Miriam Toews - A Complicated Kindness

I sat down in the chair next to her bed and started flipping through The Black Stallion. I wondered if there was a way I could wash her hair for her while she was sleeping so she wouldn’t feel the pain but then with the heat of the room and my own personal fatigue and everything else I fell asleep in the chair and when I woke up Lids was quietly singing “Shine a Light,” the Stones song from Exile on Main Street (an album named for the Mennonite people if there ever was one), and staring at me. It was one of the songs she liked because it talked about the good Lord.

I smiled and said hey, hi, you’re up. Her eyes were even brighter than the last time I’d seen her. Remember when we were Georgina and Alberta: Granny Sleuths? she asked.

Yeah, I said. That was fun. We’d had healing powers. When our gym teacher hurt girls in our class, emotionally, by saying cruel things to them, we could heal them with our powers. For one whole year girls would come running up to us in the hall to tell us what Ms. Weins had said to them in gym and then we would heal them with our powers.

We talked about stuff, about how she was feeling, how I was doing, ordinary things, and then I told her I’d just got the prescription for the Pill. Lids didn’t agree with premarital sex but she told me congratulations and said she meant it. I hope it all works out, she said. It probably won’t, I answered. She nodded.

She asked to see the prescription and I showed it to her and she held it in her gloved hands and stared at it for a long time and then said wow. I know, I said. It was kind of embarrassing and sad. I don’t know why.

You know you have a little blood on the side of your face? she said. I told her about the air conditioner. I showed her the bird I’d bought for Ray.

That is so sweet, she said. She said she missed Ray asking her what she knew for sure. Whaddya know for sure, Miss Voth? Lids’s parents were nice, quiet people. They didn’t really believe in medicine or banks or social insurance numbers, just miracles. They were trying to cure Lids with tomato juice, gallons and gallons of it. Dr. Hunter didn’t get along with them. Lids had once heard him talking to a nurse about her parents and he had called them those holy roller shitsqueaks. Lids told me they were fighting over her soul.

How’s school going, she asked me.

Meh, I said. I shrugged. I told her I had learned that it was illegal to mow your lawn on Sunday morning. Then I asked her if I could wash her hair if I did it really, really gently so that she’d feel hardly anything at all, just warm soft water and a light tender touch of my hand.

At first she didn’t want me to. She touched her head like it was a premature newborn and said she knew it was awful but it hurt so much and I told her again how ultra, ultra gentle I’d be and that I’d stop as soon as it began to hurt and she finally agreed.

The logistics of the thing got pretty complicated. We had to strategize for about half an hour as to how to actually do it. She’d already used up her “air” by walking twice to the bathroom that day so we had to somehow do it with her in bed. Eventually we decided that she would lie diagonally across the bed with her head resting on my legs. I’d have a bowl of warm water right under her head, on the floor, between my feet, and I’d just kind of cup the water in my hands to rinse out the shampoo and it would all run back into the bowl.

It all worked out more or less. I could tell Lids was in pain but the whole time we hummed “Shine a Light” together over and over like a calming mantra and eventually it was done. Although there was quite a lot of water on the floor. After cleaning that up I patted her head a bit, gently, so that her hair would dry faster and we also debated the idea of putting a scarf or something over her head so she wouldn’t catch a cold. But then I told her that her hair would never dry with a scarf on and that colds come from viruses not wet hair. That sounded kind of bossy to me, though, and I told her I was sorry, and she said no, no, don’t be.

Mmmm, I said, sticking my nose close to her head, smells like apples. Then I thought hey, how about blow-drying it dry, and Lids said she didn’t have a blow-dryer. I had wanted to comb it but she said no way. At least it was clean and soft and smelled good.

Does that make you feel any better? I asked her. She smiled and nodded and closed her eyes. It made me feel better.

I asked her if she wanted me to read some more from The Black Stallion and she said no, that was okay, she just wanted to sleep. Then her voice was gone for good, or for the time being. She touched her throat and grimaced apologetically. I said okay.

I didn’t want to go but I didn’t know what to do next. I stood next to her holding on to my prescription and stupid dipping bird. The apple scent wafted up from her hair. She opened her eyes and whispered one word: Travis. And then she pointed at the prescription.

Oh, I said, I have to wait a couple of weeks before the thing kicks in. She nodded and smiled again and then I kissed her on her bright red cheek and said I’d see her soon and that I loved her.

When Lids was in her feeling-good periods we’d walk each other exactly halfway home. Halfway was this spot in an empty lot on Main Street, next to the feed mill that looks like a ship, and on that spot we’d kiss each other goodbye like two French girls, once on each cheek and then a third time.

I left the hospital and trudged towards Main Street and when I got to the halfway spot in the empty lot I stopped and lit a Sweet Cap.

I walked up my driveway and waved to my dad who was warming up his yellow lawn chair for a little highway staring adventure. He lifted his hand like he was pushing against water. Like, rapids.

I was officially on the Pill.

Hey, I said.

Oh good, he said. You’re here. He told me he was planning to take down the badminton net. Since my mom left he’d walked into it about thirty or forty times. He’d just head on out the door to work, eyes down, brain stuck in reverse, and boing…into the net.

Probably a good idea, I said. And I’m thinking of selling some of my tools, what do you think?

Well…I began.

Say, said my dad, could you stomach a walk downtown? Would you be at all interested in helping me buy a suit? Was he on speed?

We had a nice walk to Schlitzking Clothing. We didn’t take the long way. We could hear families in their houses, talking and clanking and playing the piano. We heard an entire family harmonizing to “How Great Thou Art.” I felt like holding his hand but that would’ve been pathetic.

At the red light on Main Street and First my dad looked at me from behind his wall of glass like he was surprised I was still there. Waiting for a different shade of green? I asked him. When we got to Schlitzking Clothing an extremely thin man in a three-piece suit took out a measuring tape and told my dad to stand in front of the mirror. I sat on the floor in the back and looked at the different styles of Stanfields underwear for a while. Then I took out my Pill directions for perusal.

My geography teacher walked out of a changing room wearing a lemon-yellow ensemble that included not one natural fibre.

Oh, he said when he saw me. I stared at him. A couple of weeks ago he’d slammed me into the lockers for not standing at attention properly during the anthem. I’d told him I wasn’t into individual nations, man, and he’d said I was a lunatic.

I looked at his tiny feet sticking out from under all that piss-yellow Fortrel and then I moved my eyes up slowly to his face.

It’s you, I said.