Bib. RAOUL-LÉGER

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Prologue

For as long as anyone could rememher, she had always loved bright red or pink. Furniture, decorations, clothes, anything she owned was bright red or pink. She hated black, black cars mostly. They would frighten her. She had a hard time stepping foot in one. It was like she didn’t have room for dark colors in her life. Everything surrounding was in bright colors. If it wasn't, she would paint it! Growing up, I just thought she found those colors beautiful. I knew I did. But as time passed, I realized something. She could be surrounded by bright colors, but her thoughts were dark, always very dark.She was an elderly woman called Brenda. Around town, Brenda was known as being a little odd: dressing differently, like she was a twenty-five-year-old in the year 1986; going up and clown ecting empty bottles, like every one of them was worth a Jing money in the fridge, like no one could be trusted in and having a quaint taste for decor, by turning her whole apartment as a Christmas tree in December. However, because she was very caring and gentle, people paid no attention to her strange behaviors confronting her about them either. The ones who knew her well loved her for who she was. Brenda was a strong and dynamic lady for her age. At seventy years old ,she could bike and walk for hours. Walking was what she did best: walking to visit friends, walking for pleasure, walking to do chores, or to pass time. She would buy only a couple of things at a time at the grocery store, just so she could walk back not too long after. In fact she would`nt just lift the grocery bags; Brenda would hold on to them with her to her apartment at the other end of town! The

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weight of the grocery bags though was nothing compared to the weight of her past, resting in her pretty head.

Brenda sure was physically strong, but she was very mentally fragile. She had never gotten the strength to put her past behind her nor beside her. Her past had taken the lead. The most surprising thing of all was how she got by. Living alone for many years, the only thing keeping her company was that past: a dreadfud thought, an awful memory. In fact,the ones who knew her well just loved her for who she was, they also knew that her past was the reason why she was strange: Brenda had a troubled mind, out of her control—haunted.

By dragging her horrible past along for too many years, Brenda had lost her ability to think clearly and do what was socially expected. Her mind was filled with nothing but that bitter memory, making her lose control of her thoughts. It had made her live the majority of her life with a constant rage and a heavy heart. Sad to say, Brenda had been roughly guided by her disordered mind through the majority of her adulthood and elder years.

To make everything worst, in the year 2004, her usual disordered mind started to get forgetful. Her mental problems literally got the best of her. In Decemher, Brenda hadn't even realized it was Christmastime, leaving her apartment short of decorations and making people worry. A choice had to be made. She wasn't much of a fan, but for her safety, she had been forced to move in a nursing home. Bringing her pictures and her big bright-red rocking chair with her, Brenda got used to forget, forget, and forget some more. Like many of the victims suffering from dementia, Brenda couldn't rememher a thing from the day before, but she surely could rememher every little detail from the past. A memory problem couldn't even shake her out of that misery. So much that it seemed she was reliving it, never leaving it—a part of her now.

Like every other person living in a nursing home, she had started to spend her days talking. Talking her past out like a story for the person sitting on the chair next to hers. It could be another nursing home resident, it could be a staff memher, it could be a visitor coming to see her, or it could even be a total stranger. The person listening to her talk could change multiple times a day, but the story was the same, one time after another. With her day-to-day memory lost, that story was the only thing she had left for her to rememher and the only thing worth saying to everyone as often as she could.

The Last Dance

Being her granddaughter, I have heard the story quite often enough, but it was only in the past few years that I understood the impact of it all. It was only in the past few years that I got how she hadn't always been this way and why this story plundered my grandmother's life.

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CHAPTER 1

A Cold Move

It started back in February 1963. If the wind wasn't too strong, in the city of Moncton, New Brunswick, you could hear the whistle of the steam train around noon every day. The city had just been placed on the Trans-Canada Highway network and was opening the doors of its new institution l'Université de Moncton. With the politics and the growing industries, there was enough in that city for one never to get bored, but behind all that commotion, Brenda had only one thing in mind: her family. She had been living in-the city for the past ten years and had been married for the past eight. Earnest, her husband, was a veteran from the Second World War and a man with many problems. Their three children had never stopped him from drinking too frequently nor from physically and emotionally abusing his own wife. Always grouchy, Earnest was not the best man to show his feelings for his family; consequently, Brenda was not the happiest but was by far the strongest, most patient, and caring mother anyone could have. Despite her unsatisfactory marriage, Brenda was always trying to do what was best for her and the family; therefore, she decided that they would move. Move where many of her family memhers lived. Move where she had been born and raised. Move where the family would be happier and more functional. Move to Cocagne!

Boxes in the kitchen, boxes in the living room, boxes in the hall; there were boxes everywhere but the bedrooms. The bedrooms were so empty they looked big for the first time. Even though she was excited about the move, she was going to miss this place. The family had grown

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together inside these walls. Every room contained special memories. Brenda could rememher everything from bringing the first baby to cooking suppers and to welcoming guests for Christmas gatherings.

Outside, the car looked tinier than ever. Jam-packed with boxes also, you could barely see the kids in the backseat. Earnest was furious trying to fit in some more, but the car, so bubbly and round, wasn't built for the job. They would have to make more than one trip. The month of February had made it difficult for the family to move. The front steps were icy, the streets were slushy, and everything was surrounded by dirty banks of snow. Bad weather could make a city look pretty repulsive at times, but here and there, you could still find trees surrounded by untouched snow, making them look so calm and beautiful, almost therapeutic. There was something peaceful about winter: everyone inside their houses, all the animals hidden, and the streets all very silent. One could sleep outside without being disturbed, if it wasn't so cold. That day, the thermometer showed a temperature of minus fifteen degrees Celsius, and the wind was strong enough to steal someone’s hat. Earnest had lost his trying to bring a box to the car, making him teeter on the ice like a fragile dog. Irritable as always, he'd started grouching words between his clenched teeth, making Brenda laugh hysterically.

The weather was something to complain about, but it was the last thing on Beatrice's mind. Beatrice was the oldest child in the family. She was eight, with the maturity of a twelve-year-old. Not only mature, she was smart, pretty, and always joyous. The past few days though had made her feel worried and scared because she knew she had to change school. In fact, she had been very silent all morning. Being the spectator of her father’s nonintended show hadn't even made her lift an eyebrow. Sitting in the car, all ready for the long ride, she had not taken her eyes off the window, fixing nothing, just thinking. Having asked her mother months ago, Beatrice had been informed that Cocagne was a small village near the water with lots of woods but with fewer houses and shops than Moncton. The fewer shops had not bothered her, but the fewer kids attending school had. She dreaded the thought of being the new girl in small classes where everyone already knew everyone else. The embarrassment, the looks, and the sound of the kids whispering and laughing—she could imagine it all.

Her two brothers would not suffer from that change since neither of them was attending school yet Robert was three years old, and Patrick,,

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The Last Dance

the youngest, was not even one. This one, too young to understand what was going on, had already fallen asleep on the car seat. Robert, on the other hand, sitting with a box on his lap, was looking straight at Beatrice and playing 20 Questions: Are there going to be boats too in that water? Are there a lot of animals in the woods where we're heading? What kind of animals are in those woods, Beatrice, huh? Do you think Mom is going to let me go in the water every day?

What a long ride this is going to be, Beatrice thought. So she answered with a dry tone, "You won't be able to go swimming before summertime anyways, the water is frozen... and stop asking me all those questions!"

The car was silent. All you could hear was the car radio playing "Born Free" and Earnest's voice from outside shouting to Brenda that it was time to go already.

In no time flat, the whole family was in the car, and they were on their way. Brenda was singing "Hang on, Sloopy"; Earnest was quiet with his eyebrows down like always. Patrick was still sleeping; Robert was sneak-peeking in the boxes, and Beatrice was rolling her eyes. She had been right: this was a long ride.

An hour later, the Orchard family was rolling in Cocagne. Beatrice and Robert had their faces squeezed on the car windows now since they were riding along the coast. The sea wasn't breathtaking considering it had frozen four months ago and was covered with snow since then. Therefore, it was still, white, vast, and blunt, really blunt. Even though the sea wasn't spectacular, there was that "new and now home" feeling in the air that was getting the kids all excited.

You could definitely notice the drop of population with the houses being so separated from one another, compared to the City. The kids had also noticed smaller farms, if any, and a whole lot of fishing boats! Now that was thrilling!

Rolling down Grandville Road, where the house was waiting, Beatrice and Robert were kneeling on their seats to finally catch a glimpse of their new neighborhood and—nothing. There was nothing! There were trees after trees after trees and big fields filled with nothing. There were barely any houses! They were stunned! Beatrice couldn't understand how someone could live here. She was baffled, and Robert was confused, but Brenda's face was illuminated. There it was. They were rolling in the driveway. Their new home!

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The house was simple: single floored with whitewood siding and a black roof. The landscape was nothing to write home about, but there was a big yard and woods all around. The kids would surely find some way or another to play and pass time.

"Kids, take a look of your new home!" Earnest shouted. "You better like it 'cause it's cheaper than the last one!"

Patrick woke up and started crying right away."Look, even Patrick doesn't like it,`` said Beatrice, more depressed

than ever.Brenda could hear the commotion like a background wind. They

could say whatever they wanted; she loved it! Feels safer already, she thought. Brenda had a grin on her face; she knew she would get used to it very quickly.

Beatrice and Robert were getting out of the car slowly, looking like lost tourists.

"What in the world is this place?" said Beatrice."What were you expecting, Disneyland? Though! And start

unpacking the car," answered Earnest.You could smell the smoke coming out the chimneys of the faraway

houses. The smell was a lot more acute than in the city, for it was the only smell going around. And boy was it quiet outside. So much that you could hear the snow getting compressed under every single one of their footsteps. You could hear that and the wind going through the trees' branches, nothing else. It was the first time Beatrice could hear the wind this sharply. She had felt it on her skin a bunch of time before, but hearing it like a whistling sound was something else.

"This place is a little spooky, don't you think?" said Beatrice, hurrying to the door. She hated her new house already.

Chapter 2

Rabbit

Two days was what it took for the family to settle down, to make sure everything was in Cocagne, to unpack all the boxes, and to change the living room furniture setting about four times to finally compromise with the couch under the window. Two days was what it took for the family to get used to the new, very rural but friendly village. However, that was rot the way Beatrice was looking at it. Two days was what it had taken for her two adult teeth to grow even more, get huge, and fill the hole her baby teeth had made falling out five months ago.

They look like that big fat frozen sea at the end of the road here, thought Beatrice. Ugh, I wish they too would melt and get pretty like the sea in the summertime. They were looking so big next to her stil small baby teeth, filling out the rest of her gums. Great, she thought. Couldn't have come at a better time than this! Beatrice was annoyed by all the big changes in her life. The worst part was how those changes were all uncalled for one after the other. Different town, different house, different school. different teeth even!

What's next? She thought. When am I going to decide? Beatrice couldn't wait to be older. She already knew she would take advantage of her freedom as soon as it would even just touch her. She could already picture herself grabbing on and never letting go.

Freedom wouldn't come anytirne soon though, she knew that. For now, she would have to deal with judgments coming from those kids at her new school. Beatrice knew they would judge starting from her

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Julie Richardphysical appearance, and then they would notice her horrible new teeth! At eight years of age, Beatrice also knew kids' judgments were the worst ones. So honest and hurtful, those judgments were never thought through, ever!

Every time Beatrice used the bathroom, she would stop in front of the new bathroom mirror to take a look at her new teeth. She would open her mouth and squint before her new looks, never quite getting used to it.

"Oh, who am I kidding? It's not like I plan on smiling anytime soon in this new village anyway .I’ll just keep my mouth shut," she said out loud to herself.Suddenly, a big smile appeared on her face as she was walking out of

the bathroom and making her way to her room. Proudly uncovering herbig white teeth like they were rare pearls, Beatrice had just thought of one interesting. fact: I’m not a baby anymore, she thought. I have this grown-up white denture to prove it! Freedom might be closer than I thought!

That night, Beatrice went to bed dreaming of her future. It had been awhile since she had felt peaceful as opposed to bitter from allthe changes. In fact, bitterness was something she'd felt rarely, but she could tell when it was taking place in her heart, making it heavy, like a rock sitting on her stomach.

When moming came, reality hit. The sun arose and made its way through the room, but it didn't deliver its usual warmth. It brought back the coldness she had felt for the past few days and the fear of going to that new school.

She got up to put on the clothes she had picked up the night before. This wasn't her routine, but she had feared being late. She could smell eggs and toast. This meant her mom was in the kitchen cooking breakfast for everyone. This was a relief since Beatrice had planned on skipping, thinking she had to prepare it herself The thought of breakfast would probably not even have made its way in her mind, being too nervous to think about preparing food.

Arriving in the kitchen, she noticed her mom had a smile on. Beatrice could tell her mom liked this new place.

"Are you ready to go to school? Breakfast is ready, I made you eggs and toasts," said Brenda, trying to cheer her up.

Beatrice sat down with her elbows on the table and her hands holding her chin. She wouldn't even answer. Her mom could be happy all she wanted, but it wasn't going to scare away the butterflies in her

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stomach. There are probably thousands of them butterflies in rny stomach by now, building houses and making families and everything, thought Beatrice, considering she had that feeling for quite a long time now, and it didn't seem like it would ever go away. Do people ever die of having too many butterflies in their stomach? She asked herself in silence.

"Beatrice! Are you going to eat?" Brenda said loudly to snap her daughter out of daydreaming. She added, "If you daydream like that at your new school, they might slap you with a ruler."

Beatrice had never been slapped before. She was a perfect student back in Moncton. Maybe the teachers here are evil, she thought.

"Beatrice! Eat up if you want a ride to school!" said Earnest while passing by the table.

He didn't need a ruler to shake someone out of daydreaming, that's for sure. He only had three reasons to open his mouth when he did, and that was either to say yes and no, to yell an order, or to argue.

Walking to school, Beatrice couldn't understand why people here had roads since no one seemed to be in them. They were always very

empty. She couldn't figure where everyone was all the time.Arriving in the school yard, the kids were already whispering to one

another at her expense, like she was a sea marnmal that couldn't hear. Great, she thought, how am I supposed to make friends in a place like this? Most had seemed uncomfortable by her new presence, making the whole morning quite awkward. Norrnally, being the social butterfly that she was, Beatrice would have tried smiling, but she knew a butterfly with white barn doors as front teeth would not serve her any good on the social meter. She had decided to content herself sitting on the front step, waiting for the bell to ring.

As soon as she saw that old woman getting out of the school and passing by her with a bell in her hands, Beatrice got up and went inside. She knew that was the bell the teachers had to ring the end of morning recess. So she went inside to avoid being next to the teacher ringing it. She could not dare being the center of attention of an those kids or, worst, be in the legs of anyone trying to get in since she had been sitting in front of the main entrance. She had been waiting to get inside and sit in the classroom anyway, this being her sanctuary usually. She was a natural in there. She could still rememher her classrooms in Moncton, where she was so successful the kids envied her and the teachers couldn't get enough. The classroom here couldn't be that different, right?

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Strangely, it was. Beatrice's new classroom reminded her of her new teeth as the walls were very white all around, but it wasn't quite as glaring because of its small size.

Having to sit in the front row, she had noticed "this week's homework'' written on the left side of the blackboard, underlined, and with additionsproblems under it. This was one of the things Beatrice could feed on.Math addition exercises were no sweat for her, so she automatically started to solve them in her head. She was so focused on what she haddiscovered that she had not even heard everyone getting in and getting ready to start. She was staring at the blackboard, putting two and two together. The answers were easy for her to figure out. In no more than four minutes, she had solved all eight problems. No math homework this week, ha! she thought. A satisfied smile had lit up her face.

"I see you've noticed this week's math homework, Beatrice," said the teacher, making everyone in the class turn their attention to her.

Beatrice couldn't help but smile even more, loving the teacher’s attention. She had always known she was intelligent, for the teachers in Moncton had already made her skip a grade at her age, making her a fourth grader at eight years old.

Sitting in the front row, Beatrice hadn't felt the class’ sudden focus on her smiling

"She looks like a rabbit!" a boy had screamed in the last row while laughing his heart out.

By now the whole class was at it laughing with him. Beatrice's eyes had gotten considerably big all of a sudden, and at the same time, her hand had covered her rnouth far too late. Her teeth had gotten exposed!

The horror, she thought. The secret was out flow."SlLENŒ, CLASS" the teacher had followed with a piercing scream,

making the class so silent you could hear the old heater battling to stay on.No one could really tell if it was that exhausted heater or the

cramped classroom that was warming up the air, but everyone knew it wasn't the teacher's heart.

"Well, since everyone is so captivated by the new girl, why don't we give her a chance to introduce herself, huh?" the teacher had suggested, looking directly at Beatrice, annoyed that she had destabilized her hard to hanclle a group of fourth graders.

This cannot be happening, thought Beatrice, getting up and making her way to the front of the class very slowly to give herself time to think

The Last Danceabout something clever to say. She was up now and looking around the classroom at all the eyes staring back at her. She had always loved talking to people, but not in this setting.

"What are you waiting for, Rabbit? A carrot?" the same boy from the back of the class had exclaimed.

This time though, not one of the students had dared to laugh. Theywere all looking straight at the teacher, scared, waiting for her reaction.

"THAT’S IT CHARLES!” the teacher had shouted getting up, reaching for the big wooden ruler and making her way to the back of the class.

"HANDS IN FRONT!" she said with confidence.Charles had risen, his palms up, squinting one eye and leaving the

other half open. He knew what was coming.The slap was so loud, Beatrice, still in the front, had backed up a

little, making her back bump on the blackboard. Then, the teacher, having a grin now, was walking back to her desk feeling more in control.

"Go on, Beatrice," she had said so calmly, Beatrice was scared to follow up with anything.

"Umm… hello… umm, well, first of all, I'm not a rabbit. My name

is Beatrice, as you probably all know by now. I’m from Moncton. The only reason I moved here is because I can't buy my own house just yet so basically, I had to go along with my parents’ idea…that's all."

By now the class was giggling along. They had obviously enjoyed her speech.

"Thank you, Beatrice, I hope you'll enjoy your new hometown. You can go back to your seat now," added the teacher, looking more annoyed than ever now.

The teacher was known to be generally in bad moods, all day every day. That morning, she hadn't been fond of the lifted spirit the kids had, backing up her strict schedule.

"LET'S GET BACK TO WORK NOW," the teacher had declared, always amused by her power over those kids.

The rest of the day had passed by very slowly for Beatrice. All the lessons were something she had already leamed and far too easy. It was like listening to an old record.

Helping out others in her class and making the assumption that she would never have homework all year were the only things that had came out good that day. She hadn't even made friends yet, just a few acquaintances around the end of the day.

At 2:30 p.m., a sense of relief had filled Beatrice's body. The day was over. Finally, the worst day is over, she thought. It can only get better from here.

The walk home was a little more relaxing. She needed that. It was calm, until a voice made Beatrice's heart jump.

"Hey, Rabbit! Why don't you corne down here with us?" a girl in fifth grade had said.

You got to be kidding me, thought Beatrice. That was the only thing new that was missing in her life lately: an ugly name that stuck!

Despite feeling turned off by the comment, Beatrice had been curious of why they wanted her to go with them. My day cannot get any worse, she thought, and I could use some friends. Beatrice had cautiously tumed around to approach the gang of mixed boys and girls. She was used to hanging out with only girls in Moncton, but they hadn't seemed like kids cooking up something to trick her, so she had walked up to them. The name—Lucile.

Beatrice had walked beside her, leading the rest of the gang, for the rest of the way to her house. She knew hanging out with Lucile and her gang for the rest of the walk home wasn't a big deal, but it had made her feel included and appreciated. With them, she was saturated with a feeling of belonging.

Beatrice couldn't have known at that moment, but Lucile was soon to be her first friend in Cocagne.

That first day had not been what Beatrice expected at all. It had been worst: a notch short of disaster to be accurate. However, the walk home had lifted up her spirits and had given her hope. She had learned that there weren't a lot of good kids in Cocagne, but there were a few interested in having a new, strong, and different branch in their tree.

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CHAPTER 3

Brand-New Beginning

Five years passed. It was now summertime in 1968. Martin Luther King had been shot dead at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis in April that year; the movie Planet of the Apes was finally out in theaters, and Brenda was now hooked on the new daytime soap: One Life to Live. The Orchard family was now not only living in their new house in Grandville but integrated in the Cocagne community. Summer could bring that little village alive. The heat was pleasant to be felt, mixed with the ocean breeze. The people were warmhearted and also very welcoming. A few years was all it took to make Brenda almost forget she had ever lived in Moncton.

Brenda was working hard at the fish factory, but hard work did not always mean good money. Brenda was bringing home as much as she could, but as much as she could was far from what Earnest was bringing home. He was working in Moncton for the CN Company, being Canada's largest rallway transportation service. He was making quite the salary actually, but unfortunately, he would spend a lot of it on liquor. His drinking problem would bring hard times, anxiousness, and agonizing arguments between himself and Brenda on a regular basis. Those arguments could shake up the house going from disturbingly quiet to irritatingly raucous in a split second; it would all dépend on Earnest's mood. However, a rowdy house could not shake up Brenda's inner strength. She had gotten used to shut her mouth and let him have his way. She was at ease as long as the family, especially the kids, were getting what they needed.

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In fact, there was a new memher in the family: a boy named Mike. Patrick, not being the youngest anymore, liked the fact of having a younger brother whom he could tease. Beatrice loved her little brothers, but being the only girl had made her wish for a little sister during her mother's pregnancy.

A new girl probably wouldn't have changed anything really since Beatrice was doing a lot better now. Changing school had been tough for the first few weeks, but she was finding it better than the last one now that she was used to it. Academically, the classes weren't that different, except maybe a little easier. She could still score high on her tests and prove herself intelligent to everyone. That intelligence though couldn't have made her predict she would like it as much as she had now. In fact, Beatrice was surprised to see that despite the fact of there being fewer kids in her school, she had more friends than before! The so-called bad kids in Cocagne had turned out to be not as cruel after all. In fact, Beatrice had understood, a little late, that villagers had a harder time appropriating themselves to a new person, especially if that person was from the city. Fascinating.

Patrick and Robert were now also attending school and finding it interesting. Both of them were intelligent just like their sister. Patrick was always out to play with older boys, making his mother anxious; and Robert, being quite independent but much more energetic, loved to go swimming by the wharf in the salty water. Mike, staying home more often because of his younger age, was not yet attempting school and liked to look at maps and atlases at home with his father.

Beatrice, being thirteen now, had developed a special friendship with her rnother. They were like two friends in a house full of boys. They would dance, sing to every Beatles song, and laugh. Earnest could never shake what was up with those two, but he would never pay attention long enough to figure it out nor bother trying. He was always silently minding his own business. Brenda had become one of the many friends Beatrice had. On the other hand, Beatrice was Brenda's only friend. Turned out Brenda's sister wasn't really a big help after all, and because she was often busy at home, Brenda had never developed any friendship except the one she had at home with her daughter. Therefore, Brenda was jolly when her boys were around but blessed when Beatrice was, and she was delighted that the happy vibe her daughter had lost during the move was back.

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Besides making friends, Beatrice had picked up a certain interest in horses. She would dream every day of owning one, caring for one, stroking it, and giving it affection. She had horse pictures everywhere in her room. She dreamed of going for long walks in the woods and on the beach. Why? She didn't know. Beatrice knew she would never have one, for it was so expensive and repulsive for her father, but there was something about them: so beautiful, powerful, and elegant. They were curious and intelligent creatures, just like her, but they were also very loyal and wise, things she should have learned from them.

Beatrice found that hanging out with her new friends was more enriching, comfortable, and real now, compared to the first few months in Cocagne. She was happy that they had all grown to know one another very well now. She hated those first few awkward days: when she knew she'd made a new friend, but it was still very fresh, so she had to hold herself back a little and be extra nice. She could finally be at ease now with a bunch of people she found really neat. She was thrilled to find that a few were just like her, so she knew their friendship would last. She'd finally found people with whorn she could spend boring nights. People who needed to get out, socialize, and have fun, just like her! She needed that. She needed kids like her who could teach her how to have a good time in a village that had nothing but woods, deserted streets, and a huge beach.

Who would've thought that her older cousin Claudette was going to become her closest friend? Not just a friend, Claudette was like the sister she never had. Those two could hardly spend one day separated from each other. In fact, apart from school, Beatrice would spend a lot of her time at Claudette's. This one had a lot of sisters, making days, nights, and even mornings so different and pleasant!

Beatrice loved her family, but quite often, she preferred being at Claudette's. She could not understand why, but going there felt like an escapade to her, a vacation. How could a friend's house make her feel so lighthearted and more relaxed even though it was busier than her own horne? She didn't know. How corne her house felt like work even though she didn't have to do a lot of chores? What Beatrice knew though was that no matter who was in her house, she had never seen it lacking of tension.

Beatrice had grown fond of the beach. So close to home, that place could go from a paradise in the daytime—where one could bathe in the

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sun, swirn, breathe in fresh air, and relax—to a play area at night where one could meet up with friends, express, and experiment.

Beatrice soon found out that Cocagne was lovely once you got used to, it and when you could put aside the idea of it being too conventional. Sure, the habitants could be startled with a new family at first, but they still were the most sincere, trusting, and considerate persons she had ever corne across. Not only very nurturing to themselves and others, they would go through hard times making sure another one of their own was all right.

People living in Cocagne reminded Beatrice of someone she knew well. Someone she had recently considered as a friend, sorneone who had been raised in this village, sorneone who was strong and rigid on the outside but very soft and caring on the inside: her mother.

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C H A P T E R 4

The Smell of Mud

Since the move, Brenda had found a change in the eyes of her children; they seemed happier, but her marriage was worse. Despite the fact that her sisters were not a big help, she had still felt securer living near them. Earnest, still known as an alcoholic and an abusive husband, had not helped Brenda feel either secure or happy. She had decided to get used to him, never thinking it could worsen. Earnest had always been cheap but bearable. He was exactly like her father. Just as cold, complex, and unpleasant as her father. Earnest was how she had always perceived men.

In the beginning of their marriage, Brenda had learned to toughen up and put everything aside for the sake of her family. Sure he was grumpy, but what ex-soldier wasn't, right? When she would stop to think about it, his drinking and character, she could understand his side of the story. He had suffered through a lot in World War II. He had seen so mueh out there, had almost died, and had lost himself. She couldn't really blame him for having such a neutral affect, a lack of words and being distant in his own world. He had fought for his country; he was strong and intelligent. He was her husband. She had to love him.

Every time Brenda would start thinking about Earnest being an ex-soldier, her mind would go back to the night where he had described it.

Brenda and Earnest were younger and were coming back from a gathering in Moncton. His mind had been absent all night. What in the world is he thinking about? she thought. He's being so disrespectful!

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She had tried asking him about it with questions so simple and clear; why wasn't he answering them? Brenda had started to lose patience and so had begun telling him she would leave soon if he would rot answer her and tell her what was going on. Still there was silence. Boiling with rage, Brenda had crossed her arms and let out a huge sigh before turning her head to look at the window.

He'd started, "You don't get it, do you! To you, war is a word, a fucking deed! To me, it’s a memory. I'm reliving it for fuck sakes: the smell, the sounds, the blood, everything! The smell of mud, mudholes we had to lie in all night. Not one of us could catch a minute of sleep. Who in their right mind could sleep through that pain and those sounds? Not the sound of gunshots, no. The sounds of wounded soldiers screaming for help in the darkness, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it because we had to hide until morning. You'll never understand the pain I’m going through. It's not pride, Brenda! I feel like a goddamn murderer! Stop asking me those damn questions, or I swear I'll lose it!" He'd screamed and slammed his two hands on the steering wheel.

By that time, tears were slowly rolling down Brenda's cheeks. She didn't know it had been that bad. It was the first time she had heard him say anything about war. Beatrice, still a baby at the time, had started crying in the backseat, but Brenda was too startled to move. They hadn't spoken a word for the rest of the ride home, and Brenda hadn't spoken a word about Earnest's reserved personality since.

From that night on, she had never loved hirn more. At times, she felt lonely, but at the end of the day, there was something she loved about being his wife. So broken inside, she liked taking care of him. Even though he would never seem appreciative of what she was offering, at least she understood what was behind that big rock wall. In reality, he was soft.

Now, living in a village like Cocagne, even though Brenda and Earnest were both very discreet about Earnest's disruptive behaviors to Brenda, everyone knew about it. Everyone knew about his abusive ways, but no one was saying a word. If she was looking all right on the outside, it was enough to keep everyone's mouth shut.

Brenda had a feeling that everyone knew about Earnest's secrets, but she was the only one who knew his real secret, the one that was making him weak: his bad memories of war.

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The Last Dance

The village could think what it wanted, but inside the house, Brenda had noticed that her husband's behaviors had worsened. Since the move,he wasn't only absentminded and drunk all the tirne, but he had started to become very controlling. The reason why she was staying with himwasn't making sense like it had before. She would think about leaving at times, but the fact of there being four kids in the family now was making the idea of getting out pretty diffieult, useless, and almost really impossible. However, she had never imagined her marriage could get so unfair and cruel. What was even harder was not being able to talk to anyone about it. Beatrice, now fourteen years old and still being Brenda's only friend,was too young to be bothered with her mother's distress. In fact, Brenda had refused to talk about it to the kids; so innocent, they loved their father, and they wouldn't understand.

Working in the town's fish factory was hard on Brenda physically, but nothing was as painful as the insulting words and the silent treatmentsshe had to endure at home. There were days at work where she would imagine running from it all: being free and not returning home. Free to choose and to live. Free to laugh and just be.

Brenda couldn't just be anymore without being judged. She couldn't even talk. Talking to anyone had become an issue. Talking was his role. He had the last word in everything.

Once in a blue moon though, when Brenda had desperately done everything to perfection, he would whisper the sweetest words: "Icouldn't bear losing you, Brenda. I've lost so much, I`m in pieces. You're the only one who understands me. I'd be nothing without you. I love you more than anything."

There it was. There was the reason. There was the thread that was still holding everything together and the reason why everything wasworth it and suddenly not a big deal. Every day, she would ignore Earnest's flaws and try to be the best wife and mother she could be, hoping he would say something nice at the end of the night. She knew hearing those words could give her enough energy to stay and make the following weeks tolerable.

Brenda would suppress it all, day after day. Suppressing was the easy way out for her. Actually, suppressing was starting to be autornatic. She had suppressed so much she could sometimes be as silent as her house was most of the time. She had grown to like being silent. She

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had started to love putting everything behind and pretending she was all right. She had started to get why Earnest was concealing so much all the time.

What she didn't know though was that bottling things up on a regular basis had to be decompressed sometimes. Decompressing was what Earnest had been doing all those years. Drinking and taking it all on his wife was helping him release the pressure building up inside him and was helping him forget his past. Brenda could suppress and be silent like him all she wanted, but she hadn't found a way to let go. She didn`t know the game. She didn`t know she could go numb.

At work, Brenda felt like a machine, picking up those fishes; tearing them apart; pulling those guts out as fast as a human could; cutting them two, three, four times; and doing it all over again.

Coming home with swollen feet and hurting hands, she still had to feed the family, clean the house, take care of the kids, and the worst of all, face Earnest, drunk and selfish, day in and day out. It had started like a routine but was now all very sad for her. She could now find herself very irritable and frustrated over the children's smallest rnishaps. She could hardly recognize herself anymore, which would make her cry for long hours at night. Sure she was tired, but sleeping was just not happening. Every night, she would lie there on her bed, hoping to fall asleep, but all she could do was stare at the darkness. She could rememher those days where she was happy just coming back home and seeing the kids. She used to have an interest in knitting and cooking and even just watching TV, but all those things were no longer inspiring to her. She could not understand why or what was happening to her.

One fall night, Earnest had corne back home from work to find no supper on the table and Brenda crying again silently in her room.

"THAT'’S IT!” he'd screamed, picking her hand up and pulling her all the way to his car. “I’M BRINGING YOU TO THE HOSPITA.L. THIS CRYING ALL THE TIME ISN’T NORMAL”.

Brenda, powerless, had not even fought it. She had accepted being dragged to his car. The only thing she knew at the moment was that being taken care of felt good for once.

In the emergcncy waiting room of the hospital, Brenda couldn't understand why she was even there. A little help can't hurt, she'd been thinking, so she had let herself go and be guided by her husband. Hearing

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her name being called, they had entered the doctor's room where Earnest had done all the talking.

"She needs help, if you know what I’msaying," whispered Earnest to the doctor. "She's crying all the time and has been acting weird lately. Tonight she forgot to cook supper and was crying again."

"I'm fine," said Brenda, getting up and trying to explain that it wasn't that bad.

The doctor was starting to get uncomfortable, not really knowing who to believe. He wasn't in the mood to valorize the opinion of a woman, especially in the presence of her husband, so the decision was made. Brenda, not having a say in what was going on, had to stay in the psychiatric department at the Moncton Hospital.

Her stay would last awhile. That was all the doctor had told her.Indeed, her stay was lasting awhile. Days and then weeks passed.

Brenda didn't know what day it was, but she could tell she had been there for a long time by the numher of times she had seen the sun go down.

Every day, she was feeling like it wasn't fair to her. Maybe I need a little help, she thought, but Earnest should be here too. He could have used the help just as much as her, and she knew that, but he was a man. He had the power to decide. She would have never thought for a second to bring him here if he was to go crazy, but there she was. Abandoned was what she felt. I've been betrayed by my husband once again, she thought. She felt like a joke to him.

Those weeks had been the longest in Brenda's life. At times, there was a man giving her therapy, but she couldn't understand how his speaking all the time and his suppositions were any help to her. His coat though was so white and his glasses so round she felt like she had to listen anyway.

Other times, there were group therapy sessions, consisting of therapists teaching her to accept that she was crazy and, of course, other patients who were talking about their problerns. Most of the time though, there were days of controlled routines and medication; there were tons of medications.

She was trying hard to see it as a leaming experience, but the only word she could think of to describe a day in there was boredom. Brenda was on a strict schedule of doing nothing and taking pills. She was

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only occasionally allowed a walk around the block and visits from the family.

The kids couldn't understand, but they knew it wasn't normal, crying during most of their visits. They had been told that their mother needed to rest a little and that she'd be back soon. Brenda was furious. All that time without her family had made her realize that in her dreadful long life, she had been blessed with three wonderful boys and a girl: the only ones she could really trust.

Back home, Beatrice had gotten used to not having her mother around. She had no choice, for she was now the one designated to cook, clean, and discipline her brothers. Mike alone was a handful since he was still a baby. In terms of Robert and Patrick, Beatrice had corne an inch close to losing her mind about fourteen times. Those boys could shake a person's screws loose. They wouldn't listen; they wouldn't obey, and the worst of all is how they could master brilliant plans just to enjoy someone getting really annoyed. Beatrice had tried screaming, pretending to neglect them, bribing them with rewards and even tried to scare them with fake ghost stories, but there was nothing. Nothing could be done to make them behave.

Even their schoolteachers had tried to make them act civil, considering they were both getting back home with whipping marks on their palms. They were brilliant and sweet, yet they were also the biggest brats!

Beatrice was so busy she couldn't even visit Claudette anymore, and Claudette, used to Beatrice's frequent visits, had started to miss spending evenings with her. So one Friday night, Claudette had walked up to Beatrice's house to offer her a hand. Arriving there, she found Beatrice washing the dirty dishes from supper. Robert and Patrick were riding their bikes outside, and Mike was sleeping in his crib in the living room.

"Claudette, what a pleasant surprise," Beatrice said, looking exhausted and then worried, following up with, "What happened?"

"Nothing happened, girl. I just wanted to see you! Have you turned into Cocagne's hermit or what?" answered Claudette.

"You know I have to take care of the kids and the house, Claudette," said Beatrice, getting all defensive.

"Well, the two brats are all right outside, and you could use a walk. Come on, Beatrice, you wanna corne to the beach?" Claudette had a little smile to encourage her spent friend.

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The Last Dance

"What about Mike?" asked Beatrice"We'll bring Mike with the stroller!" exclairned Claudette, sure she

had Beatrice's consent."All right, but not for too long," answered Beatrice.So the girls were on their way, walking on the street with the

stroller.The fall breeze was a little chilly but very refreshing on Beatrice's

skin. The neighbors all around were getting ready for winter and had started to heat up their houses by making fires in their furnace already. Every time Beatrice could smell the smoke coming from those chimneys, it would remind her of her first day in Cocagne.

The leaves were colorful and already falling, making them very pretty. Beatrice thought that living in the country had made fall more enjoyable, that was for sure.

"It's amazing what colors those trees can turn into," said Beatrice, looking up and afar.

"How about we go walking in that trail around the bend then? The colors would be even better from inside the woods!" exclaimed Claudette, making an effort to cheer Beatrice up and be with her for as long as she could.

Claudette wanted to fully enjoy her night with Beatrice. God only knew how long it would be until the next tirne they would hang out.

Beatrice hadn't answered Claudette's proposition, but when they found themselves in front of the trall entrance, she turrned the stroller to head in that direction. Claudette followed. Walking farther in the trail Beatrice was still very silent, enjoying the colorful leaves, now flowing in the evening air like her hair. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to make everything feel even more gratifying. She could smell the old leaves on the ground and hear the crows and the squirrels chirping when Claudette broke the silence:

"Beatrice!""What is it, Claudette?" asked Beatrice in an almost angry rnanner,

like she had been snapped out of a nap."Corne and check this out! It's a car!" answered Claudette, all

excited like she' d found a treasure chest.There was a rusty old black car off the trall, parked in the woods

far away. You could barely see it anymore, for it was getting darker. Claudette was already headed toward it. Beatrice, pushing the stroller

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through what had started to feel like a jungle quest, was now working hard trying to follow Claudette's footsteps.

Arriving next to Claudette's puzzled face, exhausted and out of breath, Beatrice asked, "Why do you think it’s there?"

Beatrice didn't know why, but she had a sudden urge growing inside her. She was like her old self again, all excited and ready to explore something mysterious with her best friend.

"I’m going. Stay here with the stroller," said Beatrice in a hurry, and she was gone.

Claudette was watching everything in silence, waiting and hoping Beatrice would find something thrilling for them to talk about for days.

Beatrice was close now and walking closer, but slowly in case something fragile or forbidden was in the car. As she was approaching, her heart suddenly skipped a beat, scared by what she thought was something moving in there. Her eyes were wide open, and she was feeling unsure, but there was no turning back now. She needed to find out what was moving in there. She decided that her body was close enough to the car. An inch more would reveal her, and that was too dangerous considering she didn't know what it was. So the only thing there was left for her to bring closer was her eyes by tilting her head. Her heart, pumping faster and faster and faster and then louder, suddenly stopped and dropped deep, very deep as she saw what was in the car. Her heart had sunk. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She had her eyes wide open and was raising her right arm to cover her open mouth with her hand. She was still staring at the scene and had started backing up slowly.

"Beatrice, you're scaring me. What did you find in there?" asked Claudette, very panicked.

Beatrice turned her head very slowly in Claudette's direction, stopping to stare at her with no expression on her now-white face. She had backed up from the car some more to bump her back against a tree. All of a sudden, she pulled her hand away from her mouth, and her head jerked in front to let out vomit. She couldn't handle what was happening to her.

"Beatrice, what's wrong?" asked Claudette, now running toward her."No," said Beatrice who started running to stop her, bumping into

her, and reaching to grab Mike out of the stroller so she could run faster. With Mike in her arms, she started running to reach back the trall. She kept on running until she reached the street and then eventually the

driveway. Not turning back, Beatrice had only stopped in her room, with Mike still in her, arms, crying his heart out

Glimpsing at her bed now, she dropped on it and started crying. She couldn't help but cry herself now, letting it all out. Her heart was literally aching, thumping so hard it felt like it wanted to get out. Her stomach was tight, and her throat had the biggest knot. Thankfully, she had Mike to hold on to because she didn't know what she would' ve done with her hands. She couldn't see anything in front of her, for her eyes were filled with tears, and she hadn't turned on the light in her room. The only thing she could hear were the screams of her younger brother who had been petrified with all the running and now the darkness, making her want to cry even more. She was curled on her bed, frozen. She couldn't think. She didn't want to, afraid her thoughts would go straight to the event. She was trying hard not to think when Claudette abruptly entered the room with an empty stroller and a very angry face.

"You better tell me what you saw in there because all this is very disturbing to watch. You look like someone who could use support right now, and if you want some, I'll give you some, Beatrice, but if you darerun away like that one more time, I swear I’ll be gone, and you won't see me again. This is all very scary to me."

"You sound like my dad," answered Beatrice, still in tears. "Beatrice, it's not the time to talk about your dad. I want to know what was in that car! Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Yes, it is time to talk about my dad, you wanna know why?" "Why?" asked Claudette with a very confused look."Because it was him, Claudette! He was the one I saw in that car,

messing around with that neighbor of ours, Georgette!"Claudette was speechless. She had been imagining a murdered kid

or some violent scene, but now she could understand how this could be just as worst for Beatrice's heart. She reached out to hug Beatrice. Claudette was surprised by how hard she was squeezing Beatrice, but she couldn't speak, so she needed to do some kind of gesture to prove to her friend she was there for her. The only thing in her power at that moment was to hold her as tight as she could. No words could explain the burden she was feeling for Beatrice.

The girls cried and hugged each other for what felt like days when someone had suddenly banged at the door. The girls were staring at each other with wide-opened, puffy, blurry, and worried eyes.

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"Who is it?" said Beatrice with a shaky voice."What's going on? We want to go in."It was Robert and Patrick. They had seen Claudette run inside

with an empty stroller."We can hear you cry, Beatrice," said Patrick with an impatient

voice."I'm feeling a little sick. Why don't you boys leave me alone for

the night, OK?" answered Beatrice, hoping they would fïnd something else to distract themselves.

They heard them walk away, and then the TV turned on in the living room. The two girls were relieved. They were alone again, almost.

"I knew my parents' marriage was bad, but I didn't know it was that bad. How can he do that to her?" said Beatrice, still crying.

"I don't know, Beatrice. I don't know the answer to that question. I didn't know it was that bad either," Claudette answered, still out of words, and followed with, "Are you going to tell your mother?"

Claudette was curious about how this story was going to unfold now.

"No! She's in the hospital! This news would depress her even more. I don't want her to stay there for ages, Claudette. I miss her!" Beatrice replied and started crying again with her face in her hands.

"Yeah, that's true. Poor Brenda. Your father can be such an ass when he wants to," followed Claudette.

"Let's leave it for now. I'm tired," said Beatrice.She just wanted to sleep now. Every muscle of hers was struggling to

stay awake. They had been contracted for the last three hours almost."All right, this is between me and you. Get some rest, and we'll

see each other tomorrow," said Claudette before walking out the door.Silence filled the room. Beatrice and Mike had both stopped crying.Silence, so empty and neutral, could be so brutal and unwelcoming at

times. As a matter of fact, the silence had always brought Beatrice into thoughts, whether she wanted it or not. Lying on her bed, having nothing to do but think while trying to fall asleep, the scene of earlier was unraveling before her eyes. She could see the colorful leaves, the car, and the windows—foggy, but not enough to hide the features of her father's face. She could hear everything too, little sounds that she hadn't paid attention to at the moment. Leaves blowing in the wind, Georgette's voice moaning with pleasure, Claudette's voice asking her what was in

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The Last Dance

there, and then herself vomiting. She could feel what had felt like a fresh breeze at the time but more like a cold draft now. The worst thought of them all was the smell though. That smell wasn't something she had smelled often, but it was gushing through her nostrils now: the smell of damp soil, the smell of mud.

The next morning, Beatrice woke up abruptly to the sound of the phone ringing. She opened her eyes to realize she had slept holding Mike in her arms. Beatrice was confused. She had to think quickly. Why is the phone ringing? she thought. What day is it? Am I supposed to wake up? But she heard the voice of her dad answering the phone. Oh right, today is Saturday, she finally figured, relieved when unexpectedly the door of her room opened. Her father. He was frowning.

"Why is Mike in bed with you?" he asked."Oh, I couldn't fall asleep last night answered Beatrice quickly.

"Oh.. . OK, I'm going to go pick up your mother at the hospital. They just called. They' re letting her go."

"Great! I’ll be here . . . with the kids," followed Beatrice, and he was gone.

Beatrice was ecstatic. Her mother was coming back! She got up in a hurry. Her father had to go get her in Moncton. That means she had almost two hours to clean up and get the kids all pretty and ready to welcome their mother back home. This was the first time Beatrice was excited to do the chores she had been doing for the past two months.

Every now and then, while Beatrice was cleaning, the thoughts of last night were trying to creep up and stop her from moving. Beaming through the sunrays, louder than the radio and stronger than the smell of Felso detergent, the memories couldn't stop appearing. Aside from the memories were the questions she kept asking herself: Am I going to tellMom about last night? No, I couldn't. I’ll ruin her day. She 's probably really happy now that she's free from that stupid hospital. I won't tell her Oh my, if she finds out? What if she leaves Dad? That would be horrible! I must keep it a secret. Besides, she probably wouldn't believe me. That's it, my decision is final. I'm not telling her

Beatrice's decision was final, but her cleaning wasn't. She realized she had been scrubbing the same spot on the kitchen counter for the last ten minutes. It's almost nine o'clock. Shit! They '11 be here soon. She panicked. Beatrice was now running around the house trying to clean the other rooms. As much as all that hurrying was hard to keep up

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Julie Richard

physically, anything that was keeping her from thinking about the night before was excellent.

Meanwhile, in Moncton, Earnest hadn't even gotten out of the car during his arrival at the hospital. Brenda had been waiting for him at the main entrance. She had a big smile on, and she couldn't help feeling refreshed. The sun was out, and so was she. Finally, she thought, I'm free.

She had gotten in the car full of laughter. She was feeling like a new lady. She had leamed a lot in there, but clearly Earnest hadn't. He was grumpy as always. He couldn't care less of her presence in his car, and she could feel that. A while back, that attitude of his would've made its way through her body and would've reached her heart, but now her heart was strong. Her bones were strong. Her muscle and her guts were strong; even her skin was strong. Now Brenda knew there weren't a lot of people on her side. She also knew she would have to work hard to reach her new goal: keep her cool to stay home with her kids every day. This time she was ready.

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CHAPTER 5

One Pot, Two Pigs

One year later.It was now September of 1970. Davy Jones had left the Monkees

awhile back now. The Boston Bruins had won their first Stanley Cup since 1941 in May, and Clément-Cormier High School, located in the town of Bouctouche, New Brunswick, Canada, was opening its doors for the first time to every high school student of the region, which included Cocagne and many other villages. Beatrice, because of her skipping a grade in elementar-y school, was an eleventh grader at fifteen years of age. Therefore, she was enrolled as a high school student and was one of the thousand appearing on Clément-Cormier's list. It was the first time the school district attempted combining the high school-level students from Bouctouche with all the ones from the surrounding villages into one institution. This meant Beatrice had to, yet again, change school and meet new kids. Having her friends with her this time, the thought of going to a new school had not scared her and had brought some sort of excitement.

The first day had corne. By eight thirty, the school still smelled of fresh paint and was filled with disoriented teenagers. Speaking of paint, the color chosen was white. Nothing pretty, the school walls were white everywhere—yes, everywhere. Kind of tricky to get around at first, the school was, at core, a big circled cafeteria with a main corridor surrounding it, and then there were more corridors and classes attached to that main corridor. From the sky, one could've said it looked like a

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big fat snowflake. From the ground, looking at the front, one could've easily said it looked like a jail, with the outside walls made of gray cernent and the very small windows, if any, but the students were happy. It was new! However, no one could understand why something so new needed repair, but there were buckets in the hall to capture drops of accumulated rain from the roof.

Beatrice had fallen in love with the cafeteria: big and spacious with a round cathedral ceiling just like a ballroom. It was beautiful, even though it could get filled with loud and hungry teenagers at lunchtime. In the afternoon, she had been surprised to learn that her school actually had a gymnasium. She hadn't seen one of those since her elementary school in Moncton. The classes were divided by sliding door walls so the teachers could open them up and make bigger classes if they wanted. That idea seemed brilliant at first thought, but then the students realized those sliding door walls were paper-thin and everything could be heard from every room. Not so brilliant after all.

Sure it had its issues, but Beatrice liked it. The look of it all meant nothing to her. What she cared about was its importance. It was an institution where you could only find high school students: mature students, students from all around, a place where she belonged.

That first day had run by smoothly, making Beatrice feel calrn and collected. It had been nothing compared to her first day at Cocagne. This she liked.

Sitting on the school bus ride home, Beatrice was thinking about her day. She had corne to the conclusion that the beehive hair was getting old because girls at this school had nice flat and straight hair, like on TV! Some even had black eyeliner and a lot of mascara. They looked good, but Beatrice too was growing up to be a beautiful woman. She had long dark-brown hair, big sparkling eyes, and pale skin like porcelain. What she could not stand, however, was the natural curls in her hair Thankfully, she had learned a new secret to solve that before her first day in that new high school. Every morning for the past two weeks, Beatrice had used the flat iron on her hair to get the cool, sleek, and straight look she wanted. Bell-bottomed loose pants, collared T-shirts, plaid skirts, loose shirts, kneesocks, hot pants—she had them all. Boys would kneel for her, but it did not matter considering she wasn't interested in boys. She wanted men. It was the older guys she was attracted to.

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The bus was dropping her off next. She was dreading home now. She had reached an age where she could understand the nonfunctional marriage of her parents and the suffering of her mother. She was used to escaping the chaos by going out and coming back late at night, which would piss off her father and worry her mother. Her father would often get angry because of her behavior, but the angrier he would get, the more she would disobey. Her group of friends, older kids, had the same level of maturity as her but had much more experience. A gang like that would intimidate most, but fortunately for Beatrice, her cousin Claudette was part of it and a very good friend now. Besides, that gang had introduced her to the best part of her life now. This thing was better than world peace; this was sacred, and everyone in her gang was doing it: weed.

They had spent a couple of summer nights with nothing but the green stuff. Hands down the best times, laughing, relaxing, and feeling carefree. All they needed were tokes and records. They would choose a place and would blow pot for hours on end. They could lie on sofas and listent to music like there was no tomorrow. Beatrice absolutely loved it. She thought the colors were prettier and the sounds clearer when the smoke was lingering everywhere. Grass could make her problems seem tiny and so easy to fix. Marijuana made her so happy.

They didn't always have a TV, but they always had music. They would either smoke and laugh at just about everything or smoke and sing.

9 p.m.:"Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and

marmalade skies. Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly."

10:50 p.m.:"One pill makes you larger. And one pill makes you small. And the

ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all. Go ask Alice!"Getting out of the bus that day, Beatrice was thinking about those

summer memories and was wishing it wouldn't all corne to an end because of school. She had learned earlier that day though that weed was easier to find now. She heard people were selling some every day at school, like bubblegum. Even some of the teachers were smoking some! At first, Beatrice was only smoking it when her friends had some. She

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would give them money, and they would share with her the whole night, passing the toke around.

Today she felt like buying some. She felt like owning a bag of weed. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was a high school student.

It was not like she wanted to smoke alone. She was just tired of begging. Grown-ups don't beg, she thought. Besides, she had a feeling there were good parties coming up. She thought about eating cheap sandwiches for lunch every day at school so she could save her weeklylunch money she was getting from her dad. I’ll buy a little bit at a time so it's not dangerous, and it will last quite awhile probably, she thought. Besides, 1 like drinking better, and the gang rarely drink and smoke on the same night. Claudette said it didn't mix well. I wonder why.

That night, Beatrice went to bed anticipating the day after. She would buy weed at school, and she would hide some of it in a box under her bed and bring the rest of it to Peter 's party after supper.

The next day, Beatrice decided to wait after supper to tell her father she was going out. She knew he would try to stop her, especially on a school night.

As she predicted, he was furious, making her feel very angry too. "You can't control my life, Daddy! I'm not a child anymore! I'm older now!"

"You're not a child, Beatrice, but you're not that old. You're fifteen! Its your friends that are older!"

"Don't put all this crap on my friends, I like them!" Beatrice screamed and slammed the door.

She was gone."Where is she going?" asked Brenda."Let me take care of this! It's nothing that you can handle,"

answered Earnest, not even looking at her.She was used to it now. Strange how they were both worried for

their daughter, but they couldn't work together to fix the problem. Earnest wanted to handle everything on his own.

That night, as he was getting closer to the window to take a look at the car picking her up, he smelled something oddly familiar. It couldn't be anything else. He knew that smell more than his wife's perfume. Could it be? he questioned himself. 1s she smoking weed at fifteen!

This was insane. He had to figure it out. He had to look for it. He had to solve this before she got back. He was furious. He was on a mission.

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Brenda had never seen him so involved and deterrnined in her life. What is up with him she thought but got back to her own business, scared he would shout and hit her if she dared interrupt.

Earnest had literally run to Beatrice's bedroom. He had entered for the first time in months, very discreetly, for it was a girl's room. Normally, he wouldn't have dared going in there, but this was an exception he couldn't put aside.

He tried opening every drawer, emptying the whole closet; he tried looking between the mattresses. He tried the hamper, the bathroom, but where was it? He sat down on her bed and looked around If I were a fifieen-year-old girl and hiding weed, where would I put it? Of course, it has to be…. he dropped on his knees to lift up the bed skirt, and there it was: a shoe box. He opened it and found pictures, letters, and a srnall plastic bag with green chopped-up leaves. Those stupid friends of hers, he thought. What now? He was still kneeling beside her bed with the opened box on his lap. He looked down at one letter, picked it up, and started unfolding it. He glimpsed behind him to see if anyone was there and started reading.

You are groovy, Beatrice, and so pretty too. Wish I couldtouch your hair all day long. Don’t worry about your folks. When you’ll be a little older, we'll run off together. We’ll go find Alice I’ll give you my jacket ; we’ll steal a car, and we’ll go to Mexico. I’ll buy you a hundred horses, and we’ll lie in the hot sun all day :)

XO.

What a prick, he thought. Beatrice isn’t going to run off anywhere with anyone. She has no clue what kind of trouble she just stepped into. Now he had to wait until she got back home, and he knew that could be awhile. His mind was going crazy. That girl has to learn to behave. New rules will have to be established! He was mumbling to himself by the time he started putting everything back to its place except the weed and got out of there. He needed a drink, so he drove off to the pub, leaving Brenda worried sick and the boys alone. He couldn't drink without getting drunk. He always had something heavy on his conscience to forget by drinking.

When midnight came, he got up from the barstool and drove back home. Once there, he found Beatrice sleeping next to her mother. She knows

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I found it, he thought. Indeed she knew. The first thing Beatrice had done, coming home from the party, was to check in her shoe box, and the weed wasn't in there anymore. She also knew he wasn't going to tell her mother, for it would worry her way too much, so she went to sleep with her. He had no choice but to leave her at peace. He was boiling, but Beatrice didn't care. She could buy more pot tomorrow at school if she wanted, and her father, well, he was always grouchy anyways, se what difference could it make?

That night, Earnest fell asleep on the couch.The next morning, as she was stepping out of the house to go wait

for the bus, her father was stepping right behind her. She turned around to see what he was doing, and that was when he pointed at the car. He was driving her to school. There was no point arguing that. Delighted she didn't have to wait for the bus in that rainy weather, she hopped in the car with a smile on.

Her smile didn't last long when she found out why they were taking the car. Her father had her bag of weed in his band.

"What's that?" asked Beatrice."Don't pretend you don't know what this is, I found it in your

room for Christ sake!" replied Earnest."Why are we taking the car then?" asked Beatrice, confused."You'll see," answered her father.Beatrice was used to her father's silence, but this one wasn't

bearable. He had a plan, and he wouldn't tell her what it was. She was scared. She was truly and very intensely scared. On second thought, the bus would 've been better, Beatrice thought. This is torture.

Driving to school usually took twenty minutes, but that morning, the minutes felt like days. Why is he driving me to school if he doesn't want to talk? thought Beatrice. I don't get it. Oh, I know, he's probably gonna go smoke the rest of it and think it would serve as a punishment to me. What a loser. To make the drive worst, the radiomen weren't playing any songs. They were yapping about stupid things like the politics in America and how eighteen-year-olds can vote now. Beatrice didn't find one minute interesting, so she got back to thinking. Why did I buy that much weed? Or why didn t I bring it all at the party ? I could 've sold some for all I care.

When they finally arrived in town, Beatrice was even more confused to see her father making a right turn in front of the church instead of a left.

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"Uhh, Dad, isn't school the other way?" asked Beatrice."Yes, it is, but we're not going to school. Not just yet," answered

Earnest with a smile.That's when they turned into what looked like the driveway of an

all-brick house, so she asked, "Where are we?""We are at the police station.""What? Why? You're not going to tell the police I bought pot, are you?""Ah, so you did buy it.""Dad, what are we doing here?""You, lady, are going to go in there, and you're going to tell them

you bought weed and from whom.""Are you out of your mind'? I'm not doing that!""Yes, you are!""No, I'm not leaving this car!""Well, then I'm going!" he snapped and opened the door of the car.Holy shit, he 's going to tell the police on me. What will they say?

What will my friends say when they're ratted out too? Oh my, this can'tbe happening. I don 't know who the real pig is, the cop or my dad.Think, Beatrice, think of something, think!

"I know you're cheating on Mom!" she said quickly, quite amazedwith what she had spilled out.

"I’m not cheating on Mom, what an awful thing to say, Beatrice.""Yes, you are, with our neighbor Georgette, in an abandoned car

hidden in the woods!""Who told you that?" answered Earnest, red with anger."I SAW YOU, DAD! And I’ll tell Mom all about it if you step foot in that police station!"Earnest wasn't moving. He was startled. He couldn't believe his

own daughter had seen him."You've known that for how long, Beatrice?""Almost a year now," she answered with a shaky voice.She had almost forgotten, by dint of repressing the thought."Why didn't you tell your mother already?""I was afraid she'd leave or go back to the hospital," answered

Beatrice with tears rolling down her cheeks.Earnest was clearing off his throat. He was getting really

uncomfortable. He couldn't stand to talk about emotions or see his daughter cry. He turned the ignition and drove out of the driveway.

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"Not one word about what happened this morning and not one word about anything we talked about to your mother, understand?"

"Yes," she said, trying to think of anything else now, for they were headed to school and she had bloodshot eyes full of tears.

"Wipe those off, Beatrice.""I'm trying!"Thankfully, the drive to school was serving her good now because

she had arrived before her bus. Her tears would have time to dry off before anyone could ask her what was going on. Not a word, Beatrice, not a word, she was repeating to herself while going through the school's main entrance.

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CHAPTER 6

I Roger That

The next days were very awkward at home for Beatrice. She hated that her father and herself were both hiding stupid secrets from her mom, both hypocrites. Beatrice felt bad for her mother, working very hard every day to keep the family together. Beatrice hated home even more now because of that. Every chance she was getting, she would step out the door and corne back very late at night and sornetimes not at all. It was easier than ever now that her father wasn't on her back anymore. She hadn't bought more weed, for she was afraid of the trouble it could cause in the family, but it didn't mean she wasn't smoking some, more than ever now.

Beatrice was going out about four to five times a week now. Consequently, she was feeling tired and irritated all day almost every day. She could still maintain good grades though, thankfully. Everyone at school was envying her, saying she was lucky to party that much and be book smart at the same time. She would just fix herself up with weed or liquor whenever there was a party. She knew it wasn't good for her, but it would rnake her forget her worries, and she would really enjoy herself.

On a Wednesday night, Beatrice and Claudette were going to Dave's party. Dave was a twelfth grader. He was handsome, and he was playing a sport of some kind; they couldn't rememher which one. Claudette's guess was hockey because it seemed every guy in high school was playing hockey. They didn't care really. What they knew for sure was that athletes were people magnets. They were good at throwing parties.

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Arriving there, Beatrice could hear the music from outside. This was a good sign. There had to be a lot of people for the music to be this loud inside.

Claudette had made her way inside first, followed by Beatrice very closely. The house was full of people, but there was still some space left for one to get around. Turned out Dave's parents were in Vegas, and that the party would've never happened otherwise.

Even though the crowd was lively upstairs, Claudette went straight for the basement door. Beatrice knew that was where they would findtheir usual crowd. She' d never understood why they were always settlingfor downstairs. At first, she'd figured it was because her gang had a tendency to smoke weed at parties, and it wasn't everyone who wantedto have pot smoke around their faces, she guessed. However, rnost of the time, the gang was drinking and not even smoking, just like everyone upstairs. Bottom line, she was confused at times but had leamed to put those details aside and enjoy being downstairs like the rest of the gang.

You didn't have to know Beatrice that long to figure out she was gullible and would do a lot just to fit in. She knew that about herself,for Claudette had told her about forty thousand times, but she wasn'tconscious as to how or when she was doing it. That was a detail Beatrice had a hard time putting aside, and it had a direct impact on herself-esteem. She knew she was a little pretty, but she couldn't put her hands on anything else positive about herself. She didn't find herself interesting really. Sure she had good grades, but the only things good grades were attracting were the attention of the teachers and her mother's smile.

In the basement, like she'd guessed, were the rest of her gang and a couple of other kids, younger than her, from Cocagne as well. That,right there, was another thing Beatrice couldn't figure out. She had gotten used to her gang being downstairs, but now she had realized that Cocagne and Cocagne alone was made of people who liked to hang out in basements. Why didn't the other villages have basement gangs?

Beatrice had thought that combining all the villages in the new high school would've brought everyone together, but it hadn't. Evenworse, she'd realized that all the other villages were already mixing well together upstairs, but Cocagne simply wasn't. Only the courageous people from Cocagne would hang out upstairs and blend very well with the others. Probably the ones playing hockey Beatrice had thought. She

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had tried talking about it to the gang one night, but the answer wasn't fruitful whatsoever. She could rememher it very well:

"The people from Bouctouche are full of thernselves, Beatrice. Haven't you noticed how they're always loud and bragging about everything? They want everyone's attention. We can't stand’em. That's why we stay downstairs. The ones from Cocagne who are up there only want to be like them. It's pathetic !"

A subject she hadn't mentioned again.Beatrice had learned a lot in the past weeks.

Rule no. 1: You can't get baked and drunk at the same time. No, scratch that. Some people could, but she knew she couldn't. It would give her nausea and get her to feel anxious for no reason. She'd learned that one day, she'd be able to do it with no problems though, so that was good.

Rule no. 2: Green for gatherings; rye for riots. For example, she knew that when she would only smoke weed, she'd get that pleasant feeling just by sitting on a couch, watching TV, and chatting up with her gang at a small bonfire or in a basement, a.k.a. gatherings. That could be tons of fun. However, sitting on a couch all night and chatting with the usual gang at big parties was a waste. With so many people, one didn't want to look like a loser, laughing by oneself in a corner, having a blast just staring at a wall. On these kinds of nights, Beatrice needed a different kind of feel good. She needed to feel good, but in a different way. She needed to feel revved up not relaxed. She needed a small change in how she perceived herself. She needed a boost of confidence. She needed some guts to get up and meet new people. She needed to feel invincible.She needed to feel like one of the others or, better yet, better than the others. She needed alcohol.

Tonight, Beatrice would get wasted. She loved that wasted feeling. So different from weed, drinking a lot of alcohol would change her personality. Tonight, Beatrice had brought whiskey and ginger ale.

Drank she did. Beatrice had drunk so much she needed to pee every half hour now.

"Claudette, I need to go pee again.""Are you kidding me, Beatrice? You peed like a hundred times in

the last hours. I'm not going with you this time."

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"Fine then, I’ll go by myself," replied Beatrice, all motivated likeshe was up against a big challenge.

She climbed up the stairs with her drink in her left hand and her back a little bent so her right hand could stay really close to every step. In her mind, this seemed like a brilliant plan to keep her from falling.

Upstairs, the crowd had increased, and so had the lineup for the bathroom, so Beatrice had closed her eyes, being too drunk to think with eyes opened, to corne to the decision that she would have to go pee outside. Why not?

She had made her way to the front door with one of those walks you would only see at a runway show. With enough alcohol in her body, Beatrice had one of those personalities that could fit perfectly with a big party. It was like she had it in her naturally, but alcohol would release it. She had opened the door, ready to step out, when a hand grabbed her still-reached-out right arm. Quickly, Beatrice released herself from that hand to bring her right arrn close to her. Who in their right mind is trying to keep me from going outside to pee? she thought. She turned her head with deadly eyes to realize it was an unknown person. Actually, it was an unknown, very attractive guy, who had the biggest smile on his face.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said laughing now, "but where are you going? It's like minus ten outside."

Beatrice's heart had dropped. She didn't know what to answer. Why is that pretty guy talking to me? she thought.

"I," she answered, slowly pointing at herself, "am going outside to pee."

Beatrice closed the door behind her, not caring as to how that guy would react. She didn't care about the cold. Sure she had a skirt on, but she also had kneesocks and a big sweater. He 's being way out of line, she thought.

Beatrice had the biggest urge to pee. She felt ten pounds heavier, and no one would stop her. Walking into the darkness, she found a spot perfect for the job: against a tree.

"Beatrice! Where are you?"Claudette was outside now. She'd felt bad for not having

accompanied Beatrice earlier, and she'd seen her go outside."Over here, Claudette!" screamed Beatrice right away.Beatrice was drunk, but she could detect Claudette 's voice among

many at any given minute.

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"I came to look for you, you drunken squirrel," Claudette said laughing. "But now I see you're doing fine. You, miss, are doing better than me. Who was that guy you were talking to at the front door?"

Beatrice had already almost forgotten about that."Oh yeah, there was this guy holding my arm while I was trying to

step out. I swear if he wouldn't let me go, I was going to pee on his shoes;" answered Beatrice, pulling her panties back up now.

"I know, B, but did you see the way he was smiling at you? He was hot too. Did you ask his name?"

Beatrice realized there might've been more to that "front door" conversation than she had perceived at the moment, way too determined to go pee outside. Suddenly she felt nervous. She could rememher him being really pretty. She was used to talking with guys but wasn't used to being interested.

"No, Claudette. I slammed the door in his face actually," she said laughing.

By now Beatrice was pretending she didn't care, but she had her fingers crossed hoping she wouldn't see him again. She didn't want to face what she had just single-handedly flushed down the toilet. She could be drunk all she wanted, but she knew she had ruined her chance of hooking up with him. So now she was hesitant to go back inside, afraid he would laugh at her expense or be angry at her. What have I done? thought Beatrice.

Suddenly, snapping out of her deep thoughts, Beatrice couldn't believe what she had been thinking. She noticed she had been feeling regretful there for a minute. Thinking of that guy was making her wish it had happened differently. How dare he? she thought. I love to party. Hes not going to ruin my night! I am not going to think about that a second more!

"Let's go party, Claudette," Beatrice said raising her glass.Beatrice had the biggest smile on. Her confidence was back.Back inside the house, Claudette and Beatrice decided they would

stay upstairs for a while. They were too drunk to care about what the rest of the gang would think of it downstairs. Their energy was spot-on. Spot-on to a point they were feeling up that party like it was theirs. Girls were looking at them pissed off and full of envy, probably because guys were looking at them with interest and curiosity. Consequently, Claudette and Beatrice weren't friends with a lot of girls or interested

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in meeting new ones for that matter, but they would never feel lonely or left out either, for there were always guys around who enjoyed their company.

Claudette and Beatrice had spent the rest of the night meeting new guys, talking with them, drinking and dancing. Flirting with guys was easy for those two because they could catch their attention from the other side of the room, with no need to even look at them. Claudette and Beatrice were known to have an inviting presence that would make the guys want to build up the courage to go talk to them, and tonight was no exception.

The hours were passing by quickly, and Beatrice wasn't sobering up. She was enjoying hanging out with Claudette and talking with all sorts of guys, but for some reason, she couldn't stop thinking about the guy from earlier that night, that front-door guy. She was trying hard not to think about it, not to think about him, his face, his jaw, and his smile. She couldn't even put a hand on why she was interested in him. All she knew was that most of the guys she had talked to tonight had a shaved face with clean-cut hair brushed to the side, but he was different. He had longer hair. They were falling almost two inches over his ears, simply left untouched as they were.

Beatrice could barely concentrate in the conversations she was having now. A part of her was dying to see him again. Her mind was wandering off and coming back every now and then. Beatrice was so caught up in her thoughts she hadn't realized how late it was and how the party was obviously coming to an end. Most of the people were gone already. Seeing that now, Beatrice figured the front-door guy wasgone too, and she suddenly felt like she didn’t want to be at the party anymore. She felt like her presence at the party was no use now that he was gone, and the chances of bumping into him had slimmed down to zero.

"Let's go home, Claudette," said Beatrice, not even realizing she had been having a conversation already.

"Now? I thought you were having fun!" Claudette said, all confused. "It's not like you to want to leave just like that. Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I’m fine, I'm just tired, that's all," she answered, annoyed by Claudette 's questions.

"All right then, let's go tell Scott we want to leave. He said earlier he would give us a ride home."

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The girls went downstairs to tell Scott they wanted to leave and to say good-bye to all the others, but they didn't stay long, for everyone was asking why they were leaving earlier than they would've had usually. Even Claudette was annoyed by all their questioning, so she had stopped irritating Beatrice with hers.

The girls had made their way upstairs again to wait for Scott. Nothing good was going on around the house anymore. Even Dave was out of sight, probably sleeping upstairs. They started to hear footsteps. Someone was coming up from downstairs. The girls looked at each other hoping it would be Scott, and Scott if was. He was drunker than a sailor, but he had a license and a car, so the girls got up to follow him, no questions asked.

Scott was now leading the way through the house, with a beer in his right hand and Claudette under his left arm. The two were flirting up a storm now, and Beatrice was following them, not too far behind. Claudette had opened up the front door and left it wide open for Beatrice to step out. By the time Beatrice reached the entrance, the door was slightly banging against the outside wall, having no spring to close itself up. Therefore, Beatrice stepped outside, reached for the faraway doorknob, and turned around to bring the door back an arrn? Someone from inside was trying to get out, and Beatrice had almost closed the door on their arm.

"Oops," she said, opening the door quickly to find herself face-to-face with the guy from earlier, the front-door guy.

Beatrice was stunned. She was sure he'd been gone."You again," said the guy. "Where are you going this time?"He was smiling again. She had thought about that smile all night. "I . . . I'rn going home," she answered with a stumbling voice. "And where is that?""In Cocagne. I live in Cocagne.""I see. So when can I see you again?"Beatrice had never spoken to a guy this calm. They were usually

the ones stumbling to say stupid things. She had to think."The dance," Beatrice blurted out."The dance? Which dance?""There's a dance on Sunday night in Cocagne. I'll be there.""Oh, that kind of dance. I can't get in. I'm twenty. I can drive you

there though. Do you need a ride?"

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"Sure I could use a ride, but if you're driving me, you're driving my friend too," said Beatrice, trying to sound self-assured. He was laughing now.

"You sure are an interesting girl. I’ll pick you up Sunday night then. Where will I find you?"

"I'll be walking along the beach, Route 535," she said in a dry tone so she wouldn't sound all giggly.

"Sure thing," he said, still smiling, and added, "I'm Roger by the way."

"I… I'm Beatrice."She couldn't believe herself. It was like she couldn't contain her

body or the sounds that were getting out of it. She was never like this."Oh, I know your name already. See you Sunday, beautiful

Beatrice," he answered and walked off.Beatrice was still holding the door. She released it without wanting

to, her body too weak to hold on to it anymore but too stiff to move an inch. She was just standing there, not too sure of what had happened.

"Beatrice! What in the world are you doing?" Claudette was losing patience in the car and screaming now. "Are you tired to a point you can't walk to the car? You're acting weird! Do I have to send Scott over? We're waiting for you in the car! I thought you wanted to leave?"

Beatrice realized she had been standing on the front porch for the past five minutes. She looked around for Scott's car and noticed it was parked behind that tree she had used as a wall to put her back against while she was peeing. Great, she thought. Claudette didn't see me talk with Roger she won't ask any stupid questions.

Beatrice made her way to the car, realizing her heart was racing and her hands were shaky. She needed to calrn down. If she wouldn't, Claudette would notice something had happened. Claudette had last seen her looking tired and all bummed out. So as she was walking toward Scott's car, Beatrice quickly hunched her shoulders and lowered her bottom lip as well as her eyelids, trying to mimic her posture of twenty minutes ago .Seeing her reflection on the car windows, Beatrice was sure glad it was nighttime because she looked more like a beaten caveman than a tired person.

"For heaven sakes, Beatrice! Did we wake you or something? You really do need to go home! Look at you!"

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"Yeah, you're right, Claudette. I'm a little tired," answered Beatrice while stepping into the car.Beatrice just laid herself out in the backseat pretending to go to sleep, but in reality, she just wanted to be left alone, to think about Rogeras the first time in her life she couldn't wait for Friday and Saturday to be over. Long live Sunday-night dances.

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CHAPTER 7

Slow Dance

Sunday morning rolled in, and Beatrice was a wreck. She hadn't slept since Thursday night. She couldn't. Tired as she'd ever been but not able to catch more than thirty minutes of sleep at a time. She couldn't stop thinking about Roger. The longest she'd caught herself sleeping in the past three days was on the bus to school and back.

It was no use thinking about sleeping though. She knew if she hadn't been able to sleep in the last four days, she wouldn't be able to sleep this morning, so she got up at 7:00 a.m.

She got in front of her closet. She had to decide what to wear to go to church. Church was at eleven o'clock. She would've never dared miss it even though she wasn't too fond of it this morning. Her father and her mother had insisted on it every week of her life. She believed it was the only thing they would both agree on. Come to think of it, it was not that it was a family thing but more of a village thing. Every family in Cocagne was Catholic just like they were, so every family would go every Sunday. It was the only time of the week where you could find the whole village under one roof. Some would go to pray and find answers, but most were there out of habit, afraid they'd be judged if they wouldn't go.

All that thinking about church and she still hadn't picked up anything to wear. This is going to be a long day, she thought. Beatricelooked at her alarm clock: 7:10 a.m. Ah, what the hell, I’ll decide what to wear later on, she thought, heading out to the kitchen. Every Sunday,

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before church, Beatrice would help her mother cook a big breakfast: eggs, toast, bacon, and sausages. Beatrice loved everything about that breakfast. She loved preparing it with her mother; she loved the smell of it, the taste of it, everything.

She got into the kitchen to find her mother was already there singing along to the radio:

"And please, say to me, you'll let me hold your haannd.""Morning, Mom.""Morning, Beatrice."It was sunny out, but the air was crisp. A warm breakfast would

feel good.Beatrice was about to tell her mother about Roger when the boys

came rushing out of their rooms and into the kitchen, making more noise than a Mardi Gras parade and already picking fights.

"Why are they up so early?" asked Beatrice, ticked off. She didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"They probably heard you were up, so they got up to join us," answered Brenda, enjoying all her chilelren being in the same room with her.

Even though they could all get on her nerves in their own way, including Beatrice, she couldn't get enough of their presence. They felt like a comforting blanket, even more than the sheets on her bed.

The boys were clearly not a big help, considering they were all surrounding the pan from which the eggs were frying, doing nothing but staring. They were all on tiptoes, with their heads bent over the pan, except Mike, too small to see anything, who was in Brenda's arms. This one too, highly amused by all this, had her back hunched over so Mike could see the magic happen.

"Look! This one is all white. It means that it's cooked."By the look of things, a stranger could have said their family was

adorable, but these kinds of moments were not happening often. Beatrice knew that was a fact, and frankly, her mother did too. That was why Beatrice decided she wouldn't talk about Roger this morning. She wanted to let her mother sink into this occasion. I’ll talk about it sometime after church, Beatrice thought.

Church was church. The only thing Beatrice liked about it was the way it looked. She could rememher the church in Moncton, so big and the stones so dark it was frightening. She could rememher that church being so cold and distant from her heart, almost unapproachable. The

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church in Cocagne though was smaller, made of wood and painted in white. It was so pretty a non-Christian would have been drawn to it. Furthermore, the land the church was standing on was magnificent, so close to the seashore. When you were standing next to it, it was the only building in sight. A white church and a clear sunny sky, a white church and sparkling water, a white church and happy villagers—gorgeous.

The inside was nice as well: also white with colorful paintings and statues. Beatrice would go with her family by force of habit and social standards, but she didn't mind it once she was there. She could admire the view and the decor. Not just for the beauty, Beatrice would also enjoy the feeling of peace reigning. The dynamics of her family was different in there. It felt like they were there for one another, like they were making an effort to seem harmonious. Fake or not, Beatrice loved it. She could relax in silence, smile, let her thoughts be free, and best of all, there was no arguing.

It was never too long after church that the arguments would reappear though.

"Where are you going?" Brenda asked Earnest in a confused tone. "Home!" he answered."I told you I needed to go to my sister's house after church to get

some pork roast!""I don't recall," he answered and followed with, "Why don't you

just walk there tomorrow?""I work tomorrow!" she replied angrily, but it was hopeless, and she

knew it. She knew he would never turn around. "You can't even do one little thing for me when all I do all day is work and take care of you!"

"I brought you to church today, didn't I?""You brought me to church because I don't have a driver's license,

and you know people would hate you for not bringing me.""It’s not my fault you're too stupid to get a driver's license.""If I'm so stupid, then why did you marry me, huh?""You know I only married you because you were pregnant!"They were at it again. It was so normal now that they did not care if

the kids were in the backseat, hearing everything very clearly. Actually, when they were fighting, they simply couldn't reckon who or what was where. All they cared about was trying to think of something clever to say to let the other one down, especially Earnest. Earnest wasn't a bad person; he just had bigger skills and much more confidence at making

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his point, and his point sounded like the only one that mattered and the only one right. When that was achieved the argument was over.

Arriving home, the fight was still going. There were days without them: complete silence; there were days with only those: complete chaos, and they were good. But extremely rare are days when you could hear decent conversations between the two of them. On those days, no one dared talking to them, afraid of disrupting the positive state of mind they were in. Afraid it would just vanish. Today was a day of turrnoil, period.

Listening to the words they were saying to each other, Beatrice could tell how much longer the argument would last. By the sound of it, this one was going to persist awhile more, so she decided to go gather some thoughts in her room.

Great, she thought while lying on her bed, we won't have pork roast for supper, and I won't be able to talk to Mom about Roger today.

What a shame that was. Beatrice loved both pork roast and talking to her mom about boys. Her mother was clearly in a bad relationship herself, but she still had good advice from time to time. Beatrice could still rememher what her mother had first taught her about love. She had seen Beatrice trying hard to get a guy's attention in grade school and had told her:

"First be happy and then be nice. Not the other way around."That advice had seemed irrelevant at the time but was slowly

trying to make sense as the years went by. Beatrice could spend all afternoon in her bed just thinking about nothing and everything. Thinking about life. Thinking about her life.

What she couldn't understand was why she was doing it while her friends weren't. They had asked her one day:

"Beatrice, why do you think so much? And why do you always ask yourself some hard questions like that?"

"Don't you?" Beatrice had answered."No, we don't. First, we don't have time, and second, we don't

want to. It's too confusing."It's not that she wanted to. It would just corne naturally. One minute

she was listening to the radio, and the next minute she was having deep thoughts. Beatrice's father had told her one day that she was doing that because she had an intelligent mind. He'd said, "Everyone who has an intelligent mind gets lost in deep thoughts sometimes, Beatrice. Just like you and I do."

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Today, hearing her parents' disagreement coming from the living room, she was disgusted by everything they had ever told her. Two people fighting like that, over nonsense, couldn't have anything to say worth thinking about or worth changing for. She was sick of it all. Life is complicated, she thought. Today I just want to think about Roger and tonight’s dance. Just thinking about those two things would put a smile on her face and give her butterflies. Slowly, she surrendered to the warm feeling invading her, and her mind followed, drifting away in daydreams.

She was thinking about his smile mostly and how he seemed really into her. She had a hard time picturing all his features since she had only seen him briefly, but a few were enough for her to fantasize about him. A night with him, a week with him, a relationship with him, she couldeven fantasize a future with him. He was so charming, so…Beatrice fell asleep. Thinking about him would relax her and make her feel at ease, something she wasn't used to feeling.

She woke up abruptly to the sound of her mother yelling to everyone that supper was ready. She couldn't quite figure out how she had managed to fall asleep. They must've stopped fighting, she thought and got out of bed.

Supper was delicious and very quiet, like always, until Beatrice's father asked her what she was doing tonight.

"I'm going to the dance," answered Beatrice, avoiding her father's eyes.

"I still don't get why they have dances on Sunday nights," he replied, disgusted, and followed with, "It's like the world is upside down in this village! I'm not driving you there."

Beatrice didn't answer back. She knew he wasn't in a good mood, and she didn't want to stir him up. Sometimes he would force her to stay home, and that couldn't happen tonight. Tonight was important in so many ways. For starters, she hadn't seen Claudette all weekend; she wanted to see Roger, and she needed to get out of that house! Staying in there for long periods was suffocating to her. Her parents were either on her case or not there at all, too busy arguing with each other. She needed to breathe.

She got up from the table and said, "I'm not hungry anymore. I’ll be in my room getting ready for tonight." She followed it with, "Oh, and, Dad, I already have a ride."

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At that moment, Beatrice was scared. Scared her parents would ask her with whom or, worst, scared Roger wouldn't even pick her up. She quickly walked to her room and closed the door behind her to avoid questions of any kind.

In her room, she noticed she hadn't turned off the radio before heading to the kitchen earlier. The Beatles were playing again, which changed her mood instantly. Music had that power over her, especially uplifting tunes like the one that was playing now. She started singing along:

"Little darling, the srniles returning to the faces. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun. Here cornes the sun, and I say, it's all riiiight."

She had thought about the dance and Roger almost all day, and it was finally here! But what will I wear? Beatrice thought. She walked up to her closet and stood there for about four minutes and smiled as she saw the perfect outfit. She would wear her green dress, cut above the knees, on top of her collar bones, and before her shoulders. She would enhance it with a very long pearl necklace, panty hose, and platform shoes.

Looking at her reflection in her mirror, she was content of her look. Now I just have to stay here and wait for Claudette to arrive, Beatricethought. No! I have to leave the house before she gets here. I’ll meet her outside, and we'll wait for Roger along the coast. I can't let Dad see Roger. And besides, I said I'd be walking along the beach. She had picked up her best poncho and had waited for the perfect moment to escape the house: when her father would start arguing with her mother. A train could pass behind him, and he wouldn't hear it. It was the perfect moment to sneak out. Usually, she wouldn't bother doing it behind his back, but she knew he would have something to negative to say to her about going out tonight.

Beatrice heard her father's voice rising coming from the kitchen. It was time. Beatrice got up from her bed and started walking slowly toward the front entrance of the house. She had never felt this good about going out; in fact, she had an urge to escape from reality and have the time of her life. The plan was perfect, and so was its bringing about. She didn't even have to hurry to the door. Her parents were arguing in the kitchen, and her three brothers were already fast asleep. Beatrice's night was just getting started. Putting on her poncho real quick, Beatrice turned the doorknob, not even trying to be silent, knowing she wouldn't be heard.

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Once outside the house, she saw her cousin Claudette walking toward the house to join her.

"Why are you coming out the house?" she blasted. "It's freezing!" she added, arms crossed on her chest, rubbing them persistently.

"Shhh!" answered Beatrice with her eyes wide open while peeking behind her back. "I wanted to get out unnoticed."

Claudette was right. It was a really chilly night. Beatrice was regretting the idea of putting on her poncho instead of a coat. Thankfully, the walk to the coast wasn't too long, and Claudette had brought a bottle of tequila. Right away, they started taking turns drinking it straight out of the bottle. The tequila was so cheap it had a bitter taste to it. So rnuch that Beatrice couldn't help but wince at the bottle before pressing it to her lips. In no time flat though, the liquid was starting its effect, making both of them no longer able to notice the cool October air. They were walking toward Route 535, singing some Steppenwolf and talking about boys.

"That Roger guy you're dating is so hot, Beatrice!" Claudette said slowly, winking at Beatrice.

"How DO YOU KNOW?" asked Beatrice, stunned!"Oh, corne on, girl. Everybody knows," she answered and added,

"You should've told him if you were trying to be discreet about it.""I sure hope he's coming to pick us up like he promised," Beatrice

said with one eye shut and the other one barely open, trying to look at Claudette who was walking right through the glaring streetlight.

"He better 'cause at the rate we're going now, we won't get there in time!" exclaimed Claudette, laughing hysterically.

The night was already the best one Beatrice had experienced. I wish every day could be like this, Beatrice thought.

They could tell there was going to be a lot of people at the dance. A lot of cars had passed by beeping their horns at them, filled with people screaming like there was no tomorrow. Perfect, Beatrice thought with a smile on. Just the way I like it.

Just as the girls were talking about stopping the next car and ask whoever was driving for a lift, a car pulled over in front of them.

"Roger!" they both screamed at the same time.Beatrice's heart dropped. She couldn't believe he had actually corne

to pick them up. What a sweetheart, she thought. She was a nervous wreck. She chucked down what was left of the tequila bottle and hopped

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Inside the car right after Claudette. She thought she had her way with guys, but she had never met someone like him, someone who could make her mind spin like it was now.

In his car, the girls were singing as if they were opening a show. Was it the tequila, the song, the car, the three of them together? Or maybe, just maybe, it was the night. Maybe, for once, Beatrice was having a perfect night, a night away from home where everything was coming together so nicely, a night where the feeling was just out of this world. Whatever it was, Beatrice was surrendering, no resistance, and absolutely letting go of life. She was having a blast.

Roger was remarkably delighted by the mood the girls had settled in his car, but they were already arriving at the dance. He had to drop them off like he' d promised. Playing it cool, very smoothly, he asked Beatrice if he could pick her up after the dance. She was dizzy from excitement. She could feel a rush of blood all over her body.

"Sure, I could use a ride home," she answered, trying her best to look collected.

Roger smiled and leaned to kiss her. She was numb. Beatrice felt the intensity rise. With the kiss and the tequila, she felt like a grenade, ready to blow up.

Claudette was watching the whole thing with amusement. She had never seen Beatrice so charmed and happy. Then Beatrice suddenly remembered Claudette was still there, waiting for them to get out of the car. She withdrew her face and smiled to Roger politely before whispering, "Thank you, Roger. See you later!"

The girls got out of car to realize the parking lot was a party of its own. Some cars had their doors open to let out loud music with people surrounding them while drinking, and other cars had their doors shut to keep the weed smoke inside, but either way, it sure was entertaining for Beatrice. People could have had the time of their lives just being outside all night, but Beatrice wanted to go inside first. She had waited all day and had snuck out of her house for this dance. She wanted, had to, and absolutely needed to dance!

Making their way to the club entrance, Beatrice and Claudette could hear the music from outside, so they started hurrying. Once in, a feeling of comfort took place in Beatrice's body. This was her kind of party. The disco ball was spinning fast as the band was playing "All Right Now." Beatrice instantly took Claudette's hand and made her way straight to

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the dance floor. Much to her satisfaction, the alcohol was hitting hard. Dancing was coming effortlessly, like her body was made for it or, better yet, tuned in for it. Her hands were way over her head, swinging at the same beat as her hips and moving from side to side. She couldn't stay in place. She was spinning, hopping, and walking around with the beat. She was the only one there dancing with a smile on. Claudette couldn't even keep up. Some people there were wondering what was up with her, but rnost were enjoying her spirit. She was cheering up the people around

Dancing was all they had done for thirty-five minutes. They had broken into a sweat and were starting to get beaten down by the heat. They needed to freshen up, so Beatrice, followed by Claudette, decided to head outside. They weren't planning on staying long because the band was way too good tonight, but they noticed Timmy. Timmy was older. He was driving a nice black sports car and was attracting women like a peacock. However, that wasn't why Beatrice and Claudette had noticed him. Timmy was also good with selling drugs. He had them all: the greens, the powders, and the pills. Beatrice needed some. The dance was for fourteen- to eighteen-year-olds: minors. Consequently, there wasn't any alcohol for sale in there. Unfortunately for Beatrice, the tequila was still pumping through her veins, but it wouldn't all night. She was afraid Roger would come back to pick her up and she wouldn't have any buzz left. She couldn't face him sober! She absolutely needed to buy something.

Beatrice and Claudette both started walking slowly toward his car with a straight face on. Those who knew Timmy knew everything, but those who didn't had to stay that way: clueless. Beatrice had been warned before to stay unnoticed in times like this, for it could blow Timmy's cover. Thus, she was making an effort to stay concealed and invisible; but deep inside, her heart was dancing. She could feel the endorphins rushing through her body as she was anticipating taking drugs and enjoying this night even more.

As they were approaching the car, the driver's window rolled downand Timmy was behind it with a grin on his face. He knew from the moment he had laid eyes on them that they would buy whatever he had to offer. Two young girls, he thought, desperate for fun will pay big for a small prodigy.

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"Good evening, ladies! You've come to the right place. I have a deal as beautiful as you two tonight, what do you say?" announced Timmy as smoothly as the hood of his recently waxed black car.

"What do you have for us, Timmy?" asked Claudette, giggling to appear somewhat innocent and attractive.

"Jump in!" added Timmy.Beatrice and Claudette got into the backseat like two kids hopping

on a roller coaster."Look what I have here," declared Timmy.He had a paper bag in his bands, which he delicately opened to

show the girls."Ladies, let me introduce you to my magic powder," delivered

Timmy like a performance.Beatrice was interested. She had never used powder before. She

had smoked weed quite often, but this was new to her."Beatrice! You look spaced-out girl!" snapped Claudette."I’m fine, I've just never seen that before. How do we take it?"

asked Beatrice."Here," Timmy began. "You take this bottle of cola, you drop

some of my magic powder in it, and then you drink it!"Just like that, the cola had stayed very still, yet it had started to

foam up like crazy, and Timmy had immediately chugged down half the bottle.

"It's like natural medicine, man. It'll take you higher, I promise. Here, I have another bottle. You two can share this one. It's on me," explained Timmy while adding some powder to the freshly opened bottle of cola.

Beatrice was nervous but also very eager to try the magic powder. She literally needed to absorb something that would take over her control, something that could go straight to her brain and maneuver her body and stop her from thinking. She was thinking too much. She wanted to escape her thoughts for a moment and savor the night.

Beatrice's eyes were hungry staring straight at the bottle in Timmy's hand. He had just finished adding the white dust. The cola was starting to froth up excessively. Beatrice snapped the bottle out of Timmy's hand, as fast as an eagle catches a running mouse, and raised it to down it. She started gulping away. She could not spare a minute more. She

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wanted that exhilaration. She wanted that exuberance and joyful mood. She wanted it now!

"Beatrice! Relax! Save some for me," shouted Claudette.Claudette snatched the bottle right out of Beatrice's hand to drink

up the rest but a tad slower than Beatrice had. Claudette had done this before. She knew the feeling would corne soon enough; there was no need to be in a hurry.

The black car was looking even darker from inside with all the doors and windows closed. The windows were closed so Timmy could enjoy a smoke with the company of two beautiful girls. The smoke, thick and circling around in the car, looked like it was dancing to the music. In fact, the music was on so loud the three of them could barely hear one another speak.

Speaking was the last thing on Beatrice's mind at that moment; she was concentrating way too much, trying really hard to feel the smallest change in her body. She closed her eyes and leaned back to rest her head so she could feel everything better. Strange, thought Beatrice. Strange how nothing in my body has changed yet.

"How long am I supposed to wait for something to happen?" shouted Beatrice to be heard over the music.

"For something to happen? Are you waiting for your body to turn into a werewolf, Beatrice?" answered Claudette, joking around. "You took drugs, B. Relax and have fun. Stop taking this too seriously."

After hearing those words, relax was what she did. She turned her head to look out the window. The crowd outside the car had drastically gotten bigger.

"Look at all the people, Claudette! We should go outside!" exclaimed Beatrice.

"You know what, you're right. Let's go back in the club. I feel like dancing!" followed Claudette.

The two girls got up to get out of the backseat. Beatrice, with her head leaning close to Claudette's, whispered something, "I'm glad we did this, Claudette. I am so happy. It's like I don't even have problems, you know."

The drug was kicking in: a feeling of wellness had overcome her, making her difficult situations at home seem quite small.

"Do you think Roger likes me, Claudette?" Beatrice added out of curiosity, lacking inhibition now.

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"Sure, girl," whispered Claudette back at her.After a few stumbles, the girls were out of the car, smiling and

laughing together. That light mood was enough to draw everyone's attention to them like they had just hopped on a stage. Claudette had noticed everybody's eyes on them so she straightened herself out and got to walking. Destination—inside the club. As she was moving forward, she noticed everyone's eyes were still hooked around Timmy's car. She turned around to see what could be so interesting and saw Beatrice still standing very motionless next to the car. What in the world is she doing? thought Claudette. Confused, Claudette decided to make her way back to put some sense into Beatrice, afraid everyone was going to find out they had taken heavy drugs.

Just as she was approaching Beatrice, Claudette noticed a very worried look on her face.

"Hey…you all right, B?" asked Claudette, starting to worry.No answer.Beatrice could hear her, but she couldn't answer. She had stepped

out of the car very slowly and, just as she was ready to follow Claudette inside the club, had realized she was out of breath. She couldn't understand what was going on. Baffled, she had asked herself, How can I be so out of breath when I'm barely moving?

Suddenly, a loud scream pierced the night. This scream, disturbingly frightening, had made its way out of Claudette 's mouth, now covered with both her hands, shaking.

Beatrice had dropped unconscious on the pavement.Claudette was petrified. She was so frightened she couldn't move.

People in the surroundings were starting to rush over to see what was going on. A few were now trying to shake Beatrice awake and scream her name, not really knowing what else to do.

Tears were starting to roll down Claudette's cheeks."Someone wake her up please," Claudette said, bawling and now trying to

catch her own breath. She couldn't pass out and leave Beatrice. She had to stay awake. She started screaming, "BEATRICE, WAKE UP! IT'S ME, CLAUDETTE! PLEASE WAKE UP! YOU'RE SCARING ME! BEATRICE, COME ON! WAKE UP!"

Claudette was choking now. She was screaming and crying so much that her head was spinning. She had to fight through the heavy drug. She was watching her best friend being shaken like a puppet, tapped on,

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screamed at, and even being splashed with drinks, but nothing would make her eyes open. Claudette, crawling now, made her way on top of Beatrice, squeezing her cheeks and shedding tears all over her face. She had lost control.

Beatrice was lying flat on her back, eyes closed and wasn't moving. Claudette was desperately screaming in her ears now, trying to wake her up but stopped when she heard someone shout, "Look, there's foam coming out her mouth!"

Claudette was startled. She looked down, and there was definitely foam coming out of Beatrice's mouth. Claudette started backing away from Beatrice slowly, eyes opened wide, and staring at her like she was suddenly someone else. Claudette was too scared to cry now. All she could say was, "What's happening to her? SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPENING TO HER! TIMMY! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"

Timmy was speechless.The foam coming out of Beatrice's mouth was heavier now, and

her body started trembling.The crowd was backing up now. No one could understand

anything.Claudette started to vomit. She wanted to be there, close to

Beatrice, but she was vomiting so hard it was taking up all her energy."Someone should call an ambulance," a random guy said and

added, "I don't know what's going on, but it can't be good."All the girls watching the scene were crying now, horrified.Hearing that guy's idea and seeing all the girls crying, Timmy

panicked. Calling an ambulance would bring curious paramedics and attract the police. The crowd would go crazy, revealing everything. Timmy feared the worst.

"No," said Timmy.Everyone was watching him now."I know what's going on. I’ll bring her to the hospital, it'll be faster.

There's no need to worry. Someone help me get her into my car.""He's right," that same guy called out and followed, "Someone

help me get Beatrice in Timmy's backseat!"Two guys quickly picked her up and got her in Timmy's backseat

and closed the door."Don't worry, she's safe with me. I've seen this a dozen times," said

Timmy, trying to relax the crowd.

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Leaving the parking lot in a hurry, Timmy's car made a big screech in the now very silent atmosphere, and he was gone.

All eyes were now on Claudette. She was still in a corner having a hard time battling her reaction to all that commotion. A girl had walked up to her to try to soothe her.

"Don't worry, Claudette. Timmy's gone to bring Beatrice to the hospital. He said he had seen it a dozen times. She's going to be OK," said the girl trying to calm her

"I want to go to the hospital! Someone get me to the hospital!" screamed Claudette, having a hard time calming herself down.

The girl followed, "Claudette, calrn down. I think it would be best for you to go home and rest now. You'll have news in the morning like everybody else."

"Shut up!" Claudette replied, punching her in the face.The crowd was silent. They were all looking at the girl's bleeding

nose. Claudette pushed her to the side and was looking at the crowd now.

"You bunch of idiots!" Claudette screamed.She was going mad. The crowd was backing up some more, looking

at one another now, waiting for sorneone else to do something. Claudette was walking up to them. They were scared. They were all looking at her like she was a hungry lion ready to jump and eat one of them.

"You gave Beatrice away to Timrny. Did you all lose your minds?" Claudette said, shaking and breathing very loudly.

She kneeled down and started sobbing. She felt alone."Why did you let her leave without me?" she added through her tears.No one could answer. It was a painful scene. The girls had started

to cry again, and the guys were worried sick. No one knew what would happen with Beatrice, and no one knew what to do with Claudette. Everyone had seen more than they could handle, but no one dared going home.

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CHAPTER 8

Dreamless Night

Monday, the twenty-sixth of October in 1970, at 3:30 a.m., Beatrice's body was just lying on the ground outside Moncton's hospital entrance.

Complete silence.Timmy had dumped her there and had left in a rush.Beatrice had been left all alone on a cold autumn night, with the

drug still aggressively abusing her body and where no one could see or hear her desperation.

Not able to move, the cold concrete ground below her fingers, hard and rough to the touch, was the only thing she had to hold on to. The brutal wind, so chilly, was the only thing that was caressing her, and the moon was the only light making her shine.

Beatrice didn't know where she was or what for. She could barely open her eyes. The only thing she could feel was weakness. She was so weak she had failed at an attempt to lift her right arm. Her heart was beating softly and very slowly. Her breathing had become so heavy she felt like quitting it.

Time was passing by, but Beatrice couldn't tell if it was passing by slowly or quickly. She started thinking about her family. For the first time in a while now, she wished they would've been there with her, and then she thought about that white church. She ignored why, but she wished she could've been there too, instead of where she was now.

Beatrice felt a sudden burst of wind and then nothing.

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Found far too late by a passing employee, Beatrice had died alone on a freezing sidewalk. At fifteen years of age, leaving without saying good-bye and with no one by her side.

The doctors had brought her inside in a hurry to find she had suffered from a lung and heart failure caused by an overdose of drugs and alcohol, mainly opiates. Clearly, the drugs were the main cause, but being left hanging without medical attention for more than an hour hadn't served her any good either.

So young and full of dreams, Beatrice had gone dancing to escape from the only people who really loved her.

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CHAPTER 9

Autumn Leaf

The news had made its way through the village in just hours. People were devastated and angry. Gossips were heard in every possible corner. In Grandville Road though, you could feel the grief, the desperation, and the pain corning from Beatrice's house. For the first time in years, Earnest was hugging Brenda. They were feeling nothing but misery, sorrow, and intense agony. The news was hard to swallow.

At school, Robert and Patrick had been called out of their classroom to face a very heartbroken policeman.

"Boys, your parents asked me to pick you up. I have bad news. Your sister, Beatrice, passed away last night. I'm terribly sorry. I'm going to ask you to follow me to my car."

The boys looked at each other, scared, not really knowing what to do. They couldn't believe it. They could hardly understand it. Young people weren't supposed to die like that all of a sudden.

"What happened? Was she sick?" asked Patrick with a worried face.No one answered. Robert's mind was frozen, and the policeman

couldn't find his words. This was the part of his job he couldn't bear. He would leave the rest to the family.

The funeral was nothing ordinary: a family losing a member; three very young boys losing their older sister; a gang of friends losing a friend; parents losing their first child, their only daughter; and finally, Brenda losing her only friend and, from that moment on, losing herself.

For the first time in months, Brenda had worn black. She had to wear black to the funeral. In fact, she had worn black not only to follow society's in-depth, nonwritten rule but also to reflect what she felt: stripped from all her colors—lifeless.

During the funeral, Brenda had noticed the crowd that had gathered up. There were a lot of people. A few of them were familiar, but a lot of them weren't. She couldn't understand why there were so many people. Who in the world were all those people? Why were they giving them support now? Why were they all dressed up and praying for Beatrice now? The Orchard family had moved to Cocagne hauling boxes and problems, and the villagers knew that from the beginning. The Orchard family had been known all around as the dysfunctional family. Why had no one bothered dressing up and praying for them then?

When Beatrice was alive and beautiful but had a hard time holding on to life, not a helping hand was open, and no eyes were looking to help her. Now that she was in a coffin though, everybody in the church was kneeling, bowing their head for her, and crying? Just like autumn leaves, only noticed when they're falling dead and changing colors, Beatrice on a fall afternoon was now standing out to the public 's eyes.

Brenda could see a lot of people, but she knew only a few of them cared. She couldn't imagine life with Beatrice. She looked up to see the cross and Jesus on top of it. Was God going to be enough? Did she have enough faith left to go on without her? Today she was in the house of God, crying and asking his help. Why was he doing this to her? Why was this world so cruel? She was at the end of her thread. All her life, she had supported the lies, the bangs, the insulting words, but this was unbearable.

Just as she was thinking about giving up and joining her daughter, she felt something on her right hand: another hand, a smaller hand, a little innocent boy crying and reaching out for her—her youngest son. There it was: her inspiration. She would stay alive and strong to take care of her three wonderful sons. They needed her. She couldn't take her life away and leave her precious boys in the hands of her husband.

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EPILOGUE

Earnest passed away from cancer in 1989. I have grown up used to seeing my grandmother live alone. All the time I've known her, she was suffering from mental issues. The thoughts lingering in her head were too heavy for a person to deal with. She suffered from depression mostly, from years of loneliness and from playing her past like a movie in her head over and over again. She used to love the company of my sister and me, her only grandchildren, for she could have little girls to take care of from time to time. I remember being part of the only thing she had left, three sons and two grandchildren, but I was too young to realize it. She was trying hard to be heard, but not a lot of people could deal with the weight of her stories.

Like I've mentioned before, this story started to make sense to me when she was at a turning point. Basically, by the time I was old enough to understand the story and appreciate it, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

She stayed in three different nursing homes in total, forced to move as her condition worsened. Amazingly, Alzheimer's disease was not only deteriorating my grandmother's body but it was also slowly deteriorating her past. Through the last couple of years I've known her, her mind was finally at peace. She could barely recognize my father anymore, but she sure looked peaceful. The closer to death she was getting, the happier she looked. I rememher coming to visit her in the nursing home and the staff members describing her as the woman who was always laughing and making others laugh. She was known as the lady with the young spirit.

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Brenda passed away on the twentieth of October in 2009. For most, the funeral was ordinary: an elderly woman dying at seventy five years of age from many physical complications and Alzheimer's disease; but for anyone who knew this story, it was more. It was more than a woman shutting down. It was a mother leaving life as we know it, to join her daughter, her only friend.

All there is left of the Orchard family now are three grown men. All of them are living a happy and busy life apart from one another, but none has forgotten Beatrice's last dance.