Steckland Russ --- (iv.iv)

    The next three chapters come from a very different frame of mind. While my habit with the previous episodes was to recapture them fresh within hours of happening, this occasion has have required time for me to make sense of it and still now I don't understand. Throwing words at it might help me, maybe.

    Here we go.



    (xiv) -- Lansdowne to Greenwood   

    The windy ride home from Earlscourt Park was chilly and unpleasant, especially with my arms and legs unprotected against the cold autumn breeze. Once I arrived home, shivering and hungry, I was ready to hide away in my room with a bag of tortilla chips and several Futurama episodes, except my father caught me as I was about to enter my solitude.

    'Steckland. School called. Fellow named "Crate" or "Kegeight" said you left your knapsack in the locker room.' barked my father.
    'Ah, wondering where that went.' I said unconvincingly, the smelly gym clothes I wore only making me feel more ridiculous.
    'He must've been a caretaker or something cause he sounded drunk. Anyhow, your Aunt Jennifer is in town and I said we'd go over for dinner at her friend Sherry's. We're leaving now so keep your shoes on.'

    This was horrible news. The last time I had seen Aunt Jennifer I was eleven years old and she had ripped into me for getting a mediocre Geography grade. "Architects don't get a C+ you know." she had said, poking me in the ribcage uncomfortably while I yearned to get away and play Super Nintendo. Now she was surely older and crankier, my grades were much worse and there was no Super Nintendo to escape to (it broke in Grade Ten if you recall, Future Steckland.) With my recent discovery of myself on the Highview expulsion list, the timing of this unhappy reunion could not have been worse. Soon we were off to the East End, and such a quiet subway ride it was that closed my eyes for minutes at a time and pretended I was going anywhere else.

    'The next station is Greenwood, Greenwood station.'

    The echo of the automatic announcement lingered in my mind until the train came to a stop. Our habit of mutual silence continued all the way out of the unfamiliar subway station and onto "Linsmore" street. Up we went, the lights of Danforth fading away behind us until they disappeared behind a bend in the road.
    Along the sidewalks were many tall thick trees watching the houses around them, their branches peeking across the porches and second floor windows as they surely had done ever since these homes were built. Their presence was so dominating I thought of this as a place owned by the trees: all these houses were here only as decoration for them, filling the empty spaces beyond their roots so that they don't feel so lonely. It was appealing, even while I felt like an intruder upon their aged domain. 
    What was not appealing was my destination in this mysterious place: Aunt Jennifer. My father broke the silence between us as we made a right turn onto Milverton Blvd.
   
    'It's been a while since you've seen your Aunt Jenn, hasn't it?'
    'Yeah. Think I'd just graduated Junior High. She wouldn't stop talking about how my name wasn't on the Honour Roll.' I remarked.
    'Jenn is only here until Friday.' said my father, not listening. 'I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you. Ah, here we are.'

    The corner of Milverton and Monarch Park had arrived and my father gestured to a house across the street. While the other three homes of this intersection were round, large and well nourished, our destination was the squat bungalow on the south-west corner: a square hut so out of place I wondered if it had missed a growth spurt or something. My father knocked on the front door and an unfamiliar face welcomed us in without a smile, a trend I was sure would repeat itself.
    The inside of the house was even more stunted than the outside: the low ceilings appeared to have confused the owner so much that the chesterfield cushions barely reached my knees while the coffee table in front of it was flirting with my nipples; a battered television flashed thirty-two colour static against the dim lighting of the living room; the white carpet was a memorial of red wine stains, dog hair and cigarettes that never quite made it to the ashtray; piles of old beauty magazines were stashed by the front door, the bathroom door, the kitchen counter, on top of the television and underneath an old record player. There were four woman lounging about, all no younger than fifty, flipping through newer versions of the same magazines and sipping red white and clumsily smoking cigarettes. I realized none of them was my aunt Jennifer and felt quite pleased for a brief moment.

    'Stecklandy! Stecklandy!' said a shrill voice, loudly. 'Over here! Give your sweet aunt a hug! Over here now!'

    I'm not sure how recently you've seen Aunt Jennifer, Future Steckland, but I can predict with certainty that she has not aged well. Her arms must still be bony and hook-like, her fingernails still sharp and painted blood-red, her dark eyes twitchy and judgemental, and her smile crooked and cold. Her resemblance to my father was in the nose and jawline: it gave me great relief that I had not inherited either of those features.
   
    'My goodness! You're so skinny! Never going to attract any pretty girls like that! And your hair! You're a dirty hippie you are!'

    I scratched an itch behind my ear, below a few centimetres from where my longest hair ended.

    'Going to have a chat with your father about that. Oh here's Laurie! I'm going off to the kitchen for some more... grape juice. You two stay right here!'

    Aunt Jennifer swooped off to the kitchen and disappeared behind the open fridge door.

    'Thanks Laur. You saved me there.'
    'Yeah you looked like you were in trouble there. Think nothing of it.' shrugged my sister.
    'Is my hair really too long?' I asked, feeling the back of my head.
    'You should know not to let her get to you, Steck. She said my hair was too short, my glasses too thick and that I'd never attract any handsome men like that.'
    'Ha!' I laughed. 'That's a good one.'
    'Isn't it? I would've laughed but then the jig would've been up for sure.' said Laurie, brushing her light brown bangs out of her eyes. 'Everything good with you, Steck?'
    'Not great.' I said truthfully. 'Almost got expelled today, might've lost my knapsack in gym class. Shit! My glove was in there!'
    'I'm sure it's fine. If I remember right, Kreight waits a few days to throw out anything left behind. Probably to see if a whiskey bottle will grow from it someplace.'
    'Heh, yeah. You're probably right.' I smiled.
    'Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're back in classes again.' said Laurie plainly. 'School is important, even when it isn't interesting.'
    'Course you'd say that, you were the only one of us who ever really gave it their all. I remember when you were in Grade Twelve we wouldn't see you for months at a time. Always locked in your room or the library.'
    'Ha, not always. For all the good that did, anyway. McGill still didn't want me full time. That was like a steak dinner rare for Aunt Jennifer.' grumbled Laurie. 'But it worked out. I'm happy with it. Living in Montreal would've been weird, Steck. My French still isn't very good. Not to mention, maybe I... don't completely find myself...'
    'True.' I nodded softly. 'That could've been completely different.'
    'Exactly.' agreed Laurie. 'I look back at those points where my life could've gone in a completely different direction and see that one path isn't better or worse than the other. Just different. You'll soon be finding some forks in the road ahead, Steck.'
    'That's what I'm afraid of.' said I. 'Any regrets there, Pathfinder?'
    'Of course.' replied my sister. 'I regret not punching Airck Bolland in the gut. Grabbing my ass on prom night? And my dress was very thin fabric! Come on! Oh, if I ever see that guy again...'

    Laurie and I laughed it up for a while longer until she had to leave because of an early shift the next morning. Once she left I found myself drifting aimlessly from one small room to another, finding nobody I wanted to speak to and feeling uncomfortable just standing in one place. It was about 9:30 and I decided I'd spent a reasonable amount of time here to leave. I went to my father, who was chatting up a giggling woman spilling red wine all over the white carpet, but Aunt Jennifer intercepted me.

    'Stecklandy! Stecklandy Russ. You know I 'ever cared for the name Russ. Eeet's why I didn'ta keep it, you know.' said Aunt Jennifer.
    'It is what it is.' said I, peeking over her shoulder to try and catch my father's attention.
    'Never much cared fer the name Steckland, i'ther. That's your mother's doing, fsure. Never liked it. I wanted Richard, or Paul. Or if you were a girl...'

    What she said next was like a first pitch strike from Roy Halladay.

    '...Jenn.' said my aunt predictably. 'But no. Steckland it was. Steckland it is. That tart. My silly little brother never could stand up to her. And how is "Steckland" doing these days? Tell me, tell your Aunt Jennifer...'
    'Steckland is fine. He's actually on his way out.' I replied calmly.
   
    Aunt Jennifer threw her hands wildly up in the air, spilling half her glass of wine onto the wall behind her. Her mouth was wide as though she were smiling but I knew there was nothing positive about her expression.

    'Leaving? Of course of course. Quitting when the going gets tough! That sounds about right.' she said, her voice raising.
    'I'm sorry, what do you mean by--'
    'Oh don't play stupid.' interrupted Aunt Jennifer, swigging the remaining wine in her glass. 'I've been around in the world much longer than you. Much longer. I see you com'n here, long hair and hands in your pockets, like this is the last place you wanted to be. Oh I see it! I see it! If only dad hasn't dragged me here I'd, I'd be high on herbs with my video games!'
    'I don't even... what are you talking abo--'
    'You're nothing. Ya hear me! Nothing! Skipping classes! Wasting your life for nothing! Yer nothing and useless!'

    Aunt Jennifer's voice had increased to a level that everyone in the room had stopped to take notice. My feet trembled and burned: I wanted to defend myself but didn't know how. I glanced to my father and saw no sign of support arriving soon.

    'You're talking nonsense. I'm not--'
    'Deny, deny. I'm notta deadbeat, I'm not anything! Deny an' loosen the pursestrings! Coming to me for money? You pathetic weasel of---'

    I felt something shatter against my leg. It was the wine glass, now in tiny shards along my jeans. The largest piece of the glass was right at my left foot, marking the spot of the initial impact.
   
    'What's your problem you drunk batshit crazy witch?' I screamed. 'Are you out of your fuc--'
    'Steckland! That's enough!' barked my father.

    Horror grabbed my chest and would not let go. My father looked away as I turned to face him, perhaps ashamed but it was too late. I grabbed my sneakers, clumsily put one of them on and carried the other one as I walked out the door.
    There were droplets of red wine on my white Highview gym t-shirt, unwashable stains to remind me of this encounter for far too long. I wanted to tear off this damage and hurl it into the half-moon hanging oblivious in the night sky. Streets and intersections unfamiliar came and passed me by as I stormed deeper and deeper into neighbourhoods I did not know. Soon I was lost, without money for transit fare, on a street I didn't know ran east-west or north-south. I sat down on someone's front lawn and put my other sneaker on.     
    The area I found myself in was entirely different from where I had run from. While those streets had dominating trees and elegant homes, this was a place of crooked windows and front lawns of dying grass. Those enormous trees of before felt like a protection from the evils of unknown night, especially now that they were gone and I was in this barren place. I felt the chill of ghouls sneaking around me in an increasing fog, licking lips and watching my steps for the first sign of weakness. My steps quickened but that was of no use: I had no clue where I was or where I was going. All I was now was easy prey.
    A somewhat busy street in front of me disappeared into the fog and I figured my time was near. Vicious screeching rushed up behind me from far away, sending cold goosebumps along my arms and legs. The fog was now so thick I couldn't read the street number of the house right beside me. All around the screeching only became louder and I swore there were shapeless shadows circling me in the fading sky above.
    Two figures gained substance and approached me. Hand in hand, one with a clean white cloak covering it's face while the other wore a identical black cloak. Both of them reached out gloved hands to me but I backed away. They pulled their hands back simultaineously and then reached out again. I was more compelled this time to return my hand: I was tired, lonely, lost, ready to let go. My right hand trembled as I reached out, nearly brushing fingertips on the white glove before I pulled back. More cloaked figures emerged from the haze, all reaching out to embrace me. The air had become incredibly cold and my skin was numb all over.

    'Kid! Kid! Have an eye, kid!'

    The voice had come from nowhere yet everywhere. I spun around, scanning the mesmerizing white and black gloves for whoever had called me. There were dozens of cloaked ghouls closing in and I could see nothing else but them.

    'Kid! Three o'clock! Right here!'

    I turned to my right and there, behind three black cloaks was a person very much out of place: a lanky gentleman dressed in a baseball uniform. His jersey and pants were cream coloured and his socks, high, were brown with two yellow stripes at the top. The number on the back of his uniform, "19", was also brown, as was his cap with a white "S" logo on the front. A larger, similar brown "S" was stitched over his heart. His hair was shaggy, his eyebrows bushy and his moustache thick and plentiful. This stranger certainly didn't play for any team I had seen before.

    'What team do you play for?' I asked, quickly realizing this was not a particularly good first question.
    'All of them.' replied he.
    'Okay... uh and who are you?'
    'Folks call me: The Shortstop.'
    'The Shortstop?'
    'Yes.' said The Shortstop, spitting some chewed tobacco onto the street.
   
    As I was about to inquire further, The Shortstop pulled a white baseball bat out from behind his back and swung hard at the head of a white cloaked ghoul about to strangle him. I ducked, expecting a gory scene but instead the ghoul howled and vanished back into the fog. The Shortstop faked another swing at a black cloaked ghoul reaching in behind him, then spat onto the street once more.

    'These cats ain't gonna do you good. You should get on outta here.'
    'What are those things?' I screamed, a sound that died in the heavy fog above.
    'There are doubts that throw themselves upon ya and then doubts you grow yourself, like a weed you hate but keep watering. They work together kid, to swoop in and carry you away. All you can do is field that groundball and make the best throw you can. Here.'

    The Shortstop handed me his bat. It was pristine: it could not have ever touched a single thing in the solid world. I took it and looked it over in awe. The Shortstop merely spat more tobacco and watched me impatiently.

    'Get on outta here, kid. And keep working on that slider.'

    Suddenly the Shortstop was gone and I was alone, surrounded by the ghouls. They sensed my confused fear and let out a high shriek I can only interpret as "swoop in for the kill." A black glove seized my shoulder and all energy was zapped from my right arm. I yelled and swung the bat hard with my left arm at my attacker, disintegrating it into the haze upon contact. Other ghouls swarmed me at my weak side but another hard lefty swing sent them back into the nothingness of which they came. I charged towards another white ghoul coming at me straight ahead and with another well placed swing it was not a threat any longer.
    The rest of the cloaked ghouls were still around me, strategizing the best way of taking me out. My legs did not want to wait around for that and started sprinting towards a hole in the crowd. Some gloved hands reached out to grab me but I ducked and swung the bat wildly in their direction. Their shrieking was becoming louder and my temples vibrated in pain as I went. The surrounding fog was weakening and I could see that busy street that had faded away forever ago reappearing. I pushed my legs harder towards it but a black cloak slashed my ankles and I tumbled onto the street, bat still safely in hand. Freezing air breathed upon my neck as I felt a gloved hand approach there, yet somehow I turned myself over in time and jumped onto my knee before the fiend could swipe me again. My left foot had no feeling but I was able to swing hard at the ghoul who'd nearly had me, erasing it with a hideous howl that I wasn't sure came from it or me.
    There were no other challengers in my way: the other ghouls merely floated in a half circle idly and watched me come onto my feet. I stared up at every one of them, my heart beating at a freeway pace and my hands brandishing my wooden savior over my head. They hissed and did nothing more, and I turned around and limped quickly towards the lights of the busy street growing clearer against the fog.