though, won’t you? For sure you’ll be home for Christmas, your father’s foolish over Christmas. My, such a long ways to travel for just a few days—”
“The boss wants my job for his niece,” I cut in. “He’ll boot me first chance, but I don’t care about that, I’ll stay longer if you want.”
“Thought there were jobs galore in Alberta.”
“There are. But this one makes big dollars—seriously,” I said to her dubious look, “it’s a bar in town, and the tips are huge. I make as much as a roughneck—which is why I can send money home—”
“Don’t start that again—and for the love of god, say nothing to your father—he’d die on the spot.” She gave me a quick hug. “And I’m well aware you graduated, didn’t have to remind me of that.” She pressed her cheek against mine, then kissed it. “Now, go sit with your father while I finds a washroom.”
As I watched her slight frame scurry away I lifted my hand to my cheek, feeling an absurd notion to cry. Emptied from thought, I wandered through corridors, finding, finally, the heavy glass doors of the intensive care unit. I pulled back the curtains surrounding Father’s bed and stood for a moment looking down upon his ashen face, the darkened hollows of his eyes.
“Looking lots better,” I said reassuringly, stroking his hand.
He nodded, his smile wan, and I leaned my face next to his, longing for that great, heaving chest and loud healthy snores.
“Your mother?” he whispered.
“She’s getting washed. She’ll be here in a minute.” I felt him relax, his breathing easier, more natural than yesterday. “Such a short time, already seeing a difference,” I said lowly, wondering if perhaps the doctor was wrong and he’d soon be his old, strong self. “Everybody’s well—Chris, Kyle, Gran. All wishing you home soon. And you’ll be fine too, soon enough—snaring rabbits and snowshoeing over the downs. You’ll like that, won’t you, back in the woods again—fist fighting with the hornets?” I smiled, touching a small, dotlike scar on the side of his neck with my fingertips.
He grimaced and I drew back, examining a few more faint, darkish dots on his throat. He’d stepped on a hornet’s nest once—the size of a football, he said later—that had been concealed amongst the deadwood, and had gotten swarmed by hundreds of them, buzzing around his head, searing his face, his neck, his hands as he tore through the brambles, beating and clawing at himself. He tripped, hit his head on a rock and near stunned himself, then went mad, he said, as one of the dirty little bastards burrowed inside his ear. He drove it in deeper with his finger, trying to hook it back out, and with a black cloud of angry, stinging wasps buzzing about his head he tore through the woods, screaming like a banshee. When finally he broke through the trees and came out onto the road his throat was raw, his face and neck a red, swollen mass, his fingers puffed out like sausages.
“Remember well that day,” I said, fingering his lobe.
He pulled another face.
“The molasses,” I said, pulling forth the memory of Mother forcing his head sideways on the table and holding it still whilst Gran poured thick blackstrap molasses into his ear. I remembered too, without saying now, the table shaking with his fear as he gripped it, feeling the molasses creep coldly into his ear. And then Mother turned his head to the other side, near fainting when the molasses started trickling back out of his ear, bringing with it the black, shiny hornet with its sticky, black legs.
“Ooh, jeezes, what a horrible thing that was—good then, there’ll be no more woods.” Immediately I cursed my tongue as his smile faded. “For a while anyway,” I quickly added. “Till you gets better again.”
He tugged at my hand, his breathing growing agitated. “The doctors,” he said as I stepped back, hearing Mother’s voice outside the curtain. “Tell me, Dolly. The doctors.
“The boss wants my job for his niece,” I cut in. “He’ll boot me first chance, but I don’t care about that, I’ll stay longer if you want.”
“Thought there were jobs galore in Alberta.”
“There are. But this one makes big dollars—seriously,” I said to her dubious look, “it’s a bar in town, and the tips are huge. I make as much as a roughneck—which is why I can send money home—”
“Don’t start that again—and for the love of god, say nothing to your father—he’d die on the spot.” She gave me a quick hug. “And I’m well aware you graduated, didn’t have to remind me of that.” She pressed her cheek against mine, then kissed it. “Now, go sit with your father while I finds a washroom.”
As I watched her slight frame scurry away I lifted my hand to my cheek, feeling an absurd notion to cry. Emptied from thought, I wandered through corridors, finding, finally, the heavy glass doors of the intensive care unit. I pulled back the curtains surrounding Father’s bed and stood for a moment looking down upon his ashen face, the darkened hollows of his eyes.
“Looking lots better,” I said reassuringly, stroking his hand.
He nodded, his smile wan, and I leaned my face next to his, longing for that great, heaving chest and loud healthy snores.
“Your mother?” he whispered.
“She’s getting washed. She’ll be here in a minute.” I felt him relax, his breathing easier, more natural than yesterday. “Such a short time, already seeing a difference,” I said lowly, wondering if perhaps the doctor was wrong and he’d soon be his old, strong self. “Everybody’s well—Chris, Kyle, Gran. All wishing you home soon. And you’ll be fine too, soon enough—snaring rabbits and snowshoeing over the downs. You’ll like that, won’t you, back in the woods again—fist fighting with the hornets?” I smiled, touching a small, dotlike scar on the side of his neck with my fingertips.
He grimaced and I drew back, examining a few more faint, darkish dots on his throat. He’d stepped on a hornet’s nest once—the size of a football, he said later—that had been concealed amongst the deadwood, and had gotten swarmed by hundreds of them, buzzing around his head, searing his face, his neck, his hands as he tore through the brambles, beating and clawing at himself. He tripped, hit his head on a rock and near stunned himself, then went mad, he said, as one of the dirty little bastards burrowed inside his ear. He drove it in deeper with his finger, trying to hook it back out, and with a black cloud of angry, stinging wasps buzzing about his head he tore through the woods, screaming like a banshee. When finally he broke through the trees and came out onto the road his throat was raw, his face and neck a red, swollen mass, his fingers puffed out like sausages.
“Remember well that day,” I said, fingering his lobe.
He pulled another face.
“The molasses,” I said, pulling forth the memory of Mother forcing his head sideways on the table and holding it still whilst Gran poured thick blackstrap molasses into his ear. I remembered too, without saying now, the table shaking with his fear as he gripped it, feeling the molasses creep coldly into his ear. And then Mother turned his head to the other side, near fainting when the molasses started trickling back out of his ear, bringing with it the black, shiny hornet with its sticky, black legs.
“Ooh, jeezes, what a horrible thing that was—good then, there’ll be no more woods.” Immediately I cursed my tongue as his smile faded. “For a while anyway,” I quickly added. “Till you gets better again.”
He tugged at my hand, his breathing growing agitated. “The doctors,” he said as I stepped back, hearing Mother’s voice outside the curtain. “Tell me, Dolly. The doctors.
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