probably rolling in dog poop. You’re an idiot.”

  Rachel smiles up at her. “Wouldn’t you like that? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Becky turns to the hoop and shoots. “It’d be great.”

  “That’s my net, you know,” Rachel says. “I don’t have to let you play if I don’t want to.”

  Even though Rachel is wrong, it’s Charlie’s net, not hers, Becky doesn’t say anything. Becky has no idea why they play together. They have nothing in common except living directly across the street from each other. Nothing else. Rachel is spoiled and bossy; she doesn’t even like basketball. In fact, the only thing Becky likes about Rachel is Charlie. He’s quite nice. Shy and calm and clean. Which is odd because Charlie and Rachel’s house is so messy.

  Becky likes clean. She likes orderly, organized, tidy houses. She likes to vacuum and dust her room every day. And even though she loves her dog, she won’t let him lie on her bed.

  Across the street Becky’s parents are putting up the Christmas decorations. The wreath from school, the lights, the reindeer that lights up and moves its head up and down. Becky stops shooting and watches her father. He looks strange from over here. Becky isn’t used to seeing him from afar. He looks like someone she doesn’t know. A stranger. Stranger Danger. Like that guy that she thought she saw hanging around the schoolyard last week. The one with the black hoodie with the word “Falcons” on the chest, the hoodie that covers his face, that puts his features in shadow. Becky thought she saw him watching the girls play hopscotch but by the time she’d found a teacher on the playground to tell he was gone and she decided that she’d probably just imagined him. After all, the police have been coming to her school all week, giving lessons on being safe, on being aware of your surroundings. Becky wondered if she might have been a little afraid because of this — maybe she was just hallucinating him. Overreacting. Like Annabel Hunter did when she ran into Mr. Berton, the janitor, down in the washroom. He was only cleaning, something Becky is pleased about. She is amazed, actually, as she didn’t think those bathrooms ever got cleaned. Annabel acted as if the janitor was a murderer and ran screaming up and down the halls until the principal put her hand over Annabel’s mouth and led her directly to the office.

  Then there was the whole boring assembly about overreacting. About being “aware” but not too paranoid. Becky doesn’t know how you balance it. Annabel really did see the janitor in the girls’ washroom and he is freaky looking.

  Becky’s molar is chipped slightly, and Becky stands there worrying her tooth with her tongue. She doesn’t want to tell her parents about her chipped tooth — she isn’t sure what happened, it was just chipped one morning when she woke up, probably from grinding her teeth — because she hates the dentist. Really hates him. More than she hates dirt. And she’s not overreacting. He pokes at her gums with little metal tools and always seems to hit a nerve. She’s told her mom that her teeth are sensitive but her mom says she has to get them cleaned anyway. The chip is annoying and is cutting into her tongue and she can’t help playing with it. Becky takes off her hair clip and puts it in her mouth over the chip so she won’t bother it. She sucks on the clip. The hair clip tastes like summer, like chlorine and sweat. It smells like mould. A bitter, earthy smell.

  Becky’s father is still there, plugging in the lights which sparkle in the dimming light. Her mother is nowhere to be seen. Becky remembers that man awhile ago who helped her dad rake. That scar-faced man. Becky feels shivery. Even though he wasn’t wearing a “Falcons” hoodie, Becky wonders if he could be the same person hanging out at her school. There was something in the way that man stood, his hands in his pockets, his face covered. Becky isn’t sure. All men look the same to her. Even the scar-faced man looks the same as every other man. They are all tall and big and featureless.

  “You have to pass the ball, Beck,” Rachel says. “Or I won’t play with you anymore.”

  “We should have two balls,” Becky says. “Why don’t we have two balls so we can each shoot.”

  “That’s not how you play, stupid.”

  “You can play any way you want to play. I don’t want to pass the ball when your hands are probably covered in dog poop.”

  Rachel’s mom comes out looking for Charlie. She looks frazzled. She’s holding one of her bears, half dressed.

  “He’s in the house,” Rachel says. “You let him stay inside. You made me come outside. To freeze to death.”

  “Charlie,” Trish goes back inside, calling him. Then she pops her head out again and says it’s time for lunch, and her head disappears again. Then the bear comes out, held by her outstretched hand, and it says, “Now!” The girls stare at each other. Rachel glares.

  Saturday is often like this. Becky goes over to Rachel’s. They play inside or outside. They fight. Becky heads home and hangs out in her room with her dog. Cleans a bit. Tidies up. Sometimes her parents take her out for dinner. They go to the pizza place or the fish and chip shop. Sometimes they just pick up food — rotis or burritos — and come home with it and eat it in front of the TV.

  Tonight Becky had Mexican, and now she’s in her bedroom watching some shows on her laptop while her parents watch their own movie downstairs. She can hear her mother laugh every so often. She’s loud when she laughs. There are a lot of things that bother Becky about her mother. Her laugh is just one of them.

  Becky wonders if the guy with the Falcons hoodie was staring at her. She’s not sure. He just stands there and stares. The guy who was raking with her dad that day kept looking at her. He had such a freaky face, Becky can’t even describe it, sliced in two, a giant scar. Even though he worked hard, raking, Becky was sure he kept looking at her. And he put a spin on her dad. He made her dad nervous, Becky could tell. Maybe it was his face. Becky thinks a face like that would make anyone nervous. After the guy left that day there was a lot of whispering between Becky’s mom and Becky’s dad, but she doesn’t know why. Maybe because the man up and left without taking any money for his work. Even Becky thinks that’s weird. Why would you do anything without getting paid for it? Becky’s mom said he would be back the next day for money. But he never came back.

  Becky spent the drive to the Mexican restaurant telling her dad all about Stranger Danger. He listened carefully. Becky likes how he always listens. In fact, he connected what she was saying with the raking man. Somehow he connected it. Even though Becky said nothing. Her dad said he didn’t want to make her nervous. Ever. He said he was sorry he panicked when he couldn’t find her after the man with the weird face left that day. He said she shouldn’t worry about that man, have nightmares or anything, but by saying this he made Becky scared. She wasn’t really afraid of the man until her dad said that. But then thinking of that scarred-up face, that weird half-face — well, now she is scared. And her tooth is
bothersome and there is a bit of Mexican food stuck in it, where it’s chipped, and Becky is digging at it now in front of her laptop in her room.

  Bringing up that man made Becky want to watch something really tame. She picked from all the old DVDs they have in a box in the living room. She thought about a Christmas movie. It was almost time to start watching those: The Grinch, It’s a Wonderful Life, Scrooge, A Christmas Story. But instead she chose a DVD of old Hannah Montana episodes. They aren’t taking her mind off anything. Becky has no idea why adults would want to frighten children. It seems that everyone Becky knows is a little more worried these days. Before the police started talking to everyone at her school Becky felt like a kid. Now she feels like an adult. She feels as if she has a responsibility to do something, but she doesn’t know what.

  And even though she’s mad at Rachel, right now Becky wishes Rachel were here. Watching a DVD with her. Becky’s eight-year-old dog isn’t proper company. He falls asleep quickly and snores as loudly as her mother laughs. Outside Becky can hear Rachel’s mother goofing around with Charlie in the driveway and talking loudly to the new neighbour. She can hear Charlie bouncing a ball in the dark and Rachel’s mom says something about hockey and the new neighbour says something back. Her little baby, Carrie, who is really cute and sweet, makes a loud squealing noise and everyone over there, in Rachel’s driveway, laughs.

  For a while, after the raking man came, Becky’s father started driving Becky, Rachel and Charlie to school even though he never usually did that. He drove them up to the schoolyard and then he sat in the car until they were safely in the fenced area. He did this for a couple of weeks and then he stopped, and Becky, Rachel and Charlie walked together again like they used to. Rachel complained. She liked the rides to school. The warm car. She blamed Becky and Charlie for everything. She said it was their fault Becky’s dad had stopped driving. She said it was Charlie’s stinky feet and the way he always cleared his throat.