the counter had short dirty-brown dreadlocks and a silver ring through his eyebrow. I ordered and grabbed a table in the sunny window, next to a woman wearing a poncho and scribbling in a sketchbook. None of the newspapers were less than a week old.
I borrowed a pencil from the guy with the eyebrow-ring and started with the classified ads. There were classical guitar lessons, piano lessons, drum classes, and three serious players looking for a bassist with strong metal influences. No mention of cellos at all. I folded up the paper and ate my chicken salad sandwich. There were green grape slices in it, and the mayonnaise had curry in it, which at first I thought was weird, but I liked it anyways.
I figured I should get a map and find Allyson’s place. Get it over with. The thought of seeing her hung around my
neck like a lead scarf. What would a guy say?
I called her from a payphone outside a barber’s shop. It picked up right away, went straight to the machine. Both of their voices, speaking in tandem: Hi there, you’ve reached Kathleen and Ally’s place. I hit the number key so I didn’t have to hear the rest of their message, what they were doing instead of answering their phone, what I could leave after the beep.
“Hi, um, this is Joey. I’m in Calgary for a couple of days, and I’ve got the last of your stuff in my truck. You can call me at the Capri Motor Court, room 119, and leave a message when you’ll be around. I guess that’s it.”
I hung up hard, wishing I didn’t always sound like such a fucking idiot on the voicemail. For some reason, answering machines always made my heart pound. Something about my words being on a machine; a permanent record of me not knowing what to say.
I bought a pack of smokes, a map, a box of crackers, some cheese, and a chunk of summer sausage. A paperback novel, and a new toothbrush. Something about a road trip that called for a new toothbrush. Took them all back to the motel. I pulled back the pumpkin-coloured curtains in my room, and blocked the front door open with the wooden wedge I found next to the wastepaper basket. I sat down on the chilly blue bench that was bolted to the concrete sidewalk outside my front door. I smoked, staring at the scabby patch of grass between where the sidewalk ended and the chain link fence around the swimming pool began. The water had been drained out, the bottom covered with a layer of once orange and red leaves, and a flattened Styrofoam hamburger box.
I missed my dog already.
I took out the map, the yellow sticky note with Ally’s address on it, and the cowboy’s postcard. If I was reading things right, Ally’s place and the cowboy’s ex-wife lived at completely opposite ends of the city. I’d have to take the truck with me tomorrow. Today, I was going to just chill, read my book. Maybe take a nap.
The door of the room next to mine opened up and an older man came out, wearing navy blue work pants and a pair of spotless new steel-toed boots. He sat down at the other end of the bench and pulled out a pack of rolling tobacco.
“You want a tailor-made?” I extended my pack.
“Don’t mind too much if I do, thank you.”
He extended a still muscular arm across the bench and I shook a smoke out of my pack for him. Working-man hands. Gold watch, no rings.
He rattled a box of wooden matches in his left hand, slid it open with his thumb and shook one out. Lit the match by flicking the tip with a wide thumbnail. My mom’s brother, my Uncle Reg, used to be able to do that. Now his hands shook too much from the MS.
“Name is Hector McHugh.” He dangled the smoke from the corner of one lip and shook my hand.
“Joseph Cooper. Nice to meet you, Mr McHugh.”
“Hector, please. No need to mister me.”
“Hector.”
He stared past the swimming pool, over the tracks, down the hill towards the city. “Not a bad view from this spot, once it gets dark and the lights go on. I’ve been here for six weeks now.”
I lit another
I borrowed a pencil from the guy with the eyebrow-ring and started with the classified ads. There were classical guitar lessons, piano lessons, drum classes, and three serious players looking for a bassist with strong metal influences. No mention of cellos at all. I folded up the paper and ate my chicken salad sandwich. There were green grape slices in it, and the mayonnaise had curry in it, which at first I thought was weird, but I liked it anyways.
I figured I should get a map and find Allyson’s place. Get it over with. The thought of seeing her hung around my
neck like a lead scarf. What would a guy say?
I called her from a payphone outside a barber’s shop. It picked up right away, went straight to the machine. Both of their voices, speaking in tandem: Hi there, you’ve reached Kathleen and Ally’s place. I hit the number key so I didn’t have to hear the rest of their message, what they were doing instead of answering their phone, what I could leave after the beep.
“Hi, um, this is Joey. I’m in Calgary for a couple of days, and I’ve got the last of your stuff in my truck. You can call me at the Capri Motor Court, room 119, and leave a message when you’ll be around. I guess that’s it.”
I hung up hard, wishing I didn’t always sound like such a fucking idiot on the voicemail. For some reason, answering machines always made my heart pound. Something about my words being on a machine; a permanent record of me not knowing what to say.
I bought a pack of smokes, a map, a box of crackers, some cheese, and a chunk of summer sausage. A paperback novel, and a new toothbrush. Something about a road trip that called for a new toothbrush. Took them all back to the motel. I pulled back the pumpkin-coloured curtains in my room, and blocked the front door open with the wooden wedge I found next to the wastepaper basket. I sat down on the chilly blue bench that was bolted to the concrete sidewalk outside my front door. I smoked, staring at the scabby patch of grass between where the sidewalk ended and the chain link fence around the swimming pool began. The water had been drained out, the bottom covered with a layer of once orange and red leaves, and a flattened Styrofoam hamburger box.
I missed my dog already.
I took out the map, the yellow sticky note with Ally’s address on it, and the cowboy’s postcard. If I was reading things right, Ally’s place and the cowboy’s ex-wife lived at completely opposite ends of the city. I’d have to take the truck with me tomorrow. Today, I was going to just chill, read my book. Maybe take a nap.
The door of the room next to mine opened up and an older man came out, wearing navy blue work pants and a pair of spotless new steel-toed boots. He sat down at the other end of the bench and pulled out a pack of rolling tobacco.
“You want a tailor-made?” I extended my pack.
“Don’t mind too much if I do, thank you.”
He extended a still muscular arm across the bench and I shook a smoke out of my pack for him. Working-man hands. Gold watch, no rings.
He rattled a box of wooden matches in his left hand, slid it open with his thumb and shook one out. Lit the match by flicking the tip with a wide thumbnail. My mom’s brother, my Uncle Reg, used to be able to do that. Now his hands shook too much from the MS.
“Name is Hector McHugh.” He dangled the smoke from the corner of one lip and shook my hand.
“Joseph Cooper. Nice to meet you, Mr McHugh.”
“Hector, please. No need to mister me.”
“Hector.”
He stared past the swimming pool, over the tracks, down the hill towards the city. “Not a bad view from this spot, once it gets dark and the lights go on. I’ve been here for six weeks now.”
I lit another
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