THE lowdown. It’s got a movie theatre that only shows movies on Saturday nights, and the duct-taped popcorn machine catches on fire when it gets too hot. The trains are all gone. Janis said they ripped up all the tracks and made footpaths that nobody can walk on because of all the ATV riders hot-rodding up and down.
“Ran buddy’s foot right over. There was blood squirting out of him like this!” She flings her fingers in every direction.
“You saw it?”
“And we got one of them nail salons, but I never been in there.”
“Do you think they paint little pictures on people’s fingernails? Your grandma used to do that. She could even make shooting stars.”
I wonder if Ma remembers when she used to do my nails. She would get out her blow-dryer and dry them one at a time. Maybe she’d be rich now if she’d started her own business.
Janis points out Frosty’s Convenience Store in case I need any Cracker Jack. There’s a giant neon orange sign in the window:
We Cash EI Cheques!
We come to a stoplight and I turn left onto the main street of town, drive along a row of faded businesses withthe ocean whitecapping between them until I find the salon. I easily nab a place to park and we go inside. The sign on the wall lists prices for hair, nails, waxing, body piercing and pet portraits. There’s a camera set up on a tripod in the corner next to a shelf of props, including chef hats and bow ties. Janis shakes her head no when I ask her if she knows the woman cleaning the sink.
“Hi there!” I call out. “This one needs her nails done.”
The woman lays down her towel, comes over, picks up Janis’s hand and examines it like a surgeon. “All right, honey. Come over here with me and have a seat.”
“I’m getting my nails done?” Janis can hardly sit still. She chooses turquoise with glow-in-the-dark ladybugs. Every time the woman finishes a nail, Janis whispers, “Oh. My. God.”
“You hiring?” I ask, trying to imagine how I’d get a cat to hold still while I drape it in a feather boa.
“No one is.”
“Well, there goes that idea. I’d planned on popping into a few gift shops after this, figuring they might need someone to hand-paint
Bay of Fundy
on all those conch shells they import from the Bahamas.”
The back window looks out onto a rain-slickened wharf where some fishermen are stacking traps. I watch them finish the job and start goofing off, scooping up mussel shells and tossing them at each other. It quickly leads to a shoving match.
“You ever have Poppy Saint in here getting her nails done?”
The woman pauses with her nail brush mid-air and stares at me.
“Poppy’s this little girl’s mother before you say anything,” I say. “She’s gone AWOL and we can’t find her.”
“She’s been in here once or twice. I haven’t seen her lately. You want to ask Lyle Kenzie.”
“Who’s he, now?”
“He hangs out down at Jody’s.”
“Jody’s? Is that around here?”
She points with her free hand down the street. When she finishes up, I pay her with the money West gave me for truck emergencies. She hands Janis a coupon for 10 percent off a pet portrait, but Janis hands it back and says, “My dog got run over by the garbage truck.” The woman turns white, apologizes to us twice. When we get back on the road, Janis tells me she never had a dog.
“Why’d you say you did?”
She tilts her sunglasses down to look me in the eye. “Because if I said I don’t got no dog, she’d say, ‘Well then, honey, give it to your friend.’ I only know one kid that got a dog and I wouldn’t give that girl a used fart.”
“What’s a used fart?”
“A fart that’s already used. My mama called the mailman a used fart because he keeps giving us flyers with toys on them, and Swimmer sees them and wants her to go buy them all.”
“But how do you use a fart?”
“You fart, then you smell it, then when someone else smells it, it’s already used.”
“She called him that to his
“Ran buddy’s foot right over. There was blood squirting out of him like this!” She flings her fingers in every direction.
“You saw it?”
“And we got one of them nail salons, but I never been in there.”
“Do you think they paint little pictures on people’s fingernails? Your grandma used to do that. She could even make shooting stars.”
I wonder if Ma remembers when she used to do my nails. She would get out her blow-dryer and dry them one at a time. Maybe she’d be rich now if she’d started her own business.
Janis points out Frosty’s Convenience Store in case I need any Cracker Jack. There’s a giant neon orange sign in the window:
We Cash EI Cheques!
We come to a stoplight and I turn left onto the main street of town, drive along a row of faded businesses withthe ocean whitecapping between them until I find the salon. I easily nab a place to park and we go inside. The sign on the wall lists prices for hair, nails, waxing, body piercing and pet portraits. There’s a camera set up on a tripod in the corner next to a shelf of props, including chef hats and bow ties. Janis shakes her head no when I ask her if she knows the woman cleaning the sink.
“Hi there!” I call out. “This one needs her nails done.”
The woman lays down her towel, comes over, picks up Janis’s hand and examines it like a surgeon. “All right, honey. Come over here with me and have a seat.”
“I’m getting my nails done?” Janis can hardly sit still. She chooses turquoise with glow-in-the-dark ladybugs. Every time the woman finishes a nail, Janis whispers, “Oh. My. God.”
“You hiring?” I ask, trying to imagine how I’d get a cat to hold still while I drape it in a feather boa.
“No one is.”
“Well, there goes that idea. I’d planned on popping into a few gift shops after this, figuring they might need someone to hand-paint
Bay of Fundy
on all those conch shells they import from the Bahamas.”
The back window looks out onto a rain-slickened wharf where some fishermen are stacking traps. I watch them finish the job and start goofing off, scooping up mussel shells and tossing them at each other. It quickly leads to a shoving match.
“You ever have Poppy Saint in here getting her nails done?”
The woman pauses with her nail brush mid-air and stares at me.
“Poppy’s this little girl’s mother before you say anything,” I say. “She’s gone AWOL and we can’t find her.”
“She’s been in here once or twice. I haven’t seen her lately. You want to ask Lyle Kenzie.”
“Who’s he, now?”
“He hangs out down at Jody’s.”
“Jody’s? Is that around here?”
She points with her free hand down the street. When she finishes up, I pay her with the money West gave me for truck emergencies. She hands Janis a coupon for 10 percent off a pet portrait, but Janis hands it back and says, “My dog got run over by the garbage truck.” The woman turns white, apologizes to us twice. When we get back on the road, Janis tells me she never had a dog.
“Why’d you say you did?”
She tilts her sunglasses down to look me in the eye. “Because if I said I don’t got no dog, she’d say, ‘Well then, honey, give it to your friend.’ I only know one kid that got a dog and I wouldn’t give that girl a used fart.”
“What’s a used fart?”
“A fart that’s already used. My mama called the mailman a used fart because he keeps giving us flyers with toys on them, and Swimmer sees them and wants her to go buy them all.”
“But how do you use a fart?”
“You fart, then you smell it, then when someone else smells it, it’s already used.”
“She called him that to his
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