Читать книгу The True Story of Canadian Human Trafficking - Paul H Boge - Страница 8

chapter one

For some people, their favourite place is a specific location in the world. A spot where they can relax. Feel at home. Unwind. For others, it’s an imaginary place in their mind where they can explore, invent and create. Each person seems to have a place where they can let their guard down. Where they can be themselves. Where they come alive. Where pressures disappear, worries fade away and they can experience the freedom and safety that comes with forgetting the past and living in the present moment.

For 16-year-old Abby Summers, that place was a soccer field.

Abby opened the door and walked out of her high school in Markham, Ontario, with the other girls from her gym class. The bright sunshine blinded her a moment, causing her to squint against its glare. When her eyes adjusted, she saw the green pitch freshly marked with white lines. Pristine condition. She would have spent the rest of the day there if she could.

The physical education teacher split the group of girls into two teams and instructed them to partner up for a passing drill. With an odd number of players on her side, Abby was left to practice by herself. She watched as her teammates passed to each other and tried to shrug off the sting of being left out. It was just the luck of the draw, she tried to convince herself.

Again.

Abby kicked a red-and-white ball out from the ball bag. She rolled it onto the front of her foot and flicked it up. Alternating between feet, she juggled and got 40 in a row. Not bad. Her record was 100. She glanced over at her teammates, thinking it strange that not one pair of them offered to modify the drill to allow her to join in. She attempted again to shake off that feeling, but like a heavy snowfall in a Canadian winter storm, what little she managed to brush away soon piled back onto her again.

The sun felt like a million degrees as she waited for the pre-game preparations to end. The teacher finally blew her whistle. Abby exhaled in relief, taking her position in centre-right midfield. This felt better. On the field. Together as one team. Ready to play.

She tightened the ponytail of her shoulder-length blonde hair. Felt her pulse quicken. Felt herself focusing. Already anticipating where the ball would go first. The thrill of the game about to start.

The teacher blew the whistle.

The game began.

The striker passed the ball back to the centre midfielder, who passed it over to Abby. Abby dribbled it up, returned the pass to the centre midfielder, and moved forward into open space. Her eyes darted around as she looked for any possible opening, thinking two, three and four moves ahead, as if the soccer pitch were a massive chessboard.

She noticed the defender cheating forward to intercept a possible pass to the striker and saw her opportunity. With her wingers out on the side, Abby bolted right down the middle. Her centre midfield teammate read it perfectly. She chipped the ball high in an effort to lob it over the defender so it would drop down out of reach in front of the goalie.

Abby looked over her right shoulder for the ball, but a bright flash of sunlight blinded her again. She turned the other way, glancing over her left shoulder, and saw it arriving in a perfect arc. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the goalie rushing out to cut down the angle. Abby checked her run, getting ready to strike the ball. She timed her approach perfectly.

Without warning, a defender suddenly came in, attempting to head the ball away. But the defender missed completely. In an instant, Abby went from thinking she had a clear shot on net to feeling the horrific impact of the defender’s forehead cracking against her nose. Her body shot out an immediate painful burst of adrenalin. She felt herself crash to the ground. It was as if someone had momentarily turned the lights off.

When they came on again she found herself stunned, lying on her back. The shock of the injury pulsed through her. How bad is it? How bad is it? Am I going to be okay? These first few seconds were critical. Her brain assessed if she was in danger of falling unconscious. Her head began to pound. She became deaf to any sound around her. It was as if she had been enveloped in her own private cocoon of unimaginable pain. It was the worst she had ever felt.

Up until then.

Instinctively, she covered her face, being careful not to touch her nose. She felt blood dripping down off her chin, staining her white jersey in bright red blotches.

“Abby? Abby, are you all right?” Her teacher spoke in a calm tone, like she had seen this before, giving Abby the reassurance she needed that she would be all right.

She tried to regulate her breathing, but her staggered breaths seemed to take an eternity to get under control. Someone brought her tissues. She held them under her nose, forcing her head up to keep from choking.

“Abby?” the teacher said again as she sat up.

“I—” She interrupted herself to listen to her body. She’d fallen once while trying to learn skateboarding. Another time she felt dizzy after a ride her mom took her on at Canada’s Wonderland. But nothing like this. She’d never given any thought to how fortunate she was to have been free of injuries this long. But now that it was here, it was hard to remember what it was like not to be hurting.

“I never saw it coming,” Abby said.

“It’s all right, Abby. Just take your time.”

“One second I’m fine, and the next she’s like right in my face.”

“Abby, you okay?” the defender asked. Abby nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Abby replied in a muffled voice, her nose stuffed full. She breathed in and out through her mouth in slow, measured breaths. When her head began to clear she saw the extent of the red staining on her shirt. All that blood caused her to feel woozy and nauseous. The teacher helped her to her feet. Abby heard the faint sound of applause and a cheer from her teammates behind her.

Sitting down on the bench, Abby watched as the game restarted. It felt surreal. As if she were looking through a pane of glass at a world she could no longer access. Strange to be so close and yet so impossibly far away.

She stuffed increasing amounts of tissue under her nose until the teacher blew the final whistle. She stood up, the ground felt firm beneath her, and she nodded to her teacher when asked how she felt. The class walked back to the school building. Abby was last.

She walked alone.

Using a wetted paper towel, Abby cleaned up her face in the girls’ washroom. She looked at a reflection of herself in the mirror.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” her friend Kedisha said.

“Yeah, not until it turns colours,” Abby replied.

They both laughed. Abby tilted her head slightly from side to side. Looked at the soft light blues of her eyes, then the whites around them to see if there was any damage. She tried to take a short breath in through her nose, felt the sting of what would surely become a bruise, exhaled, then threw the paper towel in the garbage.

“You should try hockey next,” Kedisha said. “It might be easier on your body.” She gave Abby a playful jab in the shoulder. “See ya. Gotta head off to chem lab.”

“Have fun.”

Abby looked back in the mirror as Kedisha walked out the door.

Abby spun her combination and opened her locker. She reached in for her brown paper bag lunch. The moment her fingers made contact she was reminded of the argument she and her mother had that morning as Abby took her lunch bag from the kitchen counter. It was a silly argument—as arguments sometimes seem after you’ve had time to reflect on them and you realize there was nothing to get upset about.

The cafeteria proved to be every bit as loud and full as always. And, as always, Abby felt a sting of nervousness inside her, wondering who she’d be able to sit with. Towards the back she saw a group of classmates sitting together. She tried to convince herself that they were friends. Wanted to believe they were friends. But when you don’t have the solid confidence that people have your back, when you feel you need a bit of a performance to get them to take interest, you begin to wonder if you have what it takes to be accepted by them.

She forced herself to walk towards them, hoping this would not get awkward, and passed a younger girl with fire-red hair walking the other way. She sat down and said hello.

“How’s your nose?” the girl who accidentally smashed into her asked.

“I’m still alive.”

That drew a chuckle from the group. Success.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl repeated.

Abby shrugged it off. “It’s not your fault. Besides, there could be a lot worse things in life, right?”

The discussion shifted to an upcoming concert. Abby indicated she liked the punk band, though if the group could have seen into her heart they would have realized she hated that group. She smiled, nodded and said the kinds of things people say when they essentially repeat back what they’ve heard and mimic the behaviours, unique words and mannerism of others in an attempt at being accepted by them.

“Hey, you guys want to drive over to the mall?” the girl beside Abby asked. Designer jeans, perfect makeup, flawless skin, easy confidence.

Money.

The group agreed. Then the rich girl realized her mistake. “Sorry, Abby, we only have enough room in the car for—”

“Hey, that’s cool. I have to eat lunch anyways,” Abby said, trying to sound nonchalant but knowing full well she would have rather gone without food for a week if it meant hanging out with them. “Have fun.”

The rest of the group left. Abby touched the bridge of her nose. Yeah, that was going to leave a mark. She opened her brown paper bag, unwrapped her sandwich and felt what it was like to be in loud, crowded room all alone.

As she bit into her turkey sandwich, she thought it strange that her having to sit there by herself came down to a lottery of how many girls were at the table a moment ago and how many seats were in that rich girl’s car.

Abby stepped off the school property onto the sidewalk and immediately felt the relief that came with knowing she could be herself. Why was it so difficult to just walk into school, say what you thought, be accepted by your friends, have an interesting day—without getting your face smashed in—and then come home? Why was this walk always the best part of the day?

She walked the four blocks to her home. Every step took her farther away from the memories of the day, save for the throbbing in her nose. She walked up the driveway of her red-bricked house. She entered the garage code on the keypad and glanced up at the basketball hoop. It had been underused since her dad started the habit of working later and later each evening. For a moment she remembered the fun times they used to have playing ball. When she was young she could barely get the ball up to the basket. Then she grew taller, but he was around less, and that hoop just stood there as a testimony to what was, instead of what should be.

Opening the door she heard her mother call out from the kitchen. “Hi, Abby!”

“Hi, Mom,” Abby replied, forgetting the reason for the argument they had that morning. What had it been about again?

She turned the corner. Saw her mother, Talia. Spunky smile. A true older version of Abby.

“You were right. I was wrong,” Talia said.

“No problem.”

“I’m off to help at the shelter tonight. Have a great time—” She stopped. Stepped into better light. Saw Abby’s nose. Her mouth dropped open. “What happened to you?”

Is it that obvious?

“Soccer.”

“Is it broken?” her mom asked, putting her hand on Abby’s shoulder to get a better look.

“It’s not broken, Mom.”

“It might be.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Let’s go to emergency.”

“We’re not going to emergency.”

Her mom exhaled. “You’re sure?”

Abby looked into the kitchen. Didn’t smell anything cooking. “What’s for supper?”

“Supper? Your dad, that’s what’s for supper. He’s taking you out tonight. Remember?”

“Right.”

“Have fun.”

Her mother walked into the garage. Abby heard the car starting, then the rumble of the garage door closing.

Cool. She and her dad. Spending time with him could make up for the bad day. She went upstairs, got changed into nicer clothes. Sat in front of the mirror, doing the best she could with makeup to hide the start of the blue forming on her nose. Interesting, she thought, how it matched her eyes.

She sat down on the living room couch and checked her various social media accounts. She had spent an hour there when her dad’s number came up.

“Hey, Dad,” she answered.

“Abby, how are you doing?”

“Doing good. How about you?”

“Excellent. Good day at school today?”

She heard it in his voice. Sensed it right away. An excuse is coming. Please, Dad. Just cancel whatever came up, and let’s go out for dinner.

“It was fine,” she lied.

“That’s great.”

His voice was too upbeat. He was setting her up for the fall. She supposed that by now she should have gotten used to it, but she hadn’t. Every time he bailed was a letdown. This would be no different.

“Say, Abster, I’m really sorry, but it’s not going to work tonight. Can we switch it around to another night?”

No. No, we can’t. You made a promise. You said you would be here. Just stop telling me you’re going to be here when you can’t.

“Sure thing. No problem.”

“Thanks. I am still in a meeting out here in Barrie. I won’t be home for a few hours.”

Fine. Okay. Fine. But can you just do me a favour? Before you hang up, can you just say you love me?

“Okay, safe travels.”

“Have a great evening, okay?”

“You too, Dad.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. Can you say it?

“Take care, Abster. Talk soon.”

Talk soon?

The line went dead.

She shrugged her shoulders, but the crushing weight didn’t leave. She felt disappointed that she wasn’t strong enough to brush off her dad cancelling on her. This shouldn’t bother me so much.

Should it?

She grabbed some ice cream out of the freezer. Dairy free. Vanilla. She glanced at the clock. Perfect. A soccer game was about to start. For every door that closes—

Her phone pinged. Putting down her ice cream, she pulled out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. A new contact request. She looked at his picture.

Good-looking guy. Wow. Who is this?

She clicked on his image. Jake. Brown eyes. Brown hair. An easy, unforced smile.

Forgetting about the game she grabbed her ice cream and walked up to her bedroom. She closed the door, even though the house was empty, and sat down on her bed. She put her ice cream on the nightstand beside her clock-calendar, keeping her eyes on the new interest in her life.

She flipped through various social media platforms, trying to learn what she could about him. Then she returned to staring at his picture. They had a few acquaintances in common. No one close. She didn’t recognize him from school. Maybe he’s a nice guy who reaches out to a lot of people. But the longer she looked, the more interested she became. To respond or not respond? She decided to wait a while. Best not to look too desperate. She flipped through his pictures and read the comments.

A while later, she heard the garage door open. Probably her dad. She noticed how her hurt feelings about being stood up by him had been melted away by her interest in Jake. She glanced at the time. It surprised her how long she had been thinking about her new potential friend. A stranger who earlier today had no place in her life.

She put her phone down. Opening her door, she walked down the stairs to say hi to her dad. He smiled as best he could, but she read the exhaustion in his eyes. He apologized again. Said he would make it up to her. Whatever she wanted. She said that would be fine. She knew the routine. He went to the kitchen for a drink—whisky, his favourite—and headed for the couch.

Abby went back upstairs. Looked at Jake’s picture again.

And wondered what kind of person he was.