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

“What’s that?” I say, pulling my knees up to my chest for warmth.

“It’s like decelerated learning,” Elgin says, picking up a rock and hucking it at the ocean.

“Why do you need that?”

“Paul thinks I’m a moron,” Elgin says, throwing another rock, harder this time.

“They won’t keep you there.” I stretch my arm around him and pull him toward me. He’s cold, like he’s been sitting here for hours. “They’ll see right away you don’t belong.”

“No way in hell I’m going to that program. Not even for a day,” he says, frowning at me then looking away down the beach. “My mom wants to send me to my dad’s. That’s what I was going to tell you.” My heart stops quietly like a fist hitting a feather pillow. “I don’t even know the asshole,” Elgin says, butting his cigarette out in the sand, where a small collection is accumulating. When he turns back to me his eyes are wet. “He lives in Cranbrook.”

“You’re going to go to school there?” I push Elgin’s butts further into the sand, burying them.

“I guess.” He rubs his eyes hard with the back of his hand.

“Why?” The question catches and I clear my throat. “Because of us or because you got suspended?”

“It’s a lot of things,” Elgin says, standing up. “I think I’m going to take off for a while.” He steps to the edge of the ocean, jumping back before a wave swamps his sneakers. “I wanted you to know. I didn’t want you to think I was dead or something.” He sits back down beside me and I try to catch each tear with the back of my hand before they get anywhere near my cheeks. “I’m fucked,” he says. “I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’m fucked. No matter what I do.”

“Did you tell Kate?” I’m not sure why I ask the question, but for some reason I feel like she deserves to know as much as I do.

“She’ll find out soon enough. Maybe you should tell her,” he says, kissing me once more. Then he’s up, hopping on the spot, and in a bogus cheerful voice he says, “You’ll be happier when I’m gone.” He jogs up the beach and when he turns back he has this look on his face — this shiny, phony hopefulness that makes me feel sick to my stomach. “You look happier already,” he shouts, rubbing his hand under his nose. He’s close enough to see I’m crying. “Look at you.” He stands there for a second, the smile gone, his hands back in his pockets, and I know I’ll probably never see him again. I watch him disappear into the darkness and then I turn to watch the waves roll onto the shore.

I CROSS THE TRAIN TRACKS and walk up 15th Street toward Marine Drive. A grease trap behind one of the restaurants is broken and a large, rank puddle has pooled in the middle of the parking lot. The smell is nauseating, like bile spilling into the air around me. I try not to breathe, walking a little faster, but I stop when I catch a glimpse of something moving. Next to a silver car a black dog bows, lapping at the reeking pool. The smell gets in my nose and I gag involuntarily. The dog looks up and freezes. I can see the white breath around his wet muzzle, and his dark eyes follow me as I back away slowly, breathing into my hands. When I’m nearly out of sight around the corner, the dog goes back to licking.

Down the street, the neon-lit steeple of the West Vancouver United Church glows and a message on the board in front says GOD INSPIRES YOU . I walk up the steps to see if the door is open and I’m surprised to find it is. As I walk down the middle aisle, I keep thinking I hear an organ — not really music, but one long note — and whenever I shake my head the sound disappears and fills with a silence so deep it’s noisy. I walk around the large room, touching things. Nothing is old or creaky or white like I imagined. The floors are green carpet and the pews are caramel-coloured. The bibles look pretty new and I finger their crisp pages. There are no confession booths like I thought there would be. It’s nothing like Kate’s winter church, not even close. I hear a noise behind a curtain at the back of the room and walk quickly out the door. Out front I sit on the stairs and scroll through my cellphone. There’s sand in my shoes from the beach and I tilt my feet, letting it collect near my heels. The screen glows softly in my hand and I wait only a moment before dialing.

PAUL’S CAR HUMS UP the winding roads of the West Vancouver hills, past homes hidden behind tall hedges and big iron gates, past the last few kids in costumes who should be too old for trick-or-treating. “It’s a strange night,” he says, driving by a zombie and a pink-wigged superhero. I rest my cheek against the warm leather seat and turn on the radio. I ask Paul if it’s okay and he smiles at me. When I got into the car he asked me if I wanted him to take me home, but I told him I wasn’t ready to go to my house yet. I made up some bullshit excuse about my parents fighting and my sister having a crazy boyfriend who made me afraid to sleep at night, and by the look on Paul’s face I knew I’d gone too far, but I’m tired enough I don’t care.

“Can I ask you something?” Paul says, looking over at me. He drums his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Why did you call me?” He barely holds back a grin when he asks, like someone who is expecting a compliment.

“I don’t know,” I say. “You’re the first person I thought of.”

We pull into a short, circular driveway and Paul stops the car right in front of the door. The house is modest for West Vancouver, a rancher with big windows. Inside everything looks freshly varnished and I have the urge to go skating around in my socks, but I keep my shoes on and walk around the living room while Paul hangs his coat and moves around the house turning on lights. “Your place is nice,” I say, smelling a vase of flowers and rubbing the petals between my fingers to check if they’re real.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Paul’s voice comes from somewhere I can’t pinpoint.

“Sure. Do you have vodka?”

Paul pops his head around a corner close to where I’m standing. “Funny. Coke, Sprite, milk?”

“Coke’s fine.”

I run my hands over books, tables, chairs, before sitting down on the couch. Suddenly, being in my mother’s nightgown feels ridiculous and I run my fingers through my hair trying to tame it. Paul comes into the room and sets a can of Coke on a coaster for me and sits at the other end of the couch. “Do you want to talk about your parents?” he asks. He has a drink in his hand and he sips it then rests the glass on his knee.

“No,” I say, reaching for the can.

“Something else?”

“How can you afford this place?” I say, taking a drink, the carbonation bubbling in my nostrils.

Paul laughs and looks around the living room as though he’s trying to remember how he got here. “My wife’s family has money,” he says finally.

“Where’s your wife?”

“Edmonton,” he says, resting his head on the couch and turning to look at me. “On a business trip.” He stretches out his arm and turns his palm up as though he wants me to take his hand. “What are we going to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. I reach out and grasp his hand. There’s a glimmer in his eyes — something like alarm — before he smiles at me and squeezes my palm tightly. I close my eyes, because all of a sudden I feel embarrassed, but he hangs on to my hand and starts to tell me my parents did a good job of raising me, that I’m a beautiful girl, that I’m not indifferent or stuck up like other kids, that I need to surround myself with people who love and support me. Everything he’s saying seems like a really nice antidote to sadness, and I can actually feel the words like they’re a silky lotion he’s massaging into my thumping heart. While he talks, he moves closer and I can smell booze on his breath. When I open my eyes, his face is right there with this need tightening the corners of his lips. It looks painful and I can see his dead tooth, and now I wonder why he’s never bothered to fix it if his wife has all this money. I wonder if maybe he doesn’t care about the right things and suddenly I’m not sure anymore how I got here, if it was my idea or Paul’s. “Can I have some ice?” I say, pulling my hand away from him.