Alligator - Lisa Moore [80]
She withstood the remorse. She closed her eyes as she had seen her mother do when facing her own moral failings. If she had learned anything from her mother it was not to wallow in self-doubt. Doubt was a luxury, according to her mother, and it was always better to act, however unsure you might be. She would eat a big breakfast, she was starving, and find the mural painters at the Murphy Centre. She couldn’t think of Frank or the pine martens or anything else until she was completely sober.
FRANK
IT WAS ALMOST midnight when Carol showed up at the hotdog stand. She was wearing sweatpants and a cardigan and a black baseball cap; a pink curler hung behind each ear. Her fists were jammed into the pockets of her cardigan. He could see her knuckles pressing against the knit.
He’d never seen her on George Street before.
Frank, you’ve got to come home, she said. Frank handed the man in front of him his hot dog.
There’s water everywhere, Carol said. Frank watched as the man tried to get some bacon bits. He was weaving slightly and wore a look of deep thought. Carol was pulling on Frank’s sleeve.
Don’t mix up the spoons, sir, Frank said. The man held the plastic spoon from the corn relish in the air; he was blinking in disbelief.
The different condiments each got their own spoon, Frank said.
Can’t I have bacon? the man asked.
The plaster is after cracking off the ceiling, Carol said.
You can have bacon, just could you use the spoon for the bacon, Frank said.
There’s an inch of water, Carol said. I’m afraid to turn on a lamp I’ll be electrocuted. It’s coming from your apartment, Frank. Could you have maybe put something down the toilet?
Go ahead, Frank said. The man was still holding the spoon in the air as if he were paralyzed by it.
Go ahead what?
Whatever spoon you want, Frank said.
A tampon or something, Carol said.
Is it real bacon? the man asked.
The girl you had up there the other night, I thought maybe a tampon is the first thing I thought.
It’s bacon bits, said Frank. The man dug the spoon in deep and the bacon bits danced and hopped all over the spoon and mostly spilled on the sidewalk before he got the spoon to the hot dog. Then he put the hot dog down on the chrome ledge and staggered off without it.
Frank’s apartment door was open when he got there and he stood in the hallway and listened. Carol stood beside him.
He turned on the light and saw everything was soaking wet. He pulled the covers off the waterbed and saw it had been slashed from the headboard to the footboard. One long gash.
His mother’s urn was overturned on the wet carpet; the ashes had been dumped onto the floor and walked on. He saw the partial print of the boot treads. Carol stood just behind him and they both stared at the pile of ashes and she was still holding on to the sleeve of his shirt. Then she pushed past him.
Carol went down on her knees and stood the urn up and scooped up the ashes with both her hands. The ashes were clumping and smelled strongly like wet ashes. They smelled like what they were. Carol dragged her hands over the wet carpet until she had gathered most of the ashes and then she saw the lid of the urn that had rolled on its rim into the corner of the closet. She crossed the floor still on her knees and picked up the lid and crawled back over to the urn and put the lid on. Then she got up, which caused her to groan because of her back, and she washed her hands at the sink.
She used a squirt of the dishwashing liquid and then she dried her hands with a dishtowel. He had wanted to take the ashes to Signal Hill but he didn’t want to give them up, so he had put it off.
Gradually the idea had occurred to him that he might keep the ashes. The idea made him afraid he was too much alone. It seemed to him the thinking of someone who was out of step.
He didn’t imagine anything of his mother’s spirit remained in the ashes, he recognized them for exactly what they