Coming of Age on Planet Earth

Chapter 2

My watch says 1:13 a.m., and I still haven't slept.

Mom and Dad have spent the last three and half hours vacuuming, dusting and cleaning the house in preparation for its new owners. I've been lying on the music room floor between Waldo and Ellie, picking my nose and dreaming of Africa.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall. The door bursts open, the lights flash on and Dad's weary voice says, "Time to get in the car, children. Bring your sleeping bags and pillows."

The house looks weird without any furniture, only nail holes in the walls where family photos used to hang. Like a ghost house. The furnace groans as we walk down the hall to the foyer, where the cold wind screams and slaps me in the face as I open the front door.

"Open the door!" Waldo shouts, running behind me as I reach the idling station wagon. "Open the friggin' door!"

As I open the door, he shoves me aside and dives in, taking up more than half the space not taken up by luggage.

Mom's in the front passenger seat, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief and looking up at the house, silhouetted against the dark blue sky. Dad gets in after us and says, "Well, goodbye old house."

Mom's crying gets louder and Dad puts a hand on her shoulder, then takes a sip from his travel mug, then adjusts his hair in the mirror and says, "We have to go, dear," and shifts the car into gear.

Apparently we have to be in Calgary by dinner time tomorrow, which according to my National Geographic World Atlas is over a thousand kilometres away. I can't believe this is actually happening.

As the last Orville streetlamp fades from sight, Dad turns on the CBC and there's choral music playing. Something by Bach. This all feels totally surreal. As the harmony of voices fill the darkness, I close my eyes, pull my sleeping bag up tight around my face and dream of palm trees, spear wielding natives and rope bridges spanning crocodile-infested rivers, while Waldo snores.

How the duck can anyone sleep when they're going to Africa?

~

The station wagon lurches to a stop beneath the neon lights off a truck stop. The sun is orange and pink on the horizon.

"Wakey-wakey, boys and girls," Dad says. "Time for breakfast."

Waldo groans and stretches, digging his feet into my neck. The pain triggers the rage, and suddenly I'm on top of him, grabbing his foot and digging my fingernails as hard as I can into his ankle, making him howl.

He kicks and thrashes but I hold firm, the rage giving me superhuman strength. When his foot hits me in the stomach, the rage surges and start punching him in the chest—resisting the urge to punch him in the face. We have an unspoken rules about that.

"Heeelp!" he howls, trying to grab my arms and block the punches. "Somebody heeelp!"

"That's enough!" I feel Dad's hand grab the back of my hair, and suddenly I'm face-to-face with not Dad but The Monster, its eyes bloodshot, its other hand raised like it's about to strike me. "Enough!"

Mom forces an arm between us, pushing back The Monster. "Harold!"

"This is ridiculous!" Dad hisses as he opens his door, letting in the cold. He slams the door and storms toward the diner, and Ellie sits up and rubs her eyes, while Waldo grins at me and I fight the urge to punch him.

"Where are we?" Ellie asks in a croaky voice.

Waldo mouths the words fuck you at me, and Mom sighs and brushes Ellie's hair out of her eyes with a finger and says, "Are you hungry, sweetheart?"