My Former Self (8 page)

Summer 1989

“S
o, are you going to admit that Tina
is
your type?” Because Jeremy and I discuss everything, I know that we have to talk about what I saw last night.

“It was nothing. She just started kissing me, and because I had a few beers, I wasn’t really thinking clearly,” he responds.

“Oh, okay,” I say in a sarcastic way.

“I’m serious. I don’t like her. I’m with Sarah and that’s that.”

I guess that’s the end of the conversation. Usually he’d confide a little more, but he must be feeling guilty
about what happened. Maybe if he discusses it with me, then it’s like admitting that he really did cheat on his girlfriend, and I don’t think he likes that idea. I drop it too because there is no use fighting with him. I’d never win.

Tonight is game night at the cottage and it’s my turn to choose the game. My sister and I always choose Monopoly, and tonight is no different. We get our snacks and drinks and settle down to play. Mom sits out as she sometimes does. She cleans around the cottage, makes food for the next day, or reads. I have to admit, I don’t mind when she sits out; she is very competitive and gets frustrated if she doesn’t win.

By the middle of the game Jeremy has yet again emerged as the leader, owning Boardwalk and Park Place, along with six other properties. He’s got hotels and houses on most of them and it’s making it tough for the rest of us to survive. Uncle Jack takes some money from the bank, as he’s the banker, and places it on my chair beside my leg. I don’t like to cheat, but I will do it this once to live on in this game, especially since Jer is being so cocky. He keeps saying he is going to take me down and rule this game. This is our last night at the cottage, so I figure I will not go down without a fight.

As I am starting to get a little more money in the game, we hear a knock at the door. Moments later Mom
comes in to tell Jeremy that there is a girl at the door. Sandy says, “Aww,” and Jeremy abruptly tells her to shutup. He goes out to the front porch. I can see through the window that it’s Tina. She must know that it’s his last night and she wants to talk—or make out—with him one last time.

The game is put on hold while Jeremy is outside.

“Anyone want anything from the kitchen?” Uncle Jack asks while we wait.

“Sure, Jack, I’ll have a beer. Thanks,” Dad responds.

“Me too,” Sandy says with a smile. “Actually, can you make it a rye and Coke? Thanks, Jack.”

“Okay, kiddo,” he winks at her. “How about you, Ton?”

“I’ll have Pepsi, if there’s any left.”

“Done.” And Uncle Jack is gone and back in a few minutes.

My sister calls to Mom in the family room, “Mom, do you have any more of that casserole—the one that tastes like the smell of suntan lotion?”

Mom replies, “What on earth are you talking about? How can something taste like a smell? Last night’s casserole is in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“More importantly, why would you want to eat something that tastes—or smells—like suntan lotion?!” I add my two cents.

From the window I hear Jeremy say, “Well, it’s not like we’re even going to see each other. There’s no point.” And within a minute he is inside, sitting down and ready to play. It seems that last line must have ticked her off, because she left instantly.

“Okay, guys, let’s get on with it.” Jeremy is all business now.

“What did your girlfriend want?” Sandy asks, not knowing when to cut it out.

“She’s not my girlfriend. Sarah’s my girlfriend. Can we just continue playing?”

The rest of the game is not much fun. Jeremy looks angry, Dad has lost all of his properties and is now sitting with Mom, and I am starting to emerge as the winner. Winning isn’t as fun, however, when I can’t get a rise out of my brother, or when I haven’t really won by myself.

Later that night I see Jeremy and ask him if he wants to talk about it. I am surprised when he says that he does. “I wasn’t really thinking about anything last night when she kissed me. Maybe I should have. Now she wants to tell her boyfriend. She said she thought maybe we’d start dating or something.”

“Do you like her, Jer?”

“No. Not like that. Not really. I wasn’t lying to you when I said that she wasn’t my type. I wasn’t thinking, and now she’s pissed.”

“So what did you say to her tonight?”

“I told her that I am with Sarah and that I am not planning on telling her about what happened last night. I tried to make it sound like it couldn’t work between us because we are at different schools, but the truth is, I don’t really want anything with Tina.”

“I guess you’re lucky we’re leaving tomorrow, eh?”

“Yeah, but I feel bad about it. She’s nice. I didn’t want to hurt her. I have never looked forward to school so much in my life.”

The thought of school makes me feel a pit in my stomach. I like school, but after two months off in the summer, it’s always the same. I have gotten used to being on vacation and the thought of starting a new school year with new classes and new teachers makes me nervous. I am really looking forward to being home, though. It’s been fun at my cottage, but I miss Amanda and Kaitlyn, and I wonder if Shane will still want to go see a movie.

“Can everyone come here for a minute?” We hear Uncle Jack call from the living room.

We gather and Uncle Jack begins, “Seeing as this is our last night, I wanted to make a toast to all of you for including me in your family vacation, which has become my family vacation too. I appreciate you always making me feel welcome. I wanted to thank you in some special way, so I’d like to give you this.”

Dad takes the envelope from Uncle Jack and opens it. “This is too much and not necessary at all. We love having you come with us.”

“What is it, Dad?” Sandy asks what we all want to know.

“It’s a gift certificate to Nonna’s Italian Restaurant—for all of us.”

“Jack, you really shouldn’t have,” Mom says. She goes over to hug him.

We all go up to hug Uncle Jack after our mom gives us “the look.” I wonder if Jack misses his kids or how often he thinks about them. They are eleven and thirteen. The eleven-year-old, Joey, is in Sandy’s class. She says he is quiet and is often taken out of the classroom by another teacher. She thinks it’s to work on his reading, but she’s not sure. None of us really knows Lydia, who is in eighth grade. I wonder if being around us makes him
unhappier about his situation; we must remind him of the family he doesn’t have. I look at Uncle Jack. He was probably a good-looking man in his younger years. I don’t think the years have been kind to him. He’s a lot greyer and looks a great deal older than Dad, but he is actually a few years younger.

When we finish in the living room, we all go about packing and cleaning so that we are ready to leave in the morning. Jeremy, Sandy, and I pull out the dresser drawer and sign our names on the inside for another year, which has become a tradition. Sandy signs her name in her “new” signature, Jeremy writes “till next year,” and I write, “The Summer of ’89,” like the Bryan Adams song.

We are happy and together, which we know is about to change in a matter of weeks.

Winter 2010

I
t is the same dream as it’s always been. I am a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, and this older gentleman, wearing a black suit and a black hat, comes up to me. He offers his hand to shake and removes his hat. In his hat is a bunch of lollipops, the kind our grandmother used to buy for us as children—the ones you used to get near the grocery counter wrapped in cellophane. He smiles at me and when he does, I see his teeth are rotten. I don’t know him, but he has a familiarity about him that I cannot quite put my finger on. Although I can’t see my mother, I can hear her voice warning against taking candy from a stranger. I feel uneasy and it’s usually at this time that I wake up.

I never really paid much attention to dreams, never thought that they held any meaning, but the reason I find this one noteworthy is that it recurs. I have never had, or remember having, a recurring dream before. It seems familiar.

I had better get up and begin my day. I was hoping to jog this morning before work, but judging by the weather, it appears as though that will have to wait. It’s freezing rain outside and not the best condition for running.

I get ready for work and I’m out the door before eight o’clock, ensuring that I will have enough time to get my coffee. As I am leaving my apartment, I see an elderly gentleman in the hallway looking for his keys. I have never seen him before; he must have recently moved in. He appears to be a little frazzled, so I decide to intervene.

“Can I help you with something?”

“I can’t find my keys. I had them when I left. I don’t know—I can’t remember where I put them,” he says.

“I can get Louis, the landlord. He’s got extra keys for all of the apartments. I won’t be a minute,” I reassure him and run downstairs.

Within a few minutes I am back with Louis.

“Mr. Clary, have you misplaced your key again?” Louis asks harmlessly enough.

“I don’t know why this keeps happening. It’s a terrible thing, getting old. I used to have the best memory, and now I can’t remember what I ate for dinner last night!” Although he jokes, his frustration is apparent.

Louis unlocks his door and leaves. Mr. Clary turns to me and asks me to come in for a coffee. As much as I’d rather go to my coffee shop, I don’t have the heart to say no. I go in and see that his apartment is exactly the same layout as mine. It’s small and has several pieces of furniture that do not seem to belong together. He’s got numerous pictures on the wall that I glance at while he fixes our coffees. Based on the pictures, it appears as though he has four children and a wife. I don’t ask him about them, not wanting to pry.

I sit on the couch and we talk about our apartment, the weather and our neighbours. He tells me that his wife recently died and his son moved him up to Ottawa, so he could be near him. As he speaks, I realize that he is not completely pleased with that decision.

“Do you like being in Ottawa?”

“I like the city but it’s not my home; Toronto is my home. How about you? The way you talk about the
apartment and the city gives me the sense that you don’t consider Ottawa your home either.”

I am surprised by his interpretation. “I grew up in Lindsay, a small town about an hour and a half from Toronto. I enjoyed it there, but I have to say that I prefer being in the city.”

“Maybe I was wrong. It’s just that you seem to have a sadness in you,” he says. I am taken aback and not really sure how to respond.

“No, I’m fine. I like being here in Ottawa. It’s a great city. I should run, though; I don’t want to be late for work.” I thank him for the coffee and head off to work. I am not one to allow a stranger into my life—not even one as sweet and alone as Mr. Clary.

As usual, I am first to arrive at the office, followed by Deb, and then Dr. Roerke. Cindy is the last to come in, and I sense that the mood is tense between her and Dr. Roerke. I wonder if anything did happen the other night. I am also self-conscious about my little incident, and I don’t really want to talk about it.

“Morning, Tonya. How was the rest of your weekend?” Deb is always good at sparking conversation without ever making anyone feel uncomfortable.