Transgression

Chapter 2

"Zanna, is that you?" I heard a voice from behind me and nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun around, nearly taking out an elderly couple with my luggage.

I didn't recognize him at first, but after a while I realized the man who had spoken to me was my Uncle. Huh. Go figure. "Can I take your luggage for you? I'm sure it must be heavy." He smiled. It kind of creeped me out; nobody ever offered to take my stuff.

"Uh, no that's okay. Thanks anyway." I added hastily, almost stumbling over my words. "So, uh, where's the car?" I asked, nervous in the airport. The hoards of people all looking for their luggage and taxis made me anxious.

"It's just outside." He smiled at me again, and I tried to smile back, just to be polite. This was going to be a long, long summer break.

My Uncle had aged a lot since I had last seen him. I mean, that was five years ago, but still. I hadn't expected this much of a change. It was kind of a shocker.

"…so anyways, your Aunt and I are really glad that you'll be staying with us. You'll have to sleep on the couch for a while because a friend of ours is staying over, but…"

I didn't know how much more I could take. I'd never had anything against my Uncle, but I had thought the droning would only last the car ride. Apparently, I had been wrong to make that assumption.

"You'll need to be back before curfew." He continued. "If you manage to follow the rules, we'll give you the spare key to let yourself in and out."

A key? Was he serious? Did this guy even know my track record?

"We're so glad to have you here over the summer; your mother explained how excited you were to come out and we just couldn't say no." he laughed, and I almost shuddered with disgust. My mother had even gone as far as to lie to my Uncle so he would take me for the summer. I didn't know how much lower that woman could sink in my mind.

"I mean, the last time we saw you, you were only eleven! You've grown so much. Your Aunt and I will be at work all day, so I hope you can manage to keep yourself entertained… there isn't much to do around here, but…" he continued on, and I couldn't help but feel bad for him. He had no idea what he had signed up for. I thanked him when he was finished, trying to be polite again, but I didn't know how much more I could take.

"I think I'm going to go exploring." I grasped at an excuse to leave. Being confined or restricted for too long always made me antsy. I was so impatient that I didn't even hear his response as the door banged shut behind me and I was out roaming the street.

Exploring had been a bad option.

I was used to lurking around the back alleys of Burlington. Those I knew inside out. The streets of St. John? In an entirely different province? Not so much.

I didn't like asking for directions, either. It made me feel incompetent. But there's always a breaking point, and at last I relented when I saw a guy who couldn't have been much older than me. He picked at his guitar, wavy blond locks falling in his eyes as he sat, sprawled casually on the battered concrete steps.

"Uh." I didn't know what to ask as I approached him; I'd never asked anyone for directions before. He took a quick glance up at me before returning his gaze to his guitar.

"You're from Toronto, aren't you?" he asked. I had thought he had been looking at his guitar; turns out he had been looking at my stacked platform heels instead.

"What's it to you?" I avoided his question, my words intentionally biting. I wasn't going to let this punk push me around just because he could pick a guitar. "I'm lost and was asking for directions."

"I could tell." He smiled wryly. "Sure as hell not from around here."

He was beginning to get on my nerves. An impish glitter had appeared in his swimming teal eyes. He was enjoying this.

"And what if I am from around here?" I countered, my pride kicking in.

He snorted. "You're not. Punks don't show themselves in the daylight around here."

"Fine then." I deflated, quickly losing my bravado. Nobody had ever really tried to show me up before, let alone show this much contempt. I couldn't keep it up if I wasn't going to fight the guy. "But I'm not from Toronto." I said with indignation, my chin lifting slightly as it always did.

He was doubled over laughing.

"What's so funny?" I flared, my hand forming a fist. The little voice that was my common sense was fast being drowned out. Don't get yourself sent anywhere else! Who knows where they'll send you next time… it tried to communicate. Communication failed.

"Whoa, defensive one, aren't you?" his eyebrows raised as his laughter subsided. "Where were you headed again?" That devilish smile returned to his face.

My eyebrow twitched in agitation. "I was headed back to my Uncle's house." I said through gritted teeth. "And a convenience store would be great, too."

"A convenience store…" he muttered under his breath with disdain. "Where does your Uncle live?"

I gave him the address.

"You go up about six blocks, turn right, go across the pedestrian overpass bridge, up the hill for about ten blocks, then turn left. If you keep going, you'll find your Uncle's house. Along the way you might find a convenience store, but I don't go up there that often." He shrugged with indifference.

"Thanks." I smiled dumbly before heading on my way, cursing myself all the while.

I hadn't realized exactly how far I had actually gone until I got back, panting from the effort. Halfway up the hill I had had to take my platforms off, tie them together, and sling them on my back. And that was just the beginning. Ten blocks up a hill was a lot farther than back home... and don't even get me started on how much steeper the slope was.

As I reached my Uncle's house, I jiggled the front door. Locked. I instinctively reached into my pocket for my Swiss, before remembering where it was currently located. Before getting on the plane I had forgotten to remove it from my pocket. The airport security kindly removed it from me after a lovely strip search that just made me feel that much better about my day. It was then that I came to the sickening realization that unless I found something else, I would actually have to open doors manually. That was definitely a disturbing thought and something I know I would have a hard time adjusting to. I wouldn't even be able to sneak out anymore. There were so many rules to adhere to.

I don't even know how long I was sitting there before I heard someone call my name.

"Why are you up here, Zanna? Just hanging out? Come out back, dinner's ready." My Uncle's offer was enticing, and I could smell the rotisserie chicken out back. My mouth watered.

"Well, you know, I thought you guys weren't home, and I waited for someone to come home and open the door." I mumbled, nearly incoherent. It seemed to be the only way to keep myself in check.

"Oh, that door doesn't work." He smiled, and I froze. The door doesn't work…? And I had sat here for what? A half hour, at least. I tried to keep my cool as I stood. "Well, let's go for dinner then." I said briskly, striding past him into the backyard where his friend was serving up… not rotisserie chicken. Tofu. Tofu? I had been taught to gag at the thought, and now was no exception. Mind you, I'd never actually eaten it before, either. But the hatred for anything soy-related was so deeply rooted within me I didn't know whether I could actually bear to eat it or not. I would find out.

The sun was merciless as it shone down on my closed lids. I had failed to notice that my relatives hadn't bothered to install curtains in the living room. I'd figured that since they lived on the bottom floor that they would have curtains, considering that with the current state of the windows, spotless as they were, anyone could press up to the glass and get a good look inside. That was a pleasant thought, as well as another wrong assumption on my part. I was quickly creating a list of memos to myself. Number One: Do Not Go Out Unless You Know the Way Back. Number Two: Do Not Assume Anything About Relatives. I heaved myself off the couch, stomping into the bathroom.

Most teenage girls probably would have screamed seeing an older man passed out on the bathroom floor. I was not one of those girls. I nudged him—James, I had learned his name was—checking for signs of life.

"Bud, I don't know about you, but I don't enjoy peeing in bushes. This is the only bathroom in the house. And I have to go. Move it or lose it." I gave him a harder nudge. I didn't like people messing with my routine; it threw me off.

As I contemplated things and waited for James to haul his sorry self out of the cubicle sized bathroom, something within me clicked when I thought of the snide guy from yesterday. He had been picking his guitar. I swore loudly, angrily, kicking the wall and narrowly missing James' face. My bass was in another part of the country. And so was my guitar.

Now I was mad.

It was nine in the morning, I had to go pee, and my mouth tasted like something had died within it. I kicked James again, and he groaned.

"What's the hold up?!" I whined. "Please, please, please remove yourself from the bathroom before I do it for you."

I wasn't surprised when I later learned that James had been so drunk he had passed out on the bathroom floor and had awoken with a hangover. My Uncle even came home early from work to tend to him and offered to drive me to the convenience store while he bought James something to make him feel better. How thoughtful.

We pulled up to a small convenience store on a corner, and by means of observing the street signs, I noticed I had missed this stupid thing by a block.

"Do you want to come in?" my Uncle asked me. I repressed the urge to be sarcastic. How old did he think I was? That's something my parents stopped asking me when I was ten. Not long afterwards, they stopped taking me to the store altogether.

I pretended to be interested in a pack of gum while my Uncle took his sweet time figuring out which kind of chips would be best for his hung-over friend. I sighed and took a quick scan of the store. There really wasn't much there. But as I looked around, my gaze was averted to something else entirely. It was guitar boy from yesterday. He snickered. Was I going to see this guy everywhere now?

I spun on my heel and left the store quickly before he could talk to me. I hadn't made it a step out the door before I heard the customary blare of the alarm, signifying that someone was evidently trying to steal something, or another cell phone was screwing with the system. It wasn't a cell phone.

I had forgotten about the gum in my hand. It hadn't occurred to me at all, and by the time everything clicked in the cops had already arrived. My Uncle looked shocked, but I didn't have time to say anything before I was shoved into the back of a police cruiser and carted off to the station.

It had been an honest mistake—I didn't steal. I never did. I'd seen people steal, yes. I'd been forced to cover for people who were stealing, too. But I never did it myself. The thought had never appealed to me, and I realized why when I stepped into the police station. Tacky decorations adorned the walls here and there with the sole purpose of taking up space. The smell of freshly brewed coffee reached my nose, reminding me of how thirsty I was. I squirmed in the uncomfortable plastic chair they had stuck me in while they discussed something. I'd been in a police station before, but never for something I hadn't done intentionally. So much for avoiding criminal charges… my conscience sounded like it was going to cry. If it could cry, I bet you it would have. It was thinking back to that conversation with Mother at home, where she not-so-subtly threatened me by saying if I didn't get my act together not only was I getting kicked out of her house, but I would be going to prison. Nice.

I could picture the phone conversation between her and the police. She'd probably rat me out for everything else I had done, and add in a few exaggerations of her own just to make sure I was gone for a while. I sighed, scuffing my shoe on the tile floor. The officers showed no sign of reaching a verdict on whatever they were talking about, but each time I caught a bit of what they were hearing, it sounded like another nail in my coffin.