Green Glass Ghosts Read online

  I heard a knock on the bedroom door and called out, “Come in!”

  “Are you in the bathroom?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m decent,” I said.

  They cracked open the bathroom door and stuck their head in. “Oh, I see you’ve found the heated floor. I do that all the time, too. It’s the best when you’re soaked from biking and you need to warm up. Riki and I are going to smoke on the big front balcony since my mom’s not home from squash until nine. You want to join us?”

  I usually smoked a pack of twenty-five a day. Somehow, I hadn’t really thought a lot about smoking, but now the urge hit me hard, like a bad smell.

  “Yeah,” I said, fumbling around in the pocket of my sweatshirt for my cigarettes as I stood up.

  We all made the trek back down the impossibly long hallway. Passing the study again, I practised not looking in. I could see out of the corner of my eye that it was still dark. We kept walking until we hit the kitchen and living room. At the very end of the apartment was a sliding glass door. Sam opened it, and Riki and I slipped out after them.

  The balcony was bigger than my whole apartment in Calgary. The smell of seaweed hit me as we leaned our elbows on the railing and lit our cigarettes. I slowly exhaled and took in the street below that ended at the dark harbour. Behind the opaque, almost black water loomed the blurred shadows of tree-covered mountains with a little white snow on top.

  “My friends are having a party tonight. Do you want to go?” Riki said. “We could walk there in about twenty minutes, and they should be selling beer.”

  “Sure,” I replied. I could use a beer. I’d been tempted to buy one on the plane, but I was too shy to ask.

  CHAPTER 2

  Downstairs in the condo lobby Pete’s chair was empty. Sam patted the seat of their BMX as we walked past, and I heard the door lock automatically behind us as we went down the hill away from Davie Street and turned right at a sign that said W Hastings St.

  The same condos seemed to be repeating themselves. Sam pointed out the only different one, saying, “That one’s supposed to be earthquake proof.” It looked almost like a box on a pedestal.

  “Cool!” I said, and Riki nodded.

  “Is yours?” I asked Sam.

  “No. You’d think it would be for the money my dad paid for it. Everyone here says there’s going to be a huge earthquake any day now. The Big One. But I haven’t felt one do much more than shake the dishes, so who knows?”

  Riki chimed in. “The earthquakes up here are nothing compared to the ones back home in California, but they do say that Vancouver is going to slide right into the ocean one day.” They scuffed the ground with a small kick at a tiny rock, grinned, and then kept walking.

  “Why wouldn’t they make all the buildings earthquake proof if they know one is coming?” I asked.

  Sam shrugged.

  At the next red light we arrived at a street with a familiar name. We were crossing Granville again.

  “The SkyTrain station’s there. It’ll get you all over town fast.” Sam said, pointing up the hill.

  “Like the CTrain?” I asked.

  “Yeah, except it’s up in the air some of the time, and it’s way faster.” Sam chuckled.

  We passed a park on our right with a giant war memorial, and then everything around us was old, not like the neighbourhood with all the rainbow flags, but as if the buildings had been forgotten by whoever owned them. It was dark out, and I couldn’t smell the ocean anymore. Another smell started to build up in my nose, one that reminded me of the outhouses when I went camping in the mountains in Kananaskis.

  We crossed another street and I noticed there were no more people in suits with briefcases. I tripped on something and it skittered ahead of me on the ground. I bent down to pick it up and saw it was a piece of white tape with handwriting on both sides in different colours. Repent Sinner, it read.

  Those words made my skin jump. In high school I used to be overtaken by moments of believing the world was ending or Jesus was coming back for the Rapture. I’d only stopped going to church three years ago, after I moved to my grandma’s house. And I had just kicked having all-out panic attacks about going to hell. I’d exorcized my fear by pretending I didn’t care.

  I dropped the tape and grunted, “Whatever.”

  “Those are all over the Downtown Eastside,” Sam said. “Some people say this person who sits outside the old Woodward’s Building preaching all day makes them, but no one really knows.”

  “What’s that place?” I pointed to a sign that said Blunt Brothers. There were neon-green leaves in the window all around it.

  “Oh, that place and the one next to it are cafés where you can smoke pot.”

  “Pretty cool,” I said, wondering how they dealt with the police.

  I looked up and saw a big red W on top of a boarded-up building.

  “That’s the Woodward’s Building,” Sam said. “The old department store closed a little while ago, and now the whole city is fighting over what to do with it. A lot of the people around here need housing, but rich people want to put more condos in it. I think it’s going to be a long time before they figure it out.” Sam stopped. “We’re here.”

  Riki asked some people sitting in the doorway if they would mind moving. They did it in such a chill way that they seemed happy to oblige. Riki banged hard on the door. We waited, but no one opened it. The entryway smelled more like piss than downtown Calgary after the Stampede. I wasn’t sure how long I could stand there, but it didn’t seem to be bothering Riki or Sam at all. I tried holding my breath, and then I tried breathing through my mouth, and then I thought about the piss-air in my mouth and went back to using my nose.

  “We’re a bit early,” Riki said. “Usually someone stays at the door during parties.” They banged on the door a couple more times.

  Finally, I heard footsteps pounding down the stairs and a muffled voice called, “Coming!”

  The door swung open and a short bald person with a young face beckoned us in. “Riki!” they said, putting their arm around Riki’s neck. “Come in, come in.”

  The piss smell stayed in my nose as I walked up the stairs, which were covered in old tile with cracks that showed the dust-filled glue underneath. I tried to hold my breath again, but Riki’s friend was walking too slowly. When I took another breath I realized the stench had been replaced by the smell of fresh paint.

  As we went in the first doorway at the top of the stairs, Riki said, “Jeff, you remember Sam. And this is my friend who just moved here.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jeff said. When they smiled I could see some gaps in their teeth on the sides at the back.

  “You too,” I said, wondering if I should have reached to shake their hand.

  “Okay, over here,” Jeff said, flopping back onto a couch, picking up a lit cigarette from an ashtray on the coffee table, and dragging hard on it. Exhaling, they said, “Make yourself at home.”

  We all followed suit, flopping on the couches and pulling out our own cigarettes. We sat there smoking in silence, and I noticed an old television that was just showing static, with no sound.

  “Riki, this is my experiment I told you about last week,” Jeff said, pointing at the TV. “Do you want to see it?”

  “Sure.” Riki blew a couple of smoke rings and put their feet up on the coffee table covered in ashtrays full of butts and roaches.

  Jeff stood up with their cigarette in their mouth and pulled a beat-up old camcorder out from under the TV. They sat back down in front of the screen and turned on the camcorder with a little beep. For a second I saw their foot appear on the television. This can’t be it, I thought. Then they pointed the camera at the screen. Moving shapes started to appear and fold in on themselves. Jeff leaned one way, and the shapes started to change. They leaned another way, and the shapes changed again.

  “It’s a visual feedback loop,” Jeff said out of the corner of their mouth. “I think it’s an image of eternity.”

  “Cool, man,” Riki said.

  Jeff kept talking. “I can’t believe no one figured this out yet. It’s so simple, but I think there’s more meaning in it than I can understand. I’ve been doing this all day and I can’t control the shapes. I never know how they’ll change, and they keep surprising me. I think there may be some sort of key in it. Something to help me understand the meaning.” Jeff looked back at us for a moment and then continued. “This is huge, so don’t tell anyone about it yet. I can’t let this get out of my hands too soon.”

  “We won’t tell anyone. Right?” Riki gestured to us, and we all nodded.

  I coughed a bit on my cigarette smoke. Jeff seemed nice, but I’d heard my father say similar things a few times, right before they would end up in the hospital. Riki seemed to really like Jeff, though, so they couldn’t be too much like my dad.

  “Can I show you around?” Jeff asked, putting the camcorder down and shutting it off.

  We all nodded again.

  “Okay, so this level is the bar. It’s also our kitchen. There are some rooms back there where some of us have studios and beds. I live here, and so do a couple others. We put on some of our exhibits and performances on this level, but the big space is upstairs.”

  We followed Jeff back out to the stairs and went up. The top level was a huge open room with hardwood flooring from end to end. In the middle of the floor was a canvas, and there was that paint smell again—and a burning smell, too.

  “This is what’s left over from our performance last night. An artist named Claude fried up some meat cubes on a hot plate and ate them. Then they drank some paint and threw it all up on this blank canvas. They declared that all art is dead and lit the canvas on fire, except the fire went out of control and Claude had to pick up the canvas a
nd run out into the street with it. There are always so many cops around here and they saw the fire from a few blocks over. The cops called the fire department and all of a sudden there were sirens and lights everywhere. They shut down the whole block. Then they threatened to have us evicted. I apologized to them, but Claude was more concerned about getting their canvas back inside. I thought it would be cool to leave it here for the party tonight.”

  I inspected the painted chunks of meat on the canvas with the big burn mark in the middle and thought about the art on the walls in the café where I used to work. Some of it I liked. Some of it I didn’t. I wasn’t sure if I liked this painting.

  Jeff continued. “Tonight we’re hosting a human branding, and I liked the idea of the pieces being in the same room together. You know … Art is dead. Our bodies are only art … Or something.”

  My eyebrows shot up, but then I thought it was probably better to mask my skepticism.

  “All right, I better go get the bar ready and set up the DJ stuff.” Jeff started shuffling towards the stairs, and then suddenly turned back. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot to show you the best part. Come with me!”

  We all walked to a dead end behind one of the far walls at the end of the room, where a dirty, knotted rope hung down from above. Jeff pulled the rope and, with a thunderous sound of metal on metal, a ladder came crashing down. Jeff climbed to the top and pushed on a trap door in the ceiling. It groaned as it opened.

  “Come on up!” Jeff beckoned. Over his shoulder, I could see some stars.

  Riki and Sam were behind me, so I had to start climbing, trying not to think about the height on top of the roof, and then the return trip, backing down the ladder. Jeff reached out for my arm and helped pull me outside. Then came Riki and Sam.

  “Now this is a view, eh?” Jeff said. “Sometimes I bring my sleeping bag and camp out up here.”

  “Wow.” Sam whistled.

  There was a long pause as we mutually admired the lights of Vancouver, with all the buildings and the mountains crouching behind them.

  “Well, I better get back,” Jeff said. “You okay to find your way?”

  “Sure,” Riki said.

  “I’m going to go down with you now, Jeff. I forgot to hit the can on the way in,” Sam said.

  The two of them disappeared back down the ladder before I realized it meant I’d be alone with Riki. While I was wondering what I should say, Riki walked to the far edge of the roof and stood with their back to me. They were wearing really big shorts that were cut off between their knee and ankle, a forest green short-sleeved football jersey, and scuffed-up skate shoes. I could see the knot on their hemp necklace, slightly to the left at the back of their neck.

  I walked up beside them, crossed my arms, and looked out at the buildings. The red W was much closer now, and I could study the metal structure it sat on top of. It looked like an oil rig, lit up all over by tiny light bulbs. Well, kind of—a lot of them were burned out.

  I stood beside Riki without saying anything. Ever since I’d discovered that most of the things my parents taught me as I was growing up were wrong, I’d learned how to fit in by subtly mimicking people. I would follow their lead until I figured out how to behave in a particular group. Holding my breath and counting helped calm my nerves. I started to wonder which one of us was going to talk first and if we were having some sort of contest.

  “Cigarette?” Riki asked, turning towards me with one between their fingers and ending the stand-off.

  “Sure,” I said.

  They pulled a silver Zippo out of their front pocket and flicked it on by snapping their fingers on the flint. Damn, they were cool. I lit the end of my smoke, feeling a little dizzy.

  I turned my head towards the sound of people screaming at each other in the alley on the other side of the building. It sounded like they were going to kill each other.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Riki said. “It happens a lot around here. If you’re not a part of it, you should stay out of it.” They looked into my eyes.

  I felt butterflies in my stomach and turned to face forward again. “So there are a lot of drugs around here?” I asked.

  People in Calgary always talked about how if you moved to Vancouver, you would just end up back at home. They said there were no jobs here and it was dangerous, but I didn’t really know what they meant. The people I knew who used hard drugs like cocaine did so with friends in their own living rooms. I had heard stories of people using heroin and crack, but they were always at least one person removed from me.

  “Yeah, there are people doing a lot of crack, meth, heroin, you name it,” Riki said. “But it’s their neighbourhood and community, and they have their own ways of doing things. I wish the government would just make drugs free and the cops would leave everyone alone.”

  The screaming had stopped, and somebody was laughing and calling out now.

  “Anyway, I sleep here sometimes.” Riki paused, and then said, with a twinkle in their eye, “You get used to it.”

  Before I could wonder if we were having a moment, Sam clambered back up the ladder. “People are showing up!” they said breathlessly. “Get down here.”

  CHAPTER 3

  I didn’t want Riki to see me fight it out with my fear of heights, so I told them I was going to check out the view a little longer. I waited ten minutes, surveying the full circle of illuminated cityscape around me. Then I called on every power I could think of and backed shakily down through the hole in the roof. I lowered myself a bit and kicked into the dark, but my foot met with nothing. I repeated the action what felt like countless times. Finally, the first rung of the ladder arrived like an epiphany, and the screams in my head converted into the songs of a choir. I slowly backed all the way down to the ground, one rung at a time. When I got to the bottom I could hear voices from the other end of the room. Heights started to feel a bit less scary compared to being around all those people. I waited a moment, and then shuffled towards the sound.

  In the big room a group of people were circling the barf canvas and pointing at different parts. Someone had set up an old reclining chair, maybe from a dentist’s office or barbershop, at the far end of the room. A person covered in tattoos was cleaning the whole thing with disposable wipes. There was a beat-up old halogen lamp lighting the scene.

  Sam buzzed across the floor and grabbed my hand. They laughed and said, “Come with me,” pulling me downstairs to the second floor. They whispered, “I’ll be right back,” and slipped away.

  People sat on all the couches, watching Jeff point the camcorder at the TV screen. Jeff held court, glowing with his discovery.

  My palms started to sweat. A person with long hair stood behind the kitchen counter, and there was a sign up that said beer $3. I bought one, cracked it, and moved into a corner so I could watch everyone. Then I spotted Riki. They were high-fiving a bunch of the people on the couches.

  Sam made their way over to my corner from the bar. “Having fun?” They tipped the can to their mouth.

  “Yeah.” I did the same. “I went to parties in high school where a bunch of art students from the college showed up, but all they did was make fun of us and say weird things. Once, one of them asked me if I was dressed up as obnoxious for Halloween.”

  Sam almost spit out some beer.

  “These people seem a lot nicer,” I said.

  “They are,” Sam said. “I’m so happy to be back in Vancouver, and not stuck at that private school at Shawnigan Lake. My parents are pissed, but now I’m in this alternative high school here. I should even graduate less than a year late.”

  “It must have sucked to be trapped out there,” I said sympathetically. “I’m glad you ran away and I got to meet you. Thanks for letting me stay at your house.”

  “No problem. You’re going to love it here!”

  More and more people started arriving. I’d never really seen people like them. There was no uniform look I could pin down except that they all seemed to wear whatever they wanted. I think most of them were artists. I heard the words “my practice” a bunch of times. I practised playing my guitar a lot, but I’d never called it that.

  Riki had finished their rounds. “Do you want to see where I’m setting up my studio?” they asked us.