All Families Are Psychotic (26 page)

'All of us?'

'No. Just you, Ted and Nickie. No need for the others. Please. I mean it. Please confirm to me that you heard me say that.'

'I heard you. Did you sell the letter?' 'We'll see you shor tly, dear.'

Janet had always maintained her primn ess in the face of the modern world 's coun tless assaults against it

— but her primn ess had gently snapped just a mon th before Florid a. She'd been in a downtown

Vancouver Internet café
(must get out of the house; must get out of the house; must get out of the . . .)
having a pleasant enough time of it tracking down old university friends and reigni ting contacts dormant for forty-five years:

Dear Doro thy,

It 's me, Janet — Janet (Truro) Drummond . Can you believe it (!!! ). Forty-five years later, living in

Vancouver, three kids gro wn up [Sarah's in the news a lot, you probably see her every so often] and no more Ted. Yes, the Big 'D', he's off with some young thing. A surpri se, but ...

Too intimate too quickly. How about:

Dear Doro thy,

Janet Truro (Drummond ) here. Surpri se! This Internet is changing things so much. How are you? I don ' t

think we've seen each other since — when? I bumped into you at the Loblaws' in Toron to in 1963 — has it really been that long?

No. Too
boring .
Janet then remembered Doro thy peeking into Sarah's stroller, seeing her handless arm, and beating a hasty retreat.
Forget Dorothy. Who needs her?

It was at this poin t the man beside her, whom Janet had noticed only in passing as a business type, gave an exasperated sigh. To judge from his puckered forehead, scrunched up lips and clumsy mousing, he was a neophyte. A dark burly man, he seemed friendly, and was of Janet's own vintage. He was also evidently deep inside a search but having no luck; Janet couldn ' t resist taking a peek at his screen. She was fully expecting an English-language Cambodi an site along the lines of ' Me So Horny,' but instead saw a site for a propane firm in Missouri. The man's moni tor made feeble
blink blink blink
noises, indicating mistake

after mistake, and he was losing patience. ' Maybe I can help you,' said Janet.

The man looked as if he'd been caugh t thinking out loud. 'I just can' t make this
thing
work. All I find is irrelevant crap.'

Janet gently asked, 'You were searching for specific information?'

'Yeah. My kids bough t me this new CD player and I can' t find any CDs I like in stores — so I though t I'd go onto the Internet.'

'What CDs are you looking for?' 'The Kingston Trio. Four Lads.'

'Oh! I don ' t believe it, those were my favori tes.' Janet's enthusiasm was like a spaniel tugging at its leash. 'Yeah?'

'Oh, the fun I used to have with them in the background . They were so cute, and I was at university. Sweaters and ponytails. I was Litt le Betty Coed.'

'Where'd you go?' 'U of T.'

' My bro ther went there. I went to McGill. I'm Ernie.' 'Janet.'

Janet decided that she wanted Kingston Trio CDs, too. The hun t was on. Along the way the tw o bantered like old pals. Janet couldn ' t remember the last time she'd clicked so well with a man righ t off the bat, and soon they'd located dozens of CDs, five of which Ernie bough t as a gift for Janet.

'Ernie — you shouldn ' t—'

'No. Consider it a finder's fee. You were great.' 'The Web's just common sense, you kno w.'

'No, it isn' t. It 's a mess, and you rescued me.' He squin ted at the time in the screen's corner. 'I have to go and pick up my granddaugh ter at skating. What are you doing for dinner tonigh t? Call me forthrigh t, but I don ' t see a wedding ring.'

'I didn ' t have any—' The wedding ring came off the day the divorce decree had been signed. 'So then let me take you out.'

'Ernie! You're so—'

'The guy who fixes my brakes recommended a place to me. I went and had a look — pretty nice. " Sir Steak " .'

Janet suppressed a laugh.

Ernie said, 'I kno w, I kno w — what a dumb name, but I really like steak. See you there at 7:00?' 'OK.'

And then he was gone and Janet realized she was having her first date in forty-three years.

The weather that nigh t was warm and un-Vancouver-like. The wind felt like hot breath against Janet's skin. She was early at the restaurant and waited outside; the heat reminded her of her summer youth, long before the era of air-condi tioning .

Ernie showed up in a blobb y late 1990s red Impala. This was the first car model Janet had noticed since the 1965 Mustang; Impala was the make her father had driven. So
something else from back then has made it this far, too.
She scanned the car to see if it had mutated as much as she had. Ernie said, 'So

you're a car buff, then?'

' Me? No. My dad used to drive an Impala. I haven' t though t of that car in years.' 'Good car. Reliable, aff ordable and comfy. Are you hungr y?'

' Me? Hungry? Lord, no. Two Jell-O cubes and a grape would suit me just fine.'

Sir Steak was a carnival of rayon heraldic bun tings fluttering amid air-condi tioning gone mad. Delinqu ent- looking teens in ill-fitt ed period costumes carried abou t electronic clipbo ards and gave the illu sion of service.

'This place is so gee-dee weird,' said Janet, 'it makes my head spin.' ' " Gee-dee"? I haven' t heard that expression since . . . since—'

'The 1950s?'

'Well —
yeah:

'We're museum pieces, Ernie.'

Once seated, a waitress took their drink orders. 'I think I'd like a screwdriver,' Ernie said. He looked at Janet.

Best not to tell him about my mouth ulcers.
'Decaf coffee, please.'

Blip, blip, blip

Their orders were inpu t into an electronic slate and their child waitress strayed from their table. Tinny generic-sounding Spanish music squeaked out of wall panels, as though mice were partying inside. Dinner menus arrived with drink s.

'Great-looking salad bar,' Ernie said. 'Did you see it?'

'I certainly did. Salad bars are like a restaurant's lungs, Ernie. They soak up the impuri ties and bacteria in the environm ent, leaving us with much cleaner air to enjoy.'

' Maybe I'll pass.'

'Ernie, I'm going to go wax my skis. I'll be back in tw o shakes of a lamb's tail.' Janet went off to the ladies' room and took a dronabidol tablet to boost her appetite.
Why is it still so shameful to be seen taking a

pill in public?
She looked in the mirror .
I'm hanging together well today.
She returned to the table, where Ernie had removed his jacket.

'Ernie, you're relaxing, I see.' 'It 's a nice place here. Fun.'

'Ernie, do you ever wonder why, of all animals, it was turtles and parro ts who live for centuries? Why not, say, jaguars or mallard ducks? It 's as if parakeets and turtles won the animal kingdom lottery draw.'

'People don ' t do too bad. Seventy-tw o-poin t-five is okay.'

'You mentioned your granddaugh ter, Ernie. Where's your family?'

'I'm a wido wer. Two years now — Lucy. Hodgkin 's lymphom a. One, tw o, three, gone.' 'Sorry.'

Ernie sighed. 'We move on.' He sipped his drink . Ano ther delinqu ent teen arrived and took their dinner order.

'So what's your story, Janet? What's a woman like you doing in a cybercafé? You seem to be more the SPCA and yoga type.'

'Today I was downloading NASA information. I have a daugh ter who's an astronaut. Sarah.'

'So you
are . . .
you're Sarah Drummond 's mother. I wasn' t sure. I didn ' t want to bring it up.
Caramba!
I'm dining with a celebri ty. Wow.'

Janet wondered how Ernie would be different, now that he was connecting with fame in a once-removed way.

Salads arrived. They went on to discuss their teeth, the muggy weather, bees and the schools they'd

attended — they had an acquaintance in common , a childhood friend of Janet who'd worked in Ernie's off ice in Manitoba. They talked abou t Ernie's tw o married sons, one far away in Strasbourg , France, the other in town and in the midst of a messy divorce with custody issues.

Their meals arrived, and they discussed the impending shutt le fligh t.
It 's so nice to chew the fat with someone of my own vintage — no need to explain anything.

Janet managed a few bites of her chicken; the plates were removed. Ernie asked if she would like anything more.

'How abou t a mudpi e?' Janet asked. 'I used to make mudpi es in the back alley in Toron to. They were wonderful. My mother would have died had she kno wn we ate them.'

' Mudpies are pretty rich,' Ernie said. 'Why don ' t we share one?'

Janet agreed and they ordered one. In the meantime, tw o decaf coffees arrived. Ernie drew a deep

breath and asked, 'Janet, you kno w, you still haven' t explained to me how it is that
you
kno w so much abou t the Internet.'

'I used to be afraid of the thing, but if you kno w my story, you'll see why.' 'What's your story?'

'You'll think differently abou t me after I tell you.' 'Oh no, how could I?'

What am I going to do here — lie? Of course not.
'Here goes: My ex-husband, Ted, he dumped me for a

trophy wife abou t four years ago. I'm an idio t for not having spotted it sooner, but I'm spott ing that kind of thing these days. So now I'm in this big suburb an house by myself, with the three kids gone. I adjust. I reigni te a few old friendships, take nigh t courses on the Internet. Then one day my first-born, Wade, makes a surpri se visit from Las Vegas, where he's been living for I don ' t kno w how long. Wade's the

family tumbleweed. Con man. Lovable. My favori te child, but I'll deny it if you ever bring it up in publi c. So Wade comes into town, meets a bimbette named Nickie at a local bar and they have a tumble.

Afterwards he goes to visit my ex-husband, Ted, in this ridiculous new house he had then, and who should walk in the door but Nickie — turns out the bimbette is also Ted's trophy wife. It 's a farce, I kno w. So Wade scrams. He comes over to my place, where we have a lovely li tt le dinner until Ted shows up and

pops Wade in the gut with a handgun . The bullet passes through Wade and enters my sternum.' Janet poin ted to her wound.

'Good God,' said Ernie.

Janet had told the story many times. She knew how to pace it. 'So fine, then. Ted's an asshole and no

charges were filed. Wade returns to Las Vegas. A year later I come down with pneumoni a. They run a check and . . . you guessed it ' —
the moment of truth —
'hiv. From my kid. So I call Wade and tell him,

and it turns out he's been sick for a year but they though t it was his liver, which after the reconstruction is abou t the size of a dinner min t. He gets tested, and lo and behold, it 's hiv. I don ' t kno w where he got it, and it doesn' t matter. Both of us now live on pill s.' Janet stared down into her cooling coffee. 'There's

more, but that's the gist. The story of me.'

The mudpi e arrived with tw o forks. Ernie was silent. Janet picked up a fork and took a bite of the pie. 'Ernie, you going to have some mudpi e?'

Ernie looked at his hands. 'It 's a good mudpi e, Ernie.'

Ernie moved his hands in the pie's direction, but quickly stopped. Janet put down her spoon. 'I think now's the time I leave, Ernie.' Ernie's head appeared to be vibrating sligh tly.

'It 's OK, Ernie. But I think I ough t to be going .'

'I'd eat some of the mudpi e with you, Janet, but I'm—' 'Shush!'

'But—'

'
Shush.'
She looked at his face. She walked out of the restaurant and got in her car.

Our leaders are dead.

History has abandoned us. The past is a joke.

She drove west towards the sunset; the news had said that a forest fire on Vancouver Island was going to transform the sky into spectacular colors, and it was righ t. There in her car, Janet felt that she was for the first time driving away from the people in her li fe, their needs, their lovers, their flaws, their lists of

unmendable wounds, their never-spoken-of unslakeable thirsts, their catalogues of wrongs.

She passed an overturned Camaro, surround ed by the RCMP and a cluster of dazed-looking teenagers, then drove on.

I'm diseased. My soul is diseased.
She felt a li fetime of chemicals washing through her body's fibers and bones: vaccines, the Pill, pesticides, Malathion, sweeteners, antibio tics, sulfa drugs . . .
God only knows what else.

Maple trees, condos, seagulls and flatbeds loaded with SUVs slid past Janet's vision. So
this is the future
—

it 's not the future I expected but I'll be damned if I'll be ignored by it.

Janet felt her entire brain-load of personal snapshot memories fluttering out the windo w — all those sad li tt le 1956 notions of propri ety — gone like mosqui toes in August — six and a half decades of kindn esses gone unthanked, passionless sex, crippling guil t that went nowhere, abandonm ent, weekends spent

trimming azaleas, darning holes in Sarah's stockings — all gone. The sun made its final dive behind Vancouver Island.

Florian appeared at the fron t door promp tly at six, a bland, sligh tly puffy gone-to-seed blond . The whites of his eyes were yello w, and one of his fron t teeth was ochre with nicotine, and snaggled. He could easily be the guy who sold Janet a set of snow tires the previous winter.
What was I expecting -a halo? Gary Grant? Yeah, I was.
Janet was pure hostess: 'You must be' — a pause —
'Florian.
Come in — please — it 's so hot out.'

'But first I must kiss your hand.' Florian kissed her hand. Janet sensed the tip of his tongue —
or did I?

'Ooh my — how continental.'

'Enchanted
He stood up and peeked inside. 'This is your house?'

Janet looked around as if being charged with a crime she hadn' t commi tted. 'Good
God,
no.'

'I'm so relieved to hear you say that.' Florian took a moment to fully absorb Gayle's interior design statement. 'The overall look really
does
leave one aching for a nice empty Japanese room with only a vase and a cleverly tw isted branch.' He quickly peeked into the living room.
'Gott im Himmel!'