Flee, Fly, Flown Page 4
He answers from his place on the bench. “What’s up?”
I shout past Audrey before she has a chance to speak again. “Do you drive?”
“Yep.”
“Could you possibly park this thing while I run into the bank? I’ve left my glasses at home and I’m having a little problem judging.”
The boy looks amused. He shrugs his shoulders and sidles over to the car. “Yeah. No problem.”
“Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes. Audrey will wait in the car.”
Audrey looks pleased.
“You behave, now,” I say, patting her on the knee. I struggle out of the car and wave to the drivers lined up behind. “Thank you, young man.”
I turn to watch as he wheels the car out, then smoothly, accurately, maneuvers it into position next to the curb.
The bank is mostly empty, but I make my way through the hallway of plush, velvet handrails that lead to the teller’s window and stand in front of a surly looking young woman who barely acknowledges my presence. She continues to slot paper-clipped bundles into a drawer and write letters and numbers on bits of paper.
“Excuse me,” I say.
“I’ll be right with you, Ma’am.”
I hate being called Ma’am. It sounds so condescending, like I’m some sort of old babe who doesn’t understand how busy and important others are with their whole busy and important lives ahead of them.
I wait as patiently as I can. Finally she looks up. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to take out some money, please.”
“Okay. Just swipe your card right there and enter your PIN,” she says, pointing to a keypad on the counter.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I just want to take money out of my account. I’d like five hundred dollars, please.”
She examines me with a curious look. “What’s your name?”
“Lillian Gorsen. I’ve had an account here for more than fifty years, and I’ll thank you to respect that. I’d like to withdraw one thousand dollars.”
The girl taps some information into her computer and reads the screen. “Do you have any photo ID?” she asks.
“What? For crying out loud,” I say. I sift through my purse and pull out my health card. “Will this work?”
“One minute please, Mrs. Gorsen.” She closes and locks her drawer as if I am going to reach across and steal the money while she’s gone. She hurries around the end of the counter into an office and closes the door behind her. A moment later, she returns with an older gentleman, older than her at least. He shakes my hand politely and greets me like a long lost friend.
“Mrs. Gorsen, how are you? It’s been ages. I miss seeing Albert in here. He always had a good story and a ready laugh.”
I don’t have a clue who this man is, but I play along. “Thank you. I’m happy to see you again. My dear Albert was indeed a gem. So kind of you to say so. Now, is there a problem with my account?”
“No. Everything is in order. It’s just that your children have power of attorney on this account and most of the transactions lately have been done through them. Your name remains on the paperwork as well though, so you do have access to the money. That’s not a problem.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
“Are you going on a trip or making a big purchase, Lillian?” he asks nonchalantly.
“I’m buying gifts for Tom and Carol. That’s why I want to get the money out myself. I want to surprise them. You won’t tell them, will you?” The lies spill from my mouth, unrehearsed. I watch him closely to see what he will do.
“It’s our secret then. Nice to see you again and know that you’re keeping well, Lillian. Have a great day.” He shakes my hand once more, gives a quick nod to the teller, and returns to his office. The young lady counts out the bills, and I tuck them into my purse.
Outside, I sit down on the bench and try to breathe deeply.
Audrey looks up from her discussion with her new friend. “I was just having a nice chat with Wayne,” she says, then quietly adds, “he’s homeless.”
“Wayne? Does your family live in Ottawa?” I ask. There is a sleeping bag, an enormous backpack, and a guitar case piled at the end of the bench.
“It’s Rayne,” he says, looking a little annoyed, “like the wet stuff that falls from the sky. My dad lives in Squamish, B.C.
I sort of travel around to wherever there’s work. I’m a musician.”
“He’s a great driver too. Did you see how well he parked the car?” Audrey says. “He’s really a nice guy, Lillian. He’s trying to save enough money to get back to British Columbia so he can see his dad again.” Audrey cups her hand over the side of her mouth and whispers, “His girlfriend just left him, and he can’t afford to keep the apartment where they lived.”
She pats his hand. “I’m so sorry to hear you’re down on your luck. Here, let me give you something for your kindness.” She reaches into her purse, pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it to him.
“Does your father know your situation?” I ask.
Rayne tucks the bill in his pocket. “Yeah, not that it’s any of your business.” He looks up again with a sheepish look, like he feels a little guilty for talking to me that way. “I can go home as long as I find a job.”
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his shirt and lights one. The smoke streams straight up as he exhales in the dead heat of the city street. The stillness of the air around us bakes my skin, seeps into my scalp, feels so good.
I watch him inhale, watch his yellowed finger twitch slightly. His skin is sallow, and his eyes are rimmed with dark shadows. Still, he has a boyish look; a look of innocence, like my son, Tom.
Tom—always so evasive with us. Always leaving, always hiding from everything that meant being part of our family. Even when he was a young boy.
“Tom, you should come home. It’s time you took on some responsibility and got a job. You and Carol are all we have—all I have now that your father’s gone. That fellow in the bank was just saying what a good man Albert was, how kind and funny. Do you remember how he was the only one who could make you laugh?”
Tom looks blankly at me and then at Audrey.
“He was always on your side. I’d get so angry with you for not coming home, not phoning, taking the car without telling us, skipping school. He always supported you. You should come home—and you should give up those damned cigarettes.”
Audrey takes my hand. “Lillian, this isn’t Tom. This
is Rayne.”
“Tom, Rayne. It doesn’t matter what he calls himself. We named him Thomas and I will continue to call him that. Tom for short.”
Audrey stands and balances with her cane to help pull me up too. “Let’s go,” she says. “This vacation isn’t going to plan itself.” She turns to Tom and shakes his hand. “Thanks for your help. Good luck getting home.”
The young man shakes our hands. “Good luck to you too,” he says.
“Are you sure you won’t come home with us?” I ask. “Carol would be happy to see you.”
“No. No, I’m just gonna stay here,” he says.
I can’t stand the lost look on his face. I just want to give him a huge hug. It’s as if he doesn’t even recognize me. I stand for a moment and watch him return to his place on the bench.
He was so different from Carol right from the beginning. Such a quiet baby. He hardly cried. Just amused himself, content with things. Carol—now she was another story altogether—demanding and impatient, always wanting more. She wanted figure skating lessons, then piano lessons, singing lessons, and she even tried to convince us she needed to go to a private school. And me a teacher in a public school! That wouldn’t have been right. When Tom was a teenager, he never argued, just ran away from everything. Nothing mattered enough to cause a fuss.
Behind the wheel, I pull slowly, easily away from the curb, thanks to the empty parking space now in front of us.
I drive around the block just to get used to stopping and turning. As we pass the bank again, Audrey waves and reaches across to honk the horn.
“Stop it,” I tell her. “You’re gonna make me get in an accident. I can’t drive with you grabbing the steering wheel like that. Jeez!” She can be so aggravating sometimes, making herself so popular with my son. It isn’t fair, and now she’s tormenting me by honking while I’m trying to drive.
“Sorry,” Audrey says. “Where are we going, anyway?”
A space opens up on a side street and I pull over to park. “I don’t know. Didn’t we have a plan? I don’t know how to get out of the city, do you? We can’t just keep driving around the block.”
We sit there for hours, or maybe just minutes. Audrey actually nods off, from the heat, I think. When she opens her eyes, she starts right in with her crazy ideas about the boy.
“He wants to go out west, did you hear him say that? We could go west,” she says. “And you should see him handle the car—like a pro. And he has no place to stay here. Can we tell him he can come with us as long as he’ll drive?”
“He’s not a puppy, Audrey. We can’t just take him along.”
“He plays the guitar. He told me we remind him of his grandmother. He’s a good boy. I just know it.”
I’m surprised at how tired I feel. My arms are sore and my head is starting to ache. Driving through the city is like working on a puzzle, but not an easy jigsaw. It’s more like one of those damned Sudoku puzzles. We are already lost, and it isn’t even noon. “Okay. Let’s go ask him, but we need to keep our wits. We don’t really know him.”
Audrey beams. “It’s gonna be fine. I hope he’s still there. Do you think you can find the bank?”
Rayne is sitting on the bench, smoking another cigarette when we circle around again. He is talking and laughing with some shady characters that look to be his age. There is no place to park this time so I just slow to a stop and Audrey rolls down the window.
“Excuse me,” she hollers. “Rayne? Could you come here for a moment please?”
He jumps at the sound of his name and passes his cigarette to the girl sitting next to him. She takes a drag, then passes it on.
“That’s not a cigarette,” I say to Audrey. “They’re smoking dope! Right on the street, if you please. This is not a good idea. I think we’d better just go.”
“No, no. Let me talk to him,” she insists.
“We have a proposition for you,” Audrey says as he approaches the window. “You want to go out west, right? And it turns out, we want to go on a vacation out west as well, but we could use some help with the driving. What would you say about joining us? You drive and we’ll do the rest.”
He looks stunned. “Are you serious? You’re heading to British Columbia?”
I lean over and point my finger toward the bench. “What is that you’re smoking over there with your friends?”
“Tobacco.” He glances back at the group. “Oh, yeah. You think it’s pot because we’re passing it around. No, we’re just all poor, and we don’t have many smokes left, so we’re making them last. That’s what we do.”
“Uh-huh. That and a lot of other things from what I’ve heard. Now, we’re gonna need to get this straight if you want to have a ride home. No illegal drugs allowed in this car. Do you understand?”
He starts to walk away. “Yeah, Grandma. I understand a little too well. You’re starting to sound like my dad.”
Audrey waves him back. “Does this mean you’re not coming?” she asks. “I think it would work out for all of us.
It would be fun.”
He doesn’t answer but returns to the bench with the others.
I’m getting fed up. “Let him go. He smokes marijuana, he has no job, and he clearly has an attitude. This was a bad idea.”
Before I finish, Audrey is already out of the car. “I’m going to talk to him,” she says.
The door hangs open, and traffic starts to build up behind me. I reach over with Audrey’s cane and pull her door shut. That woman is so determined when she makes up her mind.
I wave my hand out the window and drive slowly away. At the corner, I turn right and creep along. I can’t make out the signs. Cars whiz by. Everything looks sort of fuzzy.
In the middle of the block, I spot a large space. It is painted blue with a picture of a wheelchair and has lots of room to park. I head in, turn off the car, and start to cry.
A few minutes pass and my panic starts to fade. I’m such a fool sometimes. Where did I think I would go by myself? Audrey has to come with me. It wouldn’t be any fun without her and besides, together we’ll have better luck sorting things out.
I pick up her cane and start walking, hopefully in the right direction. I’ve been having trouble knowing which way is which in The Home, but I’m sure that’s because everything always looks the same in there. That is definitely not the case here. It is all very new.
As I reach the corner, I can see a group of kids clustered around a bench. When I get closer, I see Audrey right in the middle of it all.
“Audrey,” I say as I approach, “are you ready to go?”
Everyone turns to look at me.
“Where did you go?” Audrey asks.
“I parked around the corner. Are you coming?”
“I’ve convinced Rayne to come with us,” she says. “He’s going to drive. He knows the way.”
Rayne looks at me. I look at him. We both look at Audrey.
She shrugs. “Well, let’s go then. Grab your things.”
Rayne heaves the gigantic pack over his shoulder and with guitar in one hand, sleeping bag in the other, says good-bye to his friends.
I walk ahead and Audrey follows. At the corner, I stop.
“Go right. I saw you turn that way,” Rayne says.
“Very observant.”
My legs are ready to crumple beneath me by the time we reach the car. Audrey is limping heavily on her bad leg.
I hand the keys to Rayne, crawl into the back seat, and push our bags to one side. Rayne takes his place behind the wheel, Audrey, on the passenger side.
“Do you know how to get out of the city?” I ask.
“No problem.”
“It’s Lillian. You can call me Lillian.”
“And Audrey,” Audrey adds.
5
The scenery is changing. We’ve left behind the tall buildings and sidewalks and are now on a highway, heading out of the city.
From the back seat, I watch Rayne’s face reflected in the rearview mirror. He looks young, maybe twenty-five or -six, scruffy, hair too long, a sparse fringe of stubble poking randomly from his jaw.
“We have self-defense training, you know,” I say.
He doesn’t respond.
“We can protect ourselves in any circumstance. That cane is just a prop. Audrey doesn’t really need it.”
“Good,” he says. “A couple of fossils like yourselves have to be careful traveling around on your own.”
“I beg your pardon?” I sit up straighter in the seat. “Fossils? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
He laughs. “Relax, Lillian. I’m just setting up my own rules for the trip. If we’re gonna be traveling together, we need to be equals. No acting like my guardian, telling me what I can and can’t do. You treat me with respect and I’ll do the same for you. How’s that sound?”
“But it’s our car, and we’re paying the way. You, young man, are our guest on this trip. And besides, we’re olde
r and wiser than you because we’ve had more life experience.”
“Don’t count on it, and besides, I have the keys to your car. That makes it mine in practical terms.”
I feel queasy. This young tyrant is already taking over our car and has plans of his own. Audrey is being very quiet. She seems oblivious to the conversation. I lean forward to see what she’s doing.
She has opened the glove compartment and is searching for something. She stops, reaches in, and pulls out a handful of flat, square plastic packages.
“What are these? Candies?” she asks. She looks more closely, turns them over, and squeezes them for clues, then reads the label. “Trojan Luscious Flavors Lubricated Condoms.”
“Oh, good grief!” she shouts, dropping the packages in her lap. Her face flushes bright crimson. “These weren’t here when this was my car.” She gathers them up and stuffs them quickly to the back of the compartment.
“What do you mean ‘when this was my car’?” Rayne asks.
“Well…this used to be my car, and then I sold it to the young boy next door. We’re just borrowing it,” Audrey says.
Rayne searches her face. “He knows you’ve borrowed it, right?
A flash of heat surges through me. I’m feeling panicky, like we’ve forgotten something important. We should have left a note for the boy about that. Or did we?”
“Of course he knows! Of course. Otherwise it would be stealing.” My words come out in a shrill pitch.
“Right,” Rayne says quietly.
Audrey turns around. She doesn’t add anything, just looks at me with a weird expression. I can’t tell whether she is properly showing restraint or she just doesn’t get what’s going on.
She turns back to the front and smiles at Rayne. “You’re a good driver.”
My head is light, like it’s floating above me, unattached. We’ve forgotten an important step; that much I know, but now I’ll be dammed if I can remember what that piece is, or why it’s important. It’s gone. My hands busy themselves, fidget with the backpack on the seat beside me, open and close the zippers, and trace over and over the name on the front of the bag.