Vanishing and Other Stories (28 page)

“It goes seven thousand kilometres,” he said. “Sometimes eight.”

He seemed to have stopped being scared of us. He answered to Captain Danger, and at one point he sat in Simmy's lap and lightly held some of her hair. The woman in the purple hat had got off at Thirty-ninth Avenue, and Frank stood on her seat, pressed his face to the window, and looked out. He breathed on the glass and doodled in the condensation made by his breath. When he tired of that, he settled between me and Simmy, held her hand, and fell asleep.

Over and over, the train slid to a stop and the automated voice informed us of our location. I felt cold air each time the door opened. People got on and people got off, leaving snow and mud on the plastic flooring. Then, with something that sounded like an intake of breath, the train started up again and the wheels scraped along the frozen track. My headache was gone but had left me tired and dreamy, and it was easy to make believe that this was my whole life, that the train belonged to us, and that it really was going ten thousand kilometres per hour. I could feel heat through Frank's coat, and his calm breathing made me drowsy. I kept dipping into sleep, and I slept better than I had in months. I didn't have to stay alert for sounds of Simmy climbing out of bed, because Frank was holding on to her. I only woke once or twice, when the track curved or the door shunted open.

 

 

WHEN WE APPROACHED BRENTWOOD
, I woke up feeling uneasy. But Simmy was still next to me. She'd fallen asleep at the other end of the seat, her head against the window. It took me a few seconds to realize that the space between us was cold. And then I remembered Frank. He was gone.

My first instinct was to look out the window. The strip mall blurred past and made me dizzy. I turned my head and looked up and down the car. There was a guy reading a newspaper. There was a scarf that someone had left behind on a seat. I stood up and the movement of the train almost knocked me down again, but I went toward the man with the paper.

“We lost our son,” I said, panic confusing my story. “Have you seen a little boy?”

The man shook his head and said something to me, but I didn't listen.

“Frank!” My voice came out hoarse, thick with sleep. “Frank!” It was the first time all day that I'd called him by his real name.

I checked under each seat, moving quickly. The train was going too fast, along a wild track. I lurched from one side of the aisle to the other, holding the metal poles for balance. Above the door, a colour-coded map bolted to the wall listed all the train's stops. I looked at it and pictured Frank reaching for the button and stepping off the train. It could have been at any one of those stops. Then a pleasant, automated voice announced that we'd reached the end of the line.

I shook Simmy hard to wake her. “Get up,” I said. “He's gone.”

“Who's gone?” She squinted from the sudden light hitting her eyes. “Oh shit—Frank?”

I dragged her by her arm off the train. “He must have gotten
off at one of the stops. We just have to catch the eastbound and retrace our route.”

“We should call someone. The police or something.”

She always put her trust in other people, usually any man who seemed powerful and kind. But I wanted to deal with this myself. I wanted to show her that I wasn't a kid.

“I'm going to use that emergency phone,” she said.

“Those are probably just for show.” I jumped down from the platform and crossed the tracks. Then I hoisted myself up onto the platform on the other side, dragging my belly along the concrete. I stood up and called to Simmy. “He probably hasn't gone too far yet.”

“How do you know that?”

She was right—I didn't know that. I didn't know anything. But I wasn't going to admit it. “Simmy,” I yelled. “Let's go.”

Maybe I shouldn't have used that tone. She wasn't the kind of girl who would come when called. We looked at each other from opposite sides of the track and it was like a scene on TV, except it was real. This was the first time we'd disagreed about anything, the first time we'd lost each other. Simmy turned from me and, with the agility of a cat, ran to the emergency phone. She picked up the red receiver from its plastic box, and then my train pulled in. It glided between us and blocked me from her like a door sliding shut. People got off the train and swept past me. I looked at the car, with its orange floor and bench seats. It was identical to the one I'd arrived on, except it was empty. I got on.

 

 

I FOUND FRANK
at Lions Park station, where we'd started out. I'd had a feeling he would have tried to get home, and I was right
about that, at least. He was outside, crouched under one of the metal benches where people toss their garbage and stick their used gum. All I could see were his boots, with those reflective stickers. I ran to him, grabbed him by the leg, and dragged him along the cold pavement toward me. I was so angry that I couldn't even yell. “Frank,” I whispered into his face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We missed our stop.” He'd been outside for a while—I could tell from the snow that rested in his hair, and from his red ears and cheeks. “I tried to wake you up.”

I lifted him by the front of his coat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

His breathing was fast and shallow, like he couldn't get air into his small lungs. “Is my mom sick? Is she going to die?”

“What?”

“Is that why she went to the doctor?” Frank wiped at his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “Is that why I have to live with you now?”

I went cold, like those nights when I'd wake to find Simmy gone. “Hey, kid, people go to the doctor all the time.” I loosened my grip on his coat and set him down. “That doesn't mean she's going to die.”

“Maybe she has what my dad had.”

“Listen, your mom is fine.”

I didn't know if that was true or not, but I said it anyway. Because, right then, I wanted to go home. I wanted to get away from this kid and go back to my life. Because I had a good thing going. I had a job and an apartment and Simmy. I didn't want to take on Frank's sorrow. I wanted to keep sorrow from the door for as long as possible. I didn't want to think about sickness or death, just like how I didn't want to wake up at night and find myself alone.

I straightened Frank's coat. “Your mom's okay. She's coming to get you at three o'clock.”

He was shivering, so I picked him up and held him against me. I took his hands in mine, to warm them.

“There,” I said. “How's that? Better?”

 

 

WHEN WE GOT HOME
, Simmy was on the phone to the police, but as soon as we walked in the door, she said, “Wait—here they are. Sorry,” then hung up. She stared at us, then slid down to the kitchen floor and started to cry with what must have been relief. I wanted to go to her and comfort her, but I was scared. I'd never seen Simmy cry before. I'd known her my whole life and never seen her cry.

Frank looked up at me and said, “What's wrong with her?”

That made Simmy laugh, and just the sound of it made everything okay. We were young again. We could go back to being happy and safe—laughing and sleeping in and drinking cheap wine. Simmy wiped her eyes, and we could go back to being ourselves.

 

 

WHEN FRANK
'
S MOM
came to pick him up, he wouldn't go to her. He stared at her, and held on to the sleeve of Simmy's jacket. I could tell he wanted to run and grab her legs and smell her hair, but he was scared. He was scared to love her as much as he did.

“This always happens. He always has more fun at other people's houses.” Frank's mom laughed. Then she picked up her son with the ease of someone who was used to his weight. He was stiff and cautious in her arms, but pretty soon he gave in. He put his fingers in his mouth, grabbed some of her hair with his other hand, and held it like he never planned to let go.

What can you ever know about people? As I watched Frank's mom fish in her purse for a twenty, I couldn't know if she was dying or not. I'd never seen a dying person. I imagined that death might be inside her body, wandering around quietly, the way Simmy moved through the apartment at night.

“Would you want to babysit again?” asked Frank's mom. “He seems to like it here.”

“Sure,” said Simmy, because she couldn't know anything either. She couldn't know that she'd leave soon, run off with a surveyor who worked up north.

We didn't mention that we'd lost Frank and I'm sure Frank didn't tell either. When they left, he didn't wave goodbye. He dropped us as easily as only kids can. He clutched his mother's hair and forgot us immediately. And I decided to forget him too.

 

 

THAT NIGHT
, Simmy and I took off those stupid clothes and lay naked on the yellow carpeting. The TV flickered above us and turned our bodies blue then green then blue again. The news that night was celebratory. Walls were coming down all over the world, and people were filled with a naive kind of hope.