Théodora Armstrong: Clear Skies, No Wind, 100% Visibility

“Studying hard, I see,” he says, standing over my table, taking a sip of his coffee and balancing his danish on a plate in one hand.

“You can sit down,” I say, pushing one of the chairs from the table with my foot.

Paul looks around the empty restaurant. “For a minute,” he says, sitting down and folding his danish in half, taking a large bite. From across the table even his smell is different — pearly soap and forest sap. I watch him chew. He swallows and asks, “How are you doing? I assume better, since you haven’t been to my office this week.”

“Much better,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Really a lot better.”

“You’re attending all your classes?” Paul’s chin dips to one side and he raises his eyebrows.

“Yep,” I lie with a smile.

“Can’t have a repeat of last year.”

“Last year was really abnormal for me. It was an anomaly.”

“Good word.”

In the mall, outside the restaurant, I see Kate and Adrienne walk by together. Kate’s oblivious, but Adrienne does a double take when she sees me and Paul. I watch them walk out the front doors, their coats pulled up over their heads against the rain. Something tingles inside of me as Paul stuffs the last bite of pastry in his mouth. “I should get going,” he says, standing with his coffee. I walk out of Bread Garden with him and we stand under the awning, looking at the rain. I pull my jean jacket closed, trying to look especially cold and miserable, as I secretly scan the parking lot for Kate and Adrienne. “Do you have a ride?” Paul asks.

“Nah, I was going to take the bus,” I say, looking over at the empty stop.

As I’m getting into Paul’s car, Rana’s coming up the street toward me, looking pissed and giving me a half-hearted wave. I pretend not to see her, bending down in the front seat to retie my shoes.

“I don’t normally give my students rides,” Paul says, shifting the car into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot. We drive slowly down Marine Drive, the rain enveloping everything and the wipers thwacking across the windshield. There’s something about being in a car when it’s pouring that makes conversation uncomplicated. Words are muffled, all the sharp edges softened and the empty spaces filled. We talk easily and for the first time about things other than school, about music and the best place for sushi on Lonsdale. I give Paul directions that take us out of the way, and when we finally reach my block I feel disappointed. I point out my house and Paul drives a little further, stopping behind a tall hedge. “Thanks,” I say, as I get out of the car.

“Anytime,” Paul says, smiling at me. The dead tooth could ruin everything, but for once it doesn’t.

As soon as I get to my room, I call Rana to apologize. All she says is, lucky slut.

AFTER DINNER I GO to Elgin’s to watch TV. We fall asleep on the couch, but when I wake up I’m alone in Elgin’s bed and it’s dark and I have no idea what time it is. I can hear his mother in the living room talking about me as I fumble for my clothes, quietly slipping them on under the sheets. She’s talking about feeding me, asking why she has to work to put food in my mouth, and I can hear Elgin mumbling, but I can’t make out the words. I try to find my socks, but give up and slip my bare feet into my sneaks. Their voices get louder, like they’re right outside the bedroom door. “Why don’t you sleep at her house?”

“Mom.” Elgin’s voice cracks. “Stop!”

“Let me in there. I’ll tell her myself.” I stand frozen at the edge of the bed, waiting for the door to swing open. There’s a scuffle outside the door, then a slap, and Elgin shouts, almost growls, “Leave me alone.” I’ve never heard Elgin like that before, like the angry words are being ripped from his guts. “I hate you. You fucking bitch.” I hear spit flying and their bodies struggling against the door. His mother cries out and I open the window, highway noise flooding the room. As I hop out, and just before the bedroom door opens, I can hear Elgin sobbing, saying over and over, “I hate this house.” I run across the backyard without looking back. Out the window his mother shouts, “Are you running, you little slut?” Next door a porch light flips on and I squeeze between the blackberry bushes, scratching up my arms.

At the edge of the highway, I tuck my hands in my T-shirt for warmth. I forgot my coat, but the rain has stopped, the night unexpectedly clear — moonless and cold. I wait for a break in traffic before running across the highway. Cars without drivers whip by on the dark road. I walk along the drainage ditch with my thumb out, hoping to God Carlie’s blue Nova will magically appear. No one picks me up for a while, and by the time a red minivan stops on the side of the road, I’m shaking I’m so cold. A rosy-cheeked lady leans across the passenger seat, the door still locked, and sticks her head out the window. “You shouldn’t be hitchhiking.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s a bad idea.” She sits in the car, exhaust spiralling up toward the stars. It doesn’t look like she’s going to let me in, so I start to walk down the highway to find another ride. The horn toots lightly and I walk back. “Get in,” she says. “It’s too cold to be standing out here with no coat.” I open the door, letting the car swallow me into its warmth. There’s classical music playing from the radio and a churchy feeling swells up inside me. “I’d like to take you right to your house,” the lady says. “I don’t mind if it’s out of the way. Just make me a promise you won’t hitchhike again. It’s not safe for girls.” I tell her the address and buckle my seat belt.

“That’s not too far,” she says cheerfully. She’s either plump or bundled in too many layers of clothes. The buttons on her coat look like they’re going to pop. “A long way if you’re walking though.” She looks like a mother. I know she’s a mother.

“Thanks a lot,” I say. She nods her head and puts on her turn signal, checking her blind spot twice before pulling out onto the empty highway.

I close my eyes and fall asleep.

THE WOMAN DROPS ME off at the entrance to the subdivision and I walk through the dead-quiet streets lined with identical homes. A mist comes up from the canyon and I get lost in all the cul-de-sacs before I find Kate’s house. I walk around to the backyard and sit on the edge of the trampoline, trying to figure out how to get up to Kate’s window. Someone passes back and forth behind the curtains like they’re pacing or tidying up. The window casts a square of light on the grass and the air has that crackly electrical feeling like the static in my hair when I pull off my toque. A light is turned off in the room and replaced by a dimmer one, a bedroom lamp. Sitting in the middle of the trampoline with my knees pulled up to my chest for warmth, I cup my hands around my mouth and whisper, “Kate.”

The room goes dark. It almost feels cold enough to snow.

THE WINTER I WAS in grade eight, it snowed for the first time in what felt like years. All night the fat flakes fell from the sky. Kate called my house all excited. She talked to my dad for a while about when the last time was it snowed like this — if ever — and my dad told stories about how they used to go skating on Lost Lagoon when he was a kid, how the water never got cold enough to freeze solid anymore. “Maybe we can go outdoor skating,” Kate said breathlessly when I grabbed the phone.

The entire city shut down. I had to walk home from Lonsdale because the bus driver wouldn’t venture off the main roads. Carlie and I stood in the garden grinning like dummies. In my head I kept hearing the words winter wonderland, winter wonderland, like I was high on drugs or something. We didn’t want to move our feet the ground felt so precious. The cat came scooting by us headed straight for the door, his legs taking exaggerated leaps through the snow. I was so disappointed when Dad came barrelling through it all, dragging Carlie and me into the powder with him. The patches of grass showing through the white were so ugly. But I accepted it as something that happens — nothing could ever stay that perfect forever.