Francis.”
I clenched my fist. “You’re dumber than this potato and I hate you.” I heaved the potato at the window. Luckily I hit the newspaper rack.
“You’re crazy, just like your father!” Aunt Sophie stood and shook her umbrella at me.
I guess at that minute I was. I started chucking all the potatoes I’d peeled at the door. She left. The three customers sat looking at me. Mr. Deli came huffing up the stairs.
“What are you doing? You can’t throw potatoes like that! You can’t do that!” Mr. Deli looked at me as if I had three heads. He unfolded a green garbage bag and started picking up the potatoes. “Violence begets more violence!”
“Oh, great. More words of wisdom.”
Mr. D. didn’t look angry so much as confused. And disappointed.
I had clearly cracked. Mr. Reptile Brain had taken over in my skull. I had managed to terrify Luc, wreck Maman’s plans, and alienate both Aunt Sophie and Mr. D. Good going, Francis! A triple-header. No, a quadruple-header. No wonder Papa couldn’t stand me.
I washed my face at the tiny sink in the men’s room and left the deli. It was raining so hard that I took off my T-shirt. I walked down St-Denis and turned on Mont-Royal.
I didn’t stop until I came to the big statue of an angel at the entrance to the cemetery. She looked as if she was giving me a high five. Everything was clear in my mind. I had to leave.
Aunt Sophie had loaded Luc and Sputnik into her car and taken them to a holiday camp in the Laurentians for a week. Maman and I had hardly exchanged a word since the End of the Affair. I had convinced myself that nobody would miss me if I left.
August 14, 1993. My own private D-Day. I was going to fly on my own wings, but, truth be told, I felt more like Tweety Bird than an eagle. After I bought my bus ticket I had two hundred and fifty dollars in potato-peeling money sorted neatly in my brand-new wallet. My knapsack was packed with a couple of bottles of Pepsi, my Walkman and tapes, some underwear, a couple of T-shirts, and a map of Toronto.
I took the métro to Berri-UQAM. From there, it was only a five-minute walk to the bus station, but I was drenched with sweat as I stood in line for a ticket. Part of my brain knew that what I was doing was not the brightest of moves, but it was overruled by the litany of reasons I had assembled to convince myself that I had to go: I wanted to leave all the pain, frustration, anger–wait asecond, where’s my synonym dictionary? Okay. Just found it–disappointment, fury, rage, resentment, and bitterness behind me. I also had plenty that I wanted to forget. For instance, there was making a fool of myself over George, and telling Jul that I liked her. But most of all, I wanted to forget that Papa hadn’t loved us enough to stick around. Those were the
push
reasons. The
pull
reason was Password: Black Jack.
16 | T HE S AILOR
T he bus was nearly full. I sat down in an aisle seat next to an old woman in a pink pantsuit with soft white hair and glasses on a beaded cord. Before the bus pulled out of the station she told me that she was from Barrie, Ontario, and that she was on her way home from visiting her granddaughter. I wondered if she knew Jul, but I had a horror of speaking to strangers so I didn’t ask. I slept until the bus stopped at Kingston. There was a Tim Hortons there, and though I wasn’t hungry I bought a turkey sandwich. The old woman gave me an apple.
“Where are you going, dear?” she asked.
“Toronto.” Ever the snappy conversationalist, me.
“Do you have family there?”
“No.”
“Is this your first visit?”
“Yes.” Was she never going to stop asking me questions?
“Lord, Lord, you’ll enjoy yourself. You know the Exhibition is on. My, it’s fun, what with the roller coaster and the midway. There’s the Food Building. My, I used to love going to see Elsie the Cow carved out of butter, but now it’s all…”
“Excuse me.” I got up and lurched down the aisle to
I clenched my fist. “You’re dumber than this potato and I hate you.” I heaved the potato at the window. Luckily I hit the newspaper rack.
“You’re crazy, just like your father!” Aunt Sophie stood and shook her umbrella at me.
I guess at that minute I was. I started chucking all the potatoes I’d peeled at the door. She left. The three customers sat looking at me. Mr. Deli came huffing up the stairs.
“What are you doing? You can’t throw potatoes like that! You can’t do that!” Mr. Deli looked at me as if I had three heads. He unfolded a green garbage bag and started picking up the potatoes. “Violence begets more violence!”
“Oh, great. More words of wisdom.”
Mr. D. didn’t look angry so much as confused. And disappointed.
I had clearly cracked. Mr. Reptile Brain had taken over in my skull. I had managed to terrify Luc, wreck Maman’s plans, and alienate both Aunt Sophie and Mr. D. Good going, Francis! A triple-header. No, a quadruple-header. No wonder Papa couldn’t stand me.
I washed my face at the tiny sink in the men’s room and left the deli. It was raining so hard that I took off my T-shirt. I walked down St-Denis and turned on Mont-Royal.
I didn’t stop until I came to the big statue of an angel at the entrance to the cemetery. She looked as if she was giving me a high five. Everything was clear in my mind. I had to leave.
Aunt Sophie had loaded Luc and Sputnik into her car and taken them to a holiday camp in the Laurentians for a week. Maman and I had hardly exchanged a word since the End of the Affair. I had convinced myself that nobody would miss me if I left.
August 14, 1993. My own private D-Day. I was going to fly on my own wings, but, truth be told, I felt more like Tweety Bird than an eagle. After I bought my bus ticket I had two hundred and fifty dollars in potato-peeling money sorted neatly in my brand-new wallet. My knapsack was packed with a couple of bottles of Pepsi, my Walkman and tapes, some underwear, a couple of T-shirts, and a map of Toronto.
I took the métro to Berri-UQAM. From there, it was only a five-minute walk to the bus station, but I was drenched with sweat as I stood in line for a ticket. Part of my brain knew that what I was doing was not the brightest of moves, but it was overruled by the litany of reasons I had assembled to convince myself that I had to go: I wanted to leave all the pain, frustration, anger–wait asecond, where’s my synonym dictionary? Okay. Just found it–disappointment, fury, rage, resentment, and bitterness behind me. I also had plenty that I wanted to forget. For instance, there was making a fool of myself over George, and telling Jul that I liked her. But most of all, I wanted to forget that Papa hadn’t loved us enough to stick around. Those were the
push
reasons. The
pull
reason was Password: Black Jack.
16 | T HE S AILOR
T he bus was nearly full. I sat down in an aisle seat next to an old woman in a pink pantsuit with soft white hair and glasses on a beaded cord. Before the bus pulled out of the station she told me that she was from Barrie, Ontario, and that she was on her way home from visiting her granddaughter. I wondered if she knew Jul, but I had a horror of speaking to strangers so I didn’t ask. I slept until the bus stopped at Kingston. There was a Tim Hortons there, and though I wasn’t hungry I bought a turkey sandwich. The old woman gave me an apple.
“Where are you going, dear?” she asked.
“Toronto.” Ever the snappy conversationalist, me.
“Do you have family there?”
“No.”
“Is this your first visit?”
“Yes.” Was she never going to stop asking me questions?
“Lord, Lord, you’ll enjoy yourself. You know the Exhibition is on. My, it’s fun, what with the roller coaster and the midway. There’s the Food Building. My, I used to love going to see Elsie the Cow carved out of butter, but now it’s all…”
“Excuse me.” I got up and lurched down the aisle to
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