By The Next Pause

Part I

1

Simone’s frozen body sat alone on the cold bench, watching a stray German Shepherd scavenge for food. The frost managed to crack some of the red-and-white beads that decorated the ends of her braids. She clutched her thermos full of hot Milo, wishing she wasn’t out in the bitter cold so early. She would have preferred to stay snug in her bed, beneath her warm comforter, but according to her mother, it couldn’t be helped. It was either be at the school early or not at all.

St. Augustine Elementary looked nothing like the bright, colourful buildings she had been used to in Mandeville. Her Jamaican primary school had beautiful murals on every side of the small building. Local artists had adorned the walls with majestic pictures of Marcus Garvey, Alexander Bustamante, and Bob Marley — Jamaica’s national heroes. 

She grimaced at the crumbling brick sidings — just old, rusty brick walls. No bright colours; not even art hung on the windows.

She thought of the stories of little kids in New York getting snatched from department stores along with their mothers’ purses. It didn’t matter that this was North York, Toronto, and not New York City; in her mind, the names were similar, so the cities must be the same too. 

Finally, the early morning sun peeked through the frosty air.

As weeks went by, Simone slowly got used to being the first to arrive at school. She became braver, using the early hours to explore the spacious yard. Her favourite mornings were those when she would arrive just after a snowfall. She liked the way the grounds looked, blanketed by white, powdery snow, clean, pure and undisturbed by the hundreds of children who would soon appear.

If the mornings were warm enough, she would lie on the playing field as the snow continued to float down. She would stay perfectly still, allowing the snow to slowly cover her face. She would lie that way until she heard the distant sounds of children playing in the yard, then promptly get up and head back to her spot on the bench, sitting unnoticed until the first bell rang.

It was all she would remember about her first weeks in Canada — the cold, the snow, and the taste of winter. And the sadness. She was starting to forget Jamaica. She remembered the way her Aunt Marva’s kitchen looked, and the smell of fresh mint and thyme, but she was starting to forget the names of the friends she’d had at her old primary school and the neighbours who used to greet her on her walk home. The only vivid day in Jamaica she held onto was the one that began with her tethered to her aunt’s nightgown, crying out in fear when she looked over to see the old woman lying very still with her eyes wide open, and her lips purple and swollen.

Aunt Marva, or ‘Auntie’, had been the only constant in her life; the only family member she had left on the island. Simone had been sent to live with her shortly after she was born. She didn’t hear much from her parents, with the exception of brief Christmas Eve phone calls from her mother who worked in Canada.

She rarely gave a thought to the fact that she didn’t have parents. It just became a normal part of her life. As far as she was concerned, Auntie was the only family she needed.

That terrible vivid morning, Simone had wrestled with the large safety pin her Auntie often used to secure their nightgowns together for fear that Simone would fall off the giant oak bed. She remembered tearing her nightgown as she finally unhooked herself from the woman’s cold body, before frantically calling the telephone operator for help. She remembered sitting in the armchair as one of the constables ransacked the small house, stealing anything of value, before the coroner came to remove the body.

Just between you and I, he said as he slipped her a $100 Jamaican bill.

She stayed with neighbours for a few weeks before being transferred to a foster home in Saint Ann. She was in the foster home for almost three months before her mother was finally located.

Good news, Simone, the young social worker said gleefully. Your mother is aware that your Auntie died and has sent for you! Isn’t that wonderful? You’re going to be living with your mummy in Canada.

Is my mummy coming to get me? Simone asked. Her eyes darted around the room. She wondered how she was going to travel to such a far-off place.

No, sweetheart, sang the social worker. You are going to take a plane ride to Toronto all by yourself. Isn’t that exciting? Have you ever been on a plane before?

No.

When I was your age, I always dreamt of going on a big plane and visiting far-off places, she said. What a way! Your first plane ride!

Planes crash, Simone said. Her eyes drifted towards the morning paper on the desk, featuring a splashy headline of the Avianca plane crash in Spain.

Oh no, my dear, said the social worker. She noticed her distraction and pulled the paper off her desk. This plane is quite reliable. It’s from Canada. They are very reliable people. She looked hard at the little girl. "Look, Simone, I’m not going to pretend that everything is going to be peachy-keen, but life is about making the best with what you got. You are lucky to have a mother, especially one who is living in Canada. Not a lot of children even have that much. She sounds like a lovely woman and…and she told me she has a good job in a big hospital in Toronto. Can you imagine? A black woman in 1984 working in a big-time job like that?"

She could tell that Simone was not all that impressed, looking down at her feet as teardrops stained her brown, leather loafers. She wished she could do something to ease the little girl's fears, so she opened the top drawer of her wooden desk and pulled out a pack of playing cards.

Look here, she said, opening the fresh pack. Do you play cards?

No, Miss.

Simone looked at the picture of the white sandy beach and crystal-blue ocean with Jamaica - No Problem, Mon! printed in bright red on the back of each card and picked one up. This is pretty, she said. Is this place in Jamaica?

Yes, my dear! It’s a beach in Ocho Rios, the social worker said. I’m going to ask you to do me a big favour. Can I count on you?

Simone nodded as she flipped through the cards. This was a Jamaica she had never seen before.

I’m going to give you my special deck of cards. Anytime you feel scared or lonely, I want you to play with them, and it will remind you of home. Maybe you can play with your mother. She probably knows a whole heap of card games.

Do you know any games? Simone asked.

I know a few. She took the cards and started to shuffle them. Have you ever heard of gin rummy?

Simone shook her head.

Well then! Let me show you. She lifted Simone’s chin and smiled at her. It’s simple to learn.

A week later, Simone was strapped into her plane seat with her deck of cards and a plate of cheese and crackers. Her eyes grew large as the plane’s engines rumbled through bouts of turbulence. Convinced the plane would crash, she mumbled a prayer her Auntie had often said during the heavy rainstorm season.

The flight crew took turns plying her with caramel drops and refilling her cup with root beer. She’d never had root beer before, but she liked the sweet, creamy taste. Midway through the flight, when the plane finally settled, she started to forget her fear of flying and played gin rummy with a few passengers near her. It didn’t faze her when the plane shook through a heavy Canadian ice storm. She felt at ease. When the plane finally touched down, she excitedly applauded the pilot’s safe landing along with the rest of the passengers.

Simone was the last to disembark, and all of the flight crew, even the pilot, hugged and kissed her. They commended her on how brave she was and filled her pockets with sweets. The most exciting part was talking to the pilot.

A first-time flyer, eh! he said. I’m honoured to have piloted such a beautiful young lady. He pulled off one of the pins he had on his jacket. Why don’t you take this as a souvenir of your very first flight?

"Thank you, sah. You are a good pilot."

Well, thank you, precious. He pinned the gold-plated wings on the lapel of her jacket. Stay sweet, he said as he buttoned up her jacket for her. It’s cold outside, so keep warm.

As she walked down the corridor, she quickly looked back at the flight team waving at her and wanted to run back to them, wishing she could stay on the plane, eating caramel drops and drinking root beer forever.

Her eyes teared up as she suddenly felt her stomach turn into twists and knots.

Mom, there’s that girl again, said Nolan O’Shea as they walked up the path, which was nearly covered in fresh powdered snow.

What’s that? Meghan O’Shea tucked away her auburn hair beneath her woolen hat. Walk quickly, Nolan! I don’t want to miss my bus. I can’t be late for class again.

At the school gate, she knelt to tie the laces of Nolan’s winter boots, glancing back to make sure her TTC bus hadn’t arrived yet. She stood up and frowned at him before wiping away dried oatmeal that lingered on his cold pink cheek. She then straightened his knitted blue toque that sat on top of his curly brown hair. The young boy squirmed as his mother pushed strands of his hair beneath his winter hat. Don’t forget that your sister is picking you up after school, she said. I’ll be home late tonight, but there is bread and peanut butter for dinner, okay?

Nolan gave her a look. She had already packed peanut butter and jelly for his lunch. He didn’t want it again for dinner. She quickly kissed his cheek before walking back down the slippery walk. She barely caught her bus before it tore off, leaving him behind at the nearly empty school.

Nolan knew that his mother was excited about going back to college, but he hated it! He hated waking up so early to get to school and he didn’t understand why his parents argued constantly about his mother getting a college degree. He’d cried when his father moved out because of it and spent most of the evenings home alone. His older sister, Dana, was only home long enough to unlock the front door of their duplex before heading out to be with her friends. Don’t fucking burn the house down, she would say. And there’s a dollar in it if you keep your mouth shut. But most of all he despised peanut-butter sandwiches for dinner. His mother never had time to go to the market anymore, and the only thing that seemed to be in full supply was peanut butter and jelly.

Nolan wished things would go back to the way they were before the fights and the tears and the broken dishes. He missed seeing his mother when he came home from school. He longed for the old Friday nights around the kitchen table with his father grinning and his mother firmly planted on his dad’s lap. If his father was in a good mood, he would let Nolan sit with them very late as he told stories of growing up in Toronto when Canada was the greatest. Sometimes his parents would play cards and smoke cigarettes with the neighbours, his father animatedly entertaining everyone with one of his long tales.

Now Nolan was left wondering if things would get better before they got worse. The new setup between his mother and father had been teetering towards disaster for a while.

2

The first time Mike O’Shea decided to check up on his kids, he had stayed away for almost a month. He hoped the time away would prove to Meghan how difficult life was with him away from the home.

He took the afternoon off from work and got his curly ash- brown hair cut short the way she liked it, with a bit of a wave on top and closely shaven on the sides. He stood in front of the mirror and examined the shirt he wore and realized that his old red-checkered flannel shirt looked washed out against his medium build. He pulled out a button-down top she’d bought him for Christmas that matched his crystal-blue eyes and splashed on a little cologne against his rugged face. He hoped that she would admit she missed him and realize that she was needed at home instead of squandering her days in some college classroom.

When he arrived, the duplex was a complete mess. Clean laundry was scattered all over the couch and coffee table in the living room, the kitchen sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and a week’s worth of garbage sat by the back door, flies hovering above. And Nolan was trying to light the gas stove pilot in an attempt to cook a can of SpaghettiOs. Point proven.

Nolan, what the hell are you doing? He snatched the matches from his son. Where’s your sister? She’s supposed to be home with you.

I dunno, he said, shrugging his shoulders.

And why is this place such a goddamn mess? He turned off the stove.

Dad, don’t get mad. It’s my fault. Mom told me to have peanut butter sandwiches for dinner, but I wanted spaghetti. I’m sorry, Dad. Don’t get mad.

Mike stood in the middle of the kitchen, fuming. He hated the fact that his family was slipping away from him. Things had all gone to hell. He’d known this would happen. The moment Meghan complained that she wanted to go back to school he had told her that the family would fall apart. He only wished that he had fought harder against it.

Last year the discussions had been civil enough, Meghan smiling and telling him the wonderful advantages of going back to school, hoping to sell him on having two incomes to rely on instead of his alone.

Mikey, I could finish my degree in two years. She nuzzled next to him one night in bed. There are so many businesses looking for bookkeepers.

That’s too long, Megs! he said, sitting up. That’s two years of you being away from the kids. I’m already working two jobs. Plus, I’m trying to get us a house. I’m not wasting my money for you to sit in a goddamn classroom. I’m this close to getting enough for a down payment.

You said that five years ago. She moved away from him. I’m sick of being stuck at home! Nolan is in school all day. I can do this!

Keep your voice down, Megs. You’re going to wake the kids.

Don’t fucking tell me to keep my voice down, she continued. How much money do we really have saved, huh? The money you bring home barely covers the utilities. Forget the goddamn down payment for some fairytale house!

"What have we saved? Mike replied. What money have you saved, Megs?"

See, that’s what I’m talking about! You work and bring in all the money and hold it over my head. I don’t have a say on what happens to this family or even get the right to make decisions for myself because you fucking control everything.

Calm down, Meghan. Please, I’m sorry! he said, grabbing for her hand. That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is that you need to be a little patient. Tommy is going to set me up in the new bar he bought. I’ll get shifts on the weekend and weeknights if I have to. Just give it a little more time. Okay? Once I get us in our own house and I’m in a better place, financially, then we can talk more about you going back to school.

No fucking way, Mike, she said, getting out of bed. She grabbed her pillow and headed for the door. I don’t need your permission to do this. By the end of the year, I’ll be enrolled in my first class for the winter semester, with or without you.

Over the months, they continued to bicker over her plans, each discussion more contentious than the last. By the holidays, they were barely on speaking terms and their children spent a miserable Christmas watching their parents avoid each other.

The final straw was when Meghan withdrew money from their savings to pay for her tuition.

Nolan and Dana huddled in their room as their parents screamed at each other. Nolan sat on his bed, covering his ears tightly so he didn’t have to hear the dishes being slammed against the wall. It was only when Dana ran into the kitchen, threatening to call the police, that they stopped arguing.

By the beginning of January Mike had moved out.

He had waited patiently for Meghan to see the light. He thought if she was forced to juggle everything on her own, something would give, and she would have to drop out of school. But this evening, when he found Nolan trying to cook his own dinner, he realized that the situation was in dire straits. It had become more than a clash of wills; the safety of his youngest was at stake. Mike didn’t want to be proven right that badly.

When Meghan got home she was startled to find Mike in her kitchen washing dishes and Nolan sitting at the table crying as he ate his bowl of spaghetti. She placed her keys on the dining room table and noticed the duffle bag filled with Nolan’s clothes.

What the hell are you doing? Why is there a bag with Nolan’s stuff?

I’m sorry, Megs, but enough is enough! Mike said. Do you know the fucking shit-storm I walked into here? The place is a fucking pigsty, and don’t get me started about Nolan. When I came in he was about to burn the fucking place down trying to cook his own dinner…and where the hell is Dana?

I don’t know where she is. Meghan sat down next to Nolan. She’s supposed to be here.

Megs, something has to give, he said more calmly. Nolan is only eight years old! He can’t be home alone with no one watching him. You can’t have these kids parenting themselves.

I know.

Until you get your priorities in order I’m taking Nolan with me, Mike said, hoping that would bring her to her senses.

Okay, she replied.

Okay?

Yes, take him. Dana is old enough to take care of herself and I need the break. I can’t concentrate on school if I’m worried about Nolan.

You’re unbelievable. Mike laughed stiffly. Un-fucking-believable.

Stop, Mike. Nolie understands. He gets it. She turned to Nolan. Right, sweetheart?

Nolan looked up at his mother in disbelief. There were tears in her eyes.

I need to concentrate on school, she said as she cupped his face in her hands. And the only way I can do that is by letting your dad take you for a little while. Just until I get used to my new schedule.

Is Dana coming too? Nolan asked her.

Meghan looked up at her husband, who turned away from her. She then looked back at Nolan and smiled at him.

No sweetie. Dana needs to stay here with me. Your daddy can’t manage the both of you. Neither of us can manage the both of you properly on our own. But it will be okay, I promise! It won’t be for long. Just until the summer.

Nolan started to cry. Please, just make it like it was before, he whimpered. Please, Mommy…please, Dad! I promise I’ll be good.

Mike stood and watched. He didn’t know what to say because he also wanted their old life back. He wanted to come home and for them to be the family they had been before everything got out of hand. Before the yelling and screaming. Before the love between them started to strain. He could feel the fallout as he watched Meghan hug and kiss Nolan, promising him that everything would change for the better.

3

Mike continued to work long hours. He was even more determined to save enough money for a house. He still hoped that having a home of their own would prove to Meghan that he was a man of his word and she would come back to him. For Nolan, though, nothing really changed when he moved in with his dad. All it meant was that, instead of coming home to his father in the evenings, he came home to the neighbour down the hall in the apartment building they lived in.

He still had to wake up early to meet his mother at the corner and they would both take the 7:00 am bus so that Meghan could drop him off at school before her classes. Each morning, he shrugged off her hug as he went into the school grounds, angry that he had to sit alone on the cold bench to wait for the rest of the students to arrive.

The only consolation was that he wasn’t completely alone. He sat on the bench watching the new black girl with her big round almond eyes and funny accent, as she played in the snow. She was always there, and he often wondered if she ever went home at night. He would sit next to her school bag and thermos and watch her make snow angels in the field. He wanted to join her but was too shy.

She was in the other second-grade class and all he knew about her was that her name was Simone and she always wore colourful beads at the ends of her braids. He liked the way the plastic beads clicked against one another any time she turned her head. And the way they hung along her pretty light brown face, almost covering her left eye.

He noticed that she kept to herself most of the time. She didn't have any friends and spent most of recess sitting in a corner, reading a book. The few times she did speak, some of the older kids would tease her Jamaican accent. Her face would turn a shade of red and she would quickly retreat behind her book.

The first time he saw her outside of school was in the elevator of his building. He was coming home with his dad from a high school hockey game when Simone and her mother walked into the elevator. They all stood uncomfortably as the elevator slowly went up. Neither parent made eye contact or even politely acknowledged the other. Nolan noticed Simone’s mother pulling her closer.

They all got out on the same floor and Simone’s mother quickly rushed her down the hall. Their apartment was right next door.

Isn’t that a bitch? said Mike. I don’t know what the hell she’s so scared of. As if she has anything to steal.

Shhh, Dad! They can hear you.

I don’t give a crap what they hear, Mike said loudly as their door slammed shut.

It made Nolan cringe when his father talked like that. He was glad it was his mother who took him to school. At least she kept her comments under her breath. His father always said exactly how he felt, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Mike’s favourite topic of conversation was how St. Augustine had gone down the dumps over the years and how it wasn’t the same when he had attended as a child. During his time, the school’s student population had been primarily Irish and Scottish students. The most exotic student he had known was a francophone Métis student from Quebec whose family eventually moved to Winnipeg.

When Dana started at St. Augustine, Italians, Germans and students from almost every country in Eastern Europe were slowly diluting the pool. By the time Nolan had started junior kindergarten, children from all over the world over-populated the school. Students with parents from India, Colombia, El Salvador, Jamaica, and China were now the mainstays for most Willowdale schools.

A complete mess, is what Mike said of St. Augustine’s new makeup. You have half the school speaking every other language like the goddamn Tower of Babylon and the other half speaking piss-poor English.

Nolan nodded mindlessly when his father went into one of his rants. None of what his father said mattered. It didn’t bother him that some of his friends spoke a different language or what area of the world their families were from. As long as they played baseball as well as he did and had their own gloves, he didn’t care.

He also didn’t care that his best friend was a Jamaican Canadian boy named Kester Daniels — the class clown who constantly made other students laugh with his antics. The two boys had been inseparable since kindergarten, with Kester the short persuasive leader, and Nolan content with being his most loyal friend and sidekick.

Kester’s family had emigrated from Jamaica but he and his three older siblings were born and raised in Toronto. While most children of immigrants struggled to be more Canadian, Kester had easily assimilated. His strong Canadian diction made Nolan’s own accent sound foreign.

Kester was always setting the trend for the kids in their class. When most of the boys were excitedly awaiting the beginning of the NHL season, Kester quickly converted them into diehard basketball fans and had them trading Kareem Abdul-Jabbar sports cards. When Pass the Dutchie first played on the radio, he became so obsessed with the song that most of his classmates started humming it, and they were even repeating the dirty patois sayings he taught them during gym class.

During lunchtime, they often huddled together and swapped out their packed lunches. Kester loved Nolan’s peanut butter and jam sandwiches, while Nolan loved the leftover dinners Kester brought from home.

What the hell is this shit in your lunch box, Mike said, sniffing Kester’s container of food as he cleared out Nolan’s lunch pail one morning.

It’s not shit, Nolan said as he ate his oatmeal. It’s curry chicken and rice.

Well, where did you get curry chicken and rice? he asked as he tried to wash off the yellow sauce that stained his fingers.

My friend’s mother makes it for his lunch.

Which friend?

My friend Kester. He’s in my class.

Are you stealing this kid’s lunch? Mike asked. I won’t tolerate that crap from you, Nolan.

No…no, Dad! We trade lunches sometimes.

Nolan, I make lunches for you and you alone. Not for some kid who eats this slop.

Curry chicken, Nolan said as he stared down his father. Not slop.

Watch your tone. He poured Nolan some orange juice. Why haven’t I met this Kester kid? Where’s he from?

He lives in Toronto, Nolan replied.

I figured that, Nolan. Where’s his family from?

Jamaica, Nolan mumbled.

Jamaica, huh! Mike said. Since when did you start hanging out with Jamaicans?

Since always, Dad. There are a few kids in my class that are from there.

Yeah, well, when I went to St. Augie, all there were was Irish and Scots and we barely got along, he railed. Now the school is infested with niggers from Jamaica and every other piece of trash from around the world. A regular fucking shit pile.

Nolan sat at the kitchen table trying to block his father’s morning rant about how great St. Augie was when he went there. How the school was practically brand-new and everyone wore crisp uniforms and had pride in themselves.

Why haven’t you brought this Kester over?

I don’t know, he shrugged. He lives too far, I guess.

Where does he live?

I think he lives in the houses near the ice rink.

Well, la-di-dah. Isn’t that special. I live here all my life and have to scrape and scrimp for us to get a house and some kid from the Bahamas lives in a house on Bayview!

Jamaica, Dad…not Bahamas.

Whatever, the point is it’s a new world these days, he went on. Guys like me work our asses off and some trash from Jamaica comes to Canada…probably on the government’s dime and gets a bloody house.

Mike’s morning rants usually ended with him complaining about how everyone was taking all his opportunities. If it wasn’t Blacks, it was immigrants, women, Protestants, even the blind man down the hall was taking some opportunity that should have gone to him and would have if only the son-of-a-bitch wasn’t blind.

Mike could never admit the real reason why he wasn’t able to move up in life. He preferred to blame everyone else instead of accepting the fact that he’d cut his own opportunities short by dropping out of high school his senior year. After Meghan got pregnant with Dana, he had quit school, got married and worked odd jobs to provide for his family.

Meghan had managed to get her GED before giving birth to Dana, but Mike felt it was useless for him to do, since he wasn’t planning to go to college. He couldn’t understand why someone would spend time and money on school unless they were working towards being a doctor or a lawyer.

He spent the next five years working in construction until he finally landed a part-time job working as a building engineer for Ryerson University. When he decided that he wanted to own his own home, he started working for St. Augustine Church on the weekends as their facility manager, which was just a fancy word for church janitor.

Nolan sat at the breakfast table playing with his oatmeal as his father droned on about the meaning of hard work and not expecting handouts. Nolan was glad when he finally heard the buzzer. He got up quickly to grab his bag and meet his mother in the lobby.

Go on now, said Mike. Your mother won’t let me hear the end of it if she misses her bus.

Okay, Dad. Nolan shoved his lunch pail and Kester’s curry chicken container in his school bag.

Alright, buddy. Mike kissed the top of Nolan’s head. Have a great day at school. I hope this Kester boy likes jam sandwiches.

He does, he said, heading out the door.

She sat watching Simone slowly spoon out the leftover milk from her cereal bowl. She glanced at her watch.

Simone! I don’t have time for you to nurse your milk all day. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!

Simone quickly guzzled the rest of her milk by tipping the bowl to her mouth, spilling it on the dining table.

Clean that up, her mother said, jumping back before any of the milk spilled on her black pleated skirt. Hurry, nuh! I don’t want to miss the bus. I’m not going to be late for work today.

Yes, Ms. Pam, Simone said rushing to the sink to grab a kitchen towel to wipe up the spilt milk.

It irritated her every time Simone called her Ms. Pam. It was what the airline representative had used to introduce them: Ms. Pam, I presume? she had said as she held Simone’s hand. I believe this little one belongs to you.

Simone had looked her up and down. She had stuttered trying to call her Mummy and ended up saying Ms. Pam instead. Pam had hoped that after a while she would try Mama or even Mother but she ended up sticking with Ms. Pam. It bothered Pam. She was a young slender woman with light brown complexion and wavy black hair that fell past her shoulders. Her petite stature complimented her refined face and high cheekbones. Calling her Ms. Pam made her feel old.

Living with Simone wasn’t easy from the beginning. Pam tried to connect with her but each failed attempt left a sour taste in her mouth and it didn’t help that she found Simone’s quirks annoying. The way she took forever to eat her meals, carefully chewing each bite a hundred times before swallowing, the long showers in the mornings that made her late for work. 

At first, she held her tongue. After all, it was as much of an adjustment for Simone as it was for her. But patience wasn’t Pam’s strong suit. She had never lived with a child. Children were noisy and messy, and Pam was very particular about everything. The house was to be quiet and pristine and she wouldn’t tolerate dishes left in the sink or clothes dropped on the floor. It didn’t matter that Simone was seven years old—she was expected to keep the apartment neat and tidy. 

When Simone finally cleaned up the spilt milk, Pam hurried them out of the apartment and down the eleven flights of stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. It was still pitch dark and freezing as she hustled them up the pathway towards the bus stop just as the bus pulled up. They sat in the back by the rear window. It started to rain again. She looked over at Simone and frowned. Her daughter hadn’t brought the umbrella she had bought her.

Here, she said passing Simone her own umbrella. Don’t lose it.

Yes, Ms. Pam, Simone replied sleepily as she took the umbrella.

Pam looked at her watch and then out the window. The rain continued to drizzle. She hated leaving so early but it was the only way she could get Simone to school and herself to work on time. The only solace she had was that they weren’t sitting in the freezing rain waiting for the next bus. In Jamaica, rain was refreshing and made everything greener and the air cleaner, but Toronto’s freezing rain always left her miserable. In fact, Canadian winters often left her depressed. Some would find snow-capped rooftops beautiful, but she groaned, knowing that she had to wallow through the muddy slush.

Snow is only a luxury for white people, she would grumble to herself any time she had to navigate an icy patch. She missed the warmth of Jamaica’s early morning sunrise—that special time in the morning when it was cool enough to catch the mountain breeze but warm enough to feel the sun penetrate her skin. She missed the bright orchids and ackee trees that stood by her bedroom window. Now she was greeted with dreary grey days and wet snow that seeped through her boots. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she had had to leave paradise to find peace. She only wished that the Canadian winters didn’t serve as a constant reminder of the irony. 

She couldn’t afford to look back. In Jamaica, her ghosts haunted her and knew her by name. Back home she was that girl — that tragic girl. Here in Toronto, she was nobody. Just a young educated black woman with a good job as a hospital administrator. She was a newly minted Canadian citizen and Jamaica had to stay in the past where it belonged but all of that changed when her aunt died.

When the Canadian Child Welfare Agency contacted her about her aunt’s death, every fibre in her body wanted to deny that she was Simone’s mother. She didn’t know the first thing about raising a child. She was barely an adult herself. She lived in a one-bedroom apartment with a girlfriend and slept on a twin mattress on the floor. She had just gotten a job at the hospital and had only a little money saved. She went to her parish priest in tears and told him she didn’t know what to do and should she give Simone up for adoption?

Her priest eased her fears by putting her in touch with different government agencies that helped her and, by the time Simone arrived, Pam was on government assistance and had secured a small, subsidized, two-bedroom apartment in a safe neighbourhood. Being a single mother was never ideal, but in Toronto it was possible.

The Crescent View Apartment Complex wasn’t a dream come true. It was a little farther away from her job, but it was fairly close to Simone’s new school. The complex was bordered by the 401 highway and had four 15-story buildings arranged in a circle. In the centre of the circle was a huge courtyard that enclosed a children’s park and an empty rusted outdoor swimming pool lined with mud and dead leaves. The greyish white buildings were weathered and worn from the cold harsh winters. Despite the newly refurbished lobby, the hallway’s grey speckled carpets constantly looked filthy, with slush, salt, and mud embedded in their fibres. Each floor was dimly lit and had a musty mildew smell that competed with the strong scent of curry that seeped through the walls.

They lived on the 11th floor, overlooking the courtyard. Their apartment wasn’t big and spacious but it was clean and large enough for the two of them. The only problem was the shared balcony. She didn’t like the idea of sharing the space with anyone and hoped that the family living next door wouldn’t be a complete pain in the ass.

As the bus pulled up to St. Augustine, Pam pulled the bell. She was grateful that the rain had stopped for the time being. They walked slowly up the hill towards the school, attempting to avoid the slippery patches of ice on the sidewalk.

Excuse me, Miss!

Pam looked up to see a pudgy woman in a heavy red down-filled coat rushing through the school’s gate towards them.

Is who this? she asked Simone.

The vice principal, Simone replied.

The woman slipped and slid towards them, her plump face red as she tried to catch her breath. I’m sorry, she said, wheezing in the cold icy air, but you cannot leave a student here before the school opens.

Who are you? Pam asked.

I apologize, she said, pulling in her jacket against the wind. I’m Mrs. Wilson, St. Augustine’s vice principal.

Yes, well, Mrs. Wilson, it is nice to meet you, but my bus is about to arrive. Pam handed Simone her school bag. If I don’t leave now I’ll be late for work.

Hold on! Mrs. Wilson said. It’s 6:30 am in the morning. We don’t officially open our gates until 8:00 am. You need to stay until then. It’s not safe to leave this child alone.

I appreciate your concern for Simone but, as I said, I am going to be late for work, Pam said as calmly as she could. Simone has been instructed to sit on the bench until school starts. She has been doing that for the last two months. She will be fine.

I’m sorry, Mrs…

Ms. Allen, Pam responded.

Ms. Allen, I’m not sure if you are aware but it’s against the law to leave minors by themselves. If you insist on leaving your daughter unattended I will have to get the authorities involved.

A fool you take me? Pam said. Do you realize that I have to work and that the only way I can get Simone to school is to drop her off beforehand?

Maybe you can rearrange your work hours or have her father take her to school, Mrs. Wilson said, smiling stiffly. Assuming that Simone’s father is involved in her life.

Pam was stunned.

The vice principal continued to smile at the young mother. She knew the type. She saw it all the time. A young woman from the islands who probably wasn’t married but had two or three kids from different men. These women came by the boatload, bringing in their bastard children, expecting a handout from hardworking taxpayers like herself. She was surprised this one actually had a job.

You’re here now, Pam said steadily, gritting her teeth. Can’t you let her stay with you this one time while I try to make arrangements with my employer?

I’m not here to be your child’s babysitter. I suggest you sit tight until the gate officially opens.

Pam wanted to slap the smile off her face but couldn’t afford to lose her temper. Without a word, she pulled Simone’s hand and they walked back down the sidewalk.

Where are you going? Mrs. Wilson called out.

I’m taking my daughter back home, she yelled back, dragging Simone down the sidewalk. Simone is sick and won’t be in school today.

Typical, Mrs. Wilson uttered to herself.

Just then Nolan and his mother rushed past them towards the school gates.

Not another one. Mrs. Wilson turned to Nolan’s mother. You Irish are just as bad as the Jamaicans.

When Pam got home, she called in sick and then pulled out the Yellow Pages, hoping to find a suitable daycare or sitter at the last minute, but all the places she called were either too far from the apartment or too expensive. She had almost nothing in her savings after moving into the apartment.

She had no idea what she was going to do. She thought about talking to her boss about adjusting her hours but quickly dismissed the idea. Part of her job was to start early in the morning to check in patients. As for today, she debated having Simone stay home by herself but didn’t trust her alone in the apartment. 

She was taking out the garbage that afternoon when she noticed the little boy next door about to walk into Mrs. Price’s apartment across the hall. Mrs. Price was her Jamaican neighbour.

You! she said to Nolan. I saw you this morning. You go to Simone’s school?

Yes, he said, squirming.

He stood in the hallway, a little startled and frightened, worried that he was in trouble. Pam could tell that she was making him nervous and smiled at him. He relaxed and smiled back at her.

Why are you going into Mrs. Price’s apartment? Don’t you live next door?

Yes, Ma’am, he replied. She takes care of me after school.

Nolan, is who you talk to? asked Mrs. Price as she opened her door. Lawd, Ms. Pam. Is yuh out here with Nolan? She quickly ushered him in and instructed him to start his homework.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Price, said Pam. Mi didn’t realize yuh were watching de boy.

Yes, Mam. Him fadda give mi ah lickle money to watch him.

Pam clapped her hands for joy and hugged her.

Mrs. Price looked at her a little confused.

Mrs. Price, how much you charge?

When Pam returned to the apartment she was humming to herself and grinning like a Cheshire cat. She had completely forgotten about nosey Mrs. Price. 

Lineve Price hailed from Jamaica and had moved to Toronto in the 1960s with the first wave of immigrants from the island. After her husband died, she worked as a bank teller for almost fifteen years before arthritis forced her into early retirement. She had been living on disability in the complex for almost ten years by the time Pam and Simone arrived and she often babysat kids in the building to make extra money.

Pam had met Mrs. Price the first day they moved into their apartment. She had not unpacked a single box before the old woman came knocking on her door with a spice bun and a million questions. By the end of the visit, Mrs. Price had gone through Pam’s entire family tree, remembering and calling out several of her family members that had died years before. She had grown up in St. Elizabeth, a neighbouring parish of Manchester, and had even gone to the same school as Pam’s Aunt Marva.

Yes, Mam! Mi know aal yuh people, she said smiling. Lawd Jesus! What a small world! Whatever happened to your fadda? Last mi hear, he still living in Kingston.

My father is no longer with us, Pam said. He passed years ago.

Yes…yes, Mrs. Price remembered before pausing. She looked up at Pam and stared at her before she started to make the connection. Lawd Jesus! I remember you now…oh…yes…it’s now mi remember.

Pam’s face burnt hot as Mrs. Price looked at her with pity. She had hoped to leave her past behind, but it was clear now that, no matter how far she ran, she would never escape it. 

The old woman picked up Pam’s hand and patted it. Pam quickly withdrew it and moved away. Mrs. Price could see how uncomfortable Pam seemed and took her leave, saying she was right down the hall if she needed her.

Pam had been angry with herself for saying too much. Her anxiety had bubbled up as she watched Simone playing with her deck of cards on one of the moving boxes. But now Mrs. Price had become her saving grace. She hated having to rely on anyone, but the school left her no choice. It would have to be Mrs. Price. She didn’t have the time or patience to figure out something better.

When Pam came back into the apartment, with the garbage bag still in her hand, she was humming. Simone looked at her mother curiously.

Mrs. Price is going to watch you in the mornings and after school, Pam announced.

But you said you didn’t want me talking to her, Simone said. You said that I’m to stay away from her.

Yes, well, that was before my meeting with your bitch of a principal, Pam muttered. Don't repeat my bad words, but right now Mrs. Price is the best I can do. Just make sure you keep your mouth shut around her. Whatever happens in this apartment is none of her business. Her only business is to make sure you catch the school bus in the mornings and that you come straight home after. Do you hear me?

Simone nodded at her mother. She was glad that Mrs. Price would be watching her. She didn’t know the old woman very well but any time she saw her in the hallway she always had a warm smile on her face. She was also glad that she didn’t have to wake up so early to go to school.

Simone, go and take the garbage to the chute, Pam said, handing her the bag. And don’t hang about. Dinner is going to be ready soon.

Simone grabbed the garbage bag and headed out the door. Nolan was in the hallway with his father and he looked over and smiled at her. She smiled back at him. She liked Nolan. He was the only kid at school who didn’t tease her about her accent. 

Hi, Nolan, she said.

Hi, Simone, he replied. How come you weren’t at school today?

Mrs. Wilson wouldn’t let my mother leave me at the school so early, she said. We had to go back home.

Yeah, I saw you guys, he said. Mrs. Wilson let my mom leave me in the office. Why didn’t you stay in the office like I did?

Simone shrugged.

I’m going to stay at Mrs. Price’s before and after school now, she said.

They walked together down the hall to the garbage chute.

I stay with Mrs. Price too, he said smiling at her. Maybe we can sit together on the bus.

Sure, Simone said.

They both turned when Nolan’s father called after him.

I have to go, Nolan said. I’ll see you tomorrow?

See you tomorrow, she said.

4

Pam met him at a dance in Toronto. Her hair was freshly coiffed and she was wearing a lapis blue chiffon dress that flowed down to just above her knees. She smelled of the cocoa butter that she had lathered on her body to mask the lye relaxer she had applied earlier that morning. She hoped he wouldn’t notice it as he spun her around the wooden gymnasium floor.

She didn’t dare look up at him. She felt strangely shy, fearful that if she looked into his hazel eyes she would blush. Instead, she looked off to the side, concentrating on their locked hands, as they slowly danced to Patti LaBelle’s If Only You Knew. She focused on the beauty of their hands, the way his rich dark brown complexion complimented her creamy honey-coloured skin.

She could feel the tension inside her heighten as he pulled her closer. She was never usually this timid around a man. She had perfected building walls around herself to protect her from ever showing weakness but this man — he was different — he left her breathless.

It wasn’t the first time she had laid eyes on him. She had noticed him the previous year, at one of the many Jamaican Canadian Association parties she attended. Back then, he had worn a purple silk shirt, unbuttoned, and was dripping with sweat with some girl on his arm.

But this time he had come alone and he was dancing with her.

The dance led to dinner the next weekend, a movie the following weekend and, before she knew it, four months had passed and she was his woman and finally felt like she could find happiness.

He was different from most of the island men she knew. He didn’t live in the dance halls on the prowl. He was a simple man. A nice guy. Which was maybe why most women grew bored with him after the first date. He liked to spend quiet evenings in his basement apartment listening to music or out on the fields playing cricket. He had dreams. He wanted to be an investment banker. He took classes during the day, hoping to earn a degree in finance, and at night he drove a cab to pay for school.

Pam thought he was the perfect man. Someone she could centre her life on. A man she had chosen for herself. Someone who adored her, despite her moody disposition and quick temper. A man who looked at her with a glow in his eyes — a look meant only for her. 

He never called her Pam. Her name was too beautiful to be shortened, he said. He always addressed her as Pamela. And, when he introduced her, it wasn’t as his girlfriend, only as ‘his future wife’ or ‘the mother of his six sons’. It tickled her that she had someone in her life who cherished her. It gave her a sense of relief that her life was coming together. But all of that quickly changed when the call from Kingston came, dragging her past back to the surface.

Pam had shared little information with Caleb about Simone. The most she revealed was that she had a child living in Jamaica. He never asked and she never divulged anything further, but now that Simone was coming to Canada she was a reality that Caleb had questions about; she could no longer be a name without a face.

Why did you leave her in Jamaica? he asked. What about her father?

It’s difficult to go into, she always replied. Can we not talk about this now?

When Simone arrived, Pam kept Caleb at bay. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to meet Simone, but she wanted to get to know the girl first before any introductions were made — before any explanations were given.

Not yet. Soon, she said, nestled in his arms as they lay in his bed. She had left Simone with Mrs. Price that Saturday evening in order to be with him.

Pamela, I don’t understand why you feel the need to wait so long. You’re not the first woman I’ve dated with children.

You don’t understand, she said.

No I don’t, he said as he got up to get dressed. It’s like you have something to hide.

I don’t, she stammered.

Get dressed, he said tossing her clothes at her. If you don’t want a relationship, then say so.

When the raas did this become about us?

Pamela, she yuh pickney, he said. She a part of you and when you don’t want to introduce her to the man you claim to love, how it look? What’s holding you back?

Pam sat at the edge of his bed for a while, then she silently got dressed.

Pamela, I love you and will love her, too, he said. His voice was soft. I just want to meet her so we can stop all this sneaking around.

Reluctantly, she agreed to have Caleb meet Simone the next evening. She prepared Caleb’s favourite — lasagna with Caesar salad; she dressed Simone in her best outfit and told her daughter that they were having a friend over for dinner.

The moment Simone met Caleb, she knew that this was her mother’s mysterious boyfriend.

Caleb was so pleased. His eyes lit up when he saw the pretty girl with her hair braided in two, wearing a red-checkered dress. She had Pam’s delicate features and dark brown eyes — the kind of questioning eyes that pierced into people.

He went all out to win Simone over. He complimented her dress and told her that she was pretty like her mother, but Simone barely gave him a smile. When he presented her with the doll he had bought her she quickly informed him that she didn’t play with dolls anymore.

Well then, he said. What do you do for fun?

I read, she said, handing him back the gift. You can have your doll back.

Simone! Pam barked. It was exactly what she had been afraid would happen. Simone was being politely rude to Caleb, showing the same indifference that she had shown her over the last few months. I won’t tolerate any facety behaviour from you, she said. Pick up the doll and put it in your room.

Yes, Ms. Pam. Simone went into her room and tossed the doll on the floor by her bed before coming back to the dinner table.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Caleb said gleefully as he cut into the bubbling hot lasagna. Simone, did you know that your mother’s lasagna is the best in the world?

Simone sat there staring at him as he cut a piece for her. She looked at her full plate and wasn’t sure how it would taste in her mouth. She had heard of lasagna, but it looked like someone had chewed up the food and spat it out. She took her fork and stabbed it, trying to separate the spinach from what looked like meat, but the gooey cheese made it impossible.

Eat your food, Pam said curtly.

Don’t you like lasagna? Caleb asked.

She shrugged and continued to play with her food.

What’s your favourite food? he asked.

Not this, she said.

Pam flashed her a look as if she was going to slap some manners into her, but Caleb grabbed Pam’s hand and kissed it.

Ms. Pam, can I be excused? she asked. I’m not hungry.

Fine, she replied.

Simone carried her plate into the kitchen and threw out the lasagna. She grabbed a handful of cookies, stuffed them in the pocket of her dress, and headed back to her room.

Well, Caleb said as he polished off his dinner. She’s an interesting girl.

Now do you understand why I’ve been avoiding this meeting? Pam said, glaring at him.

Throughout the evening, Pam was further embarrassed by how Simone was acting. The quiet and respectful little girl who had emerged from the plane had turned into a mouthy pretentious know-it-all. It irritated her how rude Simone was to Caleb, treating him like one of her schoolyard friends. But Caleb loved it. He was tickled by her smart remarks.

Don’t sweat it, Pamela, he said.

Don’t encourage her, Pam snapped.

Next morning, while Pam was washing the breakfast dishes, Simone sat at the table playing with a plate of scrambled eggs that Caleb had prepared for her. She complained that the eggs were too hot, and ten minutes later she sulked because the eggs were too cold and nasty to eat. Pam wanted to pull her from the table by her neck but Caleb merely laughed it off and poured her a bowl of cornflakes instead. After she finished her breakfast, Simone got up from the table, leaving her cereal bowl behind, and went back to her bedroom.

Pamela sucked her teeth and glared. Not even a thank you. She picked up Simone’s plastic bowl and tossed it in the sink.

Come on, Pamela, Caleb teased, pulling her into his arms. You have a bright one there.

Don’t do that, she said pulling away from him. You wash over her rudeness with a joke and what she really needs is a box across that smart mouth.

Yes, there is some cheek in her, but rather a cheeky girl than some of these lazy children. He polished off the last piece of bacon. And what more can you ask in a child? You say she keeps her room clean and does well in school…

Barely, Pam interrupted. Her smart mouth is constantly getting her in trouble. Last week her teacher call me. She want me to miss half a day of work so I can hear her complain about Simone’s bad attitude. You know, I don’t think there is one adult that child shows any manners to.

Well, I don’t know about that, he grinned as he got up for more coffee. She’s starting to like me.

Ya fool, ya, Pam said. She couldn’t help laughing. Which part of ‘nasty eggs’ tells you that she likes you?

Well she ate the bowl of cornflakes I poured her, he replied. I call that progress.

It wasn’t that Simone hated Caleb. She just hated her mother more. Simone hadn’t expected a huge reception when she arrived from Jamaica, but she had hoped for maybe a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and some sort of explanation as to why she had been abandoned all those years ago. Instead, all she received was a winter coat and a chilly Welcome to Canada.

The weeks after were no better. Her mother was unbearable with her never-ending list of strict rules. No playing outside unless Pam was there to supervise. No playing in the hallway. No television during the week. No reading past bedtime. No leaving the lights on. Every day there was a new rule. There wasn’t anything she was allowed to do.

In retaliation, she had decided to make Pam’s life equally difficult. When Pam was busy and Simone had to answer the phone, she purposely wrote down the telephone number wrong. When her mother yelled a lot at her, Simone would unravel the hems of her skirts or pull off the middle button of a blouse and flush it down the toilet.

Most of what she did never fazed Pam. She knew her friends’ telephone numbers by heart and had a cookie tin filled with extra buttons to replace the lost ones. What pushed Pam over the edge was the backchat. While Caleb enjoyed bantering with Simone, Pam cringed whenever Simone opened her mouth. She was always kissing her teeth at him, calling everything he did stupid. She was not used to children speaking to adults that way and whipped Simone’s behind whenever Caleb wasn’t around.

Simone started to warm up to Caleb when he began sticking up for her. He was always running interference, trying to keep the peace between them.

And Caleb hated to see Simone always in trouble, so when Pam wasn’t around he would try to talk to