crippled pigeons
Below are two excerpts from my new novel, Crippled Pigeons, which is nearly complete. This is my first foray into writing for young adults. I've enjoyed writing this story immensely and wish to thank the Toronto Arts Council for their generosity in giving me a grant for this work. Most of all, I would like to thank Rume, Bubly, Louise and Sami for taking the time from their studies at Nelson Mandela Park Public School to read the novel in its infancy and for giving me the inspiration to continue writing.
Her mother smiled. "I know this is a big challenge, Blossom. But I still think it was the right decision. Once we're here without incident for a year, I'll put things into motion and get a real job with a real salary. Then we'll be able to rent a flat on our own and move out of social housing. You'll be able to have some of the things that you used to. I have a really good feeling this time."
Blossom tried to smile in return, but her face felt frozen, like it did when she went to the dentist and he stuck a needle into her gums, paralyzing part of her face for the better part of a day. She wanted to believe her mom, but already there'd been too many times like this when things had seemed good, had been working out just fine- no better than fine, when things had seemed fantastic- and then he'd find them.
At first there would just be the feeling that something was amiss, like the feeling that someone was watching them, or a car that would idle just a bit too long late at night outside the apartment. And then the phone calls would start. The calls always came late at night. Blossom's mom said this was because he would want to know if she was with another man. A few times Blossom reached the phone before her mom. Sometimes he'd just hang up immediately when he heard her voice. Other times, there'd just be this steady breathing in her ear. His breathing. Those times were the worst because he seemed so near, as though he could be standing beside her, tucking her in and kissing her cheek the way he did when she was young. At those times Blossom's heart felt as though it might explode with pain. One part of her wanted so badly to see him, to ask him how he could show her so much love and so much hate all at once. The other part of her was like a volcano filled with rage and hated him for what he'd done to their lives. That part of her made her want to strike out at the world. It scared her.
"I should start my homework," Blossom said, not wishing to discuss the future with her mother. She knew her mother was only trying to make her feel better by pretending that things could be like they were before. But Blossom also knew they'd never even remotely be the same. After all, she would never have her father back, or her friends in Toronto, or her cat, Peaches. They hadn't been able to bring Peaches to England. It would've cost too much (they were barely able to scrape together the emergency funds for their own airline tickets) and there were laws against bringing pets into England, her mother had said. And they hadn't had time to find Peaches a home, so extra food and water had been left in the backyard of their Regent Park townhouse with the hope that someone would either take the small grey and black tabby in or drop her off at the nearby Humane Society animal shelter. Down deep Blossom also knew there was a good chance some of the drugged up teenagers on the housing project would find it amusing to mistreat, and perhaps kill, a defenseless, abandoned animal such as Peaches. Just thinking about it made tears spring to Blossom's eyes. She fought to blink them back.
"I know things have been tough." Blossom's mother said, placing her arm around her daughter's shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. "But you can't stop dreaming. We're survivors. And, I'll have you know, your old mom has already landed herself a job. What do you think of that?"
Blossom looked up into her mother's beaming face. She wore optimism like a magic cloak.
"It's good…I suppose. What's the job?"
"Well," Blossom's mother began, settling back against the couch. She pulled Blossom back with her. "Sit back and relax for a minute, silly! I'm going to be cleaning swank office buildings in the City."
A spring from the couch dug uncomfortably against Blossom's back, poking her like an anorexic finger. She grimaced and shifted her weight.
"There's only one little drawback to the job. Since I need to get paid under the table, so to speak, I had to take a position during the nightshift. It means you'll be on your own a bit more."
Blossom opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again, feeling like a goldfish that had been tossed out of its bowl.
"Remember, it's only going to be like this for a little while. After all, I can work legally here. I explained our situation to Cristina, the woman who owns the cleaning company. You'd like her, she's Latina and very independent," Blossom's mother added, "and as soon as I feel we can start putting down some solid roots, I'll be able to go on the proper payroll and work during the day. Cristina said she may even have more of an administrative job for me."
Blossom watched her mother speak, observed her desperate attempt to make the job sound remotely appealing. But Blossom wasn't buying it. Her mother was university educated. A job cleaning offices was a far cry from what she used to do. It was like being handed a stale cake without any icing and being told it was delicious.
"And, to celebrate, I bought us a lovely roast chicken for dinner. I start tomorrow evening, but we'll still be able to have Sunday dinner together every week because that's my day off." Blossom's mother stood up and put her hands on her hips. She cocked her head sideways and looked at Blossom. "I think that homework can wait until after we eat our feast. Don't you?" she asked.
Blossom nodded. She rose slowly to her feet and followed her mother out to the kitchen. Problem was she suddenly didn't feel hungry at all. In fact, she found it difficult to swallow, her throat felt swollen and sore. And her stomach was filled to bursting with a very strong feeling of dread, though she wasn't sure why.
When the bell rang at the end of last period, signaling the end of the day and the start of the weekend, Blossom felt like singing and dancing. She couldn't help but smile as she walked out of the school and down a laneway between two low-rise apartment buildings, or blocks of flats, on her way toward home. A fine mist of rain began to fall, but Blossom hardly noticed the damp weather or the cold that clawed at her thin sweater. All she knew was that she'd gotten through the entire day without being called to the office, which pretty much guaranteed that she was not the student suspected of taking the money. Nothing mattered now except finding her mom.
"Just what the bloody hell do you think you're playing at Texas?"
Blossom barely had time to digest the question, or to note the anger that coursed through each word, before she was violently pushed from behind and up against one of the brick walls of a low-lying block of flats. The brown brick scraped at the soft skin of her cheek, the pain causing her to cry out. At the sound of her cry, the hold on her immediately loosened and she was able to turn around and take a step from the wall, her hand flying involuntarily to her cheek.
Jermaine stood in front of her, his dark eyes intensely watching her. His rage was so palpable, Blossom could almost taste it. Her first instinct was to get away from the anger. It reminded her too much of her Dad. The problem was, with Jermaine standing firmly in front of her and the brick wall of the flats creating an impenetrable barrier at her back, she had no where to run.
"What are you talking about?" Blossom asked, her voice barely a whisper. She hated herself for being so scared, but all she could think about was how Jermaine's older brother was locked away for killing a bunch of kids. Maybe psycho tendencies ran through his family.
Jermaine laughed harshly and threw his arms above his head. "What am I on about?" He took two steps forward and bent down so that his face was only millimeters away from Blossom's. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I'm talking about the bloody money, Texas. The money I was just suspended for nicking."
"I still don't know what you're talking about," Blossom replied, trying to keep her voice level. "Ms. Bryans said that the school knew who took the money. That's all I know."
Jermaine took a step backward and laughed again. His breath was instantly transformed into a cloud of translucent, white vapour as it hit the damp air. Blossom shivered.
"All right, then. Let's just walk through yesterday a bit. You just happened to be in the class at lunch yesterday getting something without a hall pass, right? You're telling me it was just a coincidence that you were in there during the time the money disappeared?"
"You heard what they said," Blossom retorted. "It was a male student who took the money."
"No, what they said was that people saw a student from our class by the classroom yesterday during lunch. What they didn't bother saying was that the student was me. The funny thing is, Texas, I had a hall pass. And you saw it. Mr.Ravi gave me it. But what is even more funny- hilarious even- is that when Ravi was asked about it, he denied giving me the pass, the stupid prat."
"Well, I can vouch for you," Blossom interjected. "I can tell them that I saw your hall pass."
Jermaine smiled. "And what will you do when they ask where your hall pass was?"