All the Broken Things (14 page)

Bo watched the faces of the people entering the cars as his rose in the air. They betrayed everything—fear, excitement, sorrow, anticipation, joy and worry. He thought that maybe it was only in these moments of anticipating how a ride could be your last, when everything of life showed. And then the Ferris wheel began to turn in earnest, and Bo’s body seized up. He recalled the swells under the fishing boat, and the screams of the men through two days and nights as they took turns
trying to scare away pirates. There were tales of these pirates raping women and murdering men. Now, the mechanics of the ride, the slick gravity manipulation, the panic of it enveloped him. He was sweating with fear, his anxiety swelling and dying with each rotation, until it was over. He laughed at himself, then, and thought, Screw you, Max Jennings, my family is just fine.

He exited the car, and stood to watch as the others stumbled out, their eyes bright, their faces absolutely blank. He stopped to buy a burger, and ate it as he pushed through the midway crowd toward the ring, sidestepping grass muddied by the rain of the night before. He could smell Loralei as he got close.

T
HE BEAR GRABBED
B
O
’
S HEAD
with her paw pads and pulled him in for a hug. He disappeared into her fur—the audience could see his legs and that was all, and they shrieked. Bo shouted right into her chest. They had practised this. He would shout into her chest and she would react by pushing him away. She had recoiled, frightened, the first few times he did it, until she realized it was part of the play. She thrust him to the ropes then, and he bounced around, rolling his eyes up for effect, then fell theatrically to the mat. He would have rope burns and scratches to prove he’d fought her.

She lumbered over while he lay there, and simply sat down on him.

“She’ll crush him,” someone yelled. “Hey!”

But she was perched, not fully sitting at all. Bo had enough room under her to press his feet into the mat and buck, the signal for her to leap up. She stood to her full height and clawed the air, bounded around the ring and made a great show for the crowd. Then she ran at Bo, head-butting him mid-body, heaving him up and onto her back. Here he was able to cinch his arm around her neck and manoeuvre her staged defeat. He pinned her with his scrawny body, and to prove his mastery over her, Loralei rolled her eyes back in her head and shot her tongue out—a cartoon death throe—until the announcer finally called it.

Gerry got Loralei to sit down. The referee came into the middle of the ring, between Bo and Loralei, grabbed Bo’s hand and held it aloft. Loralei sniffed, then nuzzled Gerry. A root beer emerged from Gerry’s pocket and Loralei lifted her head, opened her mouth like a baby bird, and Gerry poured it down. Her prize. The crowd’s frenzy was the soundtrack to Bo’s own joy.

And then in the truck, counting his cash again, Gerry said, “Nice job,” and handed Bo a wad of money.

“Thanks.”

“Well, kid.”

Bo piled the new bills smallest to largest and added them to his stack, then wound an elastic around it twice
and thrust the wad into his pocket before looking over.

“Well what?”

Gerry sucked in his bottom lip and was chewing on it. He looked like he might cry or like he was trying to look like he might cry. “That’s it.”

“What is?”

“Walkerton is the end of the road, my friend. I got no work for you until next year. You keep yourself fit and you stand to make a load next season. Sit-ups. Push-ups. You keep fighting that arse-wipe of a friend of yours. If Max convinces the CNE to book the sideshow, you might get spotted, go professional. There’s no stopping you—”

“No more work?”

“Sorry, kid.”

His mum at the table. Orange. Bo’s ribs caved in on him. No work. He would not cry. He yanked the bundle out, tore at the elastic and counted and recounted. He thought forward to months without Loralei, his mum sick at heart, no way to pay for anything. What would they do? When he got home, he would go out and find Ernie, and he would punch.

B
UT WHEN HE GOT HOME
, Teacher was in his kitchen sitting across the table from his mother. “Hello, Bo.”

Rose looked up at him. Her eyes gave nothing away. Orange reached out to him from the floor, and when he didn’t react, she slapped the floor until he picked her up.

“Hello,” he said to Teacher, and then he nodded to his mother. He knew that Rose had already seen his panic.

“Sit down, Bo,” said Teacher. She gestured to the chair beside her.

“What is it?” he said. He jostled Orange and made a face at her. He didn’t want to sit down. He looked at Teacher and then at his mum again.

Teacher smiled. “I think you know,” she said. “You’ve missed a lot of school. You and Rose need to understand—”

“I’m sorry,” Bo said, interrupting her. “I won’t miss any more.”

“I know things aren’t easy,” Teacher said.

How did she know? Bo wondered. How was it that even their misery was public knowledge?

“If I can help in any way—” she said.

Rose tsked, and Teacher looked over at her.

“We’re okay,” said Rose.

Orange had nestled into Bo’s shoulder and was curled there, heavy and tired. Bo snuggled his face against hers. She smelled good. He could excuse himself and put her to bed.

Teacher glanced down at her purse hanging from the back of her chair, and Bo saw her flush. She said, “If you’d let me help.”

“Thank you,” said Bo. “I won’t miss any more school. Really.”

“Okay, Bo,” she said. She pulled her purse over her shoulder and opened the zipper. “I have something for Orange.” It was a red plastic bottle.
Bubble Magic
it read on the label.

Bo looked at it. He turned it around. “What is it?” he said. Orange jerked toward it, grabbing.

“You don’t know this?” Teacher said. She put out her hand to take it back. She smiled. “Let me show you, okay?”

Bo nodded, so she twisted the lid and pulled out a little red wand with a round plastic ring at one end.

“Watch,” she said. She gently blew into the wand’s ring.

Orange leaned in, and then, as the soap bubble began to blossom from the wand, her arms flailed and Bo had to set her down. Three or four bubbles floated around them. Teacher dipped the wand into the bottle and blew again. The bubbles found little currents in the air and danced along them. Teacher laughed.

Even Rose smiled. “So pretty,” she said.

Teacher dipped the wand again, and blew, and this time so many bubbles formed, it seemed impossible. They were everywhere, iridescent, perfect. Orange grabbed at them.

“Okay,” said Teacher. She handed Bo the wand. “I better go.” When he looked confused, she said, “You just blow softly.”

Orange slapped him, trying to get the bottle. Bo dipped the wand and blew, and did not notice Teacher leaving. He had to make bubbles for Orange; she hit him whenever he stopped. He made bubbles for an hour, and when he finally put the bottle away, Orange pummelled him.

H
ALF ASLEEP STILL
, the next morning Bo thought of the floating bubbles. Before he had put them away, he and Orange had lain down on the floor so they could blow them back up into the air as they fell. It had been so pleasant, and now he wandered in that memory. Then suddenly he remembered that it was Monday, a school day, and that he would have no more bouts until springtime.

“Mum?” he called out, but she didn’t hear so he got up and stumbled into the kitchen.

Orange sat in Rose’s lap. His mother was trying to get Orange to eat. There was porridge crusted on Orange’s arms and splattered across her cheeks. Rose looked up when Bo came in.

“I slept in.”

“I thought you had already gone to school.”

“I’m late. I’m missing basketball practice.”

“You must have needed the extra sleep,” she said, and he knew she was right. But he wanted to be at practice, running, jumping, ridding himself of thought.

Bo took a banana from the counter and sat, peeling it all at once and eating it bit by bit. All he could think of was that he had no work, and neither did Rose. Orange lunged at him, flinging a bit of oatmeal she’d been mashing up in her hand.

“Ugh,” he said, when it landed on his clean shirt. And then he lunged at her and yelled, “You’re a dirty girl!”

“Bo!”

He had not known he could sound so mean. He crouched at the table and held Orange’s face for a second, and smiled to her.

“Mum?” he said.

“What?”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the roll of money. “Here.” Bo put the money on the table. “Gerry told me there wouldn’t be any more work until next year.” He pointed to the money. “That’s everything.” When Rose shook her head, he added, “I’ll get another job.”

“No, Bo. I will get a job,” she said. She slowly swallowed as if to calm herself.

“No,” he said. “Orange needs you.” I need you, he thought, but he didn’t dare say it, and his mother and Orange did not move, just sat amazed at what he had dared say, and so he left.

He grabbed an old mop handle that was broken and lying on the front porch and, on his way to school, swung it at every object that caught his fancy. He made noises
as he whacked everything, and it made him feel a little better. An old lady crossed the street to avoid him.

When he got to the schoolyard, Teacher was at the front door. “Bo,” she called. She looked as crushed and sad as if he had hit her, despite the fact that he was far away from her, hitting the post of the fence that enclosed the schoolyard. The hollow metal twanged in an ugly way. “What is it, Bo?” There was no one else around. It was too early for most people, and practice was in the gym. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he called. Everything.

Teacher wore a dark blue blazer and white trousers under her coat. Her hair was perfect. “There must be
something
.”

“No.” He gave her a scorching look so she would leave him alone.

“Okay, Bo,” she said. “Okay.” Then she opened the door and went inside.

Bo followed her to the door, watched her through the glass, listened to her pumps click against the floor on the way to their classroom. He tapped the mop handle against the brick to the beat of them, until she was too far away and he couldn’t hear a thing. He didn’t feel like making practice anymore, or seeing anyone. He went around the school and did chin-ups on the geo-dome climber, over and over until he couldn’t breathe. As the other kids arrived, they played around him, until the bell rang.