Losing It (2 page)

“We’re not rushing all of a sudden,” Julia said.

That jaw working up and down, and that strange look, as if Lenore had walked out of the change place without any clothes on in the middle of Pullman’s. She remembered Julia holding her leg up one aisle and down the next. Up and down! All for that toy. That talking whatever.

“Well, I was living just fine, thank you very much!” Lenore said. Boxes going here and there. The smell was wretched. This new place. Like living in a hotel. Corridors and stink and wretched, ugly carpets. And old people, everywhere, wrecks.

“The house has been sold,” Julia said, too tiptoe. She patted the bed, like it was, what? “Won’t it be great never to have to cook another meal?” Like a piece of copper. “You know how much you hated cooking. And there’ll be new people to meet …”

“Well, I’m not going to live
here!”
Lenore said. She stamped her foot and sat down hard on a box in the little space between
her
bed and
her
sofa in this silly thing they were trying to call her room. “I don’t see why there’s all this rush!” she said. Slowly, clearly, with no mistakes at all. “It’s all just … a rush!”

“We sold the house, Mom,” Julia said. Up and down. A little toy. Holding on to her leg like that, making such a scene. Lenore should never have given in. This is what happens. “The cleaners are finishing up, painters will be there tomorrow, and the new family moves in next week.”

“I’ve never heard such broken eggs! Why did no one consult me?”

“We did, Mom. We’ve been over this again and again. We sold the house – you remember that. I wish I could take care of you but it’s just becoming too difficult.” Julia was back to patting the bed again, as if soothing a pet. “We can’t give you the care that you need. Alex is in Calgary, he has his own life. And I have Matthew now; you know how demanding a baby is. I
know
you know that! You need people who can be here for you all the time. I’ll be here
some
of the time, of course I will. But you have to trust—”

Lenore got up, sat down on another box, got up, put her hands over her ears, sat down, then got up again. Nothing was right, nothing! And why? All because of a stupid mistake with onions. Well, she was sorry. She’d never do it again.
Never
. So let’s stop all this nonsense.

“Could you
sit still
, please?” Julia asked. Such a whiny little voice. About to cry. Well, let her. She wants to be a spoiled brat. Holding on to her leg. Up and down. Rotten behaviour. Trevor wanted pot roast for dinner, hated it being late.

A man came in then, a huge man. He startled Lenore so badly she lurched back and nearly toppled out of the window. What kind of place was this, they just leave it open so anyone could throw you out? They wanted the money. That was why. Lenore turned and the man was right there, lifting one of her boxes.

“Who’s
that
?” Lenore demanded. A huge man, grunting, a shaggy black bear with grey hair at the temples.

That look on Julia’s face again, as if horrors were upon them.

“Well?”
Lenore said.

“It’s
Bob,”
Julia said. “My husband. Your son-in-law. Bob!”

“Hi, Lenore,” the man said. “I know this is upsetting. How are you feeling?”

A huge man, sweating big. She’d never seen him before in her life. He lifted a box, moved it from here to there, then put it down.

“There’s still the dresser,” he said.

“That’s not Bob!” Lenore snorted. They were shifting everything when she knew it all before. Perfectly!

“Of course it’s Bob,” Julia said. “Just take a deep breath. Relax.”

“It isn’t Bob,” Lenore said softly. If Julia could be quiet, so could she. “I’m sorry about the onion. It wasn’t
my
fault!”

“Of course it’s Bob!” Julia said. “And what is all this about an onion?”

“This man is Bob?”

“Yes!” He was standing there like a labourer, sweating on the carpet.

“Well, what does he
do
?” Lenore asked.

“He’s a university professor,” Julia said. Talking for him. Because he wasn’t Bob.

Her little girl, that puffing-up face.

“I think you’re making this up,” Lenore said.

“Who gave us the gold-trimmed placemats with the rose patterns?” Julia asked.

Lenore laughed nervously. It was all a stupid, smelly dream. If she just waited it out then everything would be marigolds again.

“The gold-trimmed placemats,” Julia pressed. “You organized our wedding. You used to know exactly who gave each of our wedding presents. You
can
remember this.”

“The Houghtons.”

“Yes!”
Julia said, hugging her. “You
see?
It’s all in there still, you just have to access it!”

“Can I go home now?” Lenore asked.

There was one time, Lenore remembered – in a wispy way, for the most part, though it came in strong as nails sometimes — they were driving in a snowstorm. Trevor, of course, was at the wheel. Driving and smoking, his brow creased in concentration. Outside, snow – the blinding white against the black of night. There was a bridge party, with … with what’s-their-names. Who had the little boy who committed suicide. And that was before what’s-his-name – the man – went off with that young woman from his office. It was before all that. Trevor would have nothing to do with him after, and Babs – that was her name. Babs and Dougie. Babs fell apart. It was before all that. It was just bridge and everything was happy.

Except for the snow. Trevor smoking, worrying, peering out the windshield of their old car. It was new then. The wipers went
whap! whap!
furiously clearing the snow, but new blurriness always returned right away.
Whap! Whap!
Lenore could tell Trevor was getting a headache. The tires were spinning. The new car was clumsy in the snow. It was so heavy, the backside slid around.

“Why didn’t you put on the snow tires?” Lenore asked and Trevor gave her his King-of-the-Castle look. He
was
King-of-the-Castle anyway. He didn’t have to give her that look. Smoking and peering, the tires spinning, everything vague in black and white.

“For God’s sake!” Trevor said everything sharply. “I just wanted to play some bridge!”

This was what it was like in the new place. Lenore wandered around peering, but it felt like snow and gloom behind a windshield. I’m ready to go home now, she thought. Sitting on a box with the telephone on her lap. Sitting in her slip with a sweater on and the blackness pressed hard against the windows. She called up Julia and told her about the bridge, about the snowstorm with Babs and Dougie. Then Julia wasn’t there, it took the longest time to figure out – some problem with the phone. But nothing seemed quite right these days anyway. So Lenore punched in the numbers again. One after another. It was better if she didn’t think of them. That was the funny thing. As soon as she thought straight at the numbers they went away.

It rang and rang and rang. Then – Trevor! But she didn’t want to talk to him, not now. She asked him, very politely, if she could speak to Julia.

“Who?”
he said, but in an odd way.

“Why won’t you let me speak to her?” Lenore said. Then she added, “I am sorry about the onions. I won’t do it again!”

He hung up. Drunk! Lenore punched the numbers again immediately. Just with her fingers. It rang and rang and rang again.

“Uhn-hn!” said a woman. Then, “Yes? Hello?”

“Julia?” Lenore said.

“No,” said the voice. Then louder: “NO. Wrong number! God, what time is it?”

“But that’s not possible,” Lenore said. She was trembling.

“There’s no Julia here. I’m sorry,” said the voice. But she didn’t go away. Lenore said, “Well, could you
give me
her number?”

“Who
is it you’re calling?”

“I told you. Julia!” Lenore said.

Nothing. The phone was working badly. Lenore tried again.
“We’re not in right now,” a voice said. “But we’d like very much to respond to your call. So please leave a message after the tone.”

Lenore waited, then said, “Why won’t you talk to me? I want to go home! Why can’t you understand that?
Has everybody gone nutmeg here?”
Lenore cried for a bit, then talked some more, but no one replied.

As soon as she put down the receiver it rang, a huge jangle that made her leg jump. She snapped up the phone.

“Julia?” she cried.

“Who
have you been talking to?”

“Well,” Lenore said, “you’re not the only one in the world who has friends.”

“Friends?”
Julia said.

“Yes,” Lenore said, proudly. The box was starting to dig into her back. Why couldn’t they give her some decent furniture? “I’m meeting lots of new friends,” she said. “Lots and lots.” She added, “Ever so many!” but Julia couldn’t keep up her end. “Are you there?” Lenore asked finally.

Julia yawned and said sleepily, “Oh, I’m sorry! I had an itchy nose.”

“Well,” Lenore said, “that means you’re going to kiss a fool!”

“Does it?” Julia said absently. Then, “It’s time for bed, Mother. Time for sleep,” so gently, with so much tucked wool, it reminded Lenore of something, she could almost put her finger on it.

2

“M
y mother and Matthew hath murthered sleep,” Julia murmured, stretching to replace the phone. Bob had turned over, was huddled in a mass at the edge of the bed, a spare pillow wrapped around his ears. His hairy back was slightly exposed to the chill so Julia pulled the blanket up for him. But he recoiled at her touch as if expecting to be hit. He was muttering something in his sleep:
fathom, farling, fucking?
She couldn’t make it out.

Matthew was asleep now too, though he was still latched on to her breast. He was almost two, felt enormous on her front, and she knew it was time to wean, well past time. He was too strong, suckled like a wolfhound, left Julia’s breasts wrung out and wrinkled, rubbed raw. And he had teeth now too. He knew, for the most part, not to bite, but would forget sometimes in his enthusiasm and send Julia howling. But how to say no to those sky-blue eyes, the drool and gleam, the way he’d quiver in the second or two it took to latch on? He drank like an addict, drained her of energy even while bloating himself stupid with satiation. Now they were both lying like addled lovers parted after the storm, Matthew too thick to move, Julia too fatigued.

“Bob,” she said and kicked him gently on the back of the leg. He didn’t move. “Bob!” she said again, kicked him harder.

“Feeling, foaming
,” he mumbled, and turned over even further, was going to fall onto the floor in a second.

“Bob, could you put Matthew back to bed? Please, honey?”

“Huh,” he said, then flumped over the edge. She expected him to get up finally, take Matthew off her chest. But he stayed where he was, wedged between the wall and the bed, snoring, most of the blankets having gone with him in the collapse.

Now it was cold. Julia struggled upright, held on to Matthew, swung her legs over the opposite side of the bed, stood up groggily. She carried Matthew into his room, fought to keep her balance as she leaned over the bed and put him down gently. Probably he needed a change, but she wasn’t going to bother. He was asleep, that was good enough. She tucked him in, started to tiptoe away, then returned and kissed him softly on his sweet hair.

He opened his eyes and she nearly swore, but then they fluttered closed, soft as butterfly wings. Julia crept away.

“Mama!” Matthew cried and she froze, held her breath. “Mama.”

“Shhh, baby,” Julia whispered. She stood rooted.

“Mama,” he said, but softly, dreamily. She didn’t reply but waited, counted off one hundred and twenty seconds until she could hear his breathing, deep and even. Then she took another step.

“Mama!
” he yelled and started to cry, a choking sob.

Julia turned. “Matthew,
no
, it’s time for sleep!” she said. He was starting to stand in his bed, was holding out his arms and wailing as if he’d been abandoned in the dust with wild dogs circling. “It’s time for sleep! This is ridiculous! God, you’re exhausted, why don’t you sleep?”