‘Mrs E, you’re the best cook ever,’ I said, as I settled onto their plastic-covered couch to watch The Amazing Race with Mr E after supper.
Mrs E pinched my cheeks and handed me another honey cookie before she headed back to the kitchen to do the dishes.
I was belching under my breath and watching the recap from last week’s show when the doorbell rang. Mr E looked very comfortable in his La-Z-Boy, so I offered to answer it.
‘If they want money, you slam the door,’ said Mr E, as I walked out of the room.
But the guy at the door didn’t look like he was going to ask for money. He was twenty-five or so, average height, with muscles bulging out from under his tight black T-shirt. His dark brown hair was cropped short, almost like an army buzz cut, and he had a tattoo of a laughing skull on his right bicep. He was holding a duffel bag, and I was thinking of telling Mr E to call 911 when the guy spoke.
‘Who the hell are you?’
That wasn’t any of his business, so I just said, ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Who is it, Ambrose?’ shouted Mrs E, as she approached from the kitchen. She was carrying a plate, and when she saw who was at the door, she dropped it. It smashed into a bunch of pieces on the floor.
The crash was followed by a high-pitched scream, and I hoped Mr E was calling the cops because Mrs E launched herself at the guy. I thought she was going to hit him, but instead she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.
‘Cosmo! My baby! My baby is home!’
9
LICIRMAN
claim, mail, rain, rail, nail, lima, ra, car, mini, lira
CRIMINAL
MOM WAS SURPRISED to find me waiting up for her on the couch when she got home.
‘Ambrose, how come you’re not in bed? Is everything OK?’
‘He came back.’
‘Who came back?’
‘Cosmo. Mr and Mrs E’s jailbird son.’
I’d been listening to my mom’s CDs on our boombox for almost two hours, dying to tell her the news. ‘I was up there having dinner, they invited me, and he just showed up on the doorstep,’ I told her, ‘and asked me who the hell I was. And then Mrs E screamed and then she hugged him and then she started hitting him—’
‘Whoa, slow down. Are you alright?’
Was I alright? Sometimes Mom could totally miss the point.
‘I’m fine. He just stood there and let his mom hit him, then Mr E came out and boy, did he give Cosmo the stink-eye. Then he told me I had to go home, so I didn’t even get to see what team got booted off The Amazing Race. And I came down here, but I could hear them shouting and Mrs E crying, for, like, a long time.’
My mom sank into a chair and took off her shoes.
‘And he totally looks the part of an ex-con, too. Like a thug. Big muscles, tattoo, buzz cut – they probably gave him that haircut in prison. And I still don’t know why he was in jail, but I’ll find out—’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘Yeah, next time I’m over—’
‘You’re not going over there anymore. Not without me. Do you understand?’
And suddenly I realized my humongous error. I was talking to Mom like she would get how cool this all was, forgetting that I was talking to Mom.
‘Mom, come on—’
‘I’m serious, Ambrose. We have no idea what that young man did, and I don’t want you anywhere near him.’
‘But, Mom, Mrs E’s a great cook. And the finale of The Amazing Race is next week.’
‘My decision is final.’
She walked into her room and closed her door. And I knew there was no point even trying to argue. Because ‘my decision is final’ was really code for ‘I couldn’t keep your dad safe. And I won’t make the same mistake with you.’
But, of course, telling me to stay away from Cosmo was like telling a little kid not to lick a metal fence post in the middle of winter. Suddenly all you can think about is putting your tongue against the metal post. What will happen? What will it taste like? Will your whole tongue really come off when you pull? It becomes an obsession, and I know this from personal experience.
Besides, staying away from Cosmo required effort. The guy lived right upstairs.
Four days later, my mom had just left for work and I was settling in at our kitchen table to do my math when I heard a car pull up – a very noisy car that didn’t sound at all like the Economopouloses’ Ford Escort. I dropped my pencil and hurried outside to see a beat-up red sports car in the driveway. Cosmo climbed out of the driver’s seat, wearing faded jeans and a leather jacket.
‘I think you need a new muffler,’ I told him, trying to help.
Cosmo just glared at me and walked into the garage. I was about to head back inside when he appeared again, carrying a bucket and a sponge. He found the hose at the side of the house and started filling the bucket with water.
‘Gonna wash the car?’
‘Good guess, Einstein.’
‘What kind of car is it?’
‘’91 Camaro. Friend of mine let me keep it in his garage while I was away.’
‘You mean, while you were in jail.’
This earned me another glare. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.
‘That’s bad for you,’ I said.
He didn’t comment, but just started washing the car. I stood and watched. I don’t mind watching people go about their business, but I’ve found that sometimes they mind me watching them.
‘You’re giving me the creeps,’ Cosmo said, after a while.
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?’
‘No.’
He looked at me like I was an alien. ‘Those are very interesting pants.’
‘Thanks.’ I was wearing my favorite purple cords. ‘I could help you,’ I added.
‘Don’t need it, thanks.’ He took a long drag off his cigarette.
‘Have you ever stopped to think about the names they give cars? Like Neon. Who wants to drive a Neon? Or Aspire. Aspire to what – owning a better car?’
I laughed at my own joke, but he didn’t crack a smile. He just took off his leather jacket to rinse the soap off his car, the cigarette dangling from his mouth. I could see his tattoo move as he worked.
‘What did you do?’ I asked.
He glanced up at me, squinting in the sun.
‘Why did they throw you in the slammer?’
Cosmo raised an eyebrow. ‘The slammer?’
I nodded. ‘Should I be worried for my personal safety?’
He studied me for a second. Then he lowered his voice: ‘You really want to know?’
I nodded again, even though an icy finger of fear was working its way up my back.
He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. ‘I got sent away for killing a boy just about your age. A boy who asked too many stupid questions. One day, I just snapped.’
Then, with one swift motion, he grabbed something and pointed it at me, and I thought I was going to poo in my pants. I ducked, but it was too late. I was hit—
With water. From the hose. Within seconds I was soaked.
After I’d changed out of my wet clothes and hidden them under my bed so Mom wouldn’t ask questions, I went straight back to my math homework. But it was hard to concentrate. I was pretty sure he’d been pulling my leg about murdering the kid. But not so sure that I didn’t barricade our door with a chair first. Just to be on the safe side.
10
URREDMRE
re, red, mud, drum, rude, reed, deer, me
MURDERER
‘BLECH, I’M DRENCHED,’ said my mom. It was Saturday and we had just come home from buying fruits and vegetables on Broadway at the Golden Valley, where the woman who runs the place always tries to give me a free candy but Mom always refuses. We’d been caught in a rainstorm on the way home, and Mom got the worst of it because she wasn’t wearing her rain jacket.
When she went into the bedroom
to get changed and I started putting away our groceries, there was a tap at the door.
‘Can you get that?’ Mom called.
Now I was still pretty sure Cosmo had been pulling my leg about killing a kid, but as a guy can never be too careful, I grabbed the closest weapon – a mesh bag full of oranges – and quietly approached the door, asking myself if I really thought I could thwart a killer, armed with citrus fruit.
I couldn’t see anyone through the gauze curtain of our window. ‘Who is it?’ I said, in a deep voice.
‘Soula.’ It took me a moment to remember that Soula was Mrs Economopoulos’s first name. I put down the oranges and threw open the door. ‘My brother has slaughtered a lamb,’ she said. ‘He gave us half. We’d like to have you to dinner tonight.’
Mom and I hardly ever ate red meat. Mom had ‘moral issues,’ and besides, it was beyond our budget. I, on the other hand, loved red meat. My body craved it. But what if Cosmo had been telling the truth? What if he snapped again and made me his next victim during dinner? Was it really worth risking my life for a few helpings of lamb?
The answer was obvious. ‘We’d love to,’ I said quickly, before my mom could dream up an excuse. She’d just come out of her room and I could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking hard to come up with one.
‘But, Ambrose, don’t we have—’
‘Nope. We have nothing planned. Nothing.’
Mrs E smiled. ‘Great. Come at five-thirty.’ Her smile wavered slightly as she added, ‘You’ll get a chance to meet Cosmo. He’s really a good boy.’
Despite being a killer, I thought, as Mrs E left the apartment – even though I didn’t really believe him. But when we arrived for dinner, Cosmo was nowhere to be seen. Mom handed over a jar of her homemade apple chutney, which I secretly called upchuck-ney because it tasted awful.
We made small talk for a while in their living room and I admired their plate and spoon collections, which hung on one wall. They’d put on their gas fireplace and it was bright and cheerful, despite the continuing rain outside. Mr E poured Mom a glass of their homemade wine. I got a glass of Coke, and I was grateful that my mom didn’t launch into her speech about pop having no nutritional value whatsoever, which would then morph into her speech about the corporatization of the world by companies like Coca Cola Ltd.
When we sat down to eat in the dining room, the table was set for five.
‘Is Cosmo joining us?’ I asked.
Mr E shrugged apologetically. ‘With Cosmo, you never know.’
‘You must be glad to have him home,’ my mom said, and I could tell she was going on a fishing expedition.
But all Mr E said was, ‘Yes, happy.’
‘He’s a good boy,’ Mrs E said, for the second time that day.
The food was amazing. Barbecued lamb and roasted potatoes and this special spinach dish that actually made me like spinach. Mom couldn’t resist asking if everything was peanut-free. By now, this seemed a bit insulting, but Mrs E cheerfully reassured her. Mr and Mrs E even politely took a spoonful each of mom’s chutney and told her it was delicious.
I was admiring the big chandelier that hung over the table when we heard the front door open.
‘Cosmo? You want some food?’ Mr E called out.
No one answered. I caught a glimpse of Cosmo’s back as he headed down the hall. Mr and Mrs E shared a quick, worried glance, and I could tell from my mom’s tight smile that she was feeling uneasy. Then Mr E picked up the platter full of lamb and asked, ‘Who wants seconds?’
To which I naturally replied, ‘Me.’
After dinner, Mr and Mrs E ushered us back into the living room. Mr E poured my mom an ouzo (a Greek liqueur that smells like licorice) and gave me another Coke, while Mrs E brought out a tray of homemade pink and white meringues.
We sat on the crinkly couch and pretty soon the adults got into a big discussion about real estate prices in Vancouver. Mom was complaining that she’d never be able to afford to buy here, which I thought was ironic, and maybe even hypocritical, because the truth was, we couldn’t afford to buy anywhere on what she made, and that is not a complaint, just a fact. Mrs E was saying they’d bought back in the late seventies, when things were more affordable. It was kind of boring, so I drifted. I ate a second meringue, pink this time, and washed it down with Coke. Then I thought about the words you could make from ‘Economopoulos’ (monocles, compels, compose, clomps, clumps, columns, consume, coupons, pounces) and had just come up with couples, when I suddenly let out an enormous and totally unexpected belch.
‘Ambrose!’ my mom said.
‘I’m sorry. Really. It was the Coke,’ I said, which made me realize that I really, really needed to pee. But I knew the washroom was down the same hall that Cosmo had disappeared down, and I might run into him. I held it for as long as I could, and I even thought about making a dash for the bathroom at our place, but I couldn’t see how to explain that. So, finally, I excused myself and bolted down the corridor, past another spoon collection hanging on the wall and into the washroom.
I locked the door, then I peed for what felt like five minutes straight. I did some other stuff, too, because when you’re not used to eating a lot of meat, it sometimes doesn’t digest that well.
When I left the washroom, I saw him. He was in his room, at a desktop computer. It looked like he hadn’t bothered to redecorate since he was a teenager. The walls were still covered with Guns N’ Roses posters and one practically life-size poster of Pamela Anderson, which hung over his bed.
I stared at Pam for a while, which made me feel tingly, then I tried to see what was on his computer screen, but his back was blocking my view. I don’t know why, but I wanted to see what he was looking at. Well, I sort of do know why: I was hoping he was looking at pictures of naked women, maybe even naked Pamela Anderson. Even though I didn’t really believe he’d killed a kid, I figured he wouldn’t try to murder me with his parents and my mom down the hall, so I walked into the room.
What I saw on the computer screen was disappointing and surprising all at once. He was in the middle of an online Scrabble game.
‘You play Scrabble?’
Cosmo almost jumped out of the chair. ‘Jesus Christ. Don’t sneak up on people like that.’
‘I play Scrabble, too.’
‘That’s great.’ But he didn’t say it like he meant it. He turned back to his game.
‘I’m quite good.’
He didn’t answer. I could see him staring at his letters: GINWXAQ. Eventually he placed the word ‘WING’, using ‘ING’ from his own letters and attaching them to an existing ‘W’. The ‘G’ was on a double word square, so it got him sixteen points.
‘Huh,’ I said.
‘Huh? What does “huh” mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying?’
‘Yes.’
‘I bet you drive your teachers nuts.’
‘I don’t have any teachers right now.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t go to school.’
He turned away from his screen and looked at me. ‘What do you mean, you don’t go to school? Everyone goes to school.’
‘I’m homeschooled. Well, correspondence schooled.’
‘Correspondence schooled. In the middle of Vancouver. Where you’re surrounded by schools.’
‘I used to go to a real school till last month.’
‘What happened?’
‘Three guys tried to kill me.’
Cosmo laughed. It was clear he didn’t believe me. ‘Too bad they didn’t succeed.’ He turned back to his game.
‘Did you start to play Scrabble in jail?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I’ve played with my mom since I was eight.’
‘Great. Now look, I really need to concentrate on my next turn.’
That’s when his opponent laid down ‘ZOOS’, with the ‘Z’ on a triple word sc
ore square and the ‘S’ at the end of Cosmo’s ‘WING’, getting a total score of fifty-one points.
‘Damnit,’ said Cosmo.
‘You should’ve played “WAXWING” on your turn instead,’ I told him. ‘It’s a type of bird. You had all the letters. It would have given you forty-four points instead of sixteen, and you would’ve blocked your opponent’s shot at the triple word score.’
Cosmo stared at me.
‘You kind of handed him “ZOOS” on a silver platter,’ I added.
That’s when Cosmo threw his Official Scrabble Dictionary at me and I yelled – because it startled me, not because it hurt – and Mom came running into the room. Even though I said everything was fine, she thanked Mr and Mrs E for a wonderful evening but said that she had to get me home to bed, which was embarrassing because it was only eight o’clock.
Down in our apartment, I could hear shouting from upstairs, then the front door slamming. Cosmo’s Camaro screeched out of the driveway, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t finished his Scrabble game.
Which was probably for the best because he was obviously getting slaughtered.
11
TYMEP
type, temp, yep, my, yet, met, pet, me, pye
EMPTY
WHEN I WOKE up the next morning, I tiptoed out of my room still wearing my rocket-ship pjs, which were starting to ride up my ankles. I thought I’d read my book on the couch for a while and have a piece of toast while Mom slept because she always sleeps late on Sundays.
So I was surprised to see her at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee from the WORLD’S GREATEST MOM mug I’d bought her three years ago at a garage sale for twenty-five cents. She was looking through the Courier, a free newspaper that got delivered to the door twice a week. I poured a bowl of no-name multigrain flakes into a bowl and chopped up a banana on top and sat beside her. She was looking in the classifieds, under APARTMENTS FOR RENT.