Chapter 1: A New Home

When I was nine years, nine months, and eight days old, my mother died. It was the second day of the summer holidays. My mom was walking home late one evening and a man hit her with his car. It was dark, so I guess he didn’t see her in time. I was in our apartment alone when the police came to tell me. I was often in the apartment by myself. Mom had two jobs, one in a clothing store and the other at a restaurant called Felix’s, where she worked as a waitress. That’s where she was coming home from when she got hit.

                       We were a team, my mother and I. She worked, and I took care of things at home. After school, I would take the bus back to our place and do the cleaning and whatever else needed doing. I watered the plants, mopped the floors, and washed the dishes. When I was younger, had a little stool that I used to reach the taps, but now I was tall enough not to need it. My favourite job was ironing. Getting the ironing board open was sometimes a challenge – it always screeched when I set it up – but it was fun. Our iron had two buttons on it: the first, when pressed, released a cloud of steam from its belly; the second squirted water out from a hole near the front, just like a whale. I pressed those buttons a lot.

                       After chores, I would sit down at the table and do my homework before I made myself some dinner. More often than not, it was leftovers that my mom had brought back from Felix’s. Sometimes I made grilled cheese, or scrambled eggs, or heated up some frozen food, like fish sticks or pizza. Mom always ate at the restaurant, so I had supper in the lounge or, if the weather was good, I took it outside onto the balcony and watched the cars go by. Then I would settle down in an armchair by the window and read until bedtime. That was what I was doing when the two policemen came to tell me about my mother.

                       A few days after the funeral, a lady called Miss Kelly came to take me to live with my great-aunt Rosemary on Vancouver Island.

“I’m sure you’ll like it because there are lots of fascinating animals on Vancouver Island,” she said, spitting a little as she spoke. Then she pointed to the front cover of a pamphlet covered with a cartoon killer whale with its flipper draped around an eagle’s shoulder. Next to the bird stood a grinning bear with its thumbs up.

“Won’t it be fun?” She asked, and then smiled so widely that I could see all her teeth.

                       Miss Kelly and I flew into Vancouver, and then took a ferry across to the island. I asked the man sitting next to me how such a big, metal boat filled with hundreds of cars could possibly float, and he said he didn’t know. After the boat ride, we drove for a long time. Miss Kelly talked the whole way.

“Just look at all these trees! I’ve never seen such big trees in my entire life, have you, Paul? I’d love to live in a place with so many trees. And they are so green! Oh goodness, was that a cougar? It’s a good thing I have you to protect me,” she chuckled. Then she asked me what my favourite colour was, and told me she was sure that I would made lots of “new little friends.”

                       Finally, at about 5:30pm, she announced, “4467 – this is it,” and turned onto a private road. It was a long driveway, and the concrete was cracked in many pieces – as if a giant had taken a sledgehammer to it – and grass poked out between the tortoise-shell slabs. Silver-barked trees planted on both sides of the lane arched over to meet each other, forming a kind of tunnel over the windy road. To the right, barely visible through the trees, stood purple mountains with a sprinkling of snow on top. On the left was a field, and beyond it, another house.

                       After a few more twists, the trees thinned out, and we came to a dusty halt in front of a small white house. I liked it at once. It had forest-green window shutters, a handsome, green door, and was positively covered with flowers. Blue and white ones swayed in hanging baskets; purple flowers clustered under the windowsills; and yellow roses draped over an arbour leading through to the backyard. Standing in front door with a watering can in hand stood a very thin, very tall old woman.

                       “Hello!” She called as Miss Kelly and I got out of the car and walked over to meet her. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting you until much later. I told everyone you were arriving late, so they’ll be over to see you in the morning. But I’m so glad to see you. Miss Kelly, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Replied Miss Kelly, “It’s so nice to meet you. It is such a beautiful drive. Paul and I had a great time. He’s really excited to be here.”

The old woman blinked.

“Well, I’m very pleased he could come, Miss –”

“Kelly,” Miss Kelly interrupted.

“And you must be Paul,” said my great-aunt, looking thoughtfully down at me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Macalister,” I said.

“You can call me Rosemary,” she replied, “you must be tired, Paul.”

“Yes, we’re both exhausted,” said Miss Kelly, “travelling is so tiring! Do you know, this is the fifth time I’ve been to British Columbia this month?” 

                       As Miss Kelly began to talk about her travels, her boyfriend, and her pet hamster named Fluffy, I took a better look at my great-aunt. If you were about to meet your great-aunt for the very first time, you’d probably expect a tiny, plump, curly-white haired woman with a cane or a walker. She would wear a flowery dress and thick glasses, and would spend most of her time knitting and making cookies for the neighbourhood children. Rosemary was nothing like that. It was clear from the start that my great-aunt was not a typical seventy-eight year old woman; far from it.

                       She was enormously tall, with stick-like arms and legs that were brown from hours spent outside gardening. Looking at her long, thin legs, you’d have thought her the kind of woman who could win championships at the high jump. Her straight hair, which once must have been black, was now a dark grey, and was cut very short. Rosemary had a kind face, which, although creased in places, held sparkling dark eyes and cheeks like polished apples. As for her clothes, she was dressed plainly in tan shorts, an olive green t-shirt, and running shoes that were covered with dirt. I knew right from the start that I was going to like living with my tall, soft-spoken great-aunt. 

                       After a few more minutes, Rosemary politely interrupted Miss Kelly halfway through her sixth story.

“Miss Kelly, it’s been lovely to meet you, but it will be getting dark shortly, and it’s very easy to get lost around here if you are unfamiliar with the area.”

“Oh gosh, that would be terrible! I got lost once in Santiago, and it took me ages to find my way out. I had to call my boss and ask for directions. It was so embarrassing! Honestly, sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me!”

“Yes, well, Paul looks tired,” my great-aunt said. Immediately, I started yawning.

“Oh, right. I forgot how early kids go to bed,” replied Miss Kelly. Then, in a loud whisper, she added: “he hardly said anything to me the whole way. I think he might still be a little sad.” 

                       She got into her car and promised to return the next day to see how we were “getting along” before leaving for Toronto.

As Miss Kelly drive away, Rosemary looked down and smiled at me.

“I guess it’s just the two of us,” she said, “why don’t we bring your things inside and I can show you your room.”