Chapter II

Pouting, the Last refuge of the Unimaginative

The terms “a big fat nothing” must have been invented when a poor man was staring out the eternal flat landscape of the Prairies.

            Words couldn’t describe how pissed off I was right then. Dad was driving the rented car we had gotten at the airport. He was going to drop me off at Mom’s. At least he wasn’t completely abandoning the ship. He was also witnessing its wreckage before fleeing.

            I sighed loudly and fog appeared on the window. I scribbled “Canada sucks” on it with my index.

            Dad laughed beside me and turned down the radio that had been playing country music ever since he found the stupid station. I hated country music. “It’s not just Canada Mimi-Mouse, it’s Saskatchewan!”

            I sighed again and ran my palm over the writing, erasing it. “Oh joy, a state—oh wait that’s right province—that I can’t even pronounce, let alone spell. Awesome.”

            I stared at the radio and realized that if I didn’t change the station it was going to keep on playing crap music.

            That could be my goal for the rest of the ride; find something decent to listen to.

            “What have we agreed about sarcasm,” my father asked, and took a sip from his traveling coffee mug.

            I stared at the mug jealously, almost longingly. Dad had offered to buy me some at his pit stop at Tim Horton’s—he pretty much set the GPS to get us to the closest one before even putting his seatbelt on—but I had refused. I didn’t feel like encouraging anything Canadian at the moment even if the Timbits looked so darn good in their little box and the coffee seemed excellent too with the face Daddy was making. Or maybe he was just overplaying it. Either way, I was more a tea girl, than a coffee girl.

            “Last refuge of the unimaginative. In your book dad. Now I’m going to live in Saran-wrap-ewan. Sarcasms will be my means of survival.”

            I turned my head and stared out at the nothingness again. I would have loved to go into a long description of the landscape but it simply resumed to eternal flatness covered by grass. On each side of the high way it was the same thing—nothing.

            Dad sighed. “Look Mimi-Mouse—”

            “Stop calling me Mimi-Mouse,” I snapped.

            “I’m sorry…” Apology was written all over his features but I ignored it. I had the right to be pissed. “You know I can decline the job if this is so awful,” he trailed, his voice getting quieter.

            Reporter tip one-oh-one; reverse psychology all the way.

            I let out a long breathe. “No, don’t do that Dad, I’m sorry… it’s just…” I ran my fingers through my blond hair, “Why couldn’t I stay home!? You know you can trust me!”

            “I know.” He smiled. “But I’m still your overprotective father and leaving you all alone in a big city is overwhelming. And you ought to spend more time with your mother. She barely even knows you, and it saddens her.”

            “She calls every week,” I huffed, gazing at my black suede Prada ankle boots. Five inches tall heels with a one inch platform, made in Italy, they hadn’t even cost me a thousand dollars and they were gorgeous. People had comfort food, I had a) comfort shoes, b) comfort shirts, c) comfort purses, d) comfort skirts, e) comfort jeans and f) a comfort empty bank account.

            “But you barely talk to her.”

            “Because I don’t know her,” I raised my hands and let them fall beside me.

            “Exactly! And you ought to know your brother too!”

            This would have been a great time to snort but I didn’t snort. Snorting was for horses. Or cocaine addicts. “I’m perfectly fine with my family situation right now!”

            “Naomi.” The way he said my name, I knew I was about to have a lecture. “We aren’t exactly what you call a family you and I. We don’t eat dinner together and talk about our day, we both don’t even cook, we don’t exactly spent time talking together. You do your thing, I do mine. We act more like roommates than anything. It might be late but it’s time for you to experience an actual family.”

            “But you don’t need what you’ve never experienced.” I tried to reason him, “You want to create me needs I don’t need!”

            Dad laughed. “That’s a lot of needs dear.”

            “Well fetch me a Thesaurus while we’re driving away to my new hick town to join my hick family,” I exclaimed making big hands move.

            “Naomi Flinch!” He wasn’t amused anymore.

            “Fine! You know what, I’m not going to talk, for the rest of the drive and you only have yourself to blame.” I crossed my arms over my chest, turned up the volume and stared out the window again.

            It wasn’t the mature way to settle things but he always won in the end, in the end I always caved. So pouting was my last resort.

            Pouting, the last resort of the unimaginative.

            “Come on, Mimi-Mouse,” Dad said, giving me a little encouraging shove with his elbow. “It won’t be that bad.”

            I gave him an ‘are you crazy?’ stare. “We lived in Beverly Hills! My zip code was 90212. I mean that’s pretty much as close as I could ever get from perfection. Here the friggin’ zip codes have letters in them. What the hell?” My voice got high pitch at the ‘what the hell’, but that’s only because… well, what the hell?

            Dad laughed. Could he stop laughing, honestly? “It’s not that bad.”

            “I’m going to live in a city called Moose Jaw. Moose Jaw, Daddy.” I tapped my forehead with the tip of my fingers, to emphasis the whole ‘are you crazy?’ stare thing. “I couldn’t even bear telling my friends!”

            Friggin’ Moose Jaw.

            “Well, they aren’t exactly good friend if they don’t support you.”

            “It’s not that… it’s just… I have a reputation,” I exclaimed, making big hands gestures again, hitting them on the ceiling of the car in the process. “And I’m not a country girl. I’m a city girl. And Canada is empty! There are more people living in California than in the entire Canada!”

            “Population?” Why wasn’t I surprised that he was laughing again? “That’s what’s worrying you?”

            “No it’s not, it’s just… it’s just…” I played with the hem of my Halston Heritage heart-sequined knitted jersey sweater. It had everything, it was a) grey, b) cute, c) baggy so, d) extremely comfortable on the plane, e) it had little heart glued on it and f) it matched perfectly with my Preen Line Lia stretch cotton-drill skirt, which was a flashy red and half way up my tight.

            I should have worn open toe shoes with that outfit, white maybe, but I was on uncharted territory here. I had no idea what the weather would be like and either way, my feet were pretty much built to walk in those Prada boots.

            How I loved my clothes and shoes and yada yada yada.

            “You’re stalling,” Daddy informed me.

            I let go of my clothes and sighed, blowing on a strand of hair that was blocking my view. “You’re annoying.”

            And of course, he laughed.

            Typical.

            I sighed and played with the radio stations. I stopped at 103.9, which was playing Echo Beach by Martha and the Muffins. It wasn’t that bad and either way a) it was the only station I had come across that wasn’t playing country music or giving the latest news on the crops and b) I’d have to get used to crappy music considering the fact that I would live in a city that was probably always two or three years late with those things. Kill me now.

            My father kept giving me sideway glances, and I wondered if he was doing that because he wasn’t agreeing in my choice of station—too bad dude, suck it up—but then he started to talk, almost stuttering. “Huh… now that we’re officially off the plane, away from the airport and in Canada and you can’t highjack the pilot to make him turn around, there’s something I need to tell you…”

            Please tell me I’m adopted and this is a joke, I’m not going to have to live in Moose Jaw, please tell me I’m adopted and this is a joke, I’m not going to have to live in Moose Jaw…

            “What?”

            “Your mother hasn’t mentioned this to you but…” I’m adopted, I’m adopted, I’m adopted. He sighed heavily. “Have you ever gone to your grandparent’s house?”

            Reporter tip one-oh-one; make connections fast.

            My eyes widened. “Oh no…”

            Daddy didn’t seem affected by my most definitely frightened expression and went on. “Yes, well your mother and brother are living with them now…”

            “Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no!” I was shaking my head resolutely and my hands too, in negation. “This is friggin’ not happening right now! Tell me you’re joking!”

            I wanted to cry right now, that’s how upset I was.

            “My sense of humour is much more evolved than that.” He was trying to be funny, but he wasn’t. This wasn’t funny. This whole thing… Nothing funny about it!

            “You’re friggin’ kidding me!” I was almost yelling at that point. Part of me was thinking ‘inside voice’ and the other didn’t give a crap. “I’m not staying with my grandparent, heck no! I demand to know how this happened!?”

            “Well,” my father scratched the back of his head, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him, adverting his gaze from mine as much as possible. “Your grandparents are getting old and they wanted to keep the farm running so they had to buy some new equipment but that meant putting down a loan, so your mother sold her house and went to live with them.”

            As Dad explained the situation my hands were pressed against both side of my face and I was shaking my head. “This is not happening, this is not happening…”  I mumbled looking at my Prada boots. To think happy thoughts.

            Think happy thoughts, Naomi.

             “But they have a nice house Mimi-Mouse, it’s very big.”

            “I don’t care,” I exclaimed looking up straight at him “Oh lord! I can’t stay with my grandparents! That’s just a no-go thing!”

            “You’ll need to make it a go-go thing because it’s happening.” He was the same tone he’d use on my once or twice the “You long lady are not going out wearing that dress!” one.

            “I want to die,” I whined. “Please end my suffering and stab me in the eye with my Prada boots.”

            “Please.” Dad rolled his eyes. “You would really do that to your boots?”

            “I hate you…” I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. “I mean, you know I love you, but right now my feelings are tinted.”

            “You should stop complaining, it’s a really nice place. It’s been in their family for three generations not counting yours. It’s a very big house, all in wood so it gives it personality, there’s a big bay window and—”

            I raised my hands. “Woah, wait. May I ask why the hell they would need a bay window?”

            My father shrugged. “I know that your grandfather likes to look at the landscape…”

            “The landscape? What landscape,” I exclaimed. “Everything is flat and friggin’ empty!”

            People from Moose Jaw are out of their friggin’ mind, the ones in my family included.

            Dad frowned. “You don’t remember going there?”

            I tried not rolling my eyes and looked at my nails instead, making sure the nail polish was still intact, rubbing the tip of my thumb over the end of each nails. “Those visits aren’t exactly in my ‘I will cherish those moments forever’ decoupage book.”

            I had been to my grandparents, during Christmas but I couldn’t really remember it because honestly a) I didn’t really care that much about my time spent there and b) I was too busy with my great aunt’s cheek pinching to notice anything else.

            “They’re your grandparents Naomi,” Dad chastised me.

            “Exactly,” I smiled, looking up from my nails. They were perfect, obviously... man did they have nail places in Moose Jaw? Dang it! “That means I should see them at Christmas and get very large presents from them, and on my birthday.”

            He let out a heavy breathe beside me, shaking his head. I think that meant he wasn’t agreeing with my observation. “Moose Jaw will do you good Mimi-Mouse, you’re getting a little vain.”

            I gasped in faux-terror. “Hey, I’m not vain! I’m….”

            Dad cut me. “Materialistic?”

            I gave him a quick without teeth grin. “Down to earth!”

            “What would you do if I took your shoes?” When he asked me that question, he looked down at me the way someone wearing glasses would—over the glasses. My father wore some from time to time, mostly when he was doing serious editing.

            “I’d choke you with my scarves,” I offered shrugging. Nobody was stupid enough to take my shoes. “Look, I know this, I know I like my clothes a lot, I know here it’s not the same thing, but you’re the one always going on and on about how presentation is the key to success.”

            “And by that I meant, when you write your article, you have to present it right, you need to follow all the guidelines—”

            I stopped his ranting by raising my hand. “Yes, I know, point is though, my clothes give me confidence”

            “Because you hide behind them in hope that they make the statement for you?”

            “I don’t like it when you go wise Dad on me,” I told him, but couldn’t help the corner of my mouth twitching up a bit.

            My father on the other hand was smiling fully. “Got to use all those precious last hours.”

            I was useless. I caved in so easily. I was such a daddy’s girl.

            I sighed and dropped the corners of my mouth. “I’m going to miss you Dad.”

            I had never lived for any long periods of time without my father around. How was I going to pull this one off? I knew reporters had to be able to accommodate to every situations but this was big.

            Dad was still smiling, but it wasn’t the same one as earlier. There was a bit of sadness in it. Maybe he was thinking the same thing as me. “I’m going to miss you too Mimi-Mouse, and I’ll be back soon.”

            I chuckled softly. “You better. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to survive here…”

            I’d deserve a friggin’ award after this.

            We fell back into silence after this. I looked at the empty landscape again. We crossed a bridge, over a small river and then took the Manitoba St. Expwy, 15 Wing Moose Jaw Exit.

            That was it. There was no turning back at this point.

            Daddy slowed down as we passed under the viaduct.

            I kept looking around. I’d been here before; I’d driven on this road but never had this fact dawn on me so utterly—there was nothing here but a big fat nothing.

            I kept my gaze on the right. There was a green “Stop the Dutch Elm disease” sign which confused me thoroughly. Were they really talking about a tree disease? Or some foreign very contagious infection that was spreading fast around? Because if it was the latter I might have a chance at getting out of this after all… I’d have to google it.

            Dang it. I hope they have internet in that backwoods house of theirs.

            On my left, there was a tiny bump of the ground with a white squared building on it. Impossible! The ground possibility couldn’t be uneven at one spot! I kept the sarcastic comment to myself though.

            As we drove deeper in the mouth of the doomed Moose Jaw, trees started to align on each side of the road, like the guards on each side of the green line when you walk the way to the execution room.

            This is how this felt, being on my way to my execution. And I hadn’t even posted a very scandalous headline about a corrupted president. A shame, really.

            I couldn’t believe I was going to stay here, this place was empty. There was no skyscraper anywhere. Not even a building that you could see from afar. Even their dang architecture was flat like their landscape!

            I wanted to bang my head on the dashboard a couple of times but instead stopped looking outside and stared at my boots again.

            Happy thoughts.

            Evidently, when my father announced that we had arrived fifteen minutes later and I raised my head to look around I was a bit taken by surprise to see actual friggin’ trees. And not the death sentence kind of tree, no like an actual gathering of trees you could consider as a forest kind of thing. Okay, it was no big skyscraper or cool outlet mall but it was a start… oh who was I kidding, this sucked.

            “You know you have to get out of the car now,” my father pointed out.

            “Give me a minute,” I answered smoothly, making a “things are cool, dude” kind of hand gesture, like a board surfing on the waves…

            Waves… I wouldn’t see any waves anymore. Oh dear god, there wasn’t any kind of consistent water…puddle… around here, was there? 

            “Mimi-Mouse, are you having a panic attack,” Dad asked, partly amused.

            I frowned. “What? Why? No, of course not, why would you say that?”

            He chuckled and pointed my hand. “Because you’re about to rip off one of the hearts from your shirt.”

            I let go of my shirt instantly, like it was on fire. “Oh sweet baby Jesus!”

            “Everything’s going to be alright Mimi-Mouse,” my father said, trying to reassure me.

            “Can you promise me that? You don’t have any facts or proof to corroborate that statement,” I panicked.

            “No, I don’t have any of those, but I do know my daughter and I know how intelligent and wonderful she is. She can deal with anything. Who singlehandedly organized her school journal, edited it and wrote all the articles because everyone else in the team had gotten food poisoning from the cafeteria?”

            “Hey,” I exclaimed, “that week couldn’t go on without a journal, especially if that meant passing up a great opportunity to bash on the school’s cafeteria’s poor choice of meat.”

            My father smiled warmly. “Of course and because of that you were named the youngest Editor-in-Chief. And that’s just one of many of your accomplishments”

            I pouted. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

            “Yes, it means you can do anything you set your mind to. You just really need to want it,” my father said confidently, putting his hand on my shoulder encouragingly.

            “But I don’t want to live her,” I whined, for the millionth time.

            “Well then, consider this year as a reporting experience. Treat it like any reporter would. Go on and analyze people, find stories worth writing about. Time will fly by that way.”

            “It’s one way to see it…” I mumbled. 

            This was only one year after all… maybe less if a miracle happened. If I could survive this, I’d probably survive anything. And then I could go back home, to my friends and my perfect Beverly Hills life.

            “Come on now, they’re waiting for you,” my father announced and stepped out of the car.

            I took a deep breathe and opened the door.

            Here goes nothing.