I don’t know why they always think that we can’t hear them. Well, maybe it’s not that they think we can’t hear them, maybe it’s something else entirely. Either they don’t care that we can hear them or they are so far from thinking of us as actual people that it doesn’t occur to them that we might be listening. I guess that’s what happens when you’re looking at someone as an assemblage of body parts to be assessed.

I was leaning against the wall at Ice, that new bar downtown. Well, calling it a new bar is a bit misleading, it’s the same bar as it used to be with a different name. That happens a lot with bars on that strip, they don’t even change their staff, just the name over the door. For a while there, they were just rearranging the hard plastic letters but I guess they ran out of ideas. Anyway, it was Ice for that night and I was waiting for my friends. Normally we share a cab to go out for the night, but I had been working late and decided to come right from the office.

My day clothes apparently drew fire from the fashion expert guys at the booth nearby.

“Look at that one. She can’t relax for a second, I bet.”

“I could make her relax. Get her out of that skirt and she’d be putty in my hands.”

“Whatever, dude. You’re getting nowhere with that one. “

“You kidding me, a drink or two and she’d be begging for it. They’re all like that, the uptight ones. They’re just waiting for the chance to cut loose, the drink lets them pretend it wasn’t their idea.”

“Fine. You won’t catch me at it. Too much work.”

“What do you mean? There’s no work. Show her a few minutes attention, maybe buy her a drink, she’s yours in a snap.”

I sipped my drink slowly, and, toyed with the top button on my blouse. The two chick magnets started whispering to each other. I didn’t need to hear them know that they thought the big plan was going to play out. They really got animated as I started to walk toward them. I was placing each foot carefully so my hips swayed for maximum effect. I let a slow smile spread across my face, I swear I could hear their hamster brains skittering in their wheels.

“Hey, fellas.” There aren’t many women who use the word fellas and mean it, but I thought it sounded like something they’d expect me to say.

“Hey, little lady.” I tried not to laugh at that, no one outside of a cowboy movie ever got anywhere with the phrase ‘little lady.’

I leaned forward on the table, and they both leaned in toward me, the smooth guy wore a grin like he’d won a prize – they still thought they were in control here.

“I heard you talking from over there.” A look of panic crossed their faces and quickly disappeared. “And you’re right, you know, I do lose control when I’ve had a few drinks.” I was trying to sound sultry but it sounded dumb inside my head. They guys were buying it though: smooth guy looked hopeful, his buddy was a bit more tentative.

I dropped my voice a little lower. “ Yeah, when I drink, I lose control of my ability to put up with shitheads like you. The only thing happening in a snap will be me breaking your fingers if you touch me.”

I turned and strode back to my place by the wall. I had an excellent view of them leaving.

(I was stuck for an idea tonight, so I did what I always do when I’m stuck – I asked my husband for help. This story is based on his suggestion ‘a sailor who’s afraid to go on the ocean’)

I thought I knew his story before he sat on my couch. He had edged into my office, keeping his distance from me and from anything even remotely ‘shrink-like’ in the room. He was nowhere near my notebook, or my pendulum, and he didn’t even glance at my books. His head was down, and his jeans and plaid shirt were rumpled. I knew he worked on the boats – long shifts on, long shift off – and I knew that could wreak havoc on a relationship. I knew his employers were paying for his sessions. I figured he must be a textbook case of a man whose wife had found other entertainment while he was away, and the resulting fall-out was affecting his job.

I was wrong, of course, that was obvious as soon as he started talking.

“I can’t stand the damn water any more, Dr. Grant. I just can’t stand it.” He fidgeted on the couch like a kid in a principal’s office. “Everything was fine, then suddenly I couldn’t stand the sight of it another second.”

“Oh?” It was all I could think to say.

“Yes, I was near the end of my last six week rotation, and I looked out over the rails to the water and my heart jumped clear into my throat. I knew then that I couldn’t do this any more. I went right down to my cabin and didn’t set eyes on the ocean again until we were docking. Even then I kept my back to it.”

“So you don’t plan to go back?”

“How can I go back to something I can’t stand the sight of? I know that Estenhauser wants me to smarten up and get back to to work, but it’s not happening. If I ever see the water again it will be too soon.”

“Okay, but you’ve done this work all your life. Are you ready to try a new career?”

“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?”

“I guess so, but is that what you want?”

He didn’t have a quick defensive reply for that. I looked up from my notebook to see the water pooled in his eyes. He wasn’t crying yet, but it was only a matter of time, a matter of volume.

“It’s not what you want, is it, Mr. Singleton?”

He quickly shook his head before wiping one eye and then the other with the back of his left hand.

“Maybe we should start again, hey?”

He nodded and sat up a little straighter. I smiled and pulled my notebook closer. Now that we had that out of the way, we might actually get somewhere.

    She knew she shouldn’t curse in front of the children. It wasn’t dignified or it was setting a bad example or something. There was undoubtedly some lady-like wisdom about how coarse language made for a coarse person, but she was way beyond caring if she was a coarse person. It was a cut-off notice, three days until payday, oh-shit-the-milk’s-gone-off kind of day and it was twenty minutes to the store and only one of the kids would fit in the stroller so the other one would just whine the whole way. She wasn’t even sure there was enough money in her account for milk and she couldn’t imagine dragging both kids all the way to Needs Convenience and then getting turned down for $4.00 worth of milk. If her phone hadn’t already been cut then she would be able to check her account and know whether the trip was worth it, but the phone had gone last week when there were seven days until payday.

She was sure that a good mother would have rationed her milk better, a good mother would have noticed the date on this carton when she picked it up. Of course, a good mother would have been able to handle the two kids at the grocery store without getting all distracted and just grabbing vaguely food-shaped things off shelves and tossing them in her cart. And a good mother would definitely not be this frustrated at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Of course, that mother’s children probably still took naps and took them willingly so that mother probably had five minutes to herself before she hopped up and cheerily cleaned the house.

Kristy looked at the pile of clean, unfolded laundry that her children were tossing around the living room, especially at the t-shirt that smeared the dust on the coffee table. She looked at the dished piled by the sink. How many strikes was that on the good mother inventory? Her shoulders dropped at the thought of it. Sure, no one was making an actual list but if they had, she wouldn’t be on it. If she wasn’t on the bad mother list, she was sliding dangerously close. At this point in the day she didn’t even feel like she was parenting, she felt like she was just enduring until bed time, and today she feared she would collapse long before then. There was just too much hard in this whole thing and there was no time for her to catch her breath.

She plunked herself down on the cheerio-littered floor and leaned forward into her hands. She was drawing ragged edges of air into her lungs and willing herself not to give into crying when she felt the first little head lean against hers. His little sister soon followed, working her way in between Kristy’s elbows and burrowing on to her lap. She shifted and took both kids into the circle of her arms, and they snuggled into their Mama while their Mama sobbed into their hair.

“Digging to China again, boys?” Mrs. Hillier leaned on the fence, her wide brimmed hat casting a shadow over her face. The boys didn’t know why grown-ups asked the same questions every time you saw them, but they knew that it was polite to answer as if you hadn’t heard the question before.

Sam gave a reply, but, as usual, he said it too quietly. And, as usual, Ryan repeated Sam’s words loud enough to be heard. “We’re trying but we haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Well, let me know if you get there, I could use a trip.” She gave her usual laugh and went back to her gardening.

“Why doesn’t she dig to China, too, Ryan? She’s got a shovel and good dirt.”

“She’s a grown-up, Sam. Grown-ups won’t try to dig to China, they’re too sensible.” The word sensible fell out of his mouth like it tasted bad and he started in with the shovel again, scraping away at the muddy rocks at the bottom of the hole. It was kind of fun to pry the rocks out, it was one of his favourite parts of digging.

Grown-ups didn’t have any fun as far as he could tell, everything they did had to be part of a big plan. His Dad was always saying that they had a change in plans, or that something wasn’t in the plans. Ryan thought all his Dad’s plans were pretty boring.

The boys had been out digging since early morning and they were pleased with their progress. They were taking turns pulling shovelfuls of dirt out of the bottom and piling it to the side, it was difficult for them to throw the dirt on top now, the pile was getting too high. That wasn’t going to stop them though, once it got high enough, they would get to dig the pile out of place to make more room. The only thing more fun than one pile of dirt was two piles of dirt.

“Does she really think that we can get to China, Ryan? Can we do that?” Sam didn’t just rely on his older brother to amplify his voice, he expected that Ryan would have all the answers he needed. Ryan hadn’t let him down yet.

“I don’t know, Sam. We can dig a big hole though. I just like digging.” Ryan was pretty sure that he couldn’t dig to China. China was really, really far away, even if you dug right through the planet.

“I like digging, too, Ryan. Digging is fun. I like making a big pile of dirt. That’s the best part.” Sam nodded toward the rocks and earth they had dragged from the hole. “I think our pile even has worms in it. I like worms, too.”

Ryan looked through the fence at Mrs. Hillier. She was sitting back on her heels, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, smiling to herself. She probably wasn’t digging to China, but it seemed like she just liked digging, too. She probably didn’t even mind the worms.