My Former Self (13 page)

“Yeah, no problem. We’re picking up Amanda at eight, so we’ll swing by after that. Hey, what are you wearing?”

“I think I’m just going to wear jeans and maybe my red sweater. I don’t think people are dressing up even though it’s technically a Christmas party.”

“Okay, see you later.” I hang up, hoping Shane didn’t get a busy signal while I was on the phone. Things have been going really well and I am looking forward to spending time with him tonight. It’s our two month anniversary.

Moments later, the phone rings again. I wait until the second ring as I don’t want to appear too anxious, but it’s my dad’s sister, Emma, wanting to speak to Mom. I’m irritated that she stays on for almost a whole hour. I pick up two times, trying to subtly send the message that I need it. The second time I pick up, she orders me to stay off the phone. I guess I wasn’t so subtle.

When we get to the party, I meet up with Shane. He said he had tried to call me but the line was busy; I knew it. Shane gives me one of his beers but I find it difficult to drink. I sip it for nearly an hour, which has made it warm and even more unappealing. I am relieved when Susan arrives, and tells us that she’s brought some peach schnapps. Some of the people at the party are doing mushrooms and I was considering trying them before Susan got there. Amanda told me they made her laugh like crazy when she did them, but I really didn’t want to chance how they’d make me feel—not tonight anyway.

After a few hours, I realize that I am drunk. I have no idea how much time has passed or when we’ll have
to head home, but I don’t really care either. Shane has led me into a bedroom, which looks like a young boy’s room, probably Derek’s brother’s. It’s blue and white and has a border of sailboats on the wall. We start kissing and touching, and although my head spins when I close my eyes, I continue. He has now removed my shirt and bra and the idea that someone might come in and see me doesn’t seem to faze me. I put my hand down his pants and feel him get hard. I am not really sure what to do so I just start rubbing him. I wonder whether I’m gripping too tightly, but I am encouraged when his breathing gets heavier.

“Should I get a condom,” he asks in a whisper.

This question sobers me. “I don’t think so.” I pull my hand out of his pants.

“Why not? I like you so much.”

“I do too but I just don’t think I am ready.” As I say it I feel a twinge of panic. I can’t help but wonder if he’d break up with me if I didn’t. I quickly dismiss this unpleasant thought. “Are you okay if we wait a little while?”

“Of course,” he reassures me. He kisses me softly on the lips but I can tell I have ruined the mood. He makes some excuse that he has to find his friend to make sure he doesn’t leave without him. He tells me again that
things are fine and that he really likes having me as his girlfriend.

I immediately find Amanda and pull her into the bathroom to tell her everything that just happened. She relieves me when she tells me that Shane’s best friend was telling her how much he likes me. I decide not to let this bother me anymore.

Greg offers to drive us home even though we know he’s been drinking. I don’t want to get in trouble for being late so we accept. Amanda is staying at my place and Kaitlyn doesn’t have a curfew, since her mom is working.

“Did you have fun?” I ask Amanda as we are lying in our beds in my room.

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun. Did you see Dan? He was there with Mackenzie. I don’t know what he sees in her, but whatever.” I can tell she’s jealous and still has feelings for him. He started dating Mackenzie, a girl in our grade, shortly after he slept with Amanda. They’ve been together ever since, which has surprised almost everyone, including his friends. When they first started dating, Amanda was pretty upset, questioning what Mackenzie had that she didn’t. I told her that Mackenzie lacks a backbone and lets Dan do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I assumed this would make Amanda feel better, but I think she started regretting that she wasn’t more like that.

“I don’t know either; that guy is not right in the head. You can do so much better than him, that’s for sure.”

“I dunno. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find a good guy—like you did,” she says. She hasn’t really had a boyfriend since eighth grade, even though she could. I think she’s too picky or attracted to the wrong type of guy—or both.

“Are you kidding? Of course you will. I could name you five guys right now who’d love to hook up with you! And I saw Derek checking you out tonight.”

“Oh my God, don’t make me hurl! That guy is disgusting. And what is with his hand always hanging over his crotch? Seriously, that guy’s weird!”

We talk and laugh more about all of the people at the party and any of the details the other may have missed. I am not actually sure who fell asleep first, but I think it must have been me. The last thing I remember is having a conversation about what my future would be like if I married Shane. I remember thinking that I would be happy.

Winter 2010

T
he drive to Dad’s seems longer than usual, but maybe it’s because I haven’t done it in a while. I have my travel mug filled with coffee and the radio on. It appears as though no one is working at the radio stations today because all of the music is Christmas music—the songs they play every year, over and over again—and there are no breaks from one song to the next. Even though there is music, the lack of a DJ makes it seem lonely and isolated.

I have never really liked Christmas music, but I guess that’s because I have never liked this time of year. That’s not completely true. I did like it when I was a kid, but not since high school have I ever felt great joy during this season. There was a time when I only saw the
favourable parts of Christmas—the food, the presents, the singing and laughter. Now I notice the exploitation—and the reality—of the holiday. I observe selfishness and greed, poverty and loneliness. I suppose we perceive what we want to perceive.

I think of Anna, who has everything a kid could ask for and more. The fact that she has two houses has actually made that worse. It’s as though her parents are competing to be the “better” parent, thereby spoiling her. I gave her a beautiful glass jewellery box last year for her birthday and she simply unwrapped it and tossed it aside. My sister told her to give me a big hug and kiss, but I knew she probably wished I had gotten her another one of the “pet shop” animals that everyone else had gotten her.

And Deb’s kids, who anytime I’ve seen them, seem to be complaining about something the other one has. I don’t remember being like that when I was younger, but I probably was. Maybe I am being too sensitive; they are kids after all.

It starts to snow, making it a little difficult to see the road ahead of me. I want to take my time getting to my dad’s apartment, but I know that he needs me and is probably very lonely.

“Oh Holy Night” is now playing on the radio, and I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic. It was my mom’s favourite Christmas tune. She used to sing it all the time during
the season and we used to laugh at her attempts to reach the high notes at the end. I remember Sandy joining her. My thoughts of the past abruptly end when I notice a car in the ditch up ahead on the road. I see brake lights as cars hurriedly come to full stops. I immediately step on the brakes, spilling a bit of my coffee in the process. The car in the ditch looks like it simply lost control on the slippery street and swerved onto the side. No other cars are involved, and I am relieved that no one looks seriously injured. As I pass the accident on my right, I make a point of looking straight ahead; why anyone would want to see an accident is beyond me. I relax my hands which I now realize have been tightly gripping the steering wheel.

When Dad answers the door, he hugs me so tightly I wish I had made plans to spend my Christmas with him instead of waiting for Jack to call me.

“Hey, Dad. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” He now has tears in his eyes. “It’s so great to see you.”

“You too, Dad.”

We talk for a while about nothing important—work, our apartments, the weather. He has taken out some frozen cookies that God-knows-who made for him. He was never much of a cook, let alone a baker. I take one to be polite and instantly regret it. They are
dry and tasteless. It feels as though they are sucking all of the saliva out my mouth, and I find it difficult to talk.

“How are you holding up this time of year and everything?” I don’t really want to have an emotional conversation, but I need to be sure Dad’s okay before I leave here.

“You know, it’s hard. Your mom was such a strong woman. It’s tough spending the holidays alone. How you do it, I have no idea.”

“I guess I’m just used to it. I’ve been alone since I moved out,” I explain. “Don’t get me wrong, I think about family all the time; it’s just that I don’t really allow myself to dwell on the past.”

I can see he doesn’t really understand where I am coming from. I suppose I can’t really blame him—he’s my dad and he raised me to have such a sense of family. I think it bothers him that I don’t visit, call, or reminisce about the good times. “Did you want me to take you to the cemetery?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

I wait while he gets ready to go. I notice our family portrait on the wall, the one that was taken while I was in high school. I remember that day, the heat especially. I notice the height of my bangs and think, why didn’t anybody tell me my hair looked so ridiculous? I suppose at the time it didn’t.

I stare at it for a while. I look at my former self and notice how different I am now—how a person can change so drastically. Not only have I aged physically, but my personality has altered too. I think about what was important to me then and how those things seem so trivial now. I look at Sandy and remember how funny she was, and how she made us all laugh. And now she seems so sad. My thoughts are interrupted when Dad announces he is set to go.

We stop by the grocery store to pick up some flowers for Mom’s grave, but soon realize that nothing is open. Eventually we see a man selling flowers on the street corner. He’s got about five buckets full of different bouquets, all of which look past their prime. We end up picking out some carnations which seem to be the best of the bunch. Dad spends such time perusing the flowers, picking off dead ends. I can’t help but think,
does it really even matter
? I suppose to him it does. When we get to the cemetery, there are not many other cars there, which is surprising to me. I’d assume this would be one of their busiest days. My dad fiddles around with the flowers, trying to make them presentable, cutting off enough stems and leaves to make them fit in the standard vase at the front of the gravestone. Dad moves close to the stone and places his hand on it. He is quiet, and so am I; there’s no need to make conversation while we’re here.

I stare at the gravestone and try to think pleasant thoughts about my mom. It’s not that I don’t have any, it’s
just that it feels so obligatory standing here and gazing down at her grave. I could reflect about the times she used to take all of us to the park on PD days, or when she’d do my hair exactly as I wanted her to, or how I’d go into her bedroom at night when she was reading and sit on Dad’s side of the bed and just talk to her about life. Those are just some of the good memories I have of her, but if I focus on any of them, I will start to cry, and I won’t allow that loss of control.