Chapters (56)
- Cover
- Dedication
- 1.1 [close to the bone]
- 1.2 [and introducing...]
- 1.3 [half-split]
- 1.4 [the Semple challenge]
- 1.5 [Brickpower]
- 2.1 [shaker up]
- 2.2 [heavyweight]
- 2.3 [♀]
- 2.4 [hired hand]
- 3.1 [wheels and deals]
- 3.2 [don’t cry over spilled ...]
- 3.3 [three’s a crowd]
- 3.4 [“If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It)” or “Night of the Long Knives,” take your pick]
- 4.1 [all the comforts of home]
- 4.2 [white knight]
- 4.3 [pay dirt]
- 4.4 [book learning]
- 5.1 [AQ]
- 5.2 [kihon, kata, kumite]
- 5.3 [pride and prejudice]
- 5.4 [hurt and humiliation]
- 5.5 [“King of the Road”]
- 6.1 [“Father and Son”]
- 6.2 [nothing succeeds like success]
- 6.3 [naked]
- 6.4 [nakeder (I know, there’s no such word)]
- 7.1 [42 km/hr]
- 7.2 [first aid]
- 7.3 [interest is mounting daily]
- 8.1 [kiai]
- 8.2 [kumite (sparring)]
- 8.3 [white knight II]
- 8.4 [Hope is the thing with feathers—that perches in the soul ... Emily Dickinson. American poet, 1830–86. I’m showing off.]
- 9.1 [white knight III]
- 9.2 [“Dead Man Walking”]
- 9.3 [tattletale]
- 9.4 [scat]
- 9.5 [painstaking]
- 10.1 [buzzed]
- 10.2 [amethyst: spiritual calm and healing]
- 10.3 [self-defense]
- 10.4 [self-disclosure]
- 11.1 [self-respect]
- 11.2 [guerrilla warfare]
- 11.3 [Sensei (teacher)]
- 11.4 [“The Razor’s Edge”]
- 12.1 [man to man]
- 12.2 [Tully]
- 12.3 [Hockey Night in Hilchey Bay]
- 12.4 [“If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It)”]
- 12.5 [rerun]
- 12.6 [“the end is the beginning ...” Japanese koan composed by Brickson MacAvoy]
- [author’s note]
- [acknowledgements]
I’m no better than Snyder McIsaac. Except I travel alone.
I rip open the packaging on my new headphones, plug them in, turn the volume up high, and wallow in AC/DC.
“Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.”
5.1 [AQ]
WHEN I wake up in the middle of the night, the pillow is on the floor and the sheet’s twisted around my neck as if I’ve been trying to strangle myself in my sleep.
Another revelation is straddling my chest, heavier than Snyder. If bullying is about the abuse of power by hurting and humiliating someone smaller than you, then Floyd’s a prime suspect. Nothing he likes better than to make the tears pour down my face.
Floyd’s a bully and I’m a bully. Like father, like son. Blood is thicker than water. The reason clichés hang around is because they’re true.
I slam the door on my thoughts, grab my pillow, and pound it back into shape. No way am I a younger version of Floyd. I’m out of my mind to even contemplate anything so far-out. So gross.
Another Dr. Seuss book that Cassie likes is Oh, the Thinks You Can Think! Right now, I wish I could think my way out the side door and down the road to the bus stop in Hilchey Bay, where a bus would be waiting to drive me to Halifax. Why stop there? Think myself to Vancouver. Mongolia. Outer space. Anywhere, as long as I leave the whole damn lot of them behind.
*
FLOYD ISN’T on the Saturday shift today. Cassie is standing by the sink and Opal is in the pantry, yawning as she measures the coffee and dumps it in the filter. “I’m taking Floyd his coffee in bed,” she says.
Well, aren’t you the clever one. “I’m leaving for the day,” I say.
“Take Cassie with you.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Brick, take Cassie with you.”
No use arguing with that tone of voice.
Cassie is staring at me, her eyes huge, Rover glued to her chest. “You leaving me home?”
“We’ll go to the beach.”
She lets Rover fall to his usual position, nose to the floor. Her whole face brightens. “I can wear my new swimsuit.”
I ask Opal for lunch money, bundle Cassie on the ATV along with her plastic buckets and spades, and take her to the Hilchey Bay Beach. I bought the new swimsuit back in June; Opal gave me fifteen dollars, the swimsuit (green ruffles, pink stripes) was on sale, eight ninety-nine, the change went to the stash.
The beach is a long curve of pale sand that stretches all the way from Collings Head to Hilchey Point. It draws tourists in droves every summer, which helps keep Hilchey Bay more or less alive.