Traplines Read online

  “Have a good time,” his mother said. “Don’t stay out too late.”

  Tom opened his mouth to yell for help, but Jeremy pushed him ahead. In the parking lot, Tom broke away from him and ran. Jeremy caught him and hissed, “Meep.”

  “You can’t do this,” Tom said, as Jeremy twisted one arm up behind his back. “This is kidnapping.”

  “Meep-badda-meep-meep,” Jeremy sang. “Meep-meep.”

  “Goddamn you.”

  Jeremy laughed. He swept the car door open for Tom. “Sit,” he said. Tom sat. Jeremy slammed the door shut and got in on the other side. “No tricky getting out of moving cars, no sneaky jumping out at red lights, and put your seat belt on.”

  Singing, Jeremy made his usual noisy exit from the parking lot.

  “Can’t you drive like a normal person?” Tom said.

  “Tommy’s sul-king,” Jeremy said in a warning tone.

  They drove in silence. Jeremy popped a cassette in the tape deck, and Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band started playing midsong.

  “Aren’t you curious about your present?”

  Tom was silent.

  “ ‘Of course I’m curious, Jeremy! What’d you get me, what’d you get me?’ ” Jeremy said in his squeaky voice. “Well, kid. It’s pretty darn terrific, if I do say so myself. ‘What is it? What is it?’ I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise. ‘Give me hint, give me a hint.’ Well, it’s bigger than a bread box. It’s very soft. And Mike McConnell has one. ‘Wouldn’t happen to be leather would it?’ Why, Tommy! How’d you guess?”

  Tom’s eyes widened. “You’re lying.”

  “Unless, of course, you don’t want it?”

  “You’re just fucking with my head.”

  Jeremy laughed. He looked over and saw Tom’s face and went serious for a moment. Reaching across the seat, he poked him. “Let’s try that again. Would I tease the birthday boy?”

  “Ye—” Tom clamped his mouth shut as Jeremy held up his index finger and waggled it at him.

  “You’re quick. Let no one tell you that you are slow. If I remember, you said he bought it at the Leather Ranch. I am correct, aren’t I?”

  “Yes,” he said, half-believing that Jeremy was serious.

  “And that mall over there contains one store appropriately called the Leather Ranch, does it not?”

  “Yes. Jeremy?” Tom said, hesitating, not knowing how to ask the question without sounding rude. Why would you buy me a leather jacket?

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got homework. I have to—”

  “Oh, forget that tonight. We’re going to have a good time.”

  They parked and Jeremy walked him to the mall, holding him just above the elbow. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost. Now. Rules of the game. One. You pick a jacket. Two. I approve of the jacket. Three. You don’t look at the price tags on any of them. Do you understand these rules?”

  “But, Jerem—”

  Jeremy pressed hard on a nerve in Tom’s arm. “Do you understand these rules?”

  When Jeremy stopped pressing, Tom said, “Yes.”

  “Good. Rule four. I buy. You shop. I will give you the signal—meep—if you are seen to be breaking a rule. If you are foolish enough to ignore the signal, I will throw you on the ground and tickle you until you pee. Is that clear?” He squeezed again.

  “Yes.” Tom had thought Jeremy would let go of him when they got in the mall, but Jeremy didn’t.

  “If you get more than four signals, I will throw you down on the floor and tickle you until you pee. Any questions?”

  Tom shook his head.

  “Good. You know, I like being older,” Jeremy said cheerfully. “It’s a far, far better thing. You’re lucky you don’t have any older brothers. Mine drove me nuts.”

  Once in the store, Jeremy sat down by the cashier, a pretty blond who covered her mouth when she giggled. He waved his hand at Tom and told him to shop. Tom immediately found a black leather bomber exactly like Mike’s. He brought it to Jeremy, who told him to try it on.

  “Ack,” Jeremy said. “N-O spells no. Take it away.”

  “But I like—”

  “Meep.”

  The cashier giggled, looking at Jeremy from under her lashes. Tom wandered through the store, picking up, then putting jackets down. Jeremy finally came searching for him, saying time was a-wasting. Out of habit, Tom picked up a price tag, and Jeremy yelled triumphantly, “Meep! Two more, kid, and you’re dead in the water.”

  Hardly even looking, Tom grabbed a jacket and showed it to Jeremy.

  “Not bad.” He turned in the direction of the cashier. “Do you have it in brown?” he called to her.

  “I want black.”

  “It’s not your color. Look in the mirror. Makes you look sick.”

  For the first time since entering the store, Tom glanced at a mirror. He turned away quickly.

  “It’s not that bad,” Jeremy said. “You’re not Frankenstein, you know.”

  Tom stared at his sneakers.

  “You just wear geeky clothes and have geeky hair.”

  “That’s all, huh?”

  “Come on, stop being so hard on yourself.”

  “Here we go,” the cashier chirped. “I got it in a size bigger because you’re going to grow soon.” She tilted her head as she smiled at him. “My brother was the same way exactly. He didn’t grow until he was almost seventeen. You shouldn’t be losing sleep about it, hey.”

  Tom shoved Jeremy. “Why don’t you tell her about Paulina while you’re at it.”

  Jeremy rocked on his heels and looked guiltily at the ceiling. The cashier giggled.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Who’s it going to hurt? You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you, Sherrie?”

  “Lips are sealed.”

  “See? Come on, try it on.” Jeremy held the jacket open. When Tom did nothing, Jeremy smiled wickedly. “In two seconds, you are going to be one meep away from total humiliation.”

  “You,” Tom said, putting his arms in the sleeves. “Are such a crazy jerk it’s not fucking funny.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Ta-da! You look great! All you need now is a decent haircut. Know a hairdresser open, Sherrie?”

  “Sure. Try Shear Energy. Two stores down. Ask for Linda. She’s the absolute.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tom said, stopping. “I don’t want a haircut.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The jacket’s free and you can pay me back for the haircut later.” Jeremy paid for the jacket. Sherrie gave him her phone number. Jeremy dragged Tom into Shear Energy.

  “I like my hair—Jeremy are you listening?” Tom said.

  “Don’t whine. God, it’s grating. Hi! One haircut for my brother here, with Linda. Is she in?”

  Linda had a neat platinum blond bob. She was wearing a pink suit so ugly it had to be expensive. Her fingernails were the same color as her pumps and her hair. Tom mouthed “No” at Jeremy, who whispered, “One meep and counting.”

  Tom listened in horror as Linda and Jeremy decided how he should look. For three terrifying seconds, Jeremy wanted a perm and a dye job, but Linda shook her head.

  “Not enough time.” She lifted Tom’s chin. “I think we shave the back, yes, but leave the bangs. Yes, that’s good.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Negative. You’d still see the crappy blue stuff he’s got in his hair. I want it all out.”

  “No way!” Tom yelled.

  “How about this?” she said, pointing to a picture.

  Jeremy considered it. “Yes. Yes, I like that.”

  “What? Let me see,” Tom said.

  “Here. Blunt cut. Short underneath.”

  “You don’t need to show him. That’s perfect.”

  “His hair.”

  “My money.”

  Linda crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s unwilling, I’m unwilling.”

  Tom smiled in relief. The smile faded as Jeremy leaned over him. “If Tommy isn’t willing, he’s going to be
very, very sorry. Tommy’s willing, isn’t he?”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Oh, Tommy. You asked for this.” Jeremy yanked him out of the hairdresser’s chair.

  “No!”

  “Say yes, Tommy.”

  Jeremy caught him by the elbow and pressed a nerve. Tom’s arm felt like a needle was going through it. “No. No. God”—Jeremy pressed hard —“damn you, no!”

  “Say yes before it’s too late.” Slowly, Jeremy pushed him down. Then Jeremy started to tickle him.

  “Help!” he shouted. Linda watched for a while, then looked away in distaste. There was no one else in the place.

  Half an hour later, Jeremy clapped as Linda brushed stray hairs off Tom’s neck.

  “You look great, kid. Now. A white shirt. You definitely need a white shirt with that cut. What do you think, Linda?”

  She nodded and fingered Tom’s plaid shirt. “Burn his clothes, all of them, if they look like this.”

  Tom stared at his reflection. God. The person who looked back at him belonged to a debating club, got his assignments done on time, and never, ever worried about money.

  “Come on, it’s only hair.” Jeremy cuffed him. “It’ll grow back. Can I have your card, Linda? He’ll be back in a month.”

  Jeremy bought him two white shirts, a cowboy tie, a pair of jeans (stiff dark blue Lees), a pair of pointed black leather Fluevog shoes, and eight pairs of nylon socks. Tom followed Jeremy through the stores in a daze, adding up the cost of everything Jeremy was buying him. “God,” he said. “Jeremy, I can’t afford this. I can’t pay you back.”

  “Hmmm? Need any shorts?”

  “No. Are you listening to me? I don’t have any money. Jeremy, for fuck’s sake, I—”

  “Look, there’s a sale. Don’t worry about it, you don’t have to pay me back all at once. A little here, a little there. I don’t mind.”

  “Jeremy—”

  “Meep. Only two meeps this time, kid. That was the first.”

  A headache had settled in Tom’s skull. Jeremy pulled him into a jewelry store and tried to get Tom a watch but the store was closing. “Damn,” Jeremy said. “We’ll have to do it later.” They sat on a bench in the mall and Jeremy pulled out all the receipts. Quickly he added them together and showed Tom how much he was in the hole. Jeremy grinned broadly. “Do you know what I need?”

  “Yes,” Tom said, appalled by the numbers on the receipts. “But I left the Ritalin at home.”

  “Hardy-har-har,” Jeremy said. “Nope, I need some nutritional input. I know the perfect place.”

  They drove out to a small Japanese restaurant. Jeremy ordered for both of them. When the food arrived, Tom was relieved to see that he could recognize his meal.

  “Try some sushi,” Jeremy said, offering him a round roll from his plate.

  Tom shook his head quickly.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing, kid.”

  Jeremy joked with the waitress. Tom watched them, wishing Jeremy would shut up and let him go home. Jeremy had other ideas.

  “How about a movie? Or dancing? Maybe a party?”

  Tom leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Can’t we just go home?”

  “I thought you liked staying up late. Give me liberty or give me death. The night is young!”

  “All right, a movie,” Tom said, thinking it required the least amount of energy.

  “Come on then, birthday boy. Time’s a-wasting! Check!”

  At eleven-thirty on his sixteenth birthday, in the middle of the movie, Tom closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Second Contact

  When he woke up that Sunday, Tom locked himself in the bathroom and sat on the toilet. Man, Mike was going to laugh his head off. He’d say something like, “When’d the lobotomy look come back in style, shit-for-brains?”

  He could wear a baseball cap. Pull it low. But then he’d have to take it off in gym. It could blow off. Mike wouldn’t be fooled, that was for sure. He got up and faced the mirror.

  “Jeez,” he said, running his hand through what was left of his hair.

  “Tommy?” His mom knocked on the bathroom door. “Tommy, are you finished?”

  “In a minute,” Tom said. He wrapped his head in a towel. Fuck, this is stupid, he thought. He took the towel off and opened the door.

  His mom put her hand to her mouth, a silent-screen movie star’s gesture.

  “That bad?”

  “No,” she said, starting to smile. “Oh, Tommy, it looks just fine.” She reached up and touched his forehead. “I haven’t seen your eyes for so long, I forgot what color they are.”

  Tom looked down. “I dunno. I think it’s weird.”

  “No, it isn’t. You look like a kid again.”

  “It’s just hair.”

  “No, you look really good, Tommy.” She pulled him forward, out of the doorway. “I’ve got to pee.”

  Tom stood in the hallway, nerving himself to face Jeremy. But when he went into the kitchen his cousin wasn’t there. Tom looked in the living room and back in the bedroom, but Jeremy wasn’t home.

  In the kitchen Tom fixed himself some Captain Crunch. The sun was coming through the kitchen window. His mom came in and made herself toast. She was humming and kept stealing looks at him, shaking her head. She sat opposite him, reached over the table, and ruffled his hair. “I told you so.”

  “What?” Tom said.

  “You and Jeremy. You’re friends.”

  Tom wrinkled his nose. “I guess you could call it that.”

  She tried to pinch his cheek and he ducked away. “You look like your grandfather when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him and squinted, looking peeved. “Oh, admit it. You and Jeremy are friends!”

  “Mom,” Tom said. But she seemed happy, and she hadn’t for a long time, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “—fly home soon, maybe even for Christmas, what do you think?” She smiled at him expectantly. He made himself smile, scrambling to piece together what she’d just said. “Great.”

  “Oh, Tommy, it’ll be so much fun! You’ll see. We’ll get a huge tree and I’ll help Mother with the turkey.”

  As she talked, he shrank from the thought of a family Christmas, with everyone mouthing love and good wishes and not meaning a word of it. Well, he thought, already resigned, it’s nine months away. Things will change between now and then.

  He finished breakfast, washed his dishes, and put them away, while his mom reminisced at the table, changing the facts to suit her new story. They hadn’t thrown her to the wolves, innocent and wronged, as she usually said. No, in this version she’d left home and they’d lost touch. The family came out looking better, no longer Evil with a capital E but something milder. Bad, maybe. A little Thoughtless.

  Her face was flushed and excited. She was describing horses she had ridden, berries she had picked. Jeremy had gotten her hopes way up: the Day of Reconciliation was at hand. Tom made her coffee, extra sweet with half-and-half. He realized then that he felt a bit jealous but relieved. She was pinning her hopes on someone else.

  Sooner or later Jeremy would leave and everything would go back to normal. Let Jeremy take the heat for her disappointment this time. Let Jeremy be the one she blamed.

  Uncle Richard phoned. “Is your mother home?”

  Tom had almost forgotten him, had thought that he’d gotten the message.

  “No,” Tom lied, as his mother stopped in the bathroom doorway, raising a curious eyebrow. “I don’t know where she is.”

  There was a pause at the other end of the phone. “Tell her I called again.”

  He hung up and Tom felt vaguely sorry for him.

  While his mom took a shower, an aura started as a creeping feeling of dread and quickly advanced until he was sure there was someone in the apartment with them. Someone who wanted to kill them, someone going from room to room with a butcher’s knife. It’s just the aura, just the aura, he tho
ught. His mom hated being around him when his auras hit. They made her so miserable she went on vacation.

  He phoned Mike but Patricia said he was out. He went for a ride to clear his head. He biked down to Stanley Park and along the seawall. The day was sunny and brisk, with a sharp wind blowing in off the ocean. He stopped to watch the boats. Someday he wanted to have enough money to go out on a boat and sail away from everything. They’d lived in BC for eight years and the closest he’d come to getting on a boat was going to North Van on the Seabus.

  He almost preferred the seizures to the auras. He never remembered the seizures. There’d be a little blank spot, and then people would be standing over him. Once he’d woken up and some guy was giving him CPR, which fucking hurt because his heart hadn’t stopped. Seizures were embarrassing and he woke up sore and tired, but they didn’t make him feel this paranoid, like he was the doomed murder victim in the opening sequence of the X-Files.

  The bike path was crowded as he started off again. Sundays were not the day to go biking at the seawall if you wanted to be alone. He liked the crowds, though, the way that everything seemed so normal. But it was getting cold, the aura was fading, and he was tired. He turned his bike home.

  Jeremy wasn’t back yet. Mom had left a note on the fridge that she’d been called in, was working the night shift again. It was her fourth night in a row. He was surprised she was accepting the long hours so placidly but then remembered that she wanted to go back east for Christmas. She’d probably want the extra money.

  Tom made himself a sandwich and settled at the kitchen table to do his homework. He’d picked French as his language and was regretting it. Mike said that Spanish was easier and he had some friends who spoke Spanish so he had people to practice on. Tom did his exercises, dutifully conjugating irregular verbs, wishing he’d listened to Mike. Provincials were coming up next year, and if he had any hope of scholarship money, he’d better—

  His chair went out from under him and he was on the floor, his head bouncing off the linoleum as he landed sideways, the room going gray for a moment, then blue and gold. He smelled dust before his vision cleared. He thought, This is it, it’s over, but the seizure didn’t come. He stayed awake with his head throbbing where he’d hit the floor.