The Rocky Road Pact

Chapter 17: Wonderful Christmastime

December, 1981

I wake up thinking something good is going to happen, but I can't remember what. Then it hits me, it's the last day of school before Christmas!

I love the last day of school before Christmas. We only go in the morning for a party and exchanging presents. We pick names from a hat and then have to get the person a gift. I hope whoever got me this year gets me something good. Last year, Karen McCormick got me one of those cardboard story book things filled with life savers. Grotty. I don't even like life savers. I wrapped it up again when I got home and gave it to the mailman.

Mom says it's not the gift but the thought that counts and if I can't say something nice about something then don't say anything at all. So I guess the thought to give me 8 different packages of gross candy was good? After all, Karen probably didn't know I hated life savers. I don't think we ever discussed it.

She was kind of my friend and kind of not. She lived around the corner from me next to the frog pond, so on crisp winter evenings I trekked over to her place with my skates draped across my shoulders and we'd skate under the stars. Then, pink-cheeked, we'd go to her house for hot chocolate and marshmallows. Her older sister Gwen taught me the best hot chocolate trick. Put the powder into the cup first, and pour in a couple of drops of milk; not too much. Stir it around until it because a fragrant chocolate paste. Then, pour in the hot water gently, stirring the whole time. It makes a lovely, frothy foam on top and the powder is completely blended in. My mom makes hot chocolate in a hurry, slams the hot water in and gives in a quick stir so there's lumps of powder floating on the top. I notice things like that. It's why mom always calls me a fuss ass.

Anyway, sometimes Karen is nice like when we go skating on her pond and have hot chocolate after. But then sometimes when she's talking to the older girls and I come up and say hi, she barely notices me and turns back to the others, laughing a fake hyena laugh. I don't like her when she's being a little snot like that. 

I think about the hot chocolate and all the good things Christmas will bring while I get dressed for school. I wear my purple corduroy pants, the ones I just bought at the mall with mom, and also my favourite pink sweater with little red hearts all over it. I go over to my dresser and open my jewelry box and take out my little heart necklace Daddy got me for Christmas last year, and two elastics with red plastic balls attached. I brush my long hair and pile it into two pony tails, high on my head. They're crooked, so I take them out and start over again. Finally after three tries they look okay and I head downstairs for breakfast.

Mom burned the toast again but she still tells me to eat some. She lights a cigarette and takes a drag before putting a plate in front of me. "Eat Cassie Marie," she commands. The smoke from the cigarette makes me cough. Smoking is grotty to the max. "Promise me you'll never let a cigarette touch your lips," she always says to me, while lighting up another one. It's weird how parents forbid you to do stuff, but it's okay for them to do it. But she doesn't have to worry about me smoking cigarettes. I'd barf if I ever tried.

There's cereal on the table; sugary flakes of some kind, so I pour myself a bowl instead of the charred toast. I eat half the bowl and then bolt from the table.

"Cassie Marie, get back here and finish your breakfast," Mom says, exasperated. She is always exasperated with me. "Then, get your little sister out of bed. Roger, tell her."

"Eat your breakfast, Cassie," Daddy says in a bored tone, from behind the newspaper. Mom rolls her eyes. 

"I don't have time, Mom. I'm helping Mrs. Gardener set up the class for the Christmas party," I say.

"I swear, you like that Mrs. Gardener more than me," she mumbles, turning to dump her coffee in the sink and I freeze in my tracks. My excitement for the day ahead pops like a bubble and I feel a sad and confused. 

"For Christ's sake, Gillian," Daddy says roughly, putting the paper down.

"Well it's true," Mom shouts. The hand holding the cigarette trembles and she drips ashes on her beige skirt. "Look what you made me did. Now, I have to change," she says, stubbing out her smoke and going upstairs. "Two peas in a pod, I swear," she mutters, walking fast out of the kitchen and rubbing the front of her skirt.

Daddy and I look at each other. "She's under a lot of strain, Cookie She doesn't mean it. Come on, I'll drive you to school."

I choke down the tears that bubble up and nod; finish putting on my boots and coat and head out the door, the bounce gone from my steps. Before I felt like skipping, now I trudge. What did I do, I ask myself for the hundredth time? Why do I always seem to make Mom upset? All I said was I was helping set up for the Christmas party. I thought about it and now I wasn't excited any more. It just seemed like something I had to do, something ordinary. It wasn't a special day at all anymore.

Dad talked some more in the car about Mom and how she was "high strung" whatever that meant, and maybe I should try to talk to her more, ask her to do more things  with me just the two of us. But I try that all the time and she's still mean. She's a mean mom. And I don't know why.

Sometimes I hang around with Dolly Fraser, a girl from school. She lives with her brother and her mom; their dad ran off when Dolly was two. Their mom works at the fish plant and makes hardly any mother at all. Their house is small and dingy, there are holes in the carpet and they don't even have colour TV. But their mom is so nice. She's always hugging them and kissing them. When I'm over there, she makes the best meals, and ruffles my hair all the time and calls me Cassie Bear. Where my mom is all sharp edges and angles, Dolly's mom is soft and warm. 

Dolly says we're rich, and she wishes she could trade lives with me and live in my big house, with all my toys and a Dad who works and drives a car and stuff. I wonder sometimes what it would be like to do that, and have a mom who hugs me and is nice to me all the time. I wonder if I would switch if I could. 

"Have a good day Pumpkin and enjoy your party," Dad says, pulling up to the school. "Don't pay no mind to what your mother says. You're a good girl, Cassie," he says, his face serious. I know that. I just don't know why my mother doesn't.

"I will, Dad." I get out of the car and slam the door. It's early and I'm the only kid there; the school is desolate. It's an extra cold day, so I'm glad I wore my hat and mittens. It looks like the frozen arctic, with huge snow hills and drifts scattered across the schoolyard, half-burying the swings and teeter-totter. 

I realize I'm wrong; I'm not the only kid there. There's a boy sitting on a bench, staring off into the distance. It's the new kid, Jude. Looks like he forgot his mittens; he's rubbing his hands together. He sees me and gets up, racing to the door ahead of me and pulling it open. 

"After you, Madam," he says with a formal bow and I laugh. I don't know the kid that well; he's quiet and keeps to himself. But the few times I've talked to him, he made me laugh. I don't know what he's doing here, but the party just got interesting again. Very interesting indeed.