Part 25 (1/2)
”You all right, s.h.i.+rley?”
”Of course.”
”I sure like your jacket.” Steamer touched her arm. ”I never saw pink suede before. It goes good with jeans.”
s.h.i.+rley smiled. ”You don't have to cheer me up, Steamer. It's just one of those times. You know.”
”I think you're lonesome. Is it bad to say that?”
The train arrived from the north, and the teenagers in their sweatsuits stood over the safety line so the recorded announcement woman would warn them to stay back.
The Oilers game was still on, so there was plenty of room on the train. Steamer and s.h.i.+rley sat on a south-facing bench together, with the hockey bag under their feet.
”I hope it ain't bad to say it, s.h.i.+rley. And I just notice because I'm lonesome too. Takes one to know one, you know?”
s.h.i.+rley nodded. Somehow, she couldn't summon the energy to tell Steamer to stop talking.
”Have you seen Napoleon Dynamite?”
s.h.i.+rley shook her head.
”We should rent that. It's my favourite movie because it's awesome even though there's no s.e.x or swears or gunplay. Would that be all right?”
”Okay.”
”What's your favourite pizza? If we get my favourite movie, we'll get your favourite pizza.”
On the train, confronted with the question of her favourite pizza, s.h.i.+rley understood what was wrong. She was depressed. On the night Benjamin Perlitz died, weakened by the NHL players' strike and hints of her husband's adulterousness, s.h.i.+rley had been wounded.
Finding it too difficult to open your mouth when someone asks a question like ”What's your favourite pizza?” was probably the textbook definition of depression.
”Thin-crust veggie.”
Steamer slapped his leg. ”Thin-crust veggie it is, then.”
The train stopped at Commonwealth Stadium and the kids in sweatsuits got off. s.h.i.+rley wondered if they were planning to steal a car or abuse a cat. It had to be one of the two. s.h.i.+rley also wondered if it was possible to pull oneself out of a depression without resorting to pharmaceuticals.
”s.h.i.+rley, can I tell you something?”
”Of course.”
”I know, in my heart, that I won't make it to the show.”
”Don't say that, Steamer.”
”When you see a kid like number twenty-seven and you know you could never catch him, not in a million years, you better pay attention to that message G.o.d is sending.”
s.h.i.+rley nodded as gently as she could manage.
”So I decided what I'm gonna do. Do you like feet?”
”I suppose. As much as the next person.”
”I like them a lot, so I'm going to be a doctor of the feet. What's that called again?”
”A podiatrist.”
”I'm gonna be a podiatrist.”
”That's terrific, Steamer.”
”So I was wondering if, after our pizza is done tonight, I could examine you.”
”Well...”
”I know I'm not a podiatrist yet, but it might be good for me to know what I'm getting into.”
The train pulled into Churchill Station and the last man on their car disembarked. Avoiding eye contact with Steamer, s.h.i.+rley looked down and considered her feet.
62.
amigo, amiga No matter how many times Madison showed him how to hold it, and to use his wrist instead of his arm, and s.h.i.+ft his weight on to his right leg, Jonas could not throw a Frisbee.
He gave the Frisbee thing one final try and watched it sail high up in the air, turn sharply to the right, and fall at the base of a barbecue pit near the Hawrelak Park washrooms. Then he began making a giant pile of leaves under a nearby grove of balsam poplars.
Jonas worked quickly. The hill was of an admirable size when Madison returned with the Frisbee.
”What are you doing?”
”We must accept that I simply cannot throw a Frisbee. Next time let's make it a Nerf football, yes? Yes. Good. Now, back up a few paces and run and jump and land in these leaves. It'll be a gas.”
”Jonas.”
”What?”
”I'm a pregnant girl. I can't do that sort of thing.”
”Pish posh. These are pillowy leaves.”
”You go first.”
Jonas was never a go first kind of guy. When he was a child, growing up in Beverly, he had made an art out of convincing the other boys to go first. This was a particularly important skill between grades eight and eleven, in the summertime, when the boys in his neighbourhood took the bus to Borden Park pool, waited until dark, and hopped the fence. His powers of persuasion, which he came to think of as Jonas Mind Tricks, allowed him to see nearly every boy from M. E. LaZerte High School in wet underwear. His own ”chlorine allergy” kept him safe and dry in the lifeguard throne, flashlight in hand.
The pillowiness of the leaf pile was potent. Jonas was certain. So, contrary to his nature, he zipped his windbreaker and backed up. ”Ready?”