Lit eZine Vol 9 | p-8 | FICTION | A Life Off-Kilter

SHORT STORY

A LIFE OFF-KILTER
by Sharon Berg

Penny is in Alberta now. Jeremy convinced her to move over 3,000 kilometres away. Miranda tries to set aside the frustration that Penny hasn’t called with updates, sending the briefest of texts. 

Hey, Penny — How are you today? Text me.

Silence is more than a passing concern. Jeremy’s prone to taking things too far when he drinks. Penny’s already left him and returned once. But she’s made it clear that direct talk about her situation isn’t what she wants, not unless she panics anyway. She phoned crying two weeks and a day ago. She’d left Jeremy again, hiding out in a co-worker’s home. Mother and daughter talked frankly for almost two hours that day, Penny’s voice high and tinny, her breathing panicked.

♠

“He came running out as I got into the car. I was driving off when he threw a hammer. It hit the window beside my head! He yelled I stole his car, but he gave it to me!”

Miranda shivers, visualizing her petite, ginger-haired girl fleeing the tall, muscular Jeremy. He lost his temper too easily. Miranda focused on what her daughter was telling her, resisting the impulse to condemn him.

“That hammer cracked the window!”

“He gifted the car to you, but still claims it? Then he damages it?” 

In her mind, Miranda sees her daughter’s sapphire eyes widen as Jeremy rages, hears her scream as the hammer hits the window by her head. She knew their relationship would be troubled from the day she met him. Yet, they made up after an earlier incident in Ontario. Jeremy followed Penny as she moved to the spare bedroom to sleep. He pressured her for sex, and she told him she needed rest to work the next day. He was unemployed. Sleep wasn’t his concern. He raged over her rejection, punching the pillow beside her head. Scared her silly. Later, he gave her the red Mustang, and Penny saw it as proof of his love.

Miranda abhorred his manipulations. But Penny was an adult, insisting all was fine. Her mother had to bite her tongue. She didn’t want her daughter to stop telling her what happened in her life. A few years earlier, speaking critically of an earlier boyfriend had led to a year without contact. She hadn’t known whether Penny was dead or alive for months. Meanwhile, Penny lived in East Hastings, Vancouver, a spot women frequently disappeared from. These days Miranda held her tongue, worried her judgement would only separate, never mend their relationship. She was living in Vancouver when she finally phoned, crying about the loss of a close friend. She was talking about her neighbour, one floor below in the same building. Her body was discovered—rather, pieces of her were found—by forensic scientists. She’d been killed by the infamous pig farmer in British Columbia. He fed her abused body, and those of his other victims, to his pigs. That news fell too close to permanent loss for Miranda—who realised Penny might have been lost, except for the grace of God. She shifted her tack sharply, focused on guiding her daughter toward better decisions. Harm reduction. Or so she hoped.  

Penny left Vancouver and arrived in Ontario to live with Miranda soon after that. She phoned, strung out on crystal meth, revealing she’d hit rock bottom after spending her rent money on drugs. She was alone, having broken up with her last bad-news boyfriend. Miranda offered her second bedroom on one condition. Penny had to go into a rehab program. She’d rejected any suggestion of professional help many times before, but agreed to it this time. In fact, the second day after she arrived, she was enrolled in a harm reduction program at the local hospital. With no false starts, she persevered, making it all the way to graduation. She was three years clean when she fell for Jeremy, a customer at a restaurant where she waitressed. 

Miranda suspected Jeremy would restart bad news, but Penny moved in with him. It took a few months for the violence to rear its ugly head. She tried to get Penny to reconsider, but then Jeremy gave her his red Mustang, putting the car in Penny’s name. He was a practical manipulator, knowing he still had access to the car, but Penny was convinced he’d learned his lesson. Miranda struggled to hold her tongue. Then they abruptly left for Alberta, Penny happily driving toward his promised job as a mechanic. 

“It’s my car!” Penny says. “But when he’s angry, even about something little, the whole world is against him. He’s angry with me right now. I didn’t do what he said would help him. Just sit down and listen. Don’t say anything. I can’t listen when I’m upset, he says.”

“So misogynistic. You’re too smart for that, Penny.” 

“It wasn’t like this in the beginning,” she sobs.

“Of course not. He was courting you then, making himself look like a prince. But saying things like that shows you no respect. How did you believe he was the one? Didn’t you see red flags? His false face? I raised you to look out for this sort of thing.”

“I know—you did,” Penny whispers. “But you were usually alone. I’m no good alone. I’m not that strong.”

“When I was alone, it was because I wouldn’t deal with anyone who threatened me or my children. It isn’t just about physical violence. Sometimes they dealt drugs over my telephone. I was certain that if a call was traced to my house, I’d lose you to Children’s Aid or foster care. The police would charge me with contributing to the delinquency of a minor. When I threw someone out, it was because they’d behaved like jerks, failing to respect you or me.”

“I know—but I’m not good on my own, Mom. I do damage to myself. You know I drink too much. I dig holes in myself, literally. I’ve got scars all over. I don’t even realize I’ve done it until I’m bleeding. I pull out patches of my hair.”

“Screams for help, right? I’m aware. I’ve got similar issues. You’ve seen my arms. They’re so badly scarred I wear long sleeves in the summer. In high school, I pulled out every eyelash and eyebrow hair. They’re behavioural disorders. The thing is, you can know what causes them and still continue. It’s a semi-conscious reaction to being abused, for me and for you. I was sexually and emotionally abused as a child. Our next-door neighbour kidnapped and abused you as a four-year- old. It’s impossible to walk away from things like that unharmed. You were too young to understand what he did, but you have to face it head-on to deal with it.”

“I’ve faced it,” she says, making it sound like a question.

“I don’t think you have, sweetheart.”

Miranda pauses, waiting for something that can’t escape her daughter’s lips. 

“Maybe you need to be on your own for a while, consider who you really are. Do you know yourself, Penny? Why do people say you light up a room? Why do people of any age or gender want to hang out with you?”

She waits for Penny to answer but reads confusion on her daughter’s face.

“You’re intelligent, some would say brilliant,” she continues. “Your drawings and paintings are amazing! Being smart and creative is a draw for some folk. You’re beautiful: red hair, deep blue eyes, freckles across your nose. I know you don’t think so, but people are drawn to your looks, your talents, and your manner. Does that tell us who you really are? Does it tell us about your soul? Tell me Penny, what do you like about yourself?”

“I’m kind.” Penny pauses, thinking. “I’m generous.” She pauses again, shy to describe herself. “I like to help people.”

“Okay, everyone says those are good qualities in people, character points we should all have.”

“I guess. It’s about taking care of the community.”

“So is that who you are, my girl? Are you a kind, generous person who arrived on earth to serve others? I mean, you’re a waitress.”

“It’s not all of me…”

“Good. You see that, because what you’ve described is a servant, a caretaker. You haven’t told me who you are. Who are you, Penny? At your centre, at your heart, when you aren’t working? Why are you here on Earth? What lessons have you learned? What can you teach others?”

“Don’t go out with violent boyfriends.” 

She speaks shyly, under her breath. Miranda hears movement through the phone, as if Penny has shrugged.

“Alright. So can you heed your own words, darling? Please! Stop dating violent men. This is the third in a row, do you realize that? Can you see your pattern?” 

“Yes, I know this, Mom.” She sounds peeved. “But talking about it doesn’t help me.”

“Why? You can’t sweep it under the rug anymore, Penny. You just said not dealing with violent boyfriends is a lesson you’ve learned and could share with others. But you’ve denied yourself the benefit of avoiding them.”

“He’s not a bad man, Mom. He has a lot of issues, and he doesn’t deal well with his anger. He has cancer, he’s dying, and he’s angry. I thought I was—”

“What? Helping him? Listen, Penny. How do you know he has cancer? He said so? Did anyone in his family tell you about it? What signs are there? Does he take any medicine?”

“No, he hates doctors and hates medicine even more.”

“So you don’t know his cancer isn’t a sob story to stir your sympathy. Listen, you did nothing to change him. You didn’t make Jeremy violent; he came that way. He hid bad behaviour in the beginning. He’s given you a gift now. He’s not hiding who he is any more.”

Miranda hears Penny’s intake of breath on the other end of the phone. 

“I know,” she breathes. “Mom, I’ve got to get ready for work. I’m sorry. Thanks for listening. I won’t leave it so long before I call again.” 

She rings off before anything is resolved. That’s two days after Christmas.

♠

Miranda receives a text about three hours after she sends hers. Penny writes: 

Not great, just ok. I’ll call to tell you more tonight after work.

Needless to say, Miranda is worried. She stays up an extra hour, considering the time difference in Alberta, and frets about what not great means. She’s relieved Penny remains open to sharing, but the call that doesn’t come is disturbing. She decides not to pressure her, but it’s an effort simply to wait for a return phone call or text. She puts herself to bed at midnight.

Her dreams replay what she knows about the violence Penny has experienced at the hands of Jeremy. She’s a fly on the wall during scenes that continue to buzz in her head the next morning. She finds Penny’s return text when she checks her phone. She slept through the bell announcing its arrival at 3 am. 

Sorry I didn’t call. I snagged an extra shift. I’m saving to get my ownplace. Geraldine, my co-worker, is letting me sleep on her couch, but I can’t do it forever.

This text is followed by another, half hour before Miranda woke. 

I’ll try to call you tonight. I hope you’re well. Don’t worry about me.

Easy enough for a daughter to say ‘don’t worry’. Much harder for Miranda when Penny missed calling that evening. The next morning, Miranda phones and leaves a voicemail. 

I’m worried, Penny. Especially when you missed calling a second time.Maybe you’re working, but call me tonight. Give me five minutes, please.

She hates the fact that her daughter is distant again. At the same time, she’s grown. Miranda can’t force her to share. Penny was deeply affected by the sexual abuse she experienced as a child. It happened in an era when children weren’t legally allowed to report on adults. Penny works fairy tales like Beauty and the Beast into her relationships. The truth is, everyone who gives her attention is precious. She doesn’t evaluate what they want from her. Miranda sighes deeply. Penny’s already shared more about what she experienced than most people reveal to their mothers. Miranda knows she should be grateful.

♠

Penny’s call comes at 4:00 pm, Miranda’s time. It’s the third day. She still sounds scared breathless. 

“I got brave and went back to our apartment yesterday. I snuck in to get the rest of my things. I didn’t have enough clothes or makeup. I knew Jeremy was out.”

“You should have had a police escort, Penny. He’s violent. What if he came back while you were there?”

“The stairs to our place are at the back. No one saw me. I know his work schedule. At least, I thought I did. Anyway, he left his phone on the dresser. I couldn’t resist. I looked through his messages. I’ve never done that before, with anyone. Thing is, he was cheating on me all along. I found all these love notes to some woman in town. She says things like, I can’t wait until you’re back in my bed. Disgusting! Plus, there’s a woman in Ontario he’s chatting up and promising to bring to the coast! I had no idea this was going on while we were together! I worked three part-time jobs to keep our heads above water. His part-time job only gave us a run-down apartment over the garage where he works. I was rarely home except to sleep.”

“That’s no excuse for his behaviour!”

“No. I mean, he’s cheating on the new girl and the woman in Ontario, too. I think he was likely cheating on me from the start.”

“It’s his character, honey.”

“I know. I wrote their phone numbers and messaged them after I got out of there. I figure those women deserve to know what kind of person he is. Anyway, the night I told you things weren’t great—was the night Jeremy found me. He still doesn’t know where I’m living. And I quit the jobs I had when I was with him. I knew he’d bother me at work. I have a new full-time waitress job. I kept parking the car in the lot behind the grocery store down the street, but that night I decided to park in the lot at work. There are two security cameras covering the parking lot. I pulled in and barely got the keys out of the ignition when he smashed the driver’s side of my car with a truck! He waited for me!”

“Oh, God! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I am. I was rattled for days. He was so angry, screaming he’d kill me! I found out it was the new girl’s truck. He got out, hollering he’d kill me, waving a hammer. But my boss ran out with two other people. He got back in the truck and drove off. My boss called the cops, and they were quick.”

“What did the police say?”

“Oh, they want him. He violated the no-contact order I’d just got in place the day before. Plus, I told them, he shouldn’t drive with his suspended license. He threatened to kill me, and he has a gun. He told me he had it to protect himself from the cops. They really want to catch him.”

“A gun? I can’t believe you didn’t see the red flags! How often has he threatened to kill you?”

“When he gets angry, he says all kinds of shit.” 

“Do you not like yourself?”

“I do… it’s just…”

“He’s not worth it…”

“I know.”

“Now. Why couldn’t you see it earlier?” Miranda realises she’d slipped back into protective mom mode. She’s saying too much for Penny’s comfort level and still feels it isn’t enough.

“I have a pattern,” Penny admits.

“It’s going to get you one day. That’s what I fear the most. One day the cops will call me, and it won’t be good news. You’ll be killed by someone like Jeremy—if he doesn’t manage it.”

“Mom, I’m not doing this again. I’m not going back to him. I’m getting counselling.”

“You’re in counselling?”

Penny sighes deeply. Miranda thinks it’s like pulling quills from a dog who doesn’t accept the danger in porcupines trying to get answers from Penny. You sedate the dog because there are barbs at the end of each quill. Even if Penny wants to avoid the answers, those quills will keep working deeper if they aren’t removed. 

“Not yet,” she admits. “The police had someone call me. They’re really understanding and helpful. They’re going to arrange counselling for me. I need it.”

“You do. I’m glad they’re helping.”

“Everyone’s great, Mom—my boss, the police, the people for counselling. 

“So, have the police caught Jeremy?”

“No. They found the girlfriend’s car in some parking lot and returned it. She’s mad he damaged it and told them she’s done with him.”

“Maybe. Say, he damaged your car. Is that one of the charges?”

“Yeah, what a jerk, eh? He’s in hiding now. The police are hunting. I told them the places he likes to hang out. He hasn’t reported for work since, or gone back to the apartment. I’m thinking, maybe he left the province. The police called his mom in Ontario. She said he phoned wanting to come home and she told him no. He’s always getting himself in trouble and she’s over it.” 

“It makes sense—the angry ones are the biggest wusses. I doubt she’d refuse him if he showed up on her doorstep. Listen, you’re not out of danger. You don’t know where he is. He’s dangerous because he’s angry. He’s lost control of you.”

“I know. I’m on alert. The police know about him. They’ll search until they find him.”

“Or until some other matter takes priority.”

“I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

Miranda bites down on her frustration over Penny’s insistence she’s that alright. Don’t worry. I’m okay. I’m sorry. Those phrases are meant to suggest she’s learned her lesson. Miranda’s heard them since Penny turned ten and spent her allowance on candy for her girlfriends. Nothing’s changed except she’s shifted to men. 

“You should have traded in that car for something different,” Miranda says. “Something he wouldn’t have known was yours. Maybe he wouldn’t have found you.”

“Yeah, but he lost his meal ticket. I paid for the groceries, the beer, and the pot.” 

“It should be a wake-up call. He has to take care of himself now. That’s another red flag, Penny. Honestly, I tried to teach you about inappropriate men. I wouldn’t let you watch Fred Flinstone when you were a kid. There was no decent male role model in our lives!”

“Yeah, I used to get mad at you.”

“I know. But you understood why I vetoed that cartoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, Penny, see yourself differently. Appreciate your best qualities. Figure out what you want for your future. Stop taking care of men with sob stories. Don’t take up with anyone because you’re afraid to be alone. That’s the worst reason on the planet.”

“I know. Don’t worry, Mom.”

Miranda exhaled. “I can’t promise you that. It’s bred in the bones. I’ll worry about my only child’s future until I pass over. I worry just as much now as I ever did. It all goes back to the abuse we experienced as kids. Some men are creeps. Women weren’t put here to service them. You know it intellectually, but I don’t think you believe  it. You’re taking up with men who won’t be refused. Find someone who treats you well because he’s secure in himself, someone who believes in and supports you as a human being.”

“I don’t think I’ve met one.”

“It’s not about meeting them. Recognize them. Holding off on relationships until you know you’re good for each other. The good ones are out there, but they can’t get to you in the middle of the crowd of ne’er-do-wells you’ve been dealing with. Besides, they’re holding out for a woman who can recognize them in the crowd! Take up that offer for counselling.”

“I will. I really will this time, Mom.”

“I believe in you, Penny. I do. You just need to believe in yourself and let the man in your life take care of his own future.”

“I know. I’ve got to sign off now, though. Sorry, Mom. I need to get ready for work. I’ve found a second part-time job. I’ll tell you about it next time I call.”

♠

After she hung up, Miranda took her bundle of sage and lit it. She smudged herself and her home with its smoke. Finished, she took cedar and tobacco from her medicine bag and went to stand below the giant maple in her yard. Holding an offering in her fist, she prayed for her daughter.

“Help her recover her true life path. Help her realize the relationships she’s experienced as tests to make her a stronger woman. Help her learn to read men. Let her recognize a good man. She’s a good person, someone who deserves true love.”

She bent, placing her offering under the tree, then stood with her hand on its bark, sensing its life energy pulsing past her fingers. Penny lost track of the life path that was her destiny early on. Trauma had cut across and misdirected her. When people read reports of the women Picton had taken to his pig farm, he wasn’t their first encounter with abuse. They suffered a deep, life-altering trauma that affected who they were as people. They suffered something early in life that caused an out-of-control spiral. They buried their pain with drugs or alcohol. Their behaviour hinged on why their lives went off-kilter, not a failure within themselves. The predator used their brokenness against them, pretending to offer love. 

If Penny worked toward her dreams, she could come out of her spiral. Right now, she saw herself as a failure. Drawing on teachings from her friend, a Cree Elder, Miranda knew Penny needed to recover her sense of self as deserving love and attention. Only then would she have a chance of making it to her grandmother years. 

Miranda stepped closer to the tree, wrapping her arms around it, laying her cheek on its rough bark. She reached out to what people call the wood-wide-web with her mind. Trees talk to each other through an underground network of mycelium or hyphae threads linking multiple species over incredible distances. Scientists say fungi operate the network, tying mother trees to offspring, sending distress signals when they’re under attack by insects, allowing healthy trees to increase their defences. The fungal network melds with tree root systems, joining them with a variety of plants. It’s an underground railway passing unseen messages over far-reaching territory. Miranda prayed for her daughter to recover her true sense of purpose. She didn’t focus on her drug use or her drinking but prayed she’d recover her purpose as a healthy being in the network of life on earth. 

Miranda knew forensic scientists dug through acres of muck on Robert Pickton’s pig farm in Port Coquitlam, BC, in 2002, searching for evidence of harm done to women. They discovered evidence to convict him but, she doubted anyone uncovered their first lost their dream. Their first trauma was too far back, an injury so deep and untended it festered, altering their spirit. She prayed Penny would recover the strength to turn toward her own best future. She came too close to being one of Pickton’s victims. Her neighbour, the friend on the floor below hers, was one of the last. 

“Don’t let your guard down, Penny. Read the red flags. Find your purpose for existing. Find a good man who helps you see you deserve to be loved.” 

Miranda’s lips pressed to the tree’s rough bark as she sent her message over 3,000 kilometres along that underground highway.