Scarborough by Catherine Hernandez

Author:Catherine Hernandez
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781551526782
Publisher: Arsenal Pulp Press
Published: 2017-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

SYLVIE

It was Christmas Eve, and Mama happily prepared whatever we chose to eat from the box that Ms Hina had given us. Instant mashed potatoes. Duncan Hines devil’s food cake. Eggs. We were full to the brim.

“Yes. For the millionth time, I will let you open your gifts tonight, but you have to sit the hell down and eat. You’ve got ants in your pants, Sylvie!”

All of the children had got together to decorate Michelle’s office door. She pretended she was all surprised to see the construction paper disaster. She could barely find her doorknob.

“And who is this?” Michelle pointed at a Picasso version of herself, with shredded newspaper as her dreadlocks. All the kids giggled and rolled on the ground, unable to contain themselves. “Is this supposed to be me? Who made this? Who?” I raised my hand shyly, and we all laughed so hard.

Back in our room, Dad sat on the couch, relaxing after his meds, because the pain was for forever, Mama said. I propped him up with a pillow and played doctor with my new stethoscope.

“Breathe in,” I said, while placing the contraption to his knee. “Breathe out.”

I scribbled on a piece of wrapping paper, making extra sure not to make eye contact with my patient.

“It looks like you are going to be A-okay, Mr Beaudoin.”

“Is that so?” Daddy said through his clenched jaw. It never closed the same after that accident.

“Yup. You just need your meds.”

“That’s what they all tell me.” I wrapped Dad’s head with my scarf, just like the bandage he had on after his accident.

“Pssst.” Dad gestured for me to come closer and whispered in my ear. “When I get better, wanna come with me to the track again?” Woodbine Racetrack was the kind of place where parents looked through the windows at the action but not at their kids. I ran around, made forts out of restaurant tables, and played tag in the lobby with the other unsupervised children. That’s what happens when you’re born a kid and not a horse, I guess. Dad pretended he was helping Mama by taking me for the day. In truth, he was spending his time betting on slim chances. I knew his injuries would never get better, so when he asked me, I pretended too.

“Sure.” I smiled at him.

Johnny hummed and tore wrapping paper for hours, until all that was left was a pile of moist pulp. Mama didn’t mind. It kept him busy.

I played doctor with Daddy until his meds made him drift off to dreamland. After eating my fill of cake, I carefully crawled on to the side of his chest, careful not to knock out his tubes, and fell asleep. I could hear the sounds of his body working. The creaky floor sounds from his tummy. The swish of his blood. The pounding of his heart. It sounded like I was swimming and listening to the sounds of water beneath the surface of my father. This was my dad.

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