Literary Writes Fiction Winner By Angela Mairead Coid
CROSSWAYS
1. COMMERCE She had seen this young fellow shepherd the hooker in his charge into cars on East Broadway more than twice. Neither was a great advertisement for sex industry prosperity. That night, when it seemed like the whole North Pacific was powerwashing Vancouver, she reached the stop as the 99B left with a twenty-minute wait for the next. Hunched over, arms between his legs, she saw him sitting in the shelter, not waiting for a bus, and though the advice is never to talk to strangers at bus stops, soaked and dripping, she needed empathy and protested to the sole audience, “I’m fed up with this weather!” “What do you expect, living in a rainforest?” He looked up, his head jigging, edgy. She agreed with a nod and a stupid smile. She fidgeted, looked at her watch, and clutched her wet briefcase. He asked if she was a student at the College. She told him an instructor. “School. Not my space,” he smirked and chewed at the sore on his lip. “You should try the College. Adults. Mature students like you. A whole different atmosphere.” He scanned the road, eyeing the passing cars and then her. Trying to be as casual as possible, she hung her purse across her chest trying to make it seem a different carrying decision rather than to protect it. A sigh. “I liked math. Numbers.” “You could take business courses.” Her inane reply to keep up a chatty conversation. He didn’t ask if she had any particular business in mind. Not his space. The 99 came, and she left him to go on about his business in the rain forest. *
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2. CARING The laundromat was shabby but efficient. She gave it that. Determined to leave her son, Jason, with a full larder, a clean apartment and freshly laundered clothes, they had come here early on Sunday morning with a large suitcase and, just after an argument about separating the whites from the coloureds, he had left her here to “do it herself” while he went shopping on her five fifties. “We’ll call a cab to get back to your place. And, Jason! Get free-range eggs. Free-range!” She was on a first visit to him, newly out of the nest and halfway to the other side of Canada. For him to allow her in his new life this weekend, she had made constant little bribes of treats: a jacket of his choice, a new piece of furniture, a blanket he had forgotten to pack, and restaurant dinners. Last night, Jason and the friend she had taken out to dinner, showed with great bravado how many notches tighter they wore their belts after two months on student rations. She texted a promised progress report to the friend’s mother and sighed. She wanted Jason home. continued…
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