Who I'm Not (4 page)

SEVEN

Harley took me from the Bad Time. He got me from Barbie and Ken, the Bible thumpers. This was up in Portland, Oregon, where I was a ward of the state from the time I was born. They were something like my eighteenth family. The Bad Time is what I call the swamp that stretches back to before I can remember. People from then bubble up in dreams sometimes. The cardigan-sweater lady who baked cookies and hit me if I didn't show her everything I did in the toilet. The cheery chubbies who made me wear their fat kids' old clothes and spent my support allowance on a game system I wasn't allowed to use. The neat freaks who threw away all my books because they cluttered the room I was supposed to keep tidy. The accountants with matching glasses—he liked to come to my room to “talk” on nights when she'd taken a sleeping pill.

Not everyone was bad.
I
was bad. Or maybe I became bad. After a while I didn't wait for anyone to mess with me—I messed with
them.
Anyway, the thumpers weren't the worst and they weren't the best. They weren't really called Ken and Barbie either. Wayne and Patti were their names. I think they wanted to be Ken and Barbie though. They'd come up from some Bible college in California. They had shiny teeth, and we prayed a lot when they weren't watching Fox News or trying to save me and the gay tree huggers. Wayne and Patti thought gay stuff was the worst sin going— that and jerking off.

“Keep yourself clean,” Wayne would warn. “Never sin against yourself. There are real fires, literal fires of hell, and they burn. Give me your left hand.”

Then he'd hold my hand over a red-hot stove element—not touching it, but I didn't know he wouldn't. I'd try to pull away, but he was stronger than me and I'd feel him pushing my hand closer and closer. The first time, I was so scared I wet myself. I got in trouble for that too. It was always my left hand Wayne did the stove thing with. I didn't tell him I used my right. Instead I'd go into the bathroom and do it all over his toothbrush first chance I got. Then I'd get in a fight at school.

The main problem with Wayne and Patti was the churchgoing and having to pray out loud for forgiveness when I got in trouble, which was a lot. That and the sucker punching to the kidneys. I wasn't kidding about Bible
thumpers.
I guess the Bible said hitting was okay, but the state didn't like bruises.

Harley had been with Darla then, doing their Bill and Bonnie Blessing ministry number. They came through Wayne and Patti's church. Harley said getting me was easy. He told them to wait a day and then say I'd run off. It wouldn't have been the first time I'd run.

For a long time, I thought Harley had paid them for me. I asked him once a couple of years later, just to know what I was worth. “Give me a fucking break,” he said. “They paid
me.
” His voice went all singsongy. “
A small offering unto the Lord that we might take this child under our wings on the path to salvation
.” He snorted and popped a fresh piece of gum. “I'll guarantee you, they didn't pay me as much as the next foster-allowance check, and they didn't report you missing until they'd cashed it. You must have been a royal pain in the ass.”

“I didn't pray loud enough before meals.”

“Chew with your mouth closed is all I ask.”

I don't remember much about how I felt when Wayne told me to get into Harley and Darla's RV with my green garbage bag of clothes. The RV had
BLESSINGS TO YOU
painted on its side in sky blue. I'm sure I figured it couldn't be any worse than staying where I was, and anyway, back then I was super good at not letting myself feel things.

I remember sitting in the back of the RV, watching Darla crack her window and light a smoke when we went around the corner. When we stopped at the first traffic light, Harley said around his gum, “Hey kid, grab me a beer from the fridge back there.”

He popped it open, still watching the road. “What are we gonna call you, anyway?”

I didn't say anything.

“Bill Junior.” Darla blew smoke out the window. “That way, there's no screwups.”

“Work for you?” Harley glanced at me over his shoulder. I nodded and went back and sat down. The only thing that surprised me about any of it was being asked. I knew they were supposed to be traveling preachers, but I was way past expecting anyone to be what they said they were. Even Wayne had had a porn stash behind some paneling in the basement. I'd left it spread all over the family room with a note that said
left or right
? before they called me upstairs to go with Harley and Darla. I'm good at finding things.

I remember liking that we had kfc and Dr. Pepper for dinner in the RV that first night. Nobody said grace either. In the Bad Time I'd gotten things like mashed potatoes and minute steak with water or milk—except with the fit freaks. With them, it was all tofu, brown rice, fish and steamed vegetables. That was even worse.

After dinner, Darla lit another smoke. Harley belched and said, “Oh baby, that hit the spot.” It was better than praying and stove elements, but it didn't mean I trusted them. I kept a steak knife from the kitchenette drawer under the mattress for the first few months. They never bothered me that way though; they didn't even do it with each other much. Mostly it was just business.

That was what they'd gotten me for: Business. At first I was just cover for them—everybody trusts a family more. I was small for my age and I looked younger than I was, especially after they got me some new clothes and a haircut. “Stand beside me and smile. Then give them an envelope. Say ‘Blessings to you.'”

“Blessings to you.”

“You're a natural. You like school?” Harley worked his gum.

I shrugged. I hated school.

“Well, we move around a lot. This is a different school. School of life. Right now we're going to work this mall. Smile and hold Darla's hand when we walk.”

That was the only part I didn't like, but I managed.

Harley pulled the door open. “Everything you need to know, you're going to learn from us. Keep your ears and eyes open.”

EIGHT

You'd better believe my eyes and ears were open now. I didn't know squat about Canada or the town of Port Hope, except that Shan and Roy and the kids lived in a semi (whatever that was) at 26 Yardley Street. A semi turned out to mean “semidetached”: the place was joined up to a twin house on one side. It was the kind of neighborhood Harley might have run his vinyl-siding-refresher scam in, or sent me through selling phony magazine subscriptions to “raise money for my school.” I wasn't expected to know anything, though, because they'd moved from their old town. The one I “disappeared” from. When Shan asked, I said I didn't want to go back or see anyone from there, because it brought back bad memories.

Everything seemed completely straight up. In some ways, it was a pretty standard game. I came up with memories for Uncle Pete that I got from Gram and memories for Grampy that I got from Uncle Pete. I toed out. I used the word
sucker
a lot. I scooted back and forth on my butt beside Matt and Brooklynne when we watched TV. (It was tiring; maybe Danny had ADHD.) I must have been a pretty good Danny Dellomondo, because they bought it. You could tell by the way Gram and Grampy hugged me before they headed back to their place in Havelock, about an hour's drive north. Shan told me I had a case worker assigned from Children's Aid to help “facilitate my transitioning.” She was going to come by in a couple of days, but right now I could just chill.

It was easy for her to say. For the first time in three years I'd stopped moving, but my brain was still going flat-out, bouncing around as if I were trapped on a bumper car ride. It was hard to take a breath, especially in a little house with four strangers who were supposed to be my family. We were watching each other all the time and pretending we weren't. When Shan said Matt wanted to show me around town, I didn't know if he did or not, but I let him. It was a chance to stretch, scope an exit and pump a little more info.

At first, I'd thought Port Hope was like a lot of towns in the northeastern States. Then I'd started noticing differences, like everything was in kilometers and liters, not miles and gallons. That took me awhile to figure out. And there were one- and two-dollar coins instead of bills. Also, there was foreign printing on packages, in what turned out to be French. I didn't get why, because nobody in the town spoke it as far as I could tell, but of course I couldn't ask. I was just worried that I'd be expected to know. One day, looking at a cereal box, I'd said, “I forgot about this being on everything. I can't even read it.”

“Well, join the club,” Shan said. “We're thinking about French immersion for Brooklynne, but I don't know.” That hadn't helped. After I'd found the library, I read newspapers until I learned about Quebec, this place in Canada that was all French.

I found the library the day Matt showed me around. The main street ran up and down a hill. A river crossed it at the bottom, running out to a lake. There were a lot of people around, and touristy shops selling expensive crap for your kitchen and whatever. You could almost hear the money crinkle. Harley would have had four games worked out before he parked.

It was hot. Not Tucson hot, but muggy. Matt was wearing a cap with
NY
on the front. He wheeled along beside me, straddling his little tricks bike. I'd ditched my rapper cap but kept my shades on.

Matt didn't have much to say except that he liked Xbox better than Game Boy but he really wanted a Wii. He was saving up but hoped Grampy would help. I wondered if Matt kept his money in his room. It would be worth a look.

It was too early to pump him about the family, so I worked on exits. Which way is the highway, where's the lake, how big is it, what's there, what's on the other side? A lot of it, he didn't even know. You could tell he was bored. He kept circling back on the bike and trying to jump the curb. I finally got lucky when I asked, “What's that place?”

“Uh, the library.”

“Let's go in,” I said. It popped out before I could stop myself.

“What for?” Matt curled up one side of his mouth and pulled his chin in as if he was scared it would get contaminated. I recognized the Danny smirk I'd been practicing. I guessed it ran in the family.

“I don't know,” I said. “Get a book.”

Matt waggled his front wheel. “Why? It's summer.”

“I know. And it's hot. And it'll be air-conditioned.”

“Let's just go get a pop.”

By now I knew “pop” was what they called sodas in Canada. I gave him back the smirk. “Got any money?”

“No,” Matt said. “Do you?”

“Come in there with me,” I said, “and I'll get us some.”

Now he looked at me. “How?”

“You'll see.” All at once I was doing a Harley: I was seeing three moves ahead, and it felt good. I knew Matt couldn't resist. He put his bike in the rack. We walked into the cool.

NINE

The way I figured it was this: First, I
did
need a book— and bad—to slow down my head. I'd always been a reader. I had to be. In the Bad Time, it was sometimes the only way for me to escape. TV was always the first thing they took from you when you messed up. Second, I had Shan's ten in my pocket, but I had to have a way I'd gotten the money. If Matt told Shan I had ten dollars in Canadian money with me, she was going to wonder where it had come from and maybe check her purse. Nobody was going to believe I'd gotten it in Tucson. The library was perfect. All I had to do was brush against somebody or bump a purse, then flash the ten at Matt, and he'd think I'd picked someone's pocket. If he was in on it, he couldn't tell Shan. I'd be an outlaw superhero and he'd be an accessory.
It's all about leverage.

Inside, there was a three-sided counter with a lady behind it and scanner bars to walk through on the way out. I could see a kids' section and stairs leading up to the rest of the library. “Come on,” I said to Matt.

Upstairs was another desk with another lady, public computers and books. Tons of books.

I felt myself relax a little. Man, if I could just hang here by myself, I thought. One of my worst times was when the neat freaks threw away my books. That might have been the last time I cried. There was one book I loved, about this girl named Gilly. She was a Bad Timer like me. She was great at messing with people's heads. The difference was, she had a mom, and even a picture of her, but the mom turned out to be a shit, and Gilly had to get it together for herself anyway. Me and Gilly. I loved that there wasn't a happy ending, even though she had a grandma. I would have been so pissed if she'd gotten out and I hadn't.

“Just go with this,” I whispered to Matt. All at once I had to be alone in there, just for a minute.

“Can I help you boys?”

The lady at the desk had a name badge that said
Jo-Anne
and MOM stamped on her forehead. I jumped right into it. I nodded at Matt. “Well, ma'am, he'd like to use a computer and I'd like to look at the books.” Matt stared at me. I didn't care. Sticking Matt at a computer would give me time to breathe and steal a couple books. Then I could fake stealing the money.

“Do you have cards?” the lady smiled.

I looked at Matt. He did the family look again. It was starting to bug me. I didn't let him see that, though, because I'd just realized something else: someone was offering me more ID. “No, ma'am,” I said. “I'm new in town.”

“Well, welcome,” said Jo-Anne. “Anyone over thirteen can get their own card, but I'll need to see something with your address. Do you have anything with you?”

I looked at Matt. He shrugged and did the stupid smirk again. “I guess not, ma'am,” I said. I decided to steal the little jerk's Wii money for sure.