Ray of Light

p. blake

I'm grounded for life. In dad's dictionary that means two weeks. But keeping in mind that my dad is a police officer, I knew I would be facing a long and difficult week.

I not able to even let a hair strand out my house. I’m taken to school in my dad’s Subaru and after school he picks me up in a police car, earning a good amount of stares that make me never want to return to school. Then, I sit a Sheila’s desk down at the station. She was on maternity leave for the next three months, leaving me in a room filled with testosterone.

Dad walks in with coffee in his hands, a bag of muffins dangling from his mouth. He sets them down as he looks at Sammy, pointing to him. “Next time you’re going for coffee during rush hour,” dad huffs as he walks to the desk I’m sitting at. He towers over me, “Did you finish your homework?”

I nod my head, “I’ve had it finished hours ago, Brian.” Bored, I keep my head placed in the palm of my hand, my chin falling deep into the pit of my hand. I notice his silence, and I finally hear myself through his guilt. I clear my throat, “Dad.”

His fists are on his hips, his head is hanging low. He wasn’t look at me, he was looking past me. He rolls his lips before looking at me, ashamed at himself. “Hey, how about you take a tour through Central Park if you’re done.”

My ears perk, my eyes widen. “Seriously?”

He gives me a half smile, “Yeah, just get here before eight, okay?”

I stand up, curious. “I’m grounded, remember? You do remember, right?”

“Yeah but it’s being lifted today,”

“So no more driving me to school, and I can hang out with my friends again?”

“I said today, don’t get carried away,”

I shrugged, grinning, “I’ll take it, I’ll even meet you at the diner later for dinner.”

“Actually, I’m making dinner tonight, buttercup.”

I stiffen.

Déjà vu.

“Daddy, why were you and Mommy yelling?” I question, my eyes big. My dad sits at his designated spot: the end of my bed. He ruffles my hair as he’s about to tuck me in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” But I do.

“Are you a Mommy going to divorce?” At the time, I lost my two front teeth to a granny smith apple. He chuckles, patting my shoulder as his hand stays there to look me deep in the eyes. Blue looking at blue.

“Just appreciate you have two parents right now, buttercup. You’ll understand when you’re much older.”

But I am older. And I know that story. Mom cheated on Dad because Dad cheated on Mom before I was born.

Revenge.

Except she waited a couple years after to actually get back at him. I don’t even know why. But in a twisted way, they’re square. They’re even.

“Okay, dad.” He lets me go, watching me closely as I reached for the door. His eyes were on me even as I left, I can feel them burning my back.

Smoke wraps around me as a man in his mid sixties passes right by me. He sucks in the poison in his cigarette, letting the nicotine and tobacco cloud his lungs. He blows out with a hack, taking another hit from the cigarette.

The wind directs itself towards me as I inhale the the taste of his addiction. The smoke floats around me, stinging my eyes as I choke out a string of coughs. My eyes tear up, my throat dries.

Without even a chance to open my eyes, I felt the concrete rip out from under me as I felt slammed into. They tried holding me up by my biceps when they pushed into me, but it was too late. My eyes were still closed, and my throat felt itchy. I squinted my eyes, looking at the fuzzy figure hunching over me. He had brown, almost black, hair. The color of his eyes weren’t clear, but he had slanted eyes. I could tell from the outline.

He held out a hand, extending it towards me. I met him halfway, feeling his grip pull me back to my feet before my vision became clear again. I stood stunned, my eyebrows arching together.

“Oh, you’re P!” I stared at him. “That’s your name, right? I don’t know how could anyone forget it, it’s just one letter,” he chuckled nervously as I was still staring.

I had forgotten about him. I had been thinking about how life would be when I’m not grounded, he never crossed my mind. I thought about him on the way home, wondering if he got bailed out, but that’s the most thinking I did about him.

“You remember me, right? This will be all too embarrassing if you didn’t.”

I nodded my head slowly, trying to trace back his name. “Yeah, you’re Caleb.”

He sighed, his face slumped, “Calum.”

“Oh, yeah,” I snapped my fingers, remembering him sharing his name in the backseat. After a moment of silence, I smiled tightly, “Well it was good seeing you again, but I have to go.” I turned away, my lips falling into the same blank expression as it was always in.

“Wait,” he said before I pushed myself into the busy crowd. I halted, turning back to him reluctantly. “Where are you going?”

I honestly didn’t know. Central Park was full of molesters, or at least that’s what I heard. And maybe a long walk could ease the tension in my life. I figured I’d see something that draws my attention like the sight of a burger, but with no money in my pocket, I probably wouldn’t stop to eat. Or buy anything. “Wherever the wind takes me,” I felt myself shrug even though I scolded myself for saying something so cliché and idiotic. The wind was blowing towards the station, it’s whirls rasping on the door.

“You’re in luck because so am I,” I stared at him for a moment. Seriously? I groaned to myself, leading the way to the end of the street. He was tagging behind me as my tail until he caught up with me. Shoulder to shoulder.

“So, what does the P stand for?” he tried to make a conversation out of the awkwardness. I prefer he didn’t even talk. Or walk besides me.

I shot him a nasty look, “Please. As in please mind your own business. ”

He bit his lip, “Sorry.” He spoke his apology softly. I looked forward, seeing clothing stores near by.

“So are you really letting the wind take you somewhere, or was it an excuse to talk to me?” I saw how his cheeks flushed into a rosy color. It kind of brought out his eyes, if I must say.

“No,” he coughed, nervously obviously, not looking at me. I smirked. “I mean, it’s just a coincidence that I saw you, and how you were walking wherever. So, why not have a friend to accompany you?” I could give him a lot of reasons on why not.

“The wind can take us into the Hudson River, are you sure you still want to follow me?”

“I’ll take that chance,” he shrugged, a smile forming on his lips and a scowl forming on mine. “And in some cases maybe you’re following me.” In that moment, he quickened his pace so he was a head of me by a little. I rolled my eyes, folding my arms together.

“All I’m saying is that you’re walking with a complete stranger, who you were arrested with,” I warned him, hoping he would back off. It only attracted him ever more.

“Yeah, but you’re Canadian, so you must be friendly.” He was smirking this time, I was snarling. I rolled my eyes, hoping he’d notice that this was the second time I rolled my eyes at him.

“Well for an Asian, you’re not so smart,” I shrugged with a fake smile. That slapped his smirk right off, replacing it with a scowl.

“I’m Australian! I have family in New Zealand! It explains the shape of my eyes!” At least I knew his soft spot now. His pressure point as I liked to call it. My dad’s was the divorce. He was making pasta when I brought it up to tick him off. My karma was an hour lecture, and burnt pasta.

“Whatever you say.”

We walked three minutes without saying a word. He made sound effects of him shivering from the spring breeze, but even that couldn’t ease anything. If anything, it made me think he had problems.

“So, why are you in New York?” I don’t know if I stopped for a moment. I felt like I did. I felt like I was kicked in the gut, the wind knocked out of me. It wasn’t until my legs started moving forward that made me realize that I was still in motion.

“Why do you have so many questions?” I countered the response, throwing it back to him. Every bone in my body wanted to drive this boy insane.

“Because you seem interesting,” he shrugged his shoulders, looking over at me. I wanted to assume that he thought his remark would make me blush, or giggle, but I shot him another spiteful look. Thrown in with an eyeroll. I think I heard myself laughing bitterly for a moment when he stared at me.

“There is nothing interesting about me,” I pushed my hair back.

He didn’t say anything, but I knew he disagreed. And felt embarrassed. “But unlike you, I’ll answer anything,”

Fourth eyeroll while being with him.

“And if you’re wondering why I’m in New York, the answer is that I’m recording part of my album here.”

I shook my head, “I wasn’t wondering at all.”

It still didn’t drive him away. I sighed, annoyed. More annoyed at the fact that I wanted to know why he was recording an album.

“So album? That means you’re famous?”

He was indecisive for a moment. He shook his head, hesitant. “We’re getting there, but a good majority of girls on Twitter love my band.” I nodded my head, understanding none of it. I had no idea how so many people could admire one person. It was the complete opposite for me. “You might have heard our song ‘She Looks So Perfect’?”

“Nope, not at all.”

He was appalled, “Really? It’s on the radio a lot.”

“Well maybe I have, but I didn’t know it was you singing.”

His shoulders slumped. I hope he was getting tired of me.

“My band and I have also toured with One Direction. You might recognize me from there if you went to their concert.” This time I did laugh. And it was loud. It bounced off the skyscrapers, the sound flowing into his ears.

“I wouldn’t go to a One Direction concert even if I had front row and VIP tickets.”

“That’s a bit rude.”

“Look, Calum, they’ve got looks, but nothing I’m into. Going to their concert is social suicide. Literally, their music is bubble gum and trash. I rather listen to nails scratching a chalk board.”

He kicked a pebble, “Not all the songs are bad.”

“But your band, what’s your sound?” I asked, switching up the subject.

He smiled proudly, “Punk rock, punk pop.”

I didn’t even take him as a punk fan. “Well, drop me off a CD of yours, and I’ll give it a listen.”

He grinned, “Sure.”

///

“So is Australia really worth two thousand dollars?”

“Depends where you go,” he says as he holds a shirt with holes up to his chest. “If you’re flying to Sydney, then yeah. It’s really worth it. You’ve got scuba diving, and the opera house, and surfing, and really just a bunch of fun things. ”

“Sounds like fun. In my hometown, there isn’t much to do, but if you drive to Toronto then you’re opened to more opportunities. But Toronto is an eight hour drive, I think, and my friends and I used to hit the city on long weekends. And during New Years, we’d fly to Quebec and stay there for a week,” I felt myself smiling, remembering the road trips I took with Nina and her boyfriend, Weaver. He would buy us drinks from bars, and we’d get drunk every New Years in our hotel room.

“Adventurous, nice,” he half smiled, picking up the jeans and flannel he picked out.

“Please, all those cities are hours away from my middle-of-no-where town. If I lived in Sydney, I could paint the town,” I pull out a shirt that I think he’d look good in, holding it up for him to see. His face puckers as he makes a face, “But my mom is probably there, so I guess she’s living my dream.”

“No way, your mom is in Sydney?”

“I don’t know about Sydney exactly, but maybe somewhere in Australia. She set sail for the Pacific Ocean with her boyfriend last March, so she must be there,” I was looking at the price tag to one of the shirts he was buying. I made a face, wincing at how pricey the shirt was even though it was on the sales rack. His band must be really popular if he could afford to buy clothes like this.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, P.”

“What?” I picked up my head, my brows furrowing together.

“Your mom. It’s pretty messed up how she just left for the ocean, and not bothering to take you with her,” if I knew where I was standing, I would have never even opened my mouth. I was in a dangerous territory: no man’s land. I was exposed, and I knew something would hit me. Either the truth, reality, or Calum.

I shake my head, forcing on a grin. “My mom didn’t leave me. She left with her boyfriend because she wanted to check it off her bucket list. She offered me to go with her, but I get terribly seasick, and I had school at the time. But she left me with enough money to last me till the end of grade eleven.” It was actually the opposite. She just gave me a heads up three days before she left, and when I begged for her to take me with her, she said no. She did leave me with money, but it barely lasted me two months.

“Still, your mom could have stayed until the year finished,” a slight part of me wanted to hug him because he agreed with me. And that was the argument I used when I begged her to at least stay, but she didn’t want to do that either. She wanted out of that town as much as I did. But she did leave me in away, throwing me in the hands of a man I could barely remember.

But as much as I agreed with him, I couldn’t let him know that. And despite how much I wanted to rant to him about how disappointed I am in my mother, I knew that would be exposing a huge part of me. So instead I shake my head, “Listen, I don’t mind her leaving. I didn’t want to hold her back from a dream because she wouldn’t do that to me. Besides, I love New York. Who doesn’t love seeing a tourist attraction on every block.”

I hated New York City. I’d stay in a hotel for a night, but living here was too extreme. There were tourist attractions on every freaking corner. I have to find different routes to school because tourist are in my way. And it is so hard to move around them. They’re never paying attention when they cross the street because they’re always gawking and taking pictures, and they move so slow.

“So, why did you drag me into this store? Don’t all guys hate shopping?”

“Yes, but I’m not shopping for myself. Which is even more boring, but it’s for my friend’s birthday. And, you know, he wears clothes obviously, and it’s probably a lot more meaningful than a gift card.”

I cross my arms, leaning against a mirror, “Yet you pick out a shirt with holes?” I hold the fabric between my fingers as I raise an eyebrow at him.

“It’s style,” he argued. It was a stupid argument, that we could debate for hours. He was spending more than fifty dollars on a muscle tank with holes. I roll my eyes, it being the twenty-sixth time already in this day.

“It’s a rip off,” I mumble, checking my phone for the time. I had at hour and a half to be back. Knowing my father, he probably had set up a countdown to eight o’clock. “So what’s next?”

“More shopping. But here’s the twist, it’s for a girl,” he looked exhausted, like he was ready to pick up a gift card and head home.

We shuffled into the girls department, moving through the gaps made between mothers and daughters. I used to hate shopping with my mother. She always picked out the ugliest outfits, and wanted to buy things on sale only.

“My mate’s cousin. Her birthday is coming up too,”

I nodded my head, crossing my arms as I remembered the countless amount of times I’d hang out at the mall in Canada. Nina and I would goof around near the jewelry counter, and annoying older women threatened to have us escorted out. On our birthdays, we’d have massive shopping sprees, our shopping bags reaching the crook of our elbows.

“So you’re a girl, how do you shop for one?”

I looked at the different outfit options, “What’s her style?” As if I were blessed by the gods themselves, I had a keen eye for styling. I could take someone’s closet and put together new outfit combinations. I often did it for Nina when she was low on money.

“I don’t know, she wears skirts sometimes. And she likes to wear jeans too.”

I thought about all the sarcastic things I could say, but it wouldn’t get me out of this store. “Okay, what’s her favorite color?”

“I don’t know, we’re not that close.”

“Then why are you buying the girl a gift?”

“Well she’s providing me with shelter for the next three months, so in a way I’m obligated to,” so three more months. Three more months until he’s gone and he goes off to whatever country he’s from.

I sigh, frustrated, “What does she usually wear?”

“Jeans, sometimes skirts. She likes whatever,” he looks at this one shirt with a cat on it. I breathe in heavily, restraining myself from snapping at him.

I check my clock once more, if I left now I could meet my father at home, instead of the station.“Go from the line, and I’ll pick something out in your price range.”

I had a soul, and I knew I would feel guilty if I picked out something that was too expensive for me. I stayed in my comfort zone: the sales rack.

Calum was too stupid to forget to tell me her size, but from my knowledge on fashion, I picked a medium. If she was skinny, she could work a baggy look. If she was medium, then I was really lucky. If she was overweight, then she could use it as something tight. But I wasn’t going to buy her a crop top because I didn’t know how comfortable she felt about showing skin. Instead, I picked out a knitted burgundy sweater, a thick golden chain necklace, and ring with a flower on it. Everything put together was half of what Calum’s pickings cost.

He smiled in relief when he saw me approaching him. The lady in front of him was just having her purchases bagged together when the cashier called us over to ring us up. She was middle aged, the bags under eyes giving away that she was terribly exhausted.

“That will be one hundred and four dollars and seventy-four cents. Cash, credit, or debit?” Calum pulled out a credit card from his wallet as I stood close enough to see he had crispy bills in there. They looked new, and he could have paid right there with the cash in his wallet. “Have a good night,” the cashier said dully, as she stuffed the apparel in the store bags. She let out a yawn in her elbow as she handed him the bag.

“So much for service with a smile,” he muttered to me as he held open the door for me. I didn’t say anything, I just kept clicking the home button on my phone to check for the time. Calum eventually noticed me blinking the screen, and looked at me curiously. “What? Got some big party to go to after this?”

“I wish,” I tucked my phone in my pocket, it being obvious that I had less that twenty minutes left. “No, but I have to go now. And the police station is a forty-five minute walk, meaning my dad will add another week to my grounding, but my apartment is only thirty minutes walk, and it would be easier to whistle for a cab, but I have no money, so I think I’m going to take my chance- ”

“Say no more, I’ll pay for your taxi,” he interjects.

“No, no, no. I’m not taking money from a stranger.”

“But I’m no stranger! We were arrested together, we officially have history,”

“Not the kind of history I want to remember.”

“Well if I accompany you, will you let me pay?” Taxi’s in the city were really expensive, and I did have to pass a bad street, and it was dark. But my soul was trembling, telling me I’d feel guilty for making Calum pay these insane taxi prices. “I live about fifteen minutes away by car, thirty minutes by walking too. I could drop you off first, and then I could know where to drop the CD off to.”

“Still...” I looked down, screwing my lips to the corner of my mouth. I could care less about the city, and more about my dad extending my punishment. And fighting my conscience won’t get me home on time.

“Okay, pay me back the next time I see you. We can split the taxi fare?”

It sounded reasonable so I nod my head. “I’ll call over the taxi, okay?” I say as I edge towards the curb, waving my arm up as maybe twenty taxis zipped by. It wasn’t until the twenty-third one pulled over, revealing the driver was some greasy old man. He smelled of diner grease and like a McDonald’s bathroom. I scrunch my nose, breathing through my mouth. I look over my shoulder at Calum who was doing exactly the same.

“Where to?” He asks, his voice breaking into a cough. Another smoker. I’m lucky.

“Murray Hill. Drop me off on East Thirty-fifth street, please.”

Calum looks at me, the tip of his lips picking up into a smirk. “Drop me at thirty-fourth last,” the greasy driver does as told, and hit the pedal lightly as he joins in on the minor traffic. “So, we’re kind of neighbors?”

I look at him, my eyebrow arched into it’s familiar position. “No, you live a block away.”

“Still, it’s near by. We could bump into each other,” I’ll make sure to avoid thirty-fourth.

“That’s if my dad lets me out of the house.”

“Oh yeah, your dad. The police officer. Scary.”

I shake my head, “Not really, he’s actually a big softy for an officer.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t he carry his gun around?”

“No. He keeps one gun at work, and one in a hiding spot.”

“Oh, not scary at all,” he says sarcastically. I smile, rolling my eyes as I turn my head to the gleaming lights. The first time I went to New York City was during winter break in grade one. It was around Christmas time, and I swore I never saw such a pretty city. We’d take taxi’s around town, squeezing four people into the backseat. Our hotel room had a beautiful view of the city, better than the apartment that I’m living at right now. Even when the lights were out in the room, the city did a better job of lighting up the city than the moon. And it was almost Christmas, and even more lights were on. It made me think of their electricity bill, it made me think of how this city never sleeps. Not because of the noise, but because of how bright it is.

“So last time we were in the back seat of a car, I believe you were handcuffed to me,” he was still smirking.

“Please, I’m trying to forget about being arrested,” I rubbed my eyes, tiredly.

“C’mon, it was exciting! I felt such a rush when my friend came and bailed me out! I never felt so alive.” My heart drops again, I swallow hard as I feel the atmosphere thickening.

“You’re only saying that because your friend bailed you out. If your parents were around, they’d never let you out of New Zealand.”

His face falls flat, “Australia. For the millionth time, I’m from Australia.”

“It’s different for you. You’re here in America with your friends, and you don’t even go to school! You’re lucky. I have to live here with my dad against my will, and go to some ridiculous school where you salute thirteen stars and fifty stripes.”

“I’m no native, but I think it’s the other way around.”

“It’s still ridiculous.”

“Yeah like saluting a leaf sounds any better.”

“Canada is still better. We’re more civil, and nicer. And I like the government, and the people,” I could taste the lie on my tongue. I used to believe that, but then Steven went and changed everything.

“You have to show me around Canada someday in the future,” I felt a dry laugh come out without warning. It was heavy, and bitter, and even with the sight of Calum’s smile faltering, I laughed harder.

“Why do you think there’s a future after this?”

“I don’t know, it was just.. it was just a feeling,” he said softly before turning away to the sight of New York lights.

It was silent for a moment, and all I could focus on was how quiet it got because of my bluntness, and how hideous this cab smelt. Calum was trying to brush off the fact that I humiliated him before he could ask me out. It’s always like that. “You have to show me around Canada someday in the future,” meant he saw something brewing between us. Something romantic. And if I hadn’t said anything, or even laughed, he would have said, “We should get pizza when your punishment is over.” But he saw us in Canada, he saw me as more than his tour guide.

But I’m not stupid. Canada is history, and America is my present and future. I’d be stupid to take him to Canada. Even if I were in a relationship with him, I would never let him trespass the Canadian border. That part would have been forbidden in our relationship. Even in a friendship it’s forbidden.

“Look,” I say as the driver skates up street, moving slower as he awaits for me to tell him to stop, “I’m not a genius, but I know body language for sure, and I know you’re into me,” blood boiled from under his cheeks. “And I know I’m not psychic, but I don’t believe we have a future. You’re too sweet, and I’m too...”

“Mysterious, and bold,” I hear him mumble.

“Yeah! I think? But you want answers, and I want someone accepts and likes the fact I’m a sealed - stop - book,” the taxi driver stops quickly in front of a black apartment. I feel like making a face at the complex, but I have to learn to get used to it. “You seem like a good kid, Calum, you probably make a good friend, but I can tell you want more than that. And I don’t want that,” I open the door, feeling the breeze envelop me.

He looks at me, embarrassed. His lips are stuck together, and I’m the one who glued them.

“Thanks for the cab, though. I’ll pay you back the next time I see you, and don’t forget to drop me off your CD. I’m actually curious to know what you sound like.”

///

Back in Canada, dinner was bigger. We had enough people to fit around the table, and we were always talking. Even the arguments we had were comforting. But with dad, it was miserable. It was quiet, and we could grasp the awkward.

“So...” Dad said as he dumped a load of mash potatoes on his plate.

“So...” I repeated, adding a small portion of lettuce on the side of my plate.

“You still dance, kiddo? What did you dance again? Hip-hop?”

I shook my head, disappointed, “Ballet. And no. Not since I moved.”

“This is Manhattan, you’ll probably find a nice dance studio around.”

“Yeah, well it wouldn’t be the same,” I try to play off the attitude in my voice, but it’s hard. And it’s true. The old dance studio was a gift from Nina. Her mom owned it, and she gave me a copy of the key for christmas. I was able to go in after hours, and rehearse for recitals, and make up a new choreography.

“P, I’m sorry, and I’m pretty sure I said that more than fifty times,” actually thirty-one times, but it’s not like I was keeping count, “but I really wish I made an effort to be in your life all those years. Even in Steven’s life because maybe I could have stopped him from-” I clear my throat, “I’ve been absent, I know, but let me make up for it. You’re my little girl, and I’m suppose to protect you, and I wish I could have. I wish I could make things better. ”

“Well, you can’t,” I say as I throw my napkin on my seat. I suddenly didn’t feel hungry, but angry. I turn my back, darting for the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going, P? You can’t keep storming off like this! You’re basically shaming me for not being a dad to you, but you’re not even letting me in.”

“Jesus, Brian! You had eighteen years to be one, and just because I get dumped on your doorstep you want to be in my life again?” I was shouting from the lonesome of my room, “What if none of it ever happened? What if Mom didn’t leave me, what if Steven didn’t go to prison? Would you have still wanted me?”

I get no answer, but a screeching silencing punching the air. He was barely in my life to consider himself my “dad”, and he grounds me.. But I keep in mind that I have way less than six months stuck in this inferno. I’m going to go to prom with Cory, and then I graduate, and I’ll go to a college. And I’ll vanish from his life again, and I’ll vanish from Calum’s fantasy.