Theory XV
Sara stayed with Notty while she’d finished her work and held on the to the cup of tea until it had gone cold. She’d been offered the little iron cot in her grandmother’s sewing room for the night but the springs creaked every time she turned around so after a few tries she got up quietly, dressed again and let herself out.
She knew her grandmother wouldn’t talk about Tom, it would only stir up resentment and jealousy and remind them both how very wrong things had gone those years ago when the two halves of the family had split and never spoken again. She knew in the past Tom had come by to see their grandmother but she was mum on the details. Sara only knew that he’d slept on the sewing room cot from time to time when he’d had no place else to go. And in the beginning it happened frequently – soon after his sixteenth birthday, their father had disappeared again, leaving him in the care of a woman he’d taken up with and a savings account with two thousand dollars for his ‘board and care’ like he’d been some kind of dog. But even then, living with someone he barely knew, Tom had refused to come home to his sister and mother. He seemed to blame Sara in particular for the reason his father had taken him and left home and wanted nothing to do with them.
Her last glimpse of him had been the only time he’d come by the house, but refused to leave the car. He’d glared at her through the front-seat window of a battered ’85 Datsun, sitting beside her father’s ex-girlfriend. The two of them were equally defiant and both had the smeary looks of alcoholics on a bender. Then they’d roared off, smoke billowing out the tailpipe.
That had been ten years ago and since then he had fallen into the black hole of anonymity a city could provide. He might as well moved to Winnipeg or died for all Sara knew. He was as invisible as her father, whose whereabouts were just as mysterious.
The city was sleeping. She walked through the park toward Queen Street where she could get a streetcar. Men drunk from the bars and a fifth of something in paper bags were sprawled under the trees even though it would definitely get below freezing. She couldn’t help peering at their darkened shapes for a sign of Tom, but they turned away or were snoring already, open-mouthed and oblivious. She realized that any one of them could have been him, with their marred and swollen features they had morphed into one mushy brotherhood. The same Sally Ann dark coat, the same cauliflower ears, the same rheumy eyes, the same, the same. One was indistinguishable from another and they liked it that way.
She put her head down and followed the tarmac path as it wound its way toward the edge. The giant oaks branched above her and rent the moonlight, making the way difficult in patches. Toronto was not a frightening place after dark, even when the midnight bells had stopped tolling and the last of the revelers had found refuge in the dive of their choosing, but Sara kept her wits about her just the same.
The steamy bright warmth of the Queen car was a comfort and within minutes she was asleep, lulled by the rumbling of the wheels on the track and the rhythmic swaying as it raced past empty stops. She woke up just before her's and stumbled out onto a deserted block of shops. Only now did the darkness feel threatening. She quickened her pace as the cold and the uncertianty seeped in with a vengeance. Someone was watching.
When she got home, exhausted and shivering, Bertie didn’t even have the decency to come to the door to greet her. He looked up briefly from the Queenstown sheared sheep doggie bed she’d bought on a whim a few months before and then curled back in even tighter.
“Bertie!” she whispered urgently. He ignored her.
“Bertie!
He looked up.
“Come.”
The standoff last for a while, Sara bent down, tense, Bertie feigning sleep.
“Come!”
His mistress drew up, ready to spring. On this cue Bertie yawned, stretched slowly, one leg and a time, and then ambled over. Sara scooped him up in her arms and took him upstairs to bed where he burrowed deep under the covers and kept his own counsel. Curled as close to him as she could get, Sara watched the oak tree move to frame her view in the windless night and thought about the faceless shapes beneath the others, also looking for shelter.
She knew her grandmother wouldn’t talk about Tom, it would only stir up resentment and jealousy and remind them both how very wrong things had gone those years ago when the two halves of the family had split and never spoken again. She knew in the past Tom had come by to see their grandmother but she was mum on the details. Sara only knew that he’d slept on the sewing room cot from time to time when he’d had no place else to go. And in the beginning it happened frequently – soon after his sixteenth birthday, their father had disappeared again, leaving him in the care of a woman he’d taken up with and a savings account with two thousand dollars for his ‘board and care’ like he’d been some kind of dog. But even then, living with someone he barely knew, Tom had refused to come home to his sister and mother. He seemed to blame Sara in particular for the reason his father had taken him and left home and wanted nothing to do with them.
Her last glimpse of him had been the only time he’d come by the house, but refused to leave the car. He’d glared at her through the front-seat window of a battered ’85 Datsun, sitting beside her father’s ex-girlfriend. The two of them were equally defiant and both had the smeary looks of alcoholics on a bender. Then they’d roared off, smoke billowing out the tailpipe.
That had been ten years ago and since then he had fallen into the black hole of anonymity a city could provide. He might as well moved to Winnipeg or died for all Sara knew. He was as invisible as her father, whose whereabouts were just as mysterious.
The city was sleeping. She walked through the park toward Queen Street where she could get a streetcar. Men drunk from the bars and a fifth of something in paper bags were sprawled under the trees even though it would definitely get below freezing. She couldn’t help peering at their darkened shapes for a sign of Tom, but they turned away or were snoring already, open-mouthed and oblivious. She realized that any one of them could have been him, with their marred and swollen features they had morphed into one mushy brotherhood. The same Sally Ann dark coat, the same cauliflower ears, the same rheumy eyes, the same, the same. One was indistinguishable from another and they liked it that way.
She put her head down and followed the tarmac path as it wound its way toward the edge. The giant oaks branched above her and rent the moonlight, making the way difficult in patches. Toronto was not a frightening place after dark, even when the midnight bells had stopped tolling and the last of the revelers had found refuge in the dive of their choosing, but Sara kept her wits about her just the same.
The steamy bright warmth of the Queen car was a comfort and within minutes she was asleep, lulled by the rumbling of the wheels on the track and the rhythmic swaying as it raced past empty stops. She woke up just before her's and stumbled out onto a deserted block of shops. Only now did the darkness feel threatening. She quickened her pace as the cold and the uncertianty seeped in with a vengeance. Someone was watching.
When she got home, exhausted and shivering, Bertie didn’t even have the decency to come to the door to greet her. He looked up briefly from the Queenstown sheared sheep doggie bed she’d bought on a whim a few months before and then curled back in even tighter.
“Bertie!” she whispered urgently. He ignored her.
“Bertie!
He looked up.
“Come.”
The standoff last for a while, Sara bent down, tense, Bertie feigning sleep.
“Come!”
His mistress drew up, ready to spring. On this cue Bertie yawned, stretched slowly, one leg and a time, and then ambled over. Sara scooped him up in her arms and took him upstairs to bed where he burrowed deep under the covers and kept his own counsel. Curled as close to him as she could get, Sara watched the oak tree move to frame her view in the windless night and thought about the faceless shapes beneath the others, also looking for shelter.
posted by vallie at 11:16 AM
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