— Chapters appear as excerpts only. —
— Full chapters will appear in the printed published book. —
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On the first day of school, I was greeted by a tall girl with curly red hair like an afro. She wanted to make friends with me immediately. Her name was Mary. By this time, I had become somewhat of an introvert, probably because I had very little social life outside of school, no opportunities to interact with others to make friends or gain confidence. The only friend I could feel comfortable to visit was Marg and she certainly would not want to come to visit me at my remote house down the road that went to nowhere. Nobody with any intelligence would want to visit me at the farm. So, I was pleasantly surprised that Mary took such an interest in me.
Mary was very inquisitive and asked me all kinds of questions. As soon as she found out it was my birthday on the Wednesday of the next week, she jumped with joy. She decided she wanted to have a party for me. I was so unaccustomed to unsolicited kindness from others, so I didn’t know quite how to react. I was so used to hiding my emotions for fear of exposing my weaknesses, so I didn’t think Mary knew how much I appreciated this gesture. I was incredibly delighted and honoured. It astonished me that she had only just met me, but yet she wanted to host a birthday party for me.
My mother had never thrown a birthday party for me, nor had she ever even baked me a cake, so Mary’s invitation seemed even more extraordinarily special, generous and kind. To me, it was almost unbelievable. Someone actually wanted to celebrate my birthday.
Mary’s house was near the school in Eagle River, just across the train tracks. The plan was for me to stay at her house over the weekend and she would have the birthday party on Saturday. I wasn’t sure if Cliff would allow me to do that. He always consented for me to stay in Dryden with his sister Edith, when she asked, but that might have been because he didn’t want to argue with Edith, or maybe because she was his sister. Maybe she had some power over him. Perhaps he felt guilty for something. Maybe she asked him more often, but he said no sometimes. I didn’t know much about how the visits to Edith were arranged. I just went to Edith’s whenever they told me I could go.
The main thing for Cliff was that I wasn’t a burden to them in any way. When I went to Edith’s on a Saturday, he dropped me off at the highway on their way to the hotel and beer parlour. I caught the bus into Dryden. On Sunday, the bus dropped me off at the highway and I had to find my own way home, so there was no inconvenience to their lives because of me. Our family spoke only to each other when it was absolutely necessary and, usually, we didn’t have very much to say. Raymond was home some of the time. Where he was the rest of the time, I didn’t know.
Surprisingly, Cliff did not put up any resistance and agreed that I could stay with Mary for the weekend. I would go there after school on Friday, and come home on Monday night. The school bus would be my ride both ways, so that would not infringe on anything Cliff and mom were doing. I could manage my own transportation via the school bus. I would just disappear from their lives for the weekend and they wouldn’t have to think about me. If both Raymond and I weren’t home, Cliff and mom would be alone by themselves, that was the ultimate goal that Cliff always wanted.
So, I threw a few things in a bag and, after school on Friday, Mary and I trotted over to her house. Mary lived with her mother and older sister. They had an outhouse, like we all did. Their house, though, had an added feature that no one else had: an indoor sauna. This was a very special and very rare luxury.
The first thing we did was discuss and organize all the things Mary would need for my party. She had great ideas, I had none. I had not been to a birthday party since grade one, so I didn’t know what the possibilities were. I was quite pleased to let her figure it all out.
Once she had written a list, we went for a walk into Eagle River to buy cake mix, balloons and candles at Jake’s store. Close by, at the corner by the railroad tracks, lived another kid, Rocky, one of my grade eight classmates. He had recently moved to Eagle River with his mother and his older brother. He had this charming, outgoing personality. He was very cute, too. Already, many times in class, he made us all laugh with his comical sayings and funny jokes. He seemed very clever. He was sitting outside and saw us walking by, so came over to talk to us. Mary invited him to tag along with us and told him about the birthday party plans.
As the three of us walked along the road, Rocky started flirting with me. He said he was in love with me and kidded me about kissing and hugging me. He never did, he didn’t even try, but I really wished he would have. I was not used to this attention at all. No boy had even looked at me twice before this.
I didn’t find anything attractive about the country boys at the Minnitaki school, and the few boys who attended church in Dryden were quiet. Plus the young people at church had many other opportunities to socialize. The only boy I had been attracted to was Albert, but that sure didn’t turn out in my favour. I knew I wasn’t that popular, so I just loved the attention Rocky was showering on me. He was so much fun to be with.
When we walked near the Cascade Hotel, I noticed Cliff’s car sitting there. I knew my mom and Cliff were inside, at the beer parlour, getting drunk. I stopped for a minute and a strange feeling came over me. I thought of all the evenings I sat in the car, bored, trying to pass time, while my mom and Cliff drank and had a good time, so very late into the night. If anything, I had been an impediment to their evening entertainment. But not this weekend. This weekend there was going to be a party — and it was a party for me, the Freak!
A real wave of realization struck me like a lightning bolt. Someone who I had just met was making a very special birthday party for me, and none of my family was a part of it. They were not going to be at the party, they certainly were not organizing it or baking a cake or anything. Nor did they want to be a part of it.
I thought Mary would have been surprised if I told her that my mom and Cliff were inside the hotel, and that they were completely unaware of where I was. That they did not care where I was, or even want to know where I was. And here I was, standing right outside. I was so close, yet I could be so far away.
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On Saturday morning, I watched while Mary made my cake. We wrapped pennies in waxed paper and once the batter was in the cake pan, we stuck the wrapped pennies into it. She said this was to bring luck. If you got a piece of cake with a penny in it, it would be lucky for you. She did warn me not to swallow the penny. It was probably not such a good idea to bake pennies inside a cake after all, but we would be careful when we ate it. I had never heard of this before but thought it was a unique idea. After the cake was baked, she put the icing on it.
Later in the afternoon, Rocky and another friend of Mary’s came over, they sang “Happy Birthday” to me and we ate the cake. It was the best birthday I had ever had. When Rocky left, he said he wanted to call me. I gave him my phone number. The thought of having a boyfriend was so exciting to me, especially one so cute as him.
I enjoyed the rest of this wonderful weekend with Mary. On Sunday, it was raining. We went for a walk around Eagle River again for something to do, but it was quiet.
On Monday after school, I returned home, back to the farm, on the school bus. Of course, no one was home, but the list of chores was waiting for me, scribbled on a crumpled side of an empty cigarette pack. I couldn’t help but feel the stark contrast between the warmth and friendliness that I basked in over the weekend, with people who liked me and wanted to be around me, compared to the frigidity of this cold, deserted farmhouse.
I would have liked to have told my mother — or someone, anyone, but especially my mom — about my weekend excitement, but there was no one home to talk to. Other than my faithful pooch Blacky, and some farm animals. I went to my room, sat on the bed, and talked to my mirror.
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I remembered very clearly the afternoon of Friday, November 22, 1963, when Mr. Munford announced to the class that President Kennedy had been assassinated. I was stunned. Even though we lived in such a remote area of northwestern Ontario, far away from the important big cities of the world, this news was still very shocking.
At the empty farmhouse that evening, I felt so cold, so sad, and even more alone. Life was just not fair that such a vibrant and promising president could die so young. The world was full of evil people. A black cloud lingered over me, but I couldn’t let myself get too down in the dumps about anything. I needed to keep my focus on better times to come. It was a survival instinct for my mental health.
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I went to church on Sunday and had lunch at Edith’s, as usual. The weather was starting to get very bad. It was snowing heavily, the wind was blowing, and the temperature was dropping quickly. It was obvious that a snowstorm was moving in. Around 2:30 p.m., I got dressed and headed out to walk to the Len Ver motel. I had a hood on my jacket, which I wrapped around my face as best I could and clenched it closed with one hand. My brother Doug had given me a night case for Christmas, a small pink rectangular box with a handle on it, so my other hand held onto that. I treasured that gift. It was so pretty, though almost too small to be very practical. I didn’t need much when I visited Edith as she supplied me with all the clothes that I needed for the weekend.
I found the wind extremely fierce and cold, the snow was blowing horizontally. The Greyhound bus was delayed, but it drove in almost any weather. I went inside the restaurant and waited with the others. Finally, the bus arrived and we got on.
By now, visibility was very poor. It was after 5 p.m. and it was dark. We drove past Ed’s Grocery and I could tell it was closed. Ed and his wife lived in the home there, but the store itself was dark. Instead of stopping there, I asked the driver to stop at the Minnitaki Road corner. And so he did. He pulled to the side of the road, stopped the bus, and opened the door. Then he put his hand out to stop me.
The bus driver said to me very sternly, “I can’t let you off here. I don’t see any lights or a house. It’s pitch black outside and there’s a big snowstorm.”
“My house is almost two miles up that road.” I answered and pointed outside.
“Oh no,” he said. “I’m not letting you out into that storm.”
By now, the temperature had dropped even more. And it was so dark you could hardly see the white snow that was blowing around and piling up.
I squeezed past the bus driver’s outstretched arm and stood on the bottom step at the open door. Cold wind and pelting snow tickled my cheeks. Five days a week when I was in grade seven, I walked home on this road through rain, sleet, thunderstorms and whatever else Mother Nature could throw at me. It had never phased me before. I did it because I had to do it. What could be so bad to stop me now? I looked out into the wilderness to assess my options.
The darkness was definitely one factor I had to consider. It was like I was looking out into an abyss or black hole. The only light I could see was from the headlights of the bus, and from the doorway I was standing in, my silhouette being cast onto the snowbank outside. I looked at my boots and the road. I had never before seen the snow drifted so high. I could tell that my boots were not high enough to prevent the snow from getting in the sides. The height of the snow was lower at one side, perhaps a foot high, but it was three feet high on the other side. There could be less drifting farther on where the trees blocked the wind somewhat. However, it could be worse in some areas, too. I would not know that until I started walking.
It was obvious that no car had driven on this road for a few hours. It was unusual that it wasn’t plowed, but it was a Sunday night. They would plow it by morning, as it was on a school bus route.
The bus driver, probably growing impatient, was looking at me intently as I was looking out the bus door and continuing to assess my situation. I really didn’t know of another option, other than to walk in the snowstorm.
The snow was still falling, and the wind was still driving it horizontally. The pine trees were swaying from the force of the wind. Never mind whistling, these pines were humming and practically howling. It would take me at least 45 minutes to get home, maybe longer because I would be struggling much more than usual in the heavy snow. The weather could get much worse in a short time. The Crigger house would be the first lights I would see, if I could see them in the storm, and by that time I would be almost home. It was a long stretch with no place to seek refuge, to warm up, or to ask for help.
The temperature had dropped continually in the last few hours, it was likely to get even colder. As hardy as I was and as many times as I had walked this road, I realized that this time I probably could not do it. I had to admit to myself that I didn’t think I would make it. The bus driver was right to be concerned. The conditions were too severe for even me, a survivalist of the northern Ontario woods. I didn’t even have a flashlight.
“I absolutely will not let you off here,” the bus driver said, more forcefully this time. “I must take you to a house somewhere. Where can I take you? You are not getting off this bus until I know you are safe.”
Where could I go? The only place I could think of was Marg’s place. I hated to burden myself on anyone, even my friend. But I had no choice. Somebody had to take me in. So, I got back into the bus and pointed down the highway. “There is a house over there, you can let me off there,” I said.
The bus driver closed the door, drove the bus a little farther, and stopped in front of Marg’s house and let me out. “Take care of yourself,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.” I said, before shuffling through the deep snow on Marg’s driveway.
I walked up to the house, knocked on the door, and Marg’s mother answered. I asked for Marg and when she came to the door, I asked her if I could stay overnight. She called to her mother in Ukrainian and her mother agreed. Now I had to phone home and I dreaded it. It was Sunday and mom and Cliff would be absolutely miserable as always. I knew they would not be pleased. They wouldn’t even care if I was safe and warm on such a stormy night. They would be more concerned that the cows were protected in the barn and the chicken coop was closed up tight.
Cliff answered the phone and I asked for mom, but he wouldn’t let her talk. I explained that I was stuck at Marg’s and I wouldn’t be able to walk home tonight in this storm.
“You get home right this minute, young lady!” Cliff started to yell. “Get going and don’t you stop until you get home.”
I asked again to speak to my mom, but he refused to let me.
“Get home right now!” he shouted into the phone.
Cliff was a crazy madman and this was absolute proof of it. I tried to reason with him, thinking that this time he would realize how deadly it would be for me to try to get home by myself. I didn’t think a car could have driven down that road without getting stuck. I could not believe how angry he was, and how much he was yelling at me. I concluded that he must be insane.
Why didn’t my mother intercede and come to my defence? Where was my mother? They were stupid idiots. Unfortunately, they provided my food and my shelter, so I was stuck with them. Here I was, a 13-year-old girl forced to consider a life and death situation, I was the only one with any common sense and judgement.
This time, I wasn’t going to follow Cliff’s orders. I was smart enough to know that it would have been very difficult to survive a long walk on this very stormy night. Even with my strongest determination, it would have been risky.
“If you want me home, you come and get me!” I yelled back at Cliff.
He wasn’t taking this guff. “You wait ‘til you get home!” he roared. “You think you’re so damn smart but you’ll see what happens. You are going to get a bruising.”
I hung up.
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On the walk home, I had time to think. The bus driver was a saviour. If the bus driver hadn’t stopped me, I would have gotten off the bus and I would have tried to walk home. If I had frozen to death, when would they have started looking for me? Would mom and Cliff have gone to bed without trying to find me? I didn’t think I would have lasted long in that storm. The next morning, someone would have found my frozen stiff corpse stuck in the snow somewhere. Or maybe I would have been buried and not found until spring when the snow melted.
What about Edith? Did she care? She could see how bad the weather was before I left her house, but she didn’t even offer to drive me to the bus stop. What did she think happened when I got off the bus on the highway? She knew where I lived. Did she think that Cliff would pick me up at the highway? It was a reminder to me that the only person who cared about me, was me.
Actually, that was not quite true. The bus driver cared. He would not let me get off the bus in the middle of the wilderness on such a dark, cold, wintry night. He needed to stop me and be firm, otherwise I would have struggled to make it home somehow. It astonished me that a stranger cared about me more than my mother. The difference was that the bus driver used logic and reasoning to make a decision.
I walked up to our driveway and saw the car, so I knew mom and Cliff were home. Mom probably wasn’t expected at work at the hotel due to the big new snow. I hesitated before I opened the house door, wondering what kind of reception I would get, and braced myself for it. In most families, the child would be greeted with hugs and kisses, the parents so thankful the child had made it home safe and sound. That was a scene I remembered in a movie. Not in my life.
My mom was in the kitchen, barely acknowledged me, and told me that Cliff was waiting for me in the barn. I stood by the stove for a few minutes to warm up. I went upstairs to change into my barn clothes. I was expecting a lot of yelling and shouting when I got to the barn. Perhaps Cliff would run after me with his pitchfork. I was ready to dodge it, or anything he might come at me with.
But for some reason, Cliff said nothing about the situation. He just told me to get to work. He didn’t even yell at me. He acted almost like a reasonable man. He had settled down from his temper tantrum of the day before. Maybe he had time to calm down and realize how stupid he was. Maybe he realized just how bad the snowstorm was, and that it was unreasonable to expect me to walk through it in the dead of night.
I could never figure Cliff out, except that there was something about Sundays that made him go berserk. When the beer parlour was closed.
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