Read Online Country of Cold by Kevin Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kevin Patterson
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guess.”
“You’re not getting uptight about all this graduation stuff, are you?”
“No, no.”
“Because you shouldn’t, you know.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How do you suppose they get these mirrors to stick to the windshield so well?”
“Krazy Glue?”
“Ever see one fall off?”
“Never.”
“Got anything to eat in here?”
On the night of the graduation, Lester surprised us all by bringing Charlene Goffman. Brain-stallingly pretty, she had to be the surliest creature imaginable—at leastwithin the hearty and false collegiality of our small-prairie-town frames of references. She had passed twelve years of public education in a nearly continual sulk. In the ninth grade she had made it nearly to January without smiling. She walked in that night with such disdain etched upon her features you’d have thought she had soiled herself. And when Lester came up to me before the dinner, eyebrows raised, rented tuxedo and scarlet bow tie still pressed and crisp, I held out my palms in mute astonishment. I hunched my shoulders to underscore my question.
“I know. But she said yes.”
Even my brother was accompanied by crazy-as-a-coyote Cora, who dressed always in black, smoked Gitanes, lived in her own apartment in town, and had been only tenuously affiliated with the school for the last two years but who, in one of those spring-of-grade-twelve triumphs of pragmatism over principal, was graduated anyway. Cora had come over and met my delighted parents that afternoon, even asking my mother for the recipe for her strawberry trifle, my brother snorting into his hand, Mother looking at him, “Now don’t you be rude, Albert,” and later, in the kitchen to me: “Isn’t it
wonderful?”
Cora, with her cat’s-eye sunglasses and green lamé dress, pumps glittering, spoke more words that afternoon than I’d heard her utter in twelve years of shared stupor in the Lord Dunsmuir school system.
Before dinner was served and while the shrill graduates were all milling about, Lester sat with me on the front steps of the community hall. Dinner was Chicken Kiev, inevitably. His date, Charlene, was talking to her friends around the big round table they had annexed. Lester had thought that they would sit with me and some of the rest of the power mechanic guys, but that had been impossibly naive and he had settled for making the first excuse he could think of and joining me outside. I was close to drunk already and sipping on the mickey of rum in my pocket. Datelessness wasn’t all that bad, we agreed.
People were still arriving. Shiny older brothers’ convertibles with Kleenex flowers, a limousine—oh yeah, son-of-the-dentist Dennis. Jerk. Falling out of the back, loud and enormously entertained by himself. Yeah, yeah, hi Dennis. Carol. Can you get by? Dennis played goalie for the town junior A hockey team, the Fishermen. The guys on the Fishermen all had had their jersey numbers tattooed on their earlobes the weekend before. Jesus God. And they all had dates, needless to say.
“I saw your brother inside,” Lester said.
“Yeah.”
“He’s some drunk, him and his girlfriend.”
“They were drinking together this afternoon already, out behind the toolshed. They’ve just kept going.”
“They’re having fun, anyway.”
“Great.”
And then another car pulled up, driven by a friendly fat man I recognized to be Daphne Hainscotter’s father. Daphne got out, leaned inside the car for maybe half a second, and shut the door. Lester and I split apart on the steps like a train was about to roar down between us. She glided into the hall without a glance or word to either side. Lester looked over at me, eyebrows raised, and handed me the mickey of rum.
Albert sat down between us. “Hi, Albert,” Lester said. “Having fun?”
“Oh yeah,” Albert said, breathing out a cloud of red wine vapour.
“Hi, Albert.” Me, looking into the night, drinking from the mickey.
Albert: “This is
“You’re not getting uptight about all this graduation stuff, are you?”
“No, no.”
“Because you shouldn’t, you know.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How do you suppose they get these mirrors to stick to the windshield so well?”
“Krazy Glue?”
“Ever see one fall off?”
“Never.”
“Got anything to eat in here?”
On the night of the graduation, Lester surprised us all by bringing Charlene Goffman. Brain-stallingly pretty, she had to be the surliest creature imaginable—at leastwithin the hearty and false collegiality of our small-prairie-town frames of references. She had passed twelve years of public education in a nearly continual sulk. In the ninth grade she had made it nearly to January without smiling. She walked in that night with such disdain etched upon her features you’d have thought she had soiled herself. And when Lester came up to me before the dinner, eyebrows raised, rented tuxedo and scarlet bow tie still pressed and crisp, I held out my palms in mute astonishment. I hunched my shoulders to underscore my question.
“I know. But she said yes.”
Even my brother was accompanied by crazy-as-a-coyote Cora, who dressed always in black, smoked Gitanes, lived in her own apartment in town, and had been only tenuously affiliated with the school for the last two years but who, in one of those spring-of-grade-twelve triumphs of pragmatism over principal, was graduated anyway. Cora had come over and met my delighted parents that afternoon, even asking my mother for the recipe for her strawberry trifle, my brother snorting into his hand, Mother looking at him, “Now don’t you be rude, Albert,” and later, in the kitchen to me: “Isn’t it
wonderful?”
Cora, with her cat’s-eye sunglasses and green lamé dress, pumps glittering, spoke more words that afternoon than I’d heard her utter in twelve years of shared stupor in the Lord Dunsmuir school system.
Before dinner was served and while the shrill graduates were all milling about, Lester sat with me on the front steps of the community hall. Dinner was Chicken Kiev, inevitably. His date, Charlene, was talking to her friends around the big round table they had annexed. Lester had thought that they would sit with me and some of the rest of the power mechanic guys, but that had been impossibly naive and he had settled for making the first excuse he could think of and joining me outside. I was close to drunk already and sipping on the mickey of rum in my pocket. Datelessness wasn’t all that bad, we agreed.
People were still arriving. Shiny older brothers’ convertibles with Kleenex flowers, a limousine—oh yeah, son-of-the-dentist Dennis. Jerk. Falling out of the back, loud and enormously entertained by himself. Yeah, yeah, hi Dennis. Carol. Can you get by? Dennis played goalie for the town junior A hockey team, the Fishermen. The guys on the Fishermen all had had their jersey numbers tattooed on their earlobes the weekend before. Jesus God. And they all had dates, needless to say.
“I saw your brother inside,” Lester said.
“Yeah.”
“He’s some drunk, him and his girlfriend.”
“They were drinking together this afternoon already, out behind the toolshed. They’ve just kept going.”
“They’re having fun, anyway.”
“Great.”
And then another car pulled up, driven by a friendly fat man I recognized to be Daphne Hainscotter’s father. Daphne got out, leaned inside the car for maybe half a second, and shut the door. Lester and I split apart on the steps like a train was about to roar down between us. She glided into the hall without a glance or word to either side. Lester looked over at me, eyebrows raised, and handed me the mickey of rum.
Albert sat down between us. “Hi, Albert,” Lester said. “Having fun?”
“Oh yeah,” Albert said, breathing out a cloud of red wine vapour.
“Hi, Albert.” Me, looking into the night, drinking from the mickey.
Albert: “This is
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