"You Always Promise"

a short story excerpt from  Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall

By then I had realized the situation was serious. The kid looked nine or ten. He wasn’t crying or scared so that I could see, but he walked angrily, like a little man, his winter coat open like the girl’s. He had on his hat and boots. And mittens. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.  He turned down George Street, and I asked him, ignorantly, if his name was Joey. I still expected him to tell me off at any moment — "Leave me alone! Mind your own business!" 

— but he didn’t. He was obviously brought up better than that; a good kid under most circumstances.  He glanced at me. "No." Even if I didn’t know his name was Joey, I could tell he was lying. He had that breathless, aloof tone kids have when they purposely deceive. He wasn’t vicious about it. I don’t think he knew how to take me. I don’t think he knew how he could trust me. He walked like a boy accustomed to being out on his own. He looked like he knew exactly where he was going. I didn’t notice him crying at all. 

I couldn’t figure out what had happened to make him leave like this, to make his mother cry and give him so much power over her.  I told him again, "I think she’s very worried about you. Running away won’t solve anything. I think you should go back." 

I tried reason. Dads had always used it on me, and I never could think more of him for it. As a teacher and natural born diplomat, it was better to coax a young mind into a thing, he believed, rather than force a kid to do what you thought was best. 

 Joey just muttered, "She’ll hit me again," and looked back, then, scared. He ran. He was gone.  His mother had turned down the street running after him. I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined it was impatient.  I pedalled back to the girl. Despite what the boy had said, I really wasn’t sure if she was his mother, if she was even a woman. She must have been, though. I thought of the boy’s age.  I asked hey directly, "Are you his mother?" 

She said, "Yes, I am," clearly panicked. "Will y’ stop ‘im for m’, please?" She trotted, out of breath. 

I swerved around and rode to catch the boy.  "She’s asked me to stop you," I said without any indication that I would. I didn’t want to appear threatening. "My name’s Edson, by the way."  

We came to another street corner, George and 30th. 

"I think she’s really worried about you," I said again. 

"You should really go back. I don’t know what the problem is, but you should try to work it out."  Then he glanced back, saw that the girl was closing in and ran into the high school parking lot around the corner. 

"Joey! Joey, come back ’ere! Joey!" 
 

Copyright 1996 and 1999 © by Robert Edison Sandiford

Robert Edison Sandiford is a Montreal writer whose work has appeared in The Globe and Mail, The Antigonish Review, Another Chicago Magazine, The Comics Journal, and Erotic Stories in the U.K., among other publications. He is a graduate of McGill University, where he was the recipient of the Lionel Shapiro Award for his fiction, and has lectured at The University of California, Berkeley. He has recently completed a collection of erotic love stories and a graphic novel. He is currently working on a novel. The four stories that make up this exquisitely illustrated volume begin the chronicles of the Cumberbatch family: their arrival in Canada from Barbados, their decision to settle on the island of Montreal and the times they have known since. These events are largely seen through the eyes of their Canadian-born children, who experience the subtle shifts between present and past. DC Books has just released his provocative new short story collection, Tree of Youth.(2006).

Links

The Writers Union of Canada

QWF Literary Database

"What Love is to Cooking" (The Antigonish Review)

Wikipedia

A Candid Interview

Tree of Youth (DC Books Release)

Sand for Snow: A Caribbean-Canadian Chronicle [McGill Review)