Levi’s Practice

The New Quarterly Spring 2020 issue 154 Short Fiction

Levi counts his steps to the threshold of the kitchen—exactly sixteen. He loves when his counting ends on an even number and he hates foods that can’t be counted like blueberry jam and peanut butter. His mother knows this and is usually very careful about what she cooks, but this morning, as he stands in the doorway of the kitchen looking in, the flesh of her upper arm jiggles as she beats the hell out of a bowl of raw eggs. “I like my eggs hard boiled. What are you doing?” ​

“I’m making a big messy cheese omelette for breakfast.” ​

“I won’t eat that.” ​

“Then don’t.” ​

Her abrupt response feels like a slap. It was silly to think she’d forgive him for hiding in his room last evening when her new friend visited. He would have greeted him politely, but just before the man showed up, she said, “Levi, if only you had somewhere to go.” ​

Well, he didn’t have anywhere to go except his bedroom, so he locked himself in it and refused to come out to meet her friend. ​

She tosses the whisk in the sink. The sun streams in the kitchen window and her thick auburn hair looks like a mess of copper wire. “It would do you some good to practice eating food that’s not prepared exactly as you like it.” ​

Practice, yes Levi needs to practice. At the end of the summer he’ll leave this island, this house he was born in and move to a university dorm where no one will care about his food preferences or his need to count. He’s scared to leave home but if he stays here, he may never find a friend. There are so few people his age on the island and none of them have ever wanted him around. In elementary school he sat alone at the desk closest to the teacher’s and in high school he walked the halls alone trying to avoid the worst of the bullies. ​

He sits at his usual spot at the kitchen table and adjusts the salt and pepper shakers so that they’re perfectly centred on the rectangular surface, close together but not touching. His mother sits across from him with a coffee. She drops three sugar cubes into her mug and stirs eleven times. With her head tilted down, her double chin looks extra thick and Levi tries to remember how old she is. Forty-two, an even year and she hasn’t had a serious relationship in at least five.

From down the hall he hears the toilet flush. “He’s still here?” He hates it when she has sleepovers. ​

“Yes, so be polite. Last night you embarrassed me by not even coming out of your room to say hi.” ​

“You know I don’t like talking to new people.” ​

She props her elbows on the table, covers her face with her hands and lets out an exhausted sigh. “Just try to act normal.” ​

“I’ll be gone soon.” ​

“I don’t want you ‘gone’, but I’d appreciate better manners when I invite someone into our home. Jez, you’re not helping my love life.” ​

“Neither is your woodpecker laugh or your Wiccan practices!” Levi didn’t mean to say all that, but sometimes he can’t stop his words from tumbling out and didn’t he just overhear her friend, Margaret say the exact same thing two days ago. Truth is, he likes his mother’s laugh—it’s contagious and since she became a witch, she stopped dragging him to church. ​

Her back straightens. “Don’t be mean!” She points a finger at him and is about to say more, but her friend comes down the hall and into the kitchen. She springs out of her chair, puts a smile on her face, and kisses his cheek. “Good morning. Coffee?” He sits across from Levi. ​

Levi stares at his face and counts the small dark moles–six in all. Levi prefers moles to his own freckles because freckles bleed into one another and look like splashed chocolate milk. Impossible to count. ​

“So, you must be Levi. My name is Guy.” His shoulders are rounded, he’s got a small pot belly, a long grey pony tail and a faded tattoo of an eagle on his right forearm. There’s nothing symmetrical about him—no crisp lines, no definition, nothing else to count. ​

Still, Levi wants to make amends for being rude last night. “Guy, that’s a nice name.” ​

“It’s French.” ​

“You don’t sound French.” ​

“I’m not. My parents thought the name suited me.” ​

“Oh, so like when you were born, they said, ‘He’s a guy, not a gal?’”

Guy laughs. “You’re funny.” ​

Levi isn’t trying to be funny, he wants to know. He gets stuck on repeat—“guy, gal, guy, gal.”

“What?” Guy said. ​

His mother picks the carton of milk off the table, shakes it and says, “Levi, we’re almost out, go to the Co-op and get more.” ​

Guy looks down at his coffee. His mother shakes the carton again and gives Levi her tight-lipped, do as I say look. Levi heads to the sun porch just off the kitchen where he keeps his runners. As he hunches over to tie his laces, she sticks her head out. “Talk to people and don’t count everything.” ​

Levi walks down the long driveway to the main road that cuts across the island and feels a familiar pain in his chest. It hurts when she tries to fix him. He wants her to be proud of him, to look at him as he’s witnessed other moms look at their children, but his mother always adjusts his shirt collar, adds to his sentences or tells him where to stand. Without her help, he’s sure he’ll make a total ass of himself at university. People will laugh at him and that will make him cry. Then, people will laugh some more. ​

His eyes land on the fence posts that run the length of their property. Counting settles his mind and if no one is listening he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing. ​

There are exactly thirty-two posts, two metres apart until the driveway meets the road. Then there’re exactly eight driveways until he hits the beach. The beach is a bit tricky. Boys from his high school hang out there, drinking beer and starting bon fires. Last weekend when he walked past, they wiggled their dicks and yelled, “Hey Levi, count this.” He did—four limp penises, two circumcised, two not. ​

As the beach comes into view, there are no vehicles parked beside the road. He loves watching the incoming tide lick the dry sand then pull back like a lizard’s tongue. He crosses the road and heads towards the water. ​

A two-foot chop ripples across the bay and the wind whooshes in the tops of tall cedars. The morning air holds a chill. ​

At the water’s edge where the rocks jut out of the sand, he spots a tiny seal pup. He scans the horizon looking for its mother. He doesn’t want to scare it and stays a good ten metres back. He imagines lying on the cold sand abandoned and terrified, and thinks of his mom back at the house with a guy named Guy. He wants to run home and tell her about the baby seal, but she wants time alone with this man. She’s made that perfectly clear so why all the fuss about not coming out of his room last night? Harder than any coursework he’s ever done to get through high school is trying to figure out how to please his mother. ​

Levi bends over and rests his hands on his knees as he thinks about what to do. He could text her and ask for advice. She’ll be waiting for the ‘ding’, will answer within seconds, and tell him how to manage the situation. Annoyed, but protective as her new friend listens. And then she’ll be disappointed that he can’t even go to the Co-op by himself for a litre of milk without finding a dilemma. ​

Levi decides to watch over the pup until its mother returns. He sits on a fat log, crosses his legs and places his hands on his knees. With his eyes closed, he counts each deep breath. He feels better. This counting isn’t weird, it’s called meditation—not quirky at all. ​

When a male voice asks, “What are you counting?” he jumps to his feet and is face-to-face with, Jason from his grad class. Jason used to be one of the meanest bullies, but at the beginning of his grade twelve year, Levi boarded the school bus, expected Jason to trip him or throw grapes at his head but instead, Jason said, “Hey, Levi. How are you doing?” In the cafeteria at lunchtime Jason didn’t yell numbers at him which always made Levi lose count of whatever he was focused on like how many trays were stacked at the start of the food line or how many females—boobs, were in the cafeteria. ​

Levi scans the beach, but Jason is alone. “I was counting my breaths.” ​

“You even count how many breaths you take? You’re weird,” Jason laughs and looks towards the seal. ​

Levi shoves his hands in the pockets of his size 32, straight legged Gap jeans of medium fade and wraps his hand around his phone. Maybe he should call his mother whether she gets annoyed or not. His mother has warned him to stay clear of this fellow. ​

Jason, with his athletic build stands a good head taller than Levi. He has the same colouring, but no one ever calls him shit-face for having a mess of freckles across his nose. Everyone wants to be Jason’s friend and Levi has noticed that girls smile more when he’s around. ​

As Jason heads towards the seal, Levi blocks his path and says, “It’s waiting for its mom.” ​

“It’s dead, Levi.” ​

“No, it isn’t.” ​

Jason picks up a stick and walks towards it, but Levi blocks his path. His heart races because he’s afraid Jason will hit him—he’s seen him fight other guys for no good reason and he always wins. ​

“What the fuck? It’s dead!” ​

Levi cowers a bit but manages to say, “No, it isn’t. Its mother will be back.” ​

“The mother got shot. Go look at it—it’s dead!” ​

Levi turns his back to Jason and walks closer to the pup until he sees flies crawling over its opened eyes. He bends down to get a better look. The flies have already ruined the shiny surface of its eyeballs. “Its mother got shot?” ​

“Yeah. It interfered with a fisherman’s net.” ​

“That’s awful!” Levi says. The incoming tide laps against the dead pup. Its fin flaps. “Who would shoot a mother seal?” ​

“My asshole father. That’s who.” Jason’s face is flushed. ​

Levi doesn’t know what to say, but if Jason is upset, he should say something to comfort him. “Your father is an asshole. My mother says so all the time.” ​

“Your mother’s right. Everyone on this island hates my dad.” Jason’s voice sounds gravelly, and his nose is snotty. ​

“Send your father a picture of this dead baby and show him what he’s done.” ​

“He’d beat on me.” ​

Levi stares at Jason. He doesn’t look so tough when he’s biting his fingernails. He’s afraid of his father and that’s even worse than not knowing who your father is. Levi takes out his phone, snaps two pictures. “I can send a picture to your father if you want. He wouldn’t beat on me.” ​

Jason smirks. “You’re right, he wouldn’t dare pick on you.” ​

“Cause I’m a weirdo?” ​

“No. Cause your mother’s a witch. My father says she put a curse on our cow last summer after he drove through a puddle and splashed her. The meat tastes like shit. Our dogs won’t even eat it.” ​

“That’s something she’d do.” ​

The tide laps in a bit more. Sea gulls screech overhead circling closer and closer. Levi doesn’t want to witness what happens next. “I have to go to the Co-op for milk.” ​

“I’ll walk with you.” ​

They leave the beach, the dead pup, and walk the road together. They talk about leaving the island at the end of the summer. Jason is headed to the mainland to work with his uncle who’s an electrician. “I wanted to go to university but I’m not smart like you,” he says. Cars pass and toot and Levi smiles because he’s with cool Jason and he isn’t nervous. Not really. ​

At the Co-op, Levi wrestles his urge to count cans of soup and dust the shelves. A cloth hangs by the door especially for him and he closes his eyes as he steps past it. He buys the milk and he and Jason stand outside together drinking Cokes. He keeps his back to the glass door because the shelves are crooked and dusty.

Jason invites him to a grad party at Rocky Point that’s planned for the coming weekend. “Most everyone who hasn’t left the island will be there. It’s a chance to say good-bye.” ​

Levi is hesitant. “Your friends pick on me.” ​

“Tell them to fuck-off. We’re getting too old for that shit.” ​

“Fuck off, fuck off,” Levi says. He likes how it feels to press his top teeth into his bottom lip to form a strong F. ​

“Just say it once like you mean it.” “Fuck-off!” Levi says. ​

“You own it!” Jason play-punches Levi’s arm. They laugh and joke about high school as if it’s been years since they were students. Levi doesn’t agree that the science teacher, Mr. Livingstone was a dork, but he agrees the man always had bad breath. ​

As they part ways Jason says, “See you on the weekend.” ​

Levi answers, “I’ll try.” ​

“Just get yourself there. It’ll be fun and no one will pick on you. I promise.” ​

By the time Levi starts to walk home, the milk is warm. He doesn’t count the cars or fence posts because he’s too busy thinking about the party next weekend and Jason’s promise to look out for him, the laughs they shared today and how great it feels to say, fuck-off. ​

As he turns up his driveway his enthusiasm begins to fade and his eyes lock on the fence posts. The counting begins. He can’t stop himself and suddenly he doubts everything that happened today. Is he really invited to the grad party or is Jason setting him up? Is fuck-off something he should say? ​

Guy’s truck is still parked in front of the house. He hears his mother’s laughter and walks around to the back deck where they sit in the shade sipping beers.

She stands when she sees him. Her smile disappears. “You were gone a while, what happened?” ​

He sorts through his day thinking of what part might please her the most: that he and Jason got along, that he didn’t count cans or dust shelves at the co-op, or maybe the invite to the grad party. ​

“You were bullied again, weren’t you?” She brings a hand to her forehead, the other lands on her hip. ​

“No.” Suddenly he feels protective of his day and doesn’t want her to rip it apart. “I sat on the beach and watched a baby seal until its mother returned.” ​

“You sat on the beach all this time?” ​

“Yes. I watched the seal with her pup.” ​

“For three hours?” ​

“Yes.” ​

She glances at Guy, raises an eyebrow. Levi imagines she’s already told him how hard it is to raise a boy with so many ‘issues’—he’s overheard her complain to her friends many times. ​

“Put the milk in the fridge,” she says as if he doesn’t know where it belongs.

Levi goes inside. ​

This is the first time he didn’t tell his mother every little detail about his day—and it’s the first time he’s lied to her. His heart races, a trickle of sweat rolls down his temples but he can’t stop smiling. ​

She enters the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I can make you some lunch.” ​

“No. I’m not hungry.” Two lies—he hasn’t eaten anything substantial since lunch the previous day. ​

He holds his breath as he waits for her reaction. When she shrugs, and heads back outside, he exhales and decides it’s not necessary to tell her everything. If he’s about to leave the island, it makes perfect sense to store his own experiences separate from hers. It will take practice to keep things to himself, but he’s almost certain that’s what a normal son would do.