The Saver (2 page)

A few minutes later the social worker came back and took me to a very creepy place. It was just like in a movie, a dead body on a table. The only difference was that the sheet covering Mom had blue flowers on it, and she had a pillow under her head. Her skin was like pale stone, but apart from that she looked the same, with her beautiful eyes and flat eyebrows and her perfect nose and mouth, and her black hair parted in the middle. I didn't inherit her nose or her mouth, unfortunately. I only inherited her eyes, but on her they looked good. On me they're a waste.

Suddenly I was all dizzy, like I was going to faint, and the social worker said, “Do you want a few minutes alone with your mother?” That was the last thing I wanted. It wasn't her anyhow.

“I just need a bathroom,” I said. I was mad at myself because my voice was all crackly.

The social worker took me to a bathroom that smelled of puke. There was a smell of bleach too, but it couldn't get rid of the smell of puke. So I got out of there right away. I decided to focus on you and not think about anything else for now.

The social worker wasn't there when I came out. I waited for her on a chair, and finally she came rushing back, mumbling some lame excuse. She probably went outside to smoke. I noticed a bit of a bulk in her jacket pocket, and she was sucking on a mint, and her cheeks were a bit red. I'm good at clues, maybe from all the mystery books I read.

She asked for the millionth time whether I had any relatives or friends of the family, and I had to tell her for the millionth time that it was only my mother and me in Montreal, so she spelled out all the options. I was barely listening. But one option was donating Mom to McGill University, and that's what I chose. It's free, and that way the hospital looks after everything, even the death certificate.

She said there were a lot of forms to fill in, and I'd need to come back and bring my mother's birth certificate and social insurance card and driver's license. Like someone like us would have a car.

She told me I had to bring my birth certificate too. What if she finds out I'm only 17?

Then she checked her sadistic date book and made an appointment for me for tomorrow at 3:30. She also gave me a flyer,
When a Loved One Dies
, but she said most of it didn't apply to me, because the hospital would take care of everything. Her nails had this worm-beige polish on them, to match her skirt. What a loser.

I thought I was through with her, but she started again with all her fake “What will you do, where will you go?” What she was really thinking about was probably her boyfriend, and how she's going to get into spiked boots with him tonight.

She gave me a number I could reach her at. She kept on and on about how she didn't want me to be alone, so finally I told her I'd stay at my best friend's house, and I
gave the address of one of the places where Mom cleans. Cleaned. I got up to go, and she made me promise to call her tonight. In your dreams, Miss Muffet.

I took the bus and metro and bus back home, and I made myself spaghetti and scrambled eggs and a tuna sandwich with mayonnaise. I don't eat cows or pigs. Mrs. Johnston, the teacher I had in grade four, said she never ate mammals because mammals have souls like humans, and all the same emotions as humans, even hope. She said she wouldn't eat a horse or a dog or a cat, so why would she eat cows? She's right about emotions, because look at Beauty.

Then I wanted dessert, so I lifted the cake cover, not really expecting anything, but there was a whole new orange cake there. I guess Mom made it in the morning, before she left for work.

So that's when it hit me, I guess. I sliced the cake and ate it and I was crying my lungs out. I wasn't worried about anyone hearing me, because downstairs they always have the TV on full-blast, and on our floor it's only bikers and skinheads. Beauty didn't know what was going on. She kept jumping on my lap, then going to her bowl to see if there was food in it, then jumping on my lap again.

I turned on the TV to get my mind off things. The show really sucked and the reception was messed up as usual because we don't have cable, but it was that or nothing.

I don't even know what the show was about. My mind kept turning off. Some guy was saying he was innocent, and some beautiful blond woman was helping him, and every few minutes they showed a kid on a tricycle. Each time my mind turned off, I missed a big chunk of the story, and even though you can usually tell what's going on because they repeat the plot about a hundred times, I couldn't figure it out. I gave up and shut the TV.

One thing I know for sure. I'm not going back to Sunnyview. I flunked grade five, so I repeated, and I flunked again, but you can only get held back once. That's the rule. Otherwise they'd have all these old kids in classes with little kids. If you flunk twice, they basically leave you alone. You can go to special dummy classes if you want, but you don't have to. You can sit with everyone else and no one bothers you.

Now that I'm 17 I don't have to go to school at all. I've only been going this year because there wasn't anything else to do. Ricardo, the guy I went out with in grade nine, switched to another school, so I didn't have to see him. As for everyone else, I figured out years ago how to be invisible. You just ignore people who are mean to you and they get bored, because people like to be noticed. And if you don't notice them, they'll move on to someone who does notice.

Besides, I'm strong. I'm stronger than a lot of the guys and I'm pretty good at using my elbows if the need arises. If you use your elbow it's like, oh sorry, did my elbow
accidentally poke your eye out? Not that I actually say anything. The main survival strategy is never to say a thing. Silence is the ultimate weapon. A lot of people don't know that.

I decided to have a shower and go to bed. As usual the water pressure was non-existent and the water kept going cold every few seconds. It was the last straw of today. If it wasn't for Beauty, I would have taken a hammer and smashed the faucets, but I didn't want to scare her, so I just cried. Then I put on my sweatpants and a T-shirt and got into bed. Beauty jumped up and sat next to me, the way she always does. I tried reading
Murder Times Nine
but I couldn't concentrate.

So I decided to write and tell you about today. I'm writing in a really nice notebook that Simone, the woman who lived with us until I was seven, sent me five or six Christmases ago. It has pressed flowers on the cover. I didn't have anything to write in it until now, just like I've never had anything to write on a computer. I could have set up an email address in the library, but who would I write to? All I'd get is mail saying
YOUR SMALL PENIS WILL SOON BE HISTORY
. That's what a lot of companies use email for down here on Earth.

The whole time I've been writing, Beauty's been putting her paw on the paper as if she wants to write too.

Well, that was my day, Xanoth. What I really wanted to tell you is that I was a total bitch to Mom this past year. And my last words to her were, “Leave me alone.”

She said, “Wait, Fern, you forgot your pass,” because she saw last month's bus pass on the counter and she thought it was this month's. I didn't bother explaining. I just said, “Leave me alone.” And now she really did.

Yours forever,

Fern

Tuesday

November 20

Hi Xanoth,

This morning I woke up with my pillow and hair all sticky and gross from crying. I remembered right away about Mom. Beauty was purring next to me, as if she was trying to make me feel better.

I turned on the radio and washed my hair and changed my pillowcase. I had breakfast and then I took out the shoebox where Mom kept all the documents and brought it to the table.

All her things were there – her birth certificate from Manitoba and her social insurance card and some brochures from the government that Dr. Cooper, one of the people she cleaned for, gave her. She never bothered with any of those brochures, but she kept them anyhow. They were all about special deals for First Nations, but Mom was scared of anything to do with forms.

It was horrible seeing her name on everything. It was like she didn't matter anymore, and it didn't matter what her name was. I can't really explain. It was like her name didn't even exist, or like that's all that was left of her, and
Felicity Henderson were just two words that didn't mean anything.

I thought I knew everything in the box, but there was a postcard from Mom's brother that she didn't tell me about. He sent it in July, so it looks like he's not in jail anymore. The postcard is from a place called Brandon in Manitoba, and it has four different photos, probably because each one alone is too boring to be a whole postcard – a fountain and an old building and a church and a park.

On the back it says,

Dear Felicity, How are you and Fern? You are both in my heart and thoughts. I moved here a short while ago and got a job. I'm on the right path now and hope to come down for a visit when I can. Lots of love and hugs, Jack.

Then he gave his address. I'm going to have to write and tell him about Mom.

Jack's the only person in Mom's family. They got adopted together on a farm in Manitoba, mostly so they could help out. Mom was six and Jack was eight. Before that they were on a reserve.

My birth certificate was in the box too. For “father's name” Mom left it blank, even though she knew my father's name. He worked on the farm, but he ran away when he found out she was having me. He was from some place like Norway or the Netherlands. His name
was Ted Nielsen. Mom says I look a lot like him. Poor guy.

I put the documents in my knapsack and then I checked the money in the tin. We never had a bank account, because the bank charges you if you're poor, so Mom kept the spending money in a Christmas tin and the rent money in a pair of socks.

You're lucky there's no money on your planet, Xanoth, and no such thing as crime. We got robbed twice, but they didn't find the tin or the socks, because Mom kept them both in the laundry hamper, under a lot of dirty laundry. The trick is to put a white handkerchief with tomato sauce stains right on top. Then if any thieves look inside the hamper, they think it's blood, and they get grossed out and don't bother emptying it. Simone, the woman who lived with us when I was small, taught us that trick. There wasn't much Simone didn't know.

The only thing the thieves took the first time was a watch I got Mom for Christmas. There wasn't anything else worth taking. Even the watch was only $12.96 plus tax. They unplugged the VCR but changed their minds about stealing it, I guess because it's all DVDs now.

The second time we got robbed was when I was in grade six. They took a lot of food, about $160 worth. Beauty couldn't stop meowing the second time. It was like she was saying, “I'm sorry I let someone take all the food.” She's so smart! I wasn't worried about her, because she hides when anyone comes to the door.

After those robberies I put a sign on the door,
BEWARE OF DOG
, but the bikers tore it off. We didn't have any more break-ins though, probably because it got around that there was nothing to take.

Anyhow, there's $55.23 in the tin and there's rent money for December and January in the socks. Mom always made sure we had rent for the two months ahead.

If I don't pay on December 1, it'll be another month at least before I get kicked out, because we've been paying on time for ten years. If I keep the rent money, that comes to $1195.23 total. My bus pass expires in three weeks, but if I'm not going to school I won't need a pass.

After I looked through the forms, I did some handwash and listened to the radio and read
Murder Times Nine
. Then I had lunch and left for the hospital. It was drizzly and foggy outside, but not as windy as yesterday, and not as cold. And I knew how to get there this time. The hospital looks a bit like a castle, actually.

You'd like Montreal, Xanoth. It's got really cool parts, like Old Montreal and Île Sainte-Hélène, and there's a big mountain in the middle of the city, with forests and a giant cross on top that lights up at night. You can't actually walk inside the forests because it's a gay pickup place, but you can walk on the paths. The good thing about Montreal is that it doesn't feel big, even though it is.

I must say everyone was nice at the hospital. I didn't see the social worker. So much for all her are-you-OK. I told you it was fake from fakeland.

There were a million forms to fill in, but I'm the opposite of Mom – I like filling in forms. I like answering questions like your name, your sex, permanent address, date of birth, relation to the deceased. It's like an exam where you know all the answers. I remembered to change the year I was born. No one noticed that it wasn't the same as my birth certificate.

A skinny guy was in charge of the forms. He had a sort of stutter, but it was the kind that comes from trying to do too many things at once. He kept apologizing in this funny way. He felt bad for me, and he thanked me about a hundred times for donating Mom's body. I don't know why. She's dead, so what does it matter? I liked him. Why wasn't he the social worker?

When I got home I really wished I had someone to call. I even thought of calling Ricardo, the guy I went out with in grade nine. Luckily I don't know his number anymore, or I would have caved in. And it would have been a stupid, desperate thing to do, because how is it going to help to call a guy who made you feel like a speeding train crashed into you? I'm over Ricardo now, but I still get a bit trembly when I think of him, and hearing his voice would probably bring it all back.

I thought of trying to find my uncle's number in Brandon, if he has one, but what would I say? I don't even know him.

I had spaghetti and two cucumber sandwiches and ice cream, and then I started crying about Mom and about
how I couldn't send Mrs. Johnston a Christmas card when I was in grade five because she went to live with her sister in Ontario and the school didn't know the address, and how by now maybe she was even dead like Mom.