Double Dutch by Laura Trunkey

Author:Laura Trunkey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc
Published: 2016-03-07T20:53:14+00:00

I’m hungry, and Dad says we can go to McDonald’s, which is my choice because I’ve never tried it and because Jan says it’s garbage. She only stopped being a vegetarian the week before she moved to Smith.

My cheeseburger tastes like cardboard and Dad’s nuggets are only slightly better. Jan says she’s not hungry, and only orders fries. Then she returns to the counter and comes back with two apple pies shaped like puffed-up Pop Tarts.

These used to be my favourite, she signs, handing one to me. It takes effort not to enjoy it.

When we leave the restaurant, I ask Dad to carry me, but he shakes his head and instead clasps my hand. Clifton Hill is thick with bodies, everyone jostling, skimming my side as they pass. All the flashing lights, the streaks of neon, make my eyes ache, and it’s easier to shut them than to keep them open. Either way, I can’t see my feet or anyone else on the sidewalk until either I’ve walked into them or Dad jerks me sideways just in time. The third time I trip, Dad lifts me onto his back. Safe there above the crowds, the smells swell into focus: car exhaust, perfume, ketchup, coconut sunscreen — a big-city summer.

Dad leans forward, stooped beneath my weight. He grips my legs, bouncing me back onto his hips when my knees slip below. I half expect to see a tower of rock on the horizon, but there’s only more slices of light. Then, as we get farther down the hill, the air turns cooler. Farther still, and it becomes damp. Then the tremor of the Falls starts in my chest.

When we reach the water, Dad crouches to set me on the ground, then takes my hands and places them on the warm railing. This is what the guidebook proclaimed to be the “unmatched beauty of the illuminated Falls at night.” There’s a faint red glow, then a yellow one when I shift my head, a green glow when I shift it further. Blurriness that must be water. Basically: nothing. At least Dad and Jan don’t ask what I think. Or maybe they do, but I can’t read the question on their hands.

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