There was a resigned weariness in both of us as we stood on the Vancouver sidewalk, a mom and a teenage girl, and stared up at the sign.
AVAILABLE FOR RENT
One Bedroom Suite
Inquire Within
No Pets, No Drugs, No Soliciting
The small apartment building was topsy-turvy, slouched to one side, like it had survived a few hard years and was finally ready to rest. The old bricks and bright paint stood out against a sky heavy with grey clouds. Balconies stuck out at irregular intervals, spilling over with leaves, hanging herb gardens, and tangled strings of lights. The entrance was tucked away behind a black metal gate, leading to a courtyard. A large, empty, pond in the middle, with cracked blue tiles..
Mom threw herself down on the giant blue armchair, the only piece of furniture we currently had in the living room. I sat cross-legged on the floor, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, surrounded by cardboard boxes. Some were half open, bedding spilling out like a material waterfall. Others were still held together with brown duct tape, their insides threatening to erupt at any moment. Vesuvius in the kitchen.
I watched as my mother lay back, tipping her face up to the ceiling and placing one of her candies with the cartoon characters on her tongue. She picked up her hand and waved it in front of her face. She laughed and laughed, sweat forming on her upper lip. I mopped up a blob of strawberry jelly that had landed on my sparkly Converse with my finger. Licking the stickiness off each finger with a popping sound, I wiped my hand clean on my jeans.
Wandering over to where she was still sitting, I waved my hands in front of her face. I pulled her hair. She erupted into more laughter and curled up into a ball trying to dig herself beyond what the chair was already offering her.
One of the candies with Bugs Bunny on it was on the blue chair’s armrest. I picked it up and slipped it into my mouth not entirely sure what to do with it. It started to dissolve on my tongue leaving a fuzzy feeling on my teeth.
I felt the apartment building take a deep breath. Softening at the edges and vibrating, its heartbeat echoing in my ears. Shapes shifted and changed. What had been doors were now entrances into its mind. I was being welcomed. I started down the lighted path. My own edges blurring as the building absorbed me into itself. Where was it taking me?
A door opened and a force pulled me inside. I moved like a wind-up toy. A splendid oak tree had erupted through the floorboards, the splintered remains around its majestic trunk. The enormous leaves, green and taking up most of the apartment. Hanging from the branches were cocoons. Getting closer I noticed inside each cocoon was a small child, eyes closed, as if sleeping. Not moving. Not waking. A man sprawled on a couch, a television remote in his giant paw forever clicking. Click, click, click. Shush, don’t wake them.
A whoosh and another door opened, sounds became colours, colours became sounds. A bright red liquid splashed against the wall thumping in my ears. Shattered glass looked like paint drops dripping from a ledge. Dark shapes wrestling, every now and then a body part. A knee. An elbow. A slender hand reaching towards me. For help? For something else?
I felt the building gather me into itself. Held snugly, our heartbeats in sync. Another room revealing itself to me. A monstrous white fridge, with the door open, its fluorescent lighting casting an eerie glow. Flickering. A tiny child, the size of my little finger, squeaking and reaching upwards. A thimble-sized glass of milk and a sandwich no bigger than my fingernail balanced precariously on the middle glass shelf. There was no one else in the room. She was all alone, save for the building and me. I tried to pick her up but she was so tiny I couldn't quite grasp her. Should I get in there with her? Then the apartment gave a groan.
I was spat out into my own living room again. I could see the blue chair, my mother snoring, a thin piece of drool at the corner of her mouth. Then there was another blue chair and another and another. Stretching through the whole apartment and beyond. In each chair sat my mother and a different version of me, as a baby, a child, a teenager, a grown woman, and finally an old one. In each chair I was sitting on my mother’s lap and she was laughing and laughing.
I floated to the balcony and opened the sliding glass door. I climbed the railing and looked down at the pond. Except now it was an ocean, calling me.
I leaned forward.
Three, two, one.
~~~Sarah is a writer from Cork, now living in Vancouver, Canada with her husband, four children, and her dog. Her work has appeared in The Closed Eye Open (Mayas Micros, Issue 36), 50-Word Stories, and Bending Genres with forthcoming work in Beyond Words, The Martello Journal, Ivo Review, The Piker Press, Wingless Dreamer and Prosetrics.
