Stretch

28. Stretch

I picked up Ship about nine o’clock. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to go. I could hear his old man in the background asking who was at the door. Me and old man Shipley never got along. He doesn’t like Negroes. That’s what he calls me. A Negro. Sounds like an alien species. A Vulcan, a Clingon, a Negro. Only my grandfather uses that term. Grandpa told me once how he used to work as a porter on the CN lines. Worked the cross-country train, Toronto to Vancouver. Grandpa originally came from Nova Scotia. He couldn’t remember how far back our family had gone but the Anderson’s had been in this country longer than most of my friends and still people called us Negroes, or Coloreds, like we had just arrived. Like they were being polite. I hated that.

“Come on, man,” I pleaded. “If my Kingston blood can take this bloody storm then surely you can make an effort.” Of course I didn’t have any ancestors from Jamaica, but I didn’t fit anywhere else. So Jamaica became my hyphenated nationality. And the kids at school from Jamaica seemed so cool. No one came from Nova Scotia. No one that was Black.

“Close the bloody door.” His old man screamed from the inside the house somewhere. You could tell the old man had been drinking. Otherwise he’d be at the door himself giving Ship shit. Ship stepped onto the front steps, closing the door behind him.

“He’s really pissed, Stretch. Ever since he got dragged down to the school about my grades, he’s been pissed. Old man Brennan said that I could master the work if only I applied myself. The word applied real pissed him off. Why am I working my ass off for you to provide a comfortable home if you won’t apply yourself? he says. He thinks my grades are suffering on account of the friends I keep. That negro and that weirdo is how he refers to you and Junior. And then that break-in at the printers. God, he ain’t ever going to let me forget that.”

I looked down at Ship’s feet. He was only wearing socks. They were different colors. That’s the way their house was. Once I got invited to dinner. It was when we were just kids. Jackson’s old man served dinner right out of a pot. I don’t mean served it onto dishes. I mean everyone was handed a spoon and you just helped yourself to a pot that was handed around. There were open tin cans all over the sink. This was shortly after Ship’s old lady had skipped out on them. My mom called the Shipley’s white trash. I hated that. Ship was a friend but my mom doesn’t understand. She thinks that Ship is dragging me down.

“Ain’t you cold?” I asked looking down at Ship’s socks.

Ship shrugged. “I really want to go, Stretch. But he’s been ragging on me. If I go out he’ll blow a gasket. He let me come home. We have this agreement. Besides I got to finish that history essay.”

“Hey, Ship, no offence but you ain’t going to pass Brennan’s course. I took it last semester and the final exam is a bitch. Brennan is a tough marker. I only got 56.”

Ship hesitated. “You saying, I’m not smart enough?”

I shook my head. “Man, you don’t study. How are you going to pass his exam if you don’t study? And that essay you’re working on has to be 2000 words. How much have you done so far?”

Ship hesitated again. He was thinking. “I’m having trouble picking a topic. But I got a few days to do it. Brennan said I could do it during my suspension. Do you still have your essay from last semester?”

“Brennan would know it was mine. Besides he only gave me a 60.”

“60! Shit, that’s not bad. I could rework it, ya know. Put it in my own words.”

“Shit, Ship, Junior is depending on you. You know what Junior is like. If you don’t show up he’ll be pissed.”

Ship hesitated again. I knew he wasn’t coming. The prick was too afraid of his old man. I wasn’t angry for myself. Hell, I understood Ship. But Junior was something else. He would never forgive Ship. I didn’t say anything else, just turned and walked away. Christ, I hated being out in that storm alone. All that snow falling. Made me feel kind of lonely. I hate being alone. Makes me want to cry and I don’t know why. My grandpa used to say that loneliness was a conversation with God. Bloody one-sided conversation. By the time I got to the Canadiana my jeans were soaked. I stood by the cash register. The pregnant waitress put a cup of hot coffee in front of me. I told her I didn’t have any coin. She said it was a cold night to be out. It was on the house. That was nice. Junior said she was nice and he was right. Sometimes people do things for you, not big things but nice things. It makes you feel good about… things. Finally I got to speak to Junior alone. He was pissed when I told him about Ship.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll do it alone. You wait over at the Zig Zag. When Margaret starts cleaning up for the night I’ll wait around and help her until the chef leaves then I’ll say I’m leaving and hide in the men’s washroom. After you see Margaret leave, come up to the front door and I’ll let you in.”