| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 5 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Saturday, October 23, 02:23:48pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Roberta Wirth was on the wagon for the moment, and working as a dishwasher at Pedro’s Prawns. Nikita was getting regular meals now, and going to school on a fairly regular basis. She had a school uniform—one that she could grow into—purchased from a local thrift store, and shoes that really fit. She also had a “new” set of play clothes that she was to change into immediately upon returning from school so as not to soil her uniform. They did not own a washer and dryer, and trips to the Laundromat were infrequent at best.
Nikita did not tell her mother that the other school children teased her mercilessly about her height, her thrift-store clothes, and her inability to do sums. Her teacher liked her determination and quiet manner, and gave her special treatment and tutoring, which did not endear her to the other students. They would surround her after school, taunting her and making fun of her name as she walked home. Some days, when she just couldn’t take the pressure, she went to the beach instead. She always stuffed her precious cargo under her blouse so she could look at it while dreaming on the sand.
À la Vie! “To Life!” Michael had told her. She stroked the white script on the black shirt and thought about Michael often. She had had her eighth birthday in February—she wondered if anyone had given him a party when he had turned 13 last October. She wondered if he still remembered her.
* * *
Military school hadn’t taught Michael discipline so much as it taught him how to circumvent it. Obedient by nature, he now saw rebellion as a challenge, and worked very hard to buck the system without getting caught or getting punished. His partners in crime were the Birkoff twins, Seymour and Jason. Canadians whose father was also a diplomat, they were open and fun-loving, and not beyond pulling a great prank just for the heck of it. Their favorite trick was to stand in for each other in certain classes. Seymour was the maths and physics whiz, while Jason excelled at the arts and languages. Their professors had no idea that each twin was receiving a completely lopsided education.
It was February now, and Michael had been away at school for two years. He decided it was time to really shake things up. The stink-bombs in the Underground had been inspired. Phone pages at Heathrow for Seymour Butts were sophomoric. He decided that on his fifteenth birthday, October 31st, he would stage the blow-put of all pranks. One that required special handling. Something that mandated planning and delicate timing. He would have to think this one through before consulting the Birkoffs and his other best friend, Helmut Volker.
* * *
Nikita was awakened suddenly by a horrible sound, one that she hadn’t heard in over a year. Her mother was singing. Loudly. Badly. And in tandem with a raucous male voice. Her mother was drunk. Swiftly, she climbed out of the bed she had been sharing with Roberta and took sanctuary in her closet. She gathered Michael’s shirt to her face and prayed that this man was too drunk to notice that Roberta had a daughter. Most of them were. Her mother and Nikita’s newest “Uncle” were undressing on the way to the bedroom, and bumping into furniture and laughing. They finally made it to the bedroom, where Nikita sat in terror.
After listening to the grunting, animalistic sounds she had learned to associate with grown-ups coupling, she heard first one, then two distinct snores. She cautiously opened the closet door and edged her way to the kitchen. Dressed in her play clothes, Nikita stuffed Michael’s shirt deep into a burlap bag. She followed this with a wedge of cheese, a hunk of bread, a bread knife, and a thermos of water. She also took a $5 note from the man’s wallet she found in his trousers that were crumpled in a heap on the kitchen floor. Closing the front door behind her, she quickly made her way down to the beach. She didn’t know how long she would have to stay there, and she wanted to be prepared.
* * *
Two days later she was sitting cross-legged on the beach, chatting away with Crazy Walter, and eating a handful of peanuts. She wished for a Pepsi to wash them down with, but she knew that was an era long gone past. Her mother hadn’t bothered to look for her yet, so she and Walter just sat, looking at the grey-green sea before them.
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