Hemingway Man

CHAPTER II

One week after the funeral I went back to school.

I had this belief that you couldn't let anything get you down for too long. This counsellor came to our house to help us through the grieving process.

I didn't want to think of it as a process.

You brush your teeth using a process.

1. Acquire toothbrush.

2. Acquire toothpaste.

3. Open toothpaste.

4. Squeeze small amount of paste on to head of toothbrush.

5. Insert toothbrush into mouth and rub around for a while. If you feel like you have to, go chicka-chicka-chicka to make it feel more like a game.

6. Rinse mouth with water and spit.

I didn't think that getting over my dad was going to be a step by step process. I wanted to tell the counsellor lady to go to hell, but Mum had invited her, so I shut up.

I just didn't want to think about it anymore. It had been two weeks since he'd died, and I was getting bored of thinking about one thing for every second of every minute of every day.

I wanted to stress about homework, or get a boner about Sarah Bilkworth's boobs. I would have danced with her at a dance with a huge boner, and the embarrassment later on would be worth trading for one second of freedom from the death cloud of thoughts about my dad.

My best friend's name was Viktor, with a full-on K. His parents were refugees from some war that killed everyone else in his town when Viktor was just a baby, so they came over here to live. Viktor didn't remember anything about the war, but any time his mum talked about it she started to cry. His dad had fought in the war, and would often stare off into space for hours on end, mumbling incoherently in his mother tongue.

Viktor usually came over to my house instead of the other way around.

Viktor didn't come to the funeral. His parents wouldn't let him go because it was on a school day, and they wanted him to get the best education he could so he didn't have to go back to his old country for their mandatory military service.

I was glad our country didn't do that. Getting shot looks like it would hurt. My brother shot me with a BB gun once, and I still had a mark.

I wasn't mad at Viktor for not coming. It was probably better that he hadn't seen my cry until my tears made a river with my snot and it poured down on to my shirt.

I went to my locker on that first day back to put my bag away. My bus got me to school about half an hour early, so I had tons of time to sit around. Viktor got there about ten minutes later, and we'd done some locker trading with Tiffany Bergquist and Charlie from Laos to get our lockers side by side.

Tiffany Bergquist used to go out with Viktor, and I think she still liked him. Whenever she brought it up, he pretended he was gay.

Charlie from Laos was from Laos. He didn't mind trading lockers.

"Hi," Viktor said.

"Hi," I said.

We didn't say anything else for a bit. I reached into my locker and pulled out my bag. I was hungry. I ate my apple and my sandwich. All I had left was my granola bar, and a tightly plastic-wrapped pack of homemade peanut butter cookies. I ate the granola bar. I would have the cookies for lunch. Mum always said breakfast was the most important meal of the day. I didn't care. I thought that whatever meal had the best food was the most important meal of the day.