Pasha Malla - People Park

It’s fine.

No, it’s not. Wouldn’t it have been great to get everyone out? Could have been a perfect excuse for a little reunion. And short notice, I know I said that, but it’s no excuse, right? Blame me. As I said, I’ve been a little AWOL from that whole scene.

Doing what?

I’ve been doing more like, activism-type work, with a different crowd. Stuff around the park. So I’ve met some new friends through that. And Adine, of course — I see her. Though lately she doesn’t see me, ha. Anyway you barely ever come home. I feel bad.

Stop saying that, home . My home is very, very far from here. This isn’t a homecoming , Deb. It’s a vacation. And we only came here because of my son.

I just mean —

I’m not home . Do you understand?

But your parents —

No plans to see those two appleheads this weekend either.

WE MAKE A GOOD squad, Bailie — even if you’re a fuggin asphodel. Maybe because you’re such a fuggin asphodel. And I’m weedkiller! So we’re balanced or whatever.

Um. Thank you.

Though you still need to lighten up.

I’m lightened! I’m wasted. I feel like I could float home.

Starx ordered more schnapps. Olpert was still chasing the first one’s burn with cider, it fizzed in his nose, he pulled away snorting.

Easy there Bailie.

Olpert wiped his face with a napkin, looked at Starx. I’ve been meaning to say: you shouldn’t have socked that boy. Even if he spat on me. That wasn’t right.

Socked . Bailie, the words you use. I hardly socked him. Just a little love-tap.

Love-tap? You could have killed him.

Killed? With a little knock like that? You don’t ever dust it up, as a security guard?

At Municipal Works? Who would I dust it up with?

What do they got you carrying? A nightstick? Spray?

Sometimes staff come in to work latenights and I have to check their ID badges. I’ve got a scanner for that. Starx was searching his face for something. What?

Bailie, listen. You have no idea about anything — you don’t understand people, what people can do. You probably think those blackups are the reason we started Zone patrols.

Does this reason also explain why you go around socking children?

Someday, Bailie — someday I’ll tell you a story.

Not now?

No.

Pete brought two more shots and another round of ciders. As he turned away the phone started ringing again. He swept it from its cradle and banged it down, hard.

Starx?

Go talk to that woman.

Starx sipped his drink in silence. Olpert shredded his coaster onto the bartop. The phone was ringing. Scowling, Pete disappeared into the kitchen. Starx burped. The phone silenced. And started ringing again.

I HAVE TO ADMIT I was a little wary about meeting out here. Never mind bringing the kids, though Kellogg had some sort of freak-out.

Oh yeah?

Well you know. UOT. This used to be one of the neighbourhoods you just didn’t go . After Lakeview Homes closed.

Right.

Though I guess people are really starting to move out here?

Her glass halfway to her mouth, Debbie paused. I’m sorry — people ?

Pearl blinked.

What people?

You know. People.

Debbie put her drink down.

People like us, whatever.

And what are we like, Pearl?

Forget it.

No, come on, I’m not being confrontational, honestly. You said people are moving here — people like us . I just want to know what people you’re talking about.

Forget it, okay? I’m very proud of you for living here. You’re very brave —

No, no. That’s not what I mean. I’m just interested is all.

Pearl opened her mouth, closed it, pushed back from the table, looked at her watch. The air over the table had turned jagged and static.

What? Are we done?

It’s past eleven.

Right, well at this hour the trains only run every fifteen minutes. The next eastbound Yellowline is —

Now you’re telling me how to get back? I grew up here, Deb. You’re not even from here. I love people like you, who move —

People like me? I’m sorry, are those different from people like you? Because a minute ago we were the same. We were people like us , remember.

This conversation is stupid. This is not a conversation. I don’t know what this is. Pearl stood. I have to go to the bathroom, she said, and moved with care, one step after the next, toward the toilets.

Debbie gazed mournfully at the empty seat across from her, tried to pinpoint the moment things had swung so drastically in the wrong direction. If only she could rewind the night somehow, and reset it on a different, more affable path. She looked around, avoiding eye contact with the guys at the bar. The Institute kids had cleared out. The place was quiet. She realized the ringing in her ears was gone. Two hours earlier she’d fled that awful sound — and come here, to this: drunk and alone, with a basket of bones.

LOOK, she’s solo, said Starx. Make your move.

From Olpert came a panicked bleat, like a vexed sheep.

What was that? Is that your alert siren?

I’m too drunk.

You’re not. You’re the perfect amount of drunk.

Olpert lay his head on the bar. Her name was Debbie, the other woman had said it. She was a full person now: Debbie.

Don’t do that, with your face. It’s disgusting. Who knows where that bar has been.

Olpert didn’t move. Time passed, the phone began ringing again, the room pitched and reeled. He concocted scenarios with this Debbie: a phone number, a date, a kiss, a whole life together, and every night ended with their heads on the same pillow and Olpert whispering, Goodnight, Debbie, I love you. And her saying it back.

From the real world came a clatter. The phone had stopped ringing — Pete had it to his ear screaming, What the fug? What!

Olpert blinked. Okay, he said.

Who’s that on the phone then, Pete, said Starx.

Okay, I said, said Olpert. I’ll do it.

His cheek was stuck to the bar, he had to peel himself off. Eyes bleary and bloodshot, Olpert wavered on his stool, buffeted by a secret wind.

That’s it, Bailie. Starx lifted his cider in salute. Live, it’s time for you to live.

Olpert searched his partner’s big face for mockery. But Starx, though flushed a ripe-cherry purple, looked stoic, even sincere.

Easy, Bailie. You look like you’re about to kiss me. It’s only our first date.

Sorry, sorry. .

No, that’s the spirit. Just, you know, direct it over there.

Olpert swung off the stool, stepped down. The room carouselled around him. Starx gave him a push that sent him staggering toward the corner booth. He reached for something, a chair maybe, to steady himself, it toppled. He came closer, his mouth began to form the words he was meant to say — simple words spoken all the time: Can I have your phone number. Because that was all you needed, a number, to begin.

Debbie was a person-shaped blur, Olpert’s stomach churned, then heaved with a more troubling sort of violence. Oh no, he said, and felt Debbie watching him as he stumbled past to the men’s, her eyes full of revulsion — or, worse, pity. Hands pressed to either wall he shimmied down the hallway as a miner down a mineshaft, face tightening as vomit threatened at the back of his throat.

He swung through the door: the toilet was occupied. Olpert rattled the handle and a woman said, Take it easy. He staggered and fell against the sink, slid to a sitting position on the tiles. The stall door opened and he had a view of jeans and sneakers and from somewhere above them a female voice was demanding angry questions Olpert didn’t understand and couldn’t answer because here it came, surging and gurgly and sour, a hot spray down his uniform, all over the women’s bathroom floor.