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  After five minutes of this appearance of togetherness, Etta would excuse herself and take her drink to the kitchen to “check on dinner.” She loved having her son home for at least one meal a week. She could see he’d lost the carefree glint in his eyes. He was thin and tired looking (she knew this marriage would be the death of him).

  The table was perfectly set, just like her mother had taught her. Her precious Rosebud pattern, Spode, would come out for its weekly display of English refinement. Flynn barely noticed the china, and Monique couldn’t care less; they both were only interested in the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Owen was pleased to have Lily by his side at the dinner table, ensuring each spoonful was small enough for her to manage safely.

  Like clockwork, Lily intuitively knew when it was time for her parents to take her back to the place that didn’t feel like home. As her Papa butted out his after-dinner cigarette, Lily lunged for her blanket to rub the satin and already had her finger in her mouth, sucking fretfully. Both Etta and Owen had a sick feeling packing her up while kicking and screaming. This routine continued week after week.

  It was a hard winter for all of them. They were snowed-in most nights. Flynn would set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. to start shovelling for at least an hour before returning to the warmth to make his breakfast. As he heated a can of whole tomatoes (familiar to him from his navy days called Red Lead) and made some toast, he would check to see if there was a lunch made for him. It was often a disappointment to see that his lunch pail was empty. The guys in the plant knew to bring extra for Flynn; they felt sorry for him having a deformed daughter.

  Despite Lily’s crying around 7:00 a.m., Monique wouldn’t be roused to get up and make her children breakfast. Instead, she’d drift in and out of sleep for another hour or so. Lily would be screaming in her crib, saying, “Toast, toast, toast,” as her little tummy was chewing on her backbone.

  Monique hated the drudgery of the long Sault Ste Marie winters where sunshine was craved by this housewife stuck within the small frame of their wartime home. It was extremely hard for Monique to establish a nurturing rhythm for Lily. Each day they would be at odds with each other. For such a little being, she showed a lot of resentment toward her mother for not knowing how to please her. Monique would lament why Lily was so demanding, and Nia was so at ease and accepting without complaint regarding anything Monique had to offer.

  Every other day was wash day. The never-ending pile of dirty diapers would be washed in the wringer washer, rinsed, and squeezed through the rollers to press out the water. Then they’d be placed in the basket to be hung outside. Monique would put on her ankle-high boots, her old winter coat with a kerchief tied around her head. She followed the little path Flynn would have shovelled in the morning, carrying the heavy load of wet diapers. As Monique climbed up onto the clothesline stoop, she’d plop the load down, bend over and pull one diaper out at a time, shake it out, and place the wooded clothes pins by the corners of the diaper. She’d repeat the process until thirty diapers were hanging, already stiffening in the frigid temperatures of the north. She tried to hurry this process as her long, delicate fingers would sting with the cold.

  By the time Flynn returned from his shift, there would usually be a meal underway. Monique would have at least three pots on the stove boiling: one for potatoes, one for beans, and the other for carrots. Monique never got the timing, the amount of water, and the amount of heat just right. Usually, two out of the three pots had “scorched” vegetables; however, whatever the meat was, she always got that right. After the dinner (when he worked the day shift) during the week, Flynn would get ready to go out for either bowling or the rifle range for target practice.

  Lily’s second winter was met with distress each day. Her blanket was filthy and tattered, all but a few remnants of the satin edging remaining, her index finger bled every day, and her baby front teeth were starting to protrude from the frantic sucking. Still, the only one coping was Nia.

  When April finally arrived, Lily took her first solo steps into her Papa’s arms one week before her second birthday. It was Sunday evening. Flynn sat on the couch with Monique sipping on their cocktails while Lily had the expression of an Olympian crossing the finish line. Etta was in the kitchen with her roast beef and gin, and Monique was holding Nia, only mildly interested in her eldest daughter’s achievement.

  Lily lived in two worlds of feast or famine when it came to her attention-seeking. At a young age, she realized her world had polar opposites of well being. She felt neglect and abandonment from her parents and acted out at every opportunity. Her baby sister was treated differently.

  Nia seemed numb to the chaos and seemed to have learned in her infancy that her crying couldn’t be heard amongst the choir of wailing babies in the orthopaedic ward of the children’s hospital.

  Lily easily caught on to the cycle of once a month, Monique would pull out the brown suitcase. With this monthly pattern of activity, Lily would smile with excitement. She knew the next move would be to Simpson Avenue for the week, while her mother and little sister disappeared.

  By the time Nia was one, the surgeries were completed. (Flynn was grateful he found the insight and the courage to hold strong to his decision of “no amputations.”) By her second birthday (with rigid splinting and painful stretching exercises that Monique and Flynn performed daily), Nia learned to walk. Nia hated the Oxford boots she had to wear while growing up. She knew she was never going to be an athlete or ballerina. Despite the surgeries, her less than perfect little feet made it hard for her to keep up with the other kids. At least her feet were functional, and overall (in her world), Nia adapted to her foot issues as being her normal.

  Regardless, Nia had traveled through a war zone. She felt immense abandonment, incredible fear, and the deepest of pain. Nia was caged (in an oversized hospital crib) for the first year of her life, like a helpless sick animal. With negligible human contact, hanging on to life (when she had contagious diarrhea), she naturally learned the psychological survival technique of numbing. Sad but true, Nia repressed these memories of her infant life. Her subconsciousness retained the learning about numbing, but when the pain became too great in her life, the effects of numbing resurfaced.

  Chapter 20

  Nia Growing Up

  Every day was a hard day for Lily and Nia. Monique was consistently absent, either in a sanitarium or doped up in her rocking chair, sleeping all day. The house was always disheveled, the refrigerator dependably empty, and their father was either at the plant trying to provide or retreating to find respite anywhere other than his address.

  Technically, Lily and Nia weren’t neglected, as their parents could be accounted for. Lily continued to evolve her rebel role, leaving Nia to be the reliable one. Every day, Lily would be irritable, and every day, Flynn would emotionally check out.

  Payday was the only good eating day at their house. Monique, Lily, now ten, and Nia, now eight, would go to the grocery store after Flynn got home with the car. While Monique had her driver’s license, it was debatable whether she should lawfully be allowed to drive. Reversing out of the driveway, it would take her several tries of grinding all of the gears to achieve the direction she wanted to go.

  Flynn would watch the car proceed up Township Line toward Highway Seventeen. He shook his head in frustration when the brake lights stayed on despite the car being in third gear, headed for the intersection.

  Lily rode shotgun, while Nia hung on to the armrest behind her mother to prevent sliding the other way when Monique was attempting to navigate. Once in the grocery store, the cart would quickly fill with the usuals. Nia looked forward to the treats like fresh, warm French bread and a jelly roll cake.

  The girls’ delight was predictably juxtaposed with humiliation as the cashier would ring up the total, and Monique would never have enough money. She would then pick the items to go back. Lily became used to the procedure; she had the strategy of getting the keys to the car ahead of the shameful checkout. On the oth
er hand, Nia was expected to stay and help her mother select the items to be left behind. The trio would return home with a chuck steak to be fried, a green salad, some Spanish rice from a box, and jelly roll cake. The only other good eating day was Sunday dinner with their grandparents.

  Lily grew tall and excessively lean. Nia was short and scrawny. Lily had the big beautiful brown eyes and long, satin, dark brunette hair and, despite her rebelliousness, was a true beauty. Nia never measured up to Lily’s exquisiteness.

  There was a steady, incremental increase in the level of discontentment in Nia’s home; it was primarily based on religious issues and conflicts. It would start Saturday night after Lily and Nia would have a bath together. They had great delight in playing in the bubble bath and drawing basic images on each other’s back while the other guessed what the drawing was. By the end of the bath time, “Hockey Night in Canada” would be on their black and white TV.

  That was when Monique would demand everyone’s shoes needed to be polished for Mass the next morning. The agony for all of the family predictably commenced. It would end with a very frustrated and angry father and a mother slamming the door to her bedroom. For Nia, a secure and nurturing household was unfortunately only recognizable in other peoples’ homes.

  Sunday morning, the row would continue. Flynn didn’t want to go to Mass or any other church, for that matter. Despite all convincing efforts on Monique’s part, she would drive herself and her children to Mass. As they entered the church, they dipped their fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross. Monique imagined all eyes were on her and her offspring without her husband attending. She felt judged and shamed for their obvious religious divide.

  Chapter 21

  Nia Takes the Bus

  Nia was only nine when she felt she was ready (or not) to take her first solo ride on the city bus. The magnitude of this journey became evident as she stood on the side of the Trans Canada Highway Seventeen North. The cold, wet, and very windy March afternoon offered no comfort for the seemingly endless wait. The cars and transport trucks sped by, spraying the highway slush on her bare legs. The wind whipped her long, blonde, tangled, wet hair against her face. When the bus finally arrived, Nia could hardly see. She took the large steps up to face the burly bus driver. After dropping her hard-earned change into the coin box and heard its rattle to the bottom, she noted the impatient bus driver eyeing her up. He gave a quick nod, which meant she needed to get to her seat. He looked displeased about having to navigate back into the fray of transport trucks heading north.

  The unoccupied seat Nia chose was frigid on her bare legs, and she could feel her wet skin sticking to the dirty, dark vinyl seat. Nia grabbed hold of the steel bar above the seat ahead of her, knowing she couldn’t sit back and take any pleasure in the ride.

  The bus proceeded way past the Davey Home for the Aged, opposite to where she wanted to go. Nia felt her apprehension rise as her singular plan to go downtown was going awry. A contingency plan didn’t occur to her; it was all or nothing. Had she taken the wrong bus? Nia smirked and relaxed as she realized this was the only bus that came to the fringes of the steel town. Eventually, the bus signalled to turn around somewhere a few miles between the Fourth and Fifth line.

  Nia could feel her shoulders descend a bit, as she felt reassured she was heading toward her southerly destination: downtown. Nia was excited yet felt somewhat guilt-ridden for deceiving her always-distracted mother. She told her mother she was just going to the “neighbours at the end of the road.” Well, she certainly went to the end alright, and significantly beyond for her young, very inexperienced years of nine.

  It was when she got to the top of Pim Hill that her heart stopped sprinting, as she knew she would soon be approaching the amazing Queen Street. The main street of this small Northern Ontario town seemed like New York’s Park Avenue to Nia.

  Her heartbeat went into overdrive again when she stepped off the bus in front of the only department store she knew, Kresge’s. The place seemed massive and magical to her. The big glass doors at the entranceway pushed opened, and the washed-out, creaky, hardwood floor seemed marvellously glorious to the poor-heeled waif from the township. She had only been in this store a few times with her Nany and Lily. Similarly, she was mesmerized by all the merchandise as she strolled wide-eyed and bushy-tailed down each aisle.

  Nia could smell the hamburgers frying and the shrilling sound of the machine preparing a chocolate milkshake in the frosted stainless-steel cup that she knew would soon to be poured into the tall funnelled glass with the well-positioned paper straw in the thick shake. Nia could hear the gastric juices flow in her empty stomach as she took in the aroma from the diner in that incredible department store. The reality was, though, that she had only seventy-five cents. If she wanted to buy herself something special and still afford the bus ticket home, she had no choice but to endure the pang of hunger.

  She eventually navigated to the piece de resistance, the cosmetic aisle. Lingering over the lipsticks and the tantalizingly cheap eau de toilette, this vulnerable, pre-adolescent girl thought she was in Wonderland. Persian Lilac was Nia’s favourite scent. She opened the small bottle and savoured the sweet fragrance, even though she knew she couldn’t afford that decadence. Nia knew she couldn’t bring home a lipstick, either, because the department store only had bright red ones like her mother wore. It would be much too conspicuous and improper for a nine-year-old to wear.

  Nia vividly remembered how her mother would stroke her exquisite French-Canadian cheekbones with the stunning red lipstick and then blend it in with her fingertips. (Her mother used her lipstick for her lips as well as her cheeks since she couldn’t afford rouge.) Nia also loved to watch her mother powder her nose and forehead then apply the bright red to her tender lips. She looked more cheerful with the colour on than the usual paleness of her mother’s everyday life.

  Finally, Nia chose a tiny, round compact of a creamy robin-egg-blue eye shadow. She loved the texture and bright colour. Her brows furrowed for a moment. What was she thinking? Despite knowing her father wouldn’t like her wearing eyeshadow, she felt it made her look and feel glamorous. Being beautiful was only a make-believe concept for a stray with an address of Rural Route number two. Oh, how she spent hours daydreaming of a more prosperous life. Fancy dresses with ribbons and crinolines, black patent leather shoes, and even her own underwear with lace were only fantasies for this nine-year-old girl.

  The bus that would take her back to the Township Line left the station only on the hour, and the five o’clock bus was the last bus of the day. Still wet, hungry, and very cold, she barely made it to the station and got on the bus with her remaining two dimes, clutching her tiny paper bag with the bright blue treasure.

  It seemed like an endless ride home. It was past five-thirty, and Nia had missed supper. Her mother wouldn’t have thought to save any leftovers for her simply because there never were any leftovers.

  Nia’s family was bustling around, quite unaware of her absence. Despite her lack of food, she felt delighted with the course of events that transpired that day. She’d managed the bus ride—all by herself. She took the risk and felt the fear. Nia handled the cold, wet process of getting to her favourite department store and now had the sheer pleasure of looking at herself with her bright blue eye shadow. Nia allowed herself to feel the glitz and the glamour of a Broadway star.

  That bus ride was as transforming then as it would be throughout Nia’s life. In fact, it was her first memorable demonstration of self-reliance, courage, risk-taking, compromise, and self-gratification.

  It took a brave little soul that day to take the ride on the big blue bus. Nia found a few cherished moments of imaginary pleasure. Despite being hungry, that nine-year-old girl went to bed dreaming of her next bus ride.

  Chapter 22

  Nia the Teenager

  Adele had a great deal of difficulty living alone on the farm since Jacque passed away three years earlier. She was in a bind, wanting
to stay on her farm, but her adult children insisted she needed to go into the “old age home” after she broke her hip.

  Nia was fifteen and saw this as an opportunity to create some distance between herself and the chaos of her family home. Flynn and Monique weren’t too pleased with the idea of Nia moving to the farm to help her grandmother; Nia had become the necessary buffer for the household to survive daily eruptions. Nia wanted to help the now-failing woman extend her time on her beloved farm. Another advantage Nia saw was the one hundred dollars a month of reimbursement she’d receive for looking after her grandmother.

  Adele’s day was oriented around her meals, which Nia took great care to prepare. Soon into the living arrangement, though, Nia realized it was a relationship of service only without any grandmotherly love. Nia intuitively felt the absence of this woman’s affections—never a hug, never a little kiss on the cheek, never a thank you. But what she did allow was Nia’s boyfriend to visit.

  In April of the previous year, Nia met Simon Windsor in front of the Bank of Montreal on Queen Street while she was out with a high school girlfriend. She had never felt such an urgent attraction to any young man before. She was in awe of his dark blue eyes, his blonde hair, and his strangely quiet and introspective demeanour. He was sixteen and went to a high school in the city. He showed a level of interest for Nia that she’d never experienced.

  At the time, what seemed alluring to her was Simon’s intent to pursue a girlfriend for an intense emotional coupling from the beginning. Given Simon’s fervent attention toward her and her need to feel a sense of security in her tumultuous life, their young relationship jumped way past a fleeting teenager’s crush to full-on believing they were in the forever kind of love.

  Nia couldn’t believe the voltaic permeation through her body when he first held her hand. Her sense of self felt encompassed by a power greater than herself. It seemed beyond magical for her as they strolled along the St. Mary’s River in Clergue Park. The following weekend, the handholding progressed to the inevitable first kiss. It was Nia’s first kiss too. Simon pulled her in and held her firmly with such great intention as if he was claiming her and wanting to own her from that moment forward. Nia’s response was spellbinding, with her total submission to every muscular bulge of his chest and arms. She felt enveloped into his ownership, which she mistook for love.