Vanishing and Other Stories (27 page)

 

FRANK LIVED WITH HIS MOM
in the apartment next to ours. I don't remember his mom's name either, but she was pretty, and might have been a natural blonde. She had a job in a dentist's office, and we passed her in the hallway when she was on her way to work and to drop Frank off at the babysitter's. She couldn't have been much older than me and Simmy, but she seemed it. When she saw us, she'd give us this wistful, loving look. People did that then. People like to see young couples, the ones who haven't screwed up too much yet. The ones who have their whole lives ahead of them.

Frank's mom must have been really desperate that day. She must have really needed someone, because we couldn't have been her first choice to babysit. It wasn't that we were irresponsible—we made it to our shifts on time and we sometimes did our dishes. We just didn't know anything about looking after a kid. But she had a doctor's appointment, and for some reason the regular sitter couldn't take Frank that day. I think it was a Tuesday, maybe a Wednesday. Whatever it was, Simmy and I both had the day off. When that happened, Simmy would sleep in for hours. I'd be up
earlier, but I wouldn't get out of bed. I wouldn't even move, because I didn't want to wake her. I'd just watch her sleep. Her mouth would be open and her arms flung over her head. I can still remember the warm smell—not unpleasant—that came from her armpits.

She was sleeping like that when Frank's mom knocked on the door. Simmy opened her eyes, closed them, and said, “What's going on?”

“Someone's at the door.”

At the exact same time, we got out of bed, saw the clothes we were wearing, and remembered the sparkling wine we'd drunk the night before. At least, it seemed that way to me. Simmy and I had known each other for so long that it seemed like we shared everything, including hangovers.

We answered the door like that, wearing other people's clothes and smelling like sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” Frank's mom didn't look too good either. I don't think she'd washed her hair, and she wasn't wearing the usual lipstick or the green stuff on her eyes. She explained about the doctor's appointment and the babysitter. “I'd ask someone else, it's just that we're from up near Lake Athabasca and we don't know many people here.”

I was about to say no, because there was no way I was going to spend my day off looking after her kid. I was about to give some excuse. But before I could come up with anything, Simmy said, “Sure. No problem.”

For a second, Simmy became a stranger, someone I didn't know or like but who was living in my apartment. Then I inhaled, and she was Simmy again.

I looked at the kid, who was in his mom's arms and seemed small for his age. He wore blue snow pants, a red parka, and boots with reflective stickers on them. He was gripping a handful of his mom's hair in his fist. His hair and eyes were a deep brown, and that must have come from his dad's side. I'd never seen his dad, and never wondered about him either—that's an old story too.

Frank's mom said she'd be back around three and would that be okay? And again Simmy said, “Sure.”

After his mom kissed Frank half a dozen times on the forehead, assured him that everything would be fine, and convinced herself of it too, she left. Then Frank stood in our doorway and looked at the carpet, which couldn't have been any different than the carpet in his own apartment. He was solidly built, with hair that his mom must have carefully combed. He held a plastic bag full of toys and books. He looked embarrassed or shy, and when Simmy said, “Hey, Frank,” he jumped like he'd just been woken up. She tried again. “Hey, sweetie, how about some breakfast?”

“I ate already.” He said this without looking at her. Then he put two of his fingers into his mouth and left them there. He rocked back and forth on his feet, and the stickers on his boots threw light up onto the walls.

“How about I show you around?” Simmy held out her hand and he looked at it. If he'd been an animal, he would have sniffed it. “Don't worry,” she said. “You should feel at home here. From now on, this is your place too.”

Frank nodded. Then he took his fingers out of his mouth and held on to her hand. Simmy didn't seem to mind that he was getting spit all over her. She led him around the apartment, and he dragged the plastic bag of toys behind him. The tour didn't take
long. She showed him the microwave that we'd covered in stickers and the garbage that we hadn't emptied in a while and the couch we'd found on the street. While she did that, I made a pot of coffee and poured two bowls of Frosted Flakes I'd brought home from work because they were past their best-before date.

I heard Simmy say, “You don't look like a Frank. You look like a Justin. Or a Toby.”

“My dad's name was Frank.”

“Those boots make him look like a superhero,” I said. I'd already forgiven Simmy for agreeing to babysit. For one thing, just the smell of coffee was easing my headache. For another, I figured it'd be easy money. “If he were my kid, I'd have named him Captain Danger.”

Simmy came into the kitchen, leading Frank by the hand.

“Captain Danger,” I said to him. “From now on, that'll be your name.”

“Okay,” he said.

I poured milk into our bowls and handed one to Simmy. Then all three of us sat on the couch and watched the morning news. I don't remember much about what the announcer was saying. At that age I felt outside politics, outside history.

Frank sat very still between us, like he knew we were hungover and didn't want to disturb us. He was probably used to keeping quiet for the sake of his mom. Once or twice he kicked his boots against the couch. After a while he spoke in a near whisper. “I'm too hot.”

I noticed he was still wearing the parka and boots. “Take your coat off, kid. Stay awhile.”

“The zipper's stuck.”

Simmy tried to help, then I tried, but the zipper was caught on something. We couldn't even get it below his neck. We tried to pull the parka over his head, but the collar wasn't big enough and the Velcro scratched his face.

“If my mom was here, she'd be able to do it.” He wasn't accusing us. It was a fact, and the way he stated it reminded me of the TV announcer.

We decided that if Frank couldn't get his coat off, then the solution was for us to put our coats on.

“We'll just go outside until we get too cold,” said Simmy, “then come inside until we get too hot. And we'll keep doing that all day.”

“What do you think, Captain?” I nudged him. “What do you think of that idea?”

“I think it's an okay idea,” said Frank, his expression steady and solemn, like the guy who delivered the news.

 

 

WE DIDN
'
T CHANGE
out of those strange clothes. Simmy just tucked in her blouse, buttoned up her sweater, and threw on her parka and mitts. I put on that suit jacket made for a bigger man and my own coat. Neither of us bothered to shower, comb our hair, or brush our teeth. We could get away with it. When you're nineteen, going out hungover and wearing clothes that smell of chemicals and other people is okay and funny and even charming.

Simmy and I forgot to bring the toys and books that Frank had brought in his plastic bag. But we did bring a travel mug of coffee that we passed back and forth, and the Polaroid camera, which Simmy swung over her shoulder.

When we got outside, it snowed in the agreeable way it snows on TV. Thick, wet flakes stuck to our eyelashes and hair. Frank pointed out that we'd also forgotten his mittens—they were in the bag with the toys—so Simmy and I each held one of his hands to keep them warm. The cool air woke me up, and I said, “Who wants to go on a train ride?”

“I have a train set at home,” said Frank.

“Forget that. This is a real train. After this, you won't care if you never see that train set again.”

These were big promises, considering all I had to offer was the city's Light Rail Transit system. Riding the LRT was something Simmy and I liked to do when she first moved to the city and everything was an adventure. The fare was a little over a dollar, and Simmy and I would ride the train as far as it would go and back. We'd sit side by side, lean into each other, and watch the other passengers. We felt sorry for them because they were old, and had destinations. Most were probably commuting to and from work, and they wore the kind of clothes that we only put on as a joke. They fell asleep with their mouths open, their slack faces disintegrating into their necks, and we were sure we'd never end up like them.

My favourite part of the ride was after Sunnyside, when the train slowed to go over the bridge. I'd press my face to the dirty glass and look down at the river. Sometimes it would be high and fast and green, even brighter than Simmy's eyes. And in the winter it froze to form ice so white that the sun seemed to leap off it.

If Frank had already ridden the train, he didn't say so. He held our hands as we waited for it to pull into the station, and we let him press the button to open the doors. We gambled that no one
would be checking tickets, so we didn't buy any. We just stepped onto the train as though we belonged there and sat on a bench that faced backwards, away from where we were headed. Frank sat very still between us. He said, “How fast does the train go?”

“Ten thousand kilometres per hour.” I could tell Frank had been raised to be trusting and he would believe anything I told him.

The woman across from us wore a purple hat with flecks of snow on it. Her grocery bags, filled with food from the Safeway where I worked, were hooked over her wrists. She looked at the three of us, probably trying to figure out if Simmy and I were young parents to be pitied, or conscientious older siblings to be admired. Simmy, who still had the small-town habit of talking to strangers, nodded to the woman and said hi.

“Hello.” The woman focused on Frank, and she made her eyes wide and spoke in a singsong voice. “Hel-lo there.” Then she looked at Simmy. “Is he yours?”

Before Simmy could jump in, I put my arm around Frank and said, “Yeah, he's ours.” I wanted to see if I could get away with it. I pulled Frank toward me and he tilted stiffly into my side. “I'm Steve.” I nodded toward Simmy. “And this is Eileen.”

“And what's your name?” said the woman, leaning toward Frank.

Frank looked at me, as though asking permission to speak, and I nodded to him. He stared at the woman's purple hat. “I'm Captain Danger,” he said, in his steady, serious way.

The woman lifted both of her eyebrows, but at different times: first one, then the other. “I see.”

“Could you take a picture of us?” Simmy took the camera out
of its case. “We'd ask someone else, but we don't know many people here.”

“We're from Lake Athabasca,” I said.

The woman put her bags down and took the camera. She held it steady, despite the curve in the track. There was no flash, but the winter light through the window was enough. The camera hummed and the photo slid out. I waved it around and we watched the picture appear out of the murk. Simmy said to Frank, “Look. That's us.”

“A happy family,” I said, and that wasn't entirely a lie. I was happy then, and I think Simmy was too. And who can say what was going through the kid's head. Fascinated by the Polaroid's magic, he reached out and touched the white edge with his index finger.

I don't know what happened to that picture—maybe Simmy still has it. Maybe she finds it at the bottom of a drawer sometimes, and tries to remember the kid's name, and what she loved about me then, and what exactly the girl in the strange clothes was thinking at that precise moment in time.

 

 

WE RODE ALL THE WAY
to Anderson and back. Then we switched trains at City Hall so we could pass above the river again, and we rode to Whitehorn. Then we travelled back downtown and switched again. It took us a couple of hours, enough time for me to make stuff up about how Light Rail Transit worked and for Simmy to give Frank a tour of the train car as though it were our second home. She pointed out the map to him, and the seats that lifted to make more room, and the phone you could use in an
emergency. She showed him the button you press when you want the doors to open, which he could just reach. Frank told us about his train set. He said it had belonged to his dad, and that it wasn't quite as fast as the LRT.