Coming of Age on Planet Earth

Chapter 1

Manitoba, Canada, 1992

Dad brushes snow from the windscreen while Mom wipes tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her cashmere jacket. I wish someone would just unlock the fucking doors.

But it's even colder in the car. Dad starts the engine, cranks up the heat and sets the wipers to full speed, then pitter-patters his fingers against the steering wheel while we wait for the windscreen to defrost. "We've got to let bygones be bygones," he says.

The news reporter says the Canadian Airborne Regiment has just arrived in Somalia. Somalia has the longest coastline in Africa, plus lions, cheetahs, zebras and giraffes. It's one of  my Top 10 Dream Destinations.

Mom starts jabbing at buttons on the radio, then roars and hammers a fist against the dashboard. "How do you turn this bloody thing off?" she shouts.

Dad sighs and shakes his head as he reaches over to lower the volume—and I notice the vein bulging at his temple.

"No, I want it turned off!" Mom shouts. "For once in your life you can bloody well listen to what I have to say!"

But she doesn't have anything else to say. She just cries while Dad drives and I look out the window, thinking of the awesome movie that will now go down in history alongside the worst thirteenth birthday ever.

As we enter the hotel, the crying gets louder, almost like she's trying to embarrass us. Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" is playing in the lobby—which is a great song that normally puts me in a great mood, but right now with Mom crying and everyone staring at us, it feels like a cruel joke.

There's a woman waiting for the elevator in front of us, wearing a fur jacket, and normally I'd hate her for wearing fur, but right now I'm too embarrassed to hate anyone. She looks back at Mom then quickly looks away, then looks down at her watch and makes a little sound like she's just remembered she has to be somewhere else. Then she walks away.

Man, I wish I could just walk away.

Bobby McFerrin is still whistling inside the elevator, where Dad catches Mom by the wrist as she stumbles through the door. "Careful, Elizabeth."

She yanks her wrist away, pulling herself to full height, reminding me of the old Mom, the powerful Mom. Then she shrinks and resumes sobbing.

This song is ruined forever now. Dad pushes the button for our floor and I put my hand on the back of Mom's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. I don't know why. It's not my job to comfort her—it should be his.

The elevator groans upward—second floor, third, forth, fifth—then dings and lurches to a stop as the door opens to reveal an even worse nightmare.

There are four kids standing in front of us—all around my age—two boys and two girls, wearing swimsuits and laughing like their lives are one big party. They stop laughing the instant they see Mom.

Dad exits, followed by Mom, and one of the girls leans away from me as I walk past, like I have some disease. I hear them laughing behind us as the elevator door closes and Mom marches ahead of Dad down the hallway. "Where's the key!" she demands when she gets to our room.

He takes the key from his blazer and he's about to put it in the lock when she snatches it, opens the door and disappears into the bathroom, slamming the bathroom door behind her, leaving me alone with Dad.

Just when I thought this birthday couldn't get any worse.

~

All I wanted for my thirteenth was a weekend alone in the city with Mom. No fighting. No drama. No siblings. Definitely no Dad. Just the two of us shopping and dining, maybe going to the museum, maybe catching a movie. Mom said we could stay at the Executive Suite at the Fort Garry Hotel, and that maybe she'd take me to my first opera. But then she started worrying about Dad.