Anita Daher - You Dont Have To Die In The End: A Novel

YOU DONT
HAVE TO DIE
IN THE END

Copyright 2020 Anita Daher

Yellow Dog

(an imprint of Great Plains Publications)

1173 Wolseley Avenue

Winnipeg, MB R 3 G 1 H 1

www.greatplains.mb.ca

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or in any means, or stored in a database and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Great Plains Publications, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from Access Copyright (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M 5 E 1 E 5.

Great Plains Publications gratefully acknowledges the financial support provided for its publishing program by the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund; the Canada Council for the Arts; the Province of Manitoba through the Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Book Publisher Marketing Assistance Program; and the Manitoba Arts Council.

Design & Typography by Relish New Brand Experience

Printed in Canada by Friesens

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: You dont have to die in the end : a novel / by Anita Daher.

Names: Daher, Anita, 1965- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200165216 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200165232 |
ISBN 9781773370439 (softcover) | ISBN 9781773370453 (Kindle) | ISBN 9781773370446 ( EPUB )

Classification: LCC PS 8557. A 35 Y 69 2020 | DDC j C 813/.6dc23

For Kevin,

who finds beauty in shadow
and embraces family above all

Joy & Woe are woven fine

A Clothing for the soul divine

William Blake

W hen I drank, memories flattened and smoothed into river stones, skipped a surface shiny as a spoon. TV ads that said it was like looking through a drinking glass were meant to scare you straight, keep you from driving. But I wasnt the one at the wheel. If I were, I wouldnt be following some drunk on the street.

Luda pounded my shoulder. Earth to Eugenia, they said. You gotta watch, tell me if anyones coming.

I could see well enough, but my mouth hurt and I didnt feel like answering. When we stopped by the tracks to share a mickey of Jger, they smacked at my shoulder but missed and hit my jaw, called me a wuss because I wouldnt keep drinking. A punch didnt mean nothing, it was just how they communicated. Luda taught me to punch first and ask questions later. Not a bad policy in this town. Fort St. Luke was not for the delicate. It was also not for the stupid.

Wed been bored and looking for trouble when this cowboy stumbled out of The Round Up roadhouse on Main. Luda said wed follow just for grins, freak him out a little. With man-high ridges on either side, the guy had nowhere to go but forward. So much snow. Not unusual for December in this back-assed, northern town, but there were days you wished you were anywhere else but here. Mountains to the west, drylands to the east, this was supposed to be a ranching sweet spot. Felt like being stuck. When you couldnt go anywhere, you looked for diversion.

Luda slowed the Nova, centered it on the snow-covered street. Points if I knock him off the road.

You kiddin?

Yeah. But the look they gave me, I wasnt so sure.

Forgetm, Luda. You gotta stop now.

I dont gotta do nothing.

True. They didnt even care if they banged up their car. I pulled out the Jger and drank a whole lot more.

Luda laughed. Now were talking.

When their grandfather sold them his 74 Nova for cheap it was in pretty good shape. Not cherry, but okay. A nice gesture as Luda had just passed their driver test. Luda took the car but told me in private it was too little, too late. Since then theyd nicked and scratched it, ripped the bumper off twice. It was like they used the car to punish Gramps for not protecting them from their mothers fists and cigarette burns. Father couldnt do it. Luda didnt even know who he was.

A least they had a grandfather. When I told them they were lucky they rubbed snow in my face like it was a joke, but there was something hard in their eyes.

For Luda, wheels meant freedom, so they said sayonara to their mom and got two black eyes for their trouble. The Ministry of Children and Family put them up in a hotel for a while, then their own apartment. Luda didnt bother going back to school. They figured theyd get along fine without it.

Luda was all for being in-the-moment, which suited me fine. The future was overrated, and the past was just plain done. Period. My father taught me that lesson when he killed himself. I suppose Ma did too when she took off.

Some people have no stick. Luda? They stick. Weve been best friends since grade seven when Jonathan Wilter backed me into a corner and pulled out his penis. Luda came up behind and swung a baseball bat up between his legs. He stayed away after that, moved at spring break and we never did hear where.

No point dwelling on what you cant change. All you could really hope for was a bit of fun from time to time. Jger was good for that. So was beer, pot, or whatever else we could get our hands on, except meth. That was where we drew the line. Too much crazy with that shit, and you couldnt never come back. It was in the news that this meth-head thought her dog was her dead sister come back to haunt her and so she stabbed it until it was in pieces. Guess she never liked her sister.

The Nova fishtailed as Luda stepped on the gas, then brought it back under control. Cowboy ahead didnt have a hope in hell to outrun us. One minute he was a block away, his parka nosebleed red in Ludas headlights, and then we were on him. Luda spun like they meant to side-swipe him, but the guy bumped up on the hood and off the other side.

A wave of nausea pushed through me until I saw he was okay. Then I giggled. Sounded weird in my head. Points, Luda. You gotm. Lets go.

Luda stopped and looked in their rear-view mirror, dead serious. My neck prickled. This didnt look like game over. The guy was on hands and knees, watching us. He hadnt even lost his hat.

He got up, brushed away the snow, and walked toward us, steady and sure, a cat before the pounce.

My spidey senses tingled.

Guys a nut-bar, Luda. Lets go.

But Luda wasnt listening. There was something funny about their eyes as they accelerated to the end of the street, hit the brakes and spun around. My stomach jumped and I searched for words to stop this. If this guy ended up dead, apart from being just plain awful, the cops would find us. No question. The Nova wasnt exactly subtle. And we were known.

Luda had one foot on the brake, and the other on the gas, revving. Cowboy picked himself up off the road and stood dead center, facing us, like the knockdown hadnt bothered him at all. Luda revved again.

The space around my head spun and I put my hand on the dash to steady. I was beginning to feel as green as that bottle
of Jger.

Luda didnt notice or didnt care. Tires spun as they stepped on the gas, smacked the rear of the car against the snowbank. They swore, lined up to run the guy down.

I swallowed the rising sick in the back of my throat, checked my panic, reminded myself Luda was no psycho. Theyd take it right to the edge, but not over.

Luda revved one more time. Then they let go of the brake.

At the last second, the cowboy leapt onto a snow ridge like some damn mountain goat.

He may not have been drunk after all.

Good. Fine. Hes off the road, Luda. You won.

Except one look at Luda told me this wasnt over.