My Temporary Life by Martin Crosbie

couch and looks about as glum as I’ve ever seen him. He keeps looking at me, and then looking away as though he’s not quite sure what to say. I just wait. I know my Dad. The words will come.
     
    “ I’ve spoken to George.” The silence that comes after George’s name hangs in the air between us. “He’s arranged your admission into a school in Canada. He’s very fond of you, Malcolm. He wants to help you.” My Dad pauses, and draws air into his mouth before continuing. “He wants to help us.”
     
    Before I can ask the question, he anticipates me, and answers it himself. “Your mother is not involved in this, and will not be involved in any of it. George, and I have sorted out the financial details, and he’s looking forward to seeing you. He’ll make all the arrangements, on a temporary basis, Malcolm, only temporary.” He’s staring at the worn-out pattern on the carpet that lies between us, looking up from time to time to make sure that I’m still listening. I can hear the clock ticking in the background, although I don’t remember ever hearing it before. The lines in his forehead crinkle and he’s holding tight to the seat cushion and nodding as though he’s convincing himself that it’s the right thing to do.
     
    It’s not until he looks up and stares at me, that I realize he’s crying. He has a glassy look in his eyes and he keeps blinking, trying not to acknowledge the tears, while I hold my face hard, trying not to breathe, trying not to cry.
     
    “ Dad, I could go to work. I could go to work with you or wait it out and then try next year. I could...” I have to stop talking or I’ll sob. I hold my head in my hands, and try to breathe, try to think. I just need to think.
     
    “ You have this,” he points to his head as he talks to me. “You have this gift, Malcolm. You’re no like us. You think. You know things. You have to use that. It’s a gift, Malcolm, it’s a gift.” I know this look, the look on his face. It’s the same look he had when my mother left us years ago. He’s somewhere between pain and anger right now. He raises his voice slightly and I know what he’s doing. I know that he thinks it’s the best thing to do. “We’re no gonna waste it. We will not squander that gift.”
     
    Although there are things I like about Canada, it’s still not home. It’s just a place that I go to in the summer. It’s the place that I go to because of the divorce agreement.
     
    “ And, you’ll come here for your university. They have no choice but to take you to the school of your choice then. You keep getting good marks and they have to let you in. Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, we’ll look at all of them and then you can decide. Then you’ll come back. And in between you’ll be here for Christmases and summers and whatever else we can afford. With the new job it’ll be easier, much easier to get you home.”
     
    He’s right. Scotland will have to take me back for my university schooling and of course they’ll have to pay for it too. Terry has told me how expensive university is in Canada and was amazed when I explained to him that in Scotland anyone who maintains a certain grade level attends university at no cost. For a brief moment I think about the private academy that Terry attends but I know that it isn’t an option. My Dad’s new job may have changed our financial position but it still doesn’t put us in the same league as Bill and Terry Allister.
     
    Before I can ask him when I’ll be leaving, he answers me. “Soon, son, next week, next week, as long as I can get you on a flight.”
     
    I have my head hung down, not wanting to look at him or anything else right now, and when I look up; he has moved over and is sitting beside me on the couch. He pulls my head to his chest, holding us both tight. His tears and my frustration are gone now, and it feels as though we’ve resolved to doing whatever it is that we have to do. I can hear his breathing and take