Swallowing the bile at the back of her throat, Liv approached the person hanging. She took off her own sandals, slipped on the blue leather flats that once belonged to this person and twirled in the circle of men to show off her acquisition. “My size. How lucky.” She smiled at Charles. He approached and gave her a soft, gentle kiss. A confirmation.
After receiving a nod from Charles, the men silently retreated into the darkness.
With her nose still touching Charles’s cheek, being careful not to seem too inquisitive, Liv asked, “When’s this gonna happen?”
“The summit is happening July 1. Canada Day.”
“That’s quick.”
“We have to be quick before the rest of them go into hiding.”
“I guess you just have to round them up again?”
“One by one.”
“I’d like to see one of these workhouses.”
Charles laughed. “The Renovation needs you, Liv. You can be such an inspiration to the many women who want to join the Boots because of what we stand for.”
Liv smiled. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him. In her mind, she imagined tightening her grip until she strangled him with his own jacket. But she knew she had to spread the word and tell the Others. She kissed him instead.
Liv pauses and awaits my reaction.
I rub my chin and feel the stubble already emerging from my pores. “When do I have to leave?” I ask her.
“Tonight.” Liv has her cheek sitting on her knee, now wet with tears.
I don’t understand. I feel like screaming.
Liv takes a breath before explaining. “After hearing the plans for the Renovation, our first plan of action was to get everyone we could into hiding. That’s what got you here. That’s why you’re safe.”
“And now?” I ask, my jaw tight.
“Now . . . we can’t waste any time. We have to do more than keep you safe. Over the last few weeks we’ve arranged to get as many people as possible relocated to somewhere else.”
“But why? How will Evan find me?!”
“If Evan is alive and in hiding, he will most likely be relocated as well. And if everything goes as planned, neither of you will have to hide at all.” I hold my breath at the thought of this, the possibility of trading in memories of you for your touch.
“Kay. I’m going to miss you. I’m going to worry about you every day until I see you again.”
“You think you’ll see me again?”
“If everything goes as planned.” She closes her eyes saying this phrase again, like a mantra. “I will see you again.”
She takes the acetone from her nightstand and moistens a cotton ball with it. The cotton ball erases my femininity, cleaning the edges of red from the cuticles of my toenails. I remove the kimono as if in a ceremony, like a shell, like a shadow and place it in her arms. I stand there, naked, unsure of myself in my in-between place.
“You will need to leave once your clothes have been cleaned.” She goes to her night table and retrieves an indelible marker. She begins writing on my forearm. “This is an address.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.” She is looking at me, speaking like every word has to land, like every word is a newborn deer that has to learn to walk.
“I need you to get there before dawn breaks three days from now. A black Grand Caravan will park just north of the stop sign. When the door slides open I need you to get into that van.” She sees in my face my attempt at committing it all to memory.
“Do you understand? I need you to get into that van.”
“Yes.”
“You get in that van and someone will bring you somewhere safe. Please, promise me you will do that.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“If you choose to, you’re going to learn to fight. You’re going to fight back.”
Before I beg for more details, we hear the buzz from Liv’s clothes dryer go off, and then silence. She leaves the bedroom and returns with a pile of my clothes, clean and warm. I get dressed back into this shadow of a person. I dress myself into the corners. I dress myself into the darkness.
When Liv opens the back door of her home, the wind is loud and I can see the sun drawing a crimson line along the horizon of Toronto. She hands me a sealed manila envelope and instructs me to tuck it into the back of my pants.
“I need you to give this to the person driving the van.”
She does not hug me goodbye.
I regret looking back. I see Liv, opening the curtains of her house, preparing breakfast in her kitchen as if nothing has happened. I know this is an act. I know this is to protect me. But my heart hurts with her pretending.
2
My mother was not like your mother, Evan. My ma never greeted me hello. Ma would breeze into our apartment in St. James Town, arms full of groceries, mouth full of complaints after a full day caring for the Wright-family children in the Forest Hill area. She would kick her mule sandals off her chapped feet and begin her rant about the horrible state of transit between the wealthy northwest of Toronto and the poverty-stricken southeast high-rise we lived in. Being a Filipina working for the wealthy was not a walk in the park. In fact, working for the Wright family was more like strolling barefoot over hot coals, with their three entitled children wearing their private school uniforms and spitting their peach pits into Ma’s face after snack time.
The plastic grocery bags’ handles were stretched and worn over Ma’s fists, and she placed them by the front door with a thud. A six-pack of rough, thin toilet paper. A sticky bottle of mushroom soy sauce. Cans of Spam with keys missing. A tin of potted liver pâté wheeled down the parquet, and I caught it with the edge of my sandal.
“Not with your feet, anak!” she said. “Keith. Wash that please. I don’t want your feet on our food.” I hated the sound of my name.
While Ma began sautéing the onions and garlic for corned beef, I continued working on my Lord of the Flies book report. Or rather, I continued to pretend that I was working on my Lord of the Flies book report. I opened up the pages of the paperback to where my bookmark—a wallet-sized print of Randell Sampson’s school picture—was placed. I’m embarrassed to tell you, my first love had a face that was both goofy and astute thanks to his prominent jaw and wide smile. One could tell by his large hands and his slender wrists that he still had some growing to do. Soon he would be even broader across the shoulders, with more girth in his thighs. I calmed my erection by biting my lip. For the millionth time, I turned the picture over to see his writing. Blocky, aggressive, staccato handwriting in the bluest of blue ink. “See you after school.” Nadine, his girlfriend and my classmate, had dropped it while clumsily trying to slip it into her Avery binder during chemistry class. I had managed to steal it off the floor tiles, pretending to tie my shoelaces.
“What is this?” I shut the book quickly. My mother’s hands ran through my hair, the knotted twists, like it was a tangle she could never undo. A problem she could never solve. And I was a big problem. Compared to her five-foot, ninety-pound frame, I was practically a monster. Her wispy eyebrows furrowed in worry at the sight of me.
“Nadine knotted my hair for me. It’s the style right now, Ma.”