Winnipeg but the year of my new hip seemed brutal. I felt drafts in the old house that I’d never noticed before and I wore socks to bed for the first time in my life. I had graduated to a cane before the snow fell and could walk with no support by the end of November. But sometimes I used my cane anyway, after new snow fell and the sidewalks were extra slippery or if I had to take a bus. It kept people from banging into me and was something solid to hang on to.
Pete drank a lot that winter, eased up on the dope and got into rye whiskey like our mother. I heard him early on Sunday mornings, vomiting in the bathroom. And later in the day, he whispered into the phone.
“What happened last night?” he would say, talking to one of his friends. He groaned. “Do you think I have to phone anyone to apologize for anything?”
And sometimes he’d make more calls, full of excuses and apologies.
“I’m sorry I pulled the chair out from under you.”
“I feel terrible about making fun of your hair.”
“I’m so sorry I left you at the social. I sure hope you managed to get a ride home. It was cold last night.”
That time he was talking to Eileen. Her knee froze on her walk home from the Elks Hall that January night in 1970. She had worn only pantyhose under her short dress and coat, never dreaming she would be left to walk home. They split up after that frigid winter night. The knee that froze was vulnerable for her whole long life after that and she never stopped blaming Pete. Or loving him: he was her only love. She said as much to me, not so long ago.
Pete was kicked off the basketball team for missing too many practices. Nora didn’t find out till the playoffs when she and Dougwell were all set to go and watch him do his stuff.
My brother and I didn’t get any further. His staring at me stopped seeming like a positive thing. It got tiresome, then creepy, like Joanne thought it was from the start, and finally I had to start yelling, “Quit staring at me!”
He listened to what I said, if someone else was around. I could tell. But if it was just the two of us, he paid my words no mind. So I stayed out of his way, backed way off. I had nothing left to offer him. Maybe my basket of offerings wasn’t very full to begin with but I didn’t know how to change that. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. But I didn’t have it in me to push. I came to think of him as the mad woman in the attic, except he walked among us and was a boy.
I spent a lot of time in my room over the winter, listening to Abbey Road and Cheap Thrills , smoking a lot of cigarettes and a little bit of hash. The dope helped me to be nice to Nora. She was oblivious to what I was doing, just noticed if I was grumpy or pleasant.
“You’re awfully easy to get along with lately,” she said once when I had made my way, heavy-lidded and thirsty, downstairs to have a look in the fridge. She smiled at me.
I felt confused and shuffled back upstairs with just a glass of water. Was it me and the way I was that kept her from smiling at me like that more often? Could she and I have something more if I changed? Was it more than just her fault?
When I ran out of hash I didn’t buy any more for a long time. That little encounter with Nora freaked me out. I was more comfortable being crabby and unhelpful.
In the spring I took a job in the office at the Dominion store. I filed and typed and dealt with complaints. My hip still ached. The manager’s idea was that when I improved physically I would head out onto the floor as a cashier. My idea was that I would quit in a year or so and go back to university with the help of Murray’s life insurance money.
Dougwell was okay with this. He was an optimist, like Murray.
He sang the Dominion’s theme song, that one about why more Canadians shop at Dominion than any other store. Apparently it was mainly because of the meat.
I sang along with him and we laughed. Later, when he was puttering around in the yard, I
Pete drank a lot that winter, eased up on the dope and got into rye whiskey like our mother. I heard him early on Sunday mornings, vomiting in the bathroom. And later in the day, he whispered into the phone.
“What happened last night?” he would say, talking to one of his friends. He groaned. “Do you think I have to phone anyone to apologize for anything?”
And sometimes he’d make more calls, full of excuses and apologies.
“I’m sorry I pulled the chair out from under you.”
“I feel terrible about making fun of your hair.”
“I’m so sorry I left you at the social. I sure hope you managed to get a ride home. It was cold last night.”
That time he was talking to Eileen. Her knee froze on her walk home from the Elks Hall that January night in 1970. She had worn only pantyhose under her short dress and coat, never dreaming she would be left to walk home. They split up after that frigid winter night. The knee that froze was vulnerable for her whole long life after that and she never stopped blaming Pete. Or loving him: he was her only love. She said as much to me, not so long ago.
Pete was kicked off the basketball team for missing too many practices. Nora didn’t find out till the playoffs when she and Dougwell were all set to go and watch him do his stuff.
My brother and I didn’t get any further. His staring at me stopped seeming like a positive thing. It got tiresome, then creepy, like Joanne thought it was from the start, and finally I had to start yelling, “Quit staring at me!”
He listened to what I said, if someone else was around. I could tell. But if it was just the two of us, he paid my words no mind. So I stayed out of his way, backed way off. I had nothing left to offer him. Maybe my basket of offerings wasn’t very full to begin with but I didn’t know how to change that. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. But I didn’t have it in me to push. I came to think of him as the mad woman in the attic, except he walked among us and was a boy.
I spent a lot of time in my room over the winter, listening to Abbey Road and Cheap Thrills , smoking a lot of cigarettes and a little bit of hash. The dope helped me to be nice to Nora. She was oblivious to what I was doing, just noticed if I was grumpy or pleasant.
“You’re awfully easy to get along with lately,” she said once when I had made my way, heavy-lidded and thirsty, downstairs to have a look in the fridge. She smiled at me.
I felt confused and shuffled back upstairs with just a glass of water. Was it me and the way I was that kept her from smiling at me like that more often? Could she and I have something more if I changed? Was it more than just her fault?
When I ran out of hash I didn’t buy any more for a long time. That little encounter with Nora freaked me out. I was more comfortable being crabby and unhelpful.
In the spring I took a job in the office at the Dominion store. I filed and typed and dealt with complaints. My hip still ached. The manager’s idea was that when I improved physically I would head out onto the floor as a cashier. My idea was that I would quit in a year or so and go back to university with the help of Murray’s life insurance money.
Dougwell was okay with this. He was an optimist, like Murray.
He sang the Dominion’s theme song, that one about why more Canadians shop at Dominion than any other store. Apparently it was mainly because of the meat.
I sang along with him and we laughed. Later, when he was puttering around in the yard, I
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