Happenings in Paradise-The Letter

Norma and Doreen moved languorously through those first days of summer. Trying to get the worst out of the way, they rushed to finish their daily chores, spurred by an urgency to spend their extra hours together. In Norma’s family, ‘helping out’ was a well established tradition: Norma and her brother James were given chores from the time they were five or six, expected to do little jobs like wiping dishes or loading the firebox without being reminded. Now that they were older, they were supposed to dedicate a few hours every day to the endless work on the farm—there was always so much to do. This summer, James worked at a neighbor’s farm in addition to his own chores, tilling fields and clearing weeds whenever they needed a hand. This was a matter of great pride to James, and a source of great irritation to Norma.

But she managed to avoid entering into a contest for their parent’s approval—a move that plagued her in the past. What was most important to her now, was this newly budding friendship—meeting Doreen halfway down the road almost every day, so they could spend the rest of the long daylight hours together. Moving in a dream, they lay on Doreen’s bed, devouring teen magazines. Finding an old edition of ‘Life’, they speculated about the lives of American teens, filled with fun and privilege. They talked about boys, they experimented with hair styles, and they applied endless coats of nail polish.

They spent hours discussing Sally Napper, and guessing what she might be doing. Was she still going out with Alan Burmey? Did they hug really close, with their entire bodies touching, and did they kiss? Were they doing it?

Years later, Norma would look back and wonder how she could have missed the signs —how forces she couldn’t see or hear were moving in on her. How she could think it would go on forever, and how she and Doreen were blinded to what was happening around them. And how they would inevitably be propelled from their pubescent concerns into a grown-up world of worry and misery—a world in which they had to consider decisions bigger than life, bigger than they could possibly handle.

It began with an official-looking brown envelope her father brought home that morning from Conley’s store. Mail was usually easily recognizable, it was either news about the UGG, or Eaton’s catalogue, and sometimes, a rare letter from her mother’s relatives in Edmonton. But this was different, there was something about the way her parents handled it, reading it over and over,  murmuring about it,  her father propping it up against the crystal bowl on the bureau, and leaving it there for the day.

Norma was dead curious about it, she picked it up later that afternoon, when her father and James were out in the field, and her mother was in the garden. There was an emblem in the left hand corner, with an Edmonton address under it. She desperately wanted to slip her fingers into it, and pull out the thin, manila page, but the family rule was that no one ever, ever read mail that wasn’t addressed to them.

While she was in the terrible throes of indecision, she heard the old rattle-trap truck in the yard, and pulled back abruptly. It was James, coming back from a stint on the neighbor’s farm.

“Know what this is about?” she pointed at the envelope as he opened cupboards foraging for food.

“Who’s it addressed to?” he asked.

“Well—Dad.” she said, marshaling her defences, and preparing to argue with him.

“None of your business, then, is it?”

Norma felt her blood rise and her face color in shame. But she left it. It was no use arguing with James—she never won. She started to pick up her things for her walk to Doreen’s, his words ringing in her ears, her back rigid with them.

“I hate him like the Devil.” she told Doreen. “And I hope he just leaves someday. Maybe just marries Nancy and gets the Hell out.”

After supper, when she and her mother had cleared the dishes, after every single dish was dried, and the counter and table were wiped clean, her father walked over to the bureau, taking the envelope and sitting down. His work-hardened fingers delicately removed the letter and opened it.

“James,” he said, looking up with a beatific smile, “You’ve been accepted.”

“Jesus, Dad!” James exclaimed, “Fantastic! Stupendous! When do I go? ”

Norma, aware suddenly that she had been excluded from some sort of inside information, didn’t know what to make of this. Her mothers’ hands, holding her teacup, were trembling. Her fathers’ eyes glowed. James, in a big display of exuberance, gripped a kitchen chair and waved it theatrically in the air.

“Well, first off, Son, there’s no need to swear or get carried away.” He paused, and Norma saw something new in his face, pride and bewilderment, as always when it came to James, but something else, perhaps a foreshadowing of the future.

“You will be leaving August 29th for Edmonton.” he said, “Start your first year. The insurance pays for two years, but by that time, you can earn the rest.”

Norma’s ears perked up.

“Insurance?” she asked, “I didn’t know you guys had insurance for us to go to university!”

Her mother reached over and grasped her shoulders, pulling Norma into the chair next to her.

“Not ‘Us’,” she said, “There is no ‘Us’. Only James. That’s all the money we have.”

Norma tore herself from her mother’s grip, backing away from the three of them, maneuvering her way into her bedroom. Accumulated rancor bubbled up into her throat, tears spilling down her face.

“Of course, it’s just for him,” she thought, “That’s the way it always is. Why should I be surprised?”

She lay on her bed throughout the evening, the chenille bedspread marking her face, rage and disappointment tracing a new opening in her heart.

Eventually, there was a quick rap on her door. It was James.

“Sorry, Kid.” he was saying, “You know how it is. I never asked for this. It’s not easy, what they expect of me…”

Fortunately she had locked the door. Knob rattling, but the last thing she wanted was sympathy from James. Crocodile tears, insincere words.

Later, she rose stiffly and reached for her shoes. Doreen would still be awake. She needed her. She needed the frank, honest sharing.

Her parents were still up, talking quietly in the kitchen. As she opened the front door to leave, her mother rushed out behind her, worried look and grasping hands.

“Iris, let her be.” she heard her father say, “It’s time she grew up.”

To be continued