Alone at 90 Foot (5 page)

I turn away from Sarah and back to our circle, when who walks straight up to me — and I mean directly up to me — but Danielle Higgins' new boyfriend. The one with the wicked grin. The grin he
just now flashes at me. The one that is causing my throat to freeze and my heart to fail. The one that — I think he has said something. But I am very close to a major coronary, so I don't hear what it is.

“Pardon?”

“I said, hi.”

“Oh,” I say. Joanne jams her skinny elbow in my ribs. “Hi.”

“Do you think you could help me?”

Help you? Help you? Wicked Grin — I would die for you. I would wash your clothes, cook your meals and take out your garbage for you. I'd wear black lace and scamper down the hall with your books on a silver tray for you. I'd —

I get that elbow in my ribs again. “Sure,” I say.

“Which way is the gym?”

“That way,” and not taking my eyes away from his, I point my arm in the wrong direction. Mandeep guides it the correct way.

He laughs. “Thanks.” But before he leaves — and I'm not making this up — he glints at me.

“Glinted at you?” repeat Joanne and Mandeep when I tell them, after he walks away.

“Yes. I saw it. He glinted.”

“Hmm. Anyway,” says Joanne, “name's Matt Leighton. He's in grade eleven at Argyle. He plays bass and works at the Westview Safeway on Saturdays. He lives with his dad and one brother and a
dog named Swat. He's been going with Danielle for about three weeks, although what started as a sweet relationship appears to be turning sour. They've been seen arguing up at the Center, and Friday left Linda Yip's party separately.”

Mandeep and I are staring at her with our mouths open. “How do you know all this?”

Joanne shrugs. “I've made it a point to find out.”

The
most embarrassing event of my life took place after lunch today. Okay, like, I know I said dancing with Mr. Bartell was, but that was like nothing, compared to this.

Like I said, it was after lunch. I was sitting in English class, just minding my own business, thinking pleasant thoughts about Matt Leighton. When suddenly, Mr. Bartell started to bellow. He was backing up some kind of lame point by reading from
Lord of the Flies
. Knowing how I would likely be the first one to be asked a question, I reluctantly set Matt aside. And I listened. He was building up to the part about the death of Piggy —

“Piggy, saying nothing, with no time for even a grunt, traveled through the air sideways from the rock, turning over as he went. The rock bounded twice and was lost in the forest.”

Mr. Bartell's voice became more daunting,

“Piggy fell forty feet and landed on his back across that square, red rock in the sea
.”

His emphasis was — on — every — word.

“His head opened and stuff came out and turned red. Piggy's arms and legs twitched a bit, like a pig's —
“

Mr. Bartell stopped — and listened. There was a new noise in the room. With this inquisitive look, he glanced around trying to find it. I couldn't help it. I just started bawling. Something just hit me and that was it. But he didn't notice the noise was coming from me. He continued,

“Like a pig's after it has been killed. Then the sea
— “

I was wailing louder than even Mr. Bartell could yell now. I don't know what happened. I just lost it. The tears were coming so hard and fast, I couldn't even breathe. And I couldn't get a word out to tell them that, really, I was alright. Really, I was. I was just — having a moment. It was just — just — I don't know. I went on bawling. There was this confused silence all around me. Mr. Bartell scratched his scrawny beard and glanced nervously down at his book.

“Oh, no,” I heard him say through my splutters. “How ignorant of me.”

By this time, both Joanne and Mandeep were on either side of me.

“I'm very sorry, Pamela,” said Mr. Bartell. “That was thoughtless of me. Girls, help Pamela down to Mrs. Dalrymple's office.”

Following his orders, Joanne and Mandeep helped me stand up. They steered me past the staring eyes, down the hall and into Mrs. Dalrymple's office. After they left, I continued to snivel and snort, while trying to convince Mrs. Dalrymple I was quite alright. She had a suggestion.

“Perhaps, Pamela, you would like to study another book. I'm sure Mr. Bartell would agree to it. Something with a little less — violence.”

Oh, wouldn't that be sweet. Special Pam studying
Anne of Green Gables
because she was far too delicate to handle anything with a spot of blood.

His head opened and stuff came out and turned red
.

No one believes it, but I can take it. It doesn't bother me. Really, it doesn't. That's not the prob- lem. I —

Yes, that is the problem. That's the only problem. I want my mom back. I want her to knock at my bedroom door and come walking in. I want her to bring me my folded laundry. I want her to tell me to get my homework done. I want her to show me the wool she picked out for my Christmas sweater. I want to go with her for a walk in the canyon, up the old logging trails, where every step on the
thick forest floor is a new adventure. Like we did, before April. I want her all in one piece, together, with Dad and I again. Sometimes, I get so, so mad at her for doing this to me. And at Dad, for letting it happen. I want this sadness that's been part of me since she died to go away. It's like this mean little animal deep inside me. Munching at my guts. Feeding on me day after day after day after day. Once in a while taking a great vicious chomp. It hurts so much sometimes, it's just about more than I can take. Like today.

There is a painting by Emily Carr called “Mountain Forest.” In my heart, I know where it is. It's somewhere in British Columbia's coastal mountains. It's somewhere in Lynn Canyon. It's somewhere off a logging trail high up Lynn Peak. I love that painting. I love it because Mom is in it. Mom and April. A thousand billion words could not begin to describe it, but I will try.

The mountains form the background. They appear so, like, ancient and eternal. In the foreground these centuries-old Douglas fir soar up from the blackness of the forest to a pale sky. And all around them, the younger growth is chaotic. Rich and green and blue and purple. And at the very bottom of the painting, I see a tiny graveyard. When you look at
it, there is something about that graveyard that is as comfortable and certain as the mountain. Perhaps it's just that the rock is the same color. Perhaps because a mountain and a graveyard are forever. But that is where I see Mom and April.

I'm going to visit them soon. I'm going to trek up the logging trails and sit and look over those mountains. Of course, the graveyard won't really be there. But Mom and April will. They will forever be there, forging the pillars of those mountains. They will forever be there, nudging the buds of young growth. I'm going to go soon. I'm going to go when I am ready.

My dad never will. My dad will never set foot in Lynn Canyon Park again. That is his decision. But I cannot get away from it. It is a major part of me. Mom made it that way.

I am following Joanne down the path to Ninety Foot after school. I don't want to be here (which I told her), but she insisted I come. She plans to casually bump into Tony Lasserman, who she knows will be down here in the canyon searching for Krissy Marshall. She's suddenly got this thing for him and she needs me for some kind of support.

“Come on, Pam,” she'd said to me after the final bell rang. Elbowing in front of me, she'd slammed my locker door shut. “It would be
too
obvious if I'm all by myself.”

“But I don't want to go down there while everyone's
searching. I don't think it's right for us to be hanging around. It's not like it's a party or something.”

“
Please
. I'd do it for you.”

I'd looked at her big eyes all full of Tony Lasserman. One thing about Joanne is, she doesn't give up easily. The thing about me is, I do. “Oh, alright,” I'd reluctantly agreed.

So far, we've jumped about three dozen monster slugs driven out into the open by the rain. And we've bumped into about a million people. They are mostly dressed in yellow hooded raincoats and black rubber boots. They are tromping through the thick foliage, stirring up the smell of cedar. They are plodding into tangled places where hardly anyone ever goes. As you can imagine, the mood down here is real grim. In fact, the only ones appearing to enjoy themselves in all this mass hysteria are John Robbel and Tony Lasserman. Joanne and I find them down by Ninety Foot, laughing coarsely, jabbing beneath the ferns with big sticks, kicking at clumps of moss.

“You're wasting your time. You'll never find her,” Joanne tells Tony, nimbly striking up a conversation. “No one will.” Her voice kind of lingers after she has spoken, echoing off the granite walls.

Tony continues to prod at a mass of sticks and moss caught in the bank by the creek. He removes a beer can with the tip of his stick and hucks it across
the water. It clangs loudly against the rock on the other side. “Somebody's going to.”

“Maybe. Ten years from now when they're out walking their dog. There'll be a tiny story next to the obits. The headline will read, ‘Bones Identified As Girl Who Went Missing Ten Years Ago.'”

Tony prods for another few seconds, then leans on his stick and looks at Joanne. “Yeah, you're probably right.” He draws his hand through the air and kind of laughs, “‘Dental Records Confirm It. Only her dentist knew for sure. She had Dracula teeth.'”

I think it's kind of lame, not to mention morbid, but Joanne laughs out loud. But then, it doesn't really matter what
she
thinks. Because she's in love. I don't quite get this thing she's developed for Tony lately. I mean, he's alright, I guess. He's no Jason Priestly in the looks department, but he does have this big overwhelming laugh. Joanne likes that. So now she stands looking at him. And because she liked his joke so much, he stands looking at her. Like it's the first time they've noticed each other, even though for three years now, they've been in the same class. Half a minute passes and still neither of them says anything. It's like some invisible cupid somewhere has pressed a button and put them on pause, while they sort through their confusing thoughts.

Oh, Tony! Oh, Joanne! How could I have been
so blind! Here I've been searching all of my life, when all along, you were the one! Crash.

I don't know about you, but I get very uncomfortable in these situations. Not only that, it's real boring for the not-involved. I watch a gull glide high above me. I know it's a young one; his belly is still gray. He lands by the creek about twenty yards down. I shuffle my feet. “Uh-humm.” Excuse me. I know sparks are flying here, but can life as we know it continue on?

Sometimes I could strangle Joanne for the predicaments she puts me in. Like, what am I supposed to do here? Make some excuse like suddenly I've got this real pressing appointment or something? Or am I supposed to act like their moderator? You know, try to get conversation going because they're both so lovestruck they've forgotten how to talk? Whatever. Right now, all I want to do is say something — anything — just to relieve the extreme tenseness of the situation. So guys, looks like it might rain again tomorrow. What do you think? Or how about — Hey, Tony, what about those Grizzlies? But I know if I do, my voice will streak through the air like an annoying bug. So I guess I'll keep standing here, as still as a tree trunk. John Robbel is safe, whacking at bushes a little way down the river. Actually, this is rare. It's not often I see Joanne stuck for words.

“So,” Joanne finally drawls.

I breathe a sigh of relief. There's life in them!

“How'd you do on the math test?”

Oh, major groan, Jo. That's too pathetic. Math test? Who do you think you are? His mom?

Tony shrugs and throws his stick away. “I could have done better. Probably should have studied. Wally's been making them tougher than he used to.” He walks over and stands in front of Joanne. Close.

Now's my chance. I start to back away. But Joanne snatches my shirt and forces me to stay put. Like something enormous is about to happen. So, I do.

“Hey, Joanne,” Tony begins, “I was wondering. Would you maybe want to do something with me sometime?”

Joanne crosses her arms, shifts her feet and, now that she's got his interest, tries to play it real coy. “Oh yeah? Something like what?”

“I don't know. Like go to a movie or the mall or something. Or — hey, are you going to Ortega's grad party?”

“Yeah, I was going to go with Pam.”

He looks at me quickly, like I'm this irritation or something. Don't mind me. I don't want to go anyway.

“Yeah? Well, maybe we can all go together. You
know, you and me, and John and her?”

Her? The name's not her, buddy. It's me! Pamela. Got it?

Joanne doesn't even look at me when she agrees. “Sure. We could do that.”

Wait a minute. We? How did I get dragged into this? Oh sure, it's okay for you two. You seem to have something going on here. But what do I have in common with John Robbel? I look over at him. He's using his stick as a spear to scare away my gull. He misses. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and tries again. Real classy, you bird killer. Lucky “her.”

See, Joanne has this problem about fixing me up with guys. In fact, my first disgusting kiss was set up by her. It was in grade seven and took place at one of her parties. It was with Landon Farquharson, who I sort of liked and I guess sort of liked me. Anyway, Joanne figured we should celebrate our like for each other with a kiss. The very reason she arranged the party. She had asked Landon ahead of time if he wanted to kiss me. He must have said it could be alright. Then she asked me if I would mind. I think I said something like, I guess not.