Sarah Mlynowski - Fishbowl

fishbowl

SARAH MLYNOWSKI

For Bonnie, Ronit, Lisa, Jaime, Mel and Todd:

my roommates, past and present.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who read and reread drafts of this book: Sam Bell, my devoted editor; Elissa Harris Ambrose, my grammar-queen mom; Jess Braun, my long-standing coconspirator; Bonnie Altro, my favorite storyteller; Todd Swidler, my exceptionally patient boyfriend; and Kathrin Menge and Ana Movileanu, my perceptive, speed-reading ex-coworkers.

Special thanks to the Oakville firefighters whoextremely sweetlyexplained the technicalities of burning down ones kitchen. Oh, and let me try on the funky gear.

Cheers for the RDI team: Laura Morris, Margaret Marbury, Margie Miller, Tara Kelly, Tania Charzewski, Pam Spengler-Jaffeeand I mustnt forget Craig Swinwood.

Finally, thanks to the endless support of family and friends (Dad, Louisa, Bubbe, Grandma, Squirt, Rob, Lynda, Sohmer, Merjane and the Wednesday Night Dinner Girls).

A TINY BIT OF FORESHADOWING

Allison, Jodine and Emma are going to set their apartment on fire. No, theyre not going to do iton purpose. What kind of lunatics do you think they are?

Now, dont go worrying. No one will get hurt. There will be no heart-stopping da-da-daE.R.

music in the background, no one in white yellingStat! , no George Clooney look-a-like climbing aboard a gurney to thump life back into someones heart, and no artificial respiration of any kind, including the mouth-to-mouth variety.

And were all thankful for that, of course. Although when Janet, the substitute teacher who lives in the apartment upstairs, tells the story, shell kind of wish something slightly more significant will have happened, like maybe the girls get trapped in the bathroom while the flames lick the closed door, and they stand sweating and shivering under the running shower, and they see smoke creeping in from the hallway, and just as theyre about to pass outNo, wait! Maybe one of themwill pass out. Shell faint away just as the cute fireman throws open the door and tosses all three girls over his muscle-rippled shoulders. Hell look as if he stepped right off a Chippendales calendar (except his firemans getup is done up) to carry them into the midnight air to safety. And then hell give the passed-out girl resuscitation (yes!

yes! the mouth-to-mouth variety) and shes breathing! Shes going to make it! Isnt it wonderful to be alive!

But this isnt going to happen. This is Janets fantasy, and Janet is not an important player in this story.

Sorry, Janet.

Anyway, the girls will have to go to the E.R., but itll be more of a formality than because of any real concern. Something about sucking in too much carbon monoxide and needing oxygen. Theyll also need to shower. When they get out of that burning apartment, they wont exactly be making a fashion statement, although theyd make excellent before or

fashion dont pictures, if any glossy magazine decides to snap their pictures. Which, of course, isnt going to happen, either, because why would a fashion photographer be sitting in the waiting room of the E.R.? Be serious. The girls faces are going to look as if theyve been rubbed with black chalk, if black chalk even exists, as there are no white blackboards. And their hairif their mothers were to see their hair in that rats-nest sooty condition, theyd probably cover their eyes and scream, Cut it off! Just cut it all off! while flashing back to incidents of pink chewing gum. Mothers can sometimes get a wee bit overdramatic.

These girls aint going to be a pretty sight.

But do you know what theyre going to need? Even more than a shower?

Insurance. Sounds kind of superfluous next to oxygen and water, but when you dont have protection, things tend to get a little messy.

Anyway, you dont have to worry about all this fire mumbo jumbo right at this moment. The girls havent even met yet. So relax. Have a cup of coffee. Never mind, theres no need to stimulate any heart-stopping da-da-daE.R. -beat hyperactivity. Have a cup of herbal tea instead. And pay attention to the first name in each chapter title or youre not going to have a clue whos talking. Oh, and forget you ever heard about the burning down of any

apartment.

So did you hear about the fire at 56B Blake?

(Fire? What fire? Insert your blank stare here.)

Well done!

ALLIES MISTAKE

ALLIE

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shut. Up.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shut. Up. Pause.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Shut! Up! Im trying to mind my own business while I stir my instant coffee (my brewer has gone back to Vancouver with its owner, one of my former roommates. My other college roommate, most furniture, all forms of cutlery and the living-room TV have also deserted me for the rainy city of Vancouver), but this teeth-scratchingeeeeeeeeeeeeep keeps interrupting me. Its like when you bite your lip by accident and it gets all puffy, and because its puffy, you keep biting ityou know?

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Please, please, please stop.

Three minutes and ten seconds later:eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Time to detonate the smoke detector. Ive lived in this apartment for over two years and in all that time, not once have the batteries run out. But isnt that always the case? They had to wait for Rebecca and Melissa to move out before they decided to kick the bucket. My ex-roommates are each at least half a foot taller than my five-foot frame (I prefer to be called petite, not short, and none of that vertically challenged crap, thank you very much) and could have reached it by standing on a stool without the aid of a phone book. Both could have easily, without breaking a glow, popped out the offending batteries, making theeeeeeeeeeeeeep go away. Go figure.

The beeping offends my ears yet again, and I examine my right thumb for a piece of stray nail to chew on. Gross? Yes. A bad habit I picked up from my mom.

Maybe thiseeeeeeeeeeeeeping is a sign. A sign for me to get dressed, walk to the nearest Starbucks and order a cappuccino before going to work. Maybe while Im there I will meet someone capable of stopping thiseeeeeeeeeeeeeping. Maybe I will make new friends. I need new friends. Now that my former roomies have left town, I have only one friend left in Toronto, Clint, but secretly, Im a little in love with Clint, so I dont think he counts. Ive tried not to be in love with him, because hes not in love with me. I realized this last year (me loving himand him not loving me). I had a little too much Mikes Hard Lemonade (Canadian girl beer) and said, I love you, Clint. And he got as pale as loose-leaf paper and said,

Thank you.

Thank you? What is thank you? Thank you for making me a turkey sandwich, Allie, maybe.

Thank you for tapingTWIB (thatsThis Week in Baseball for all those not in love with Blue Jaysobsessed men) while I was out sleeping with the slut from my economics class. Worst-case scenario, obviously, but still applicable. But thank you for the I love you? What does that mean? He started stammering all boylike that he had to go, he had an early class (as if he ever went to class), and I realized what a mistake, what ahuge mistake I had just made, and I said, As a friend, I mean. I love you as a friend. Youre my best friend.

So technically I dont know for sure hedoesnt love me. Its certainly possible that he believed me about me not loving himthat way. And if he doesnt think Im in love with him, he probably doesnt want to risk potential embarrassment and disappointment by admitting his true feelings for me. Hes probably afraid of making the first move, because of his fear of rejection. Not that hes ever been afraid of being rejected by other girls.

But Im different from other girls. I am. Clint says no one appreciates him the way I do.

So you see, Im having a bit of a current living-in-Toronto friend drought. Obviously, Ill have two built-in friends when my two new roomies arrive in a couple weeks, but who should I talk to until then? I wish I had a dog. Ive always wanted a dog. A dog that will sleep on my pillow. A dog that I can take for walks and feed snacks and teach to roll over and walk on two legs and do other fun tricks, and maybe one day I can present him on David Lettermans Stupid Pet Tricks. But shouldnt I ask my new roomies if I want to get a dog? In case theyre allergic? Is it the ethical thing to do? Could I hide the dog? It could sleep in my room. I have the biggest one.