The Story of My Face Page 3

  I flip to a blank page in my notebook and write down:

  Males eat their young.

  Males f ight over females in order to mate.

  For something different, I watch YouTube videos about grizzly bear mating behavior. Turns out, grizzly porn is not that exciting.

  ***

  “Capital of Bulgaria,” I say, then fork a last piece of chicken and stuff it into my mouth.

  Dad thinks for a moment while he chews. His green eyes dart around looking for the answer. “Sofia,” he finally says.

  Dinnertime has been painfully quiet since Jeannie left for Vancouver last fall to go to the University of British Columbia. If I hadn’t started this game to fill the air, Dad and I would have nothing to say to each other. And I mean nothing.

  Dad’s turn. “Capital of Australia.”

  “Too easy. Canberra,” I say as I gather empty bowls and plates. “How about El Salvador?”

  “Speaking of too easy, San Salvador.” Dad scoops up the remaining clump of mashed potatoes on his plate. “Capital of New Zealand.”

  “Auckland, of course.”

  “Ah, got you.” Dad points his fork at me.

  “What?”

  “Wellington.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nope.”

  I check the globe on a side table and spin it to find New Zealand. “Oh man. Why didn’t I know that?” I take the plates and bowls to the kitchen counter and load the dishwasher while Dad clears the rest of the table.

  “School was okay?” Dad asks. I begged him to let me finish high school online, but he was the one who told me I couldn’t hide at home with the covers over my head forever and insisted I go back to Rocky View High. But I think he really just wanted me out of the house. Especially on the days when he’s out of work.

  “Yeah, sure. School was fine.” I squirt dish soap into a pan and start scrubbing.

  ***

  I sit on my bed with my laptop. I hit “Save” on the bio assignment. I haven’t gone on social media much since I ended up in the hospital. Too gut-wrenching to see all my friends moving on with their lives—partying, skiing, rock climbing, playing, hiking. Looking beautiful. But when I really want to torment myself, I creep everyone I know.

  Simon’s Facebook timeline first. Geek gadgets. Geek toys. Geek apps. Everything geek. Snoozefest. Why are we best friends?

  Serena was always pretty, but in the last eight months, while I haven’t been around, she’s become drop-dead gorgeous. Every square inch of her.

  Grace’s timeline is full of adorable animal videos: a raccoon hugging a cat, a puppy licking the face of a hedgehog, penguins sliding on their bellies into the icy ocean. I go back to June of last year. Grace posted a photo of the two of us with big toothy smiles. #BFF #PrayforAbby Everyone pray for one of my best friends, Abby, who is fighting for her life in the Foothills Hospital. Please share. Serena shared Grace’s post about me.

  Grace came to see me in the hospital a few days after I was admitted. I was seriously drugged up, but I’ll never forget the horrified look when she saw me, head and body wrapped like a bloody mummy. She dashed out of the room crying, probably barfed in the hallway. She and Serena called, texted, and visited me at home a few times after I got out of the hospital last summer, but the air between us was all scratchy. In the fall we stayed in touch, but they always had an excuse why we couldn’t get together. Volleyball practice. Homework. Family dinners. Too tired or too hungover from a party. The three of us have been friends since eighth grade. It’s painfully obvious I don’t fit in with them anymore.

  Mason. Nothing’s changed. He’s still all about violent video games. Resident Evil, Mortal Kombat, Call of Duty, Grand Theft Auto. Naughty Bear? What?

  Liam. Still hasn’t posted anything since last June. I check now and again, trying to figure out why he’s incommunicado. Taken a vow of computer abstinence? Secret girlfriend? A fatal disease? The last photos he posted are shots of me in my climbing gear and ropes, hanging off the side of a mountain. Matt and Lisa, our climbing friends, are seen higher up the rock face.

  Liam and I first got to know each other in grade ten, through Rocky View High’s Outdoor Club. About once a month, Ms. Fanning, the outdoor ed teacher, would drive a van-load of us to the mountains and take us hiking. When our grade eleven hiking buddies—Thomas, Sarah, and Jarret—got their drivers’ licenses, we ditched the club. Instead, a group of us would head out on weekends to go backpacking, hiking, backcountry skiing, and rock climbing.

  One weekend, just after Liam got his driver’s license, everyone bailed on a three-day backpacking trip to the Rockwall Trail. Everyone except Liam and me. I’m sure our parents wouldn’t have been too impressed to hear it was just the two of us, but we never told them. After a kick-ass day of hiking, we sat around the fire roasting marshmallows till they caught fire, telling jokes, and laughing our asses off. We slept in our own tents that night, but the burning wood in the fire pit wasn’t the only thing throwing off smoldering heat. The next morning we left our tents and packs and climbed up a scree slope. Never in my whole life will I forget that day. When we got to the top of the slope, we looked all around us—360 degrees of sunny, clear blue skies and snow-capped peaks. On top of the world. We were so awestruck we didn’t say a word for about fifteen minutes. Then Liam held my hand. We sat on a rock and started to cry at the incredible beauty all around us. That night we slept in the same tent. It was too crowded in the sleeping bag to do much except kiss and make out a bit. Besides, condoms were not on our laminated backpacking list.

  This was the first time I cheated on Mason. But it wasn’t the last.

  I quickly scroll through photos of the day that would change my life: Thomas, Jarret, and I in the parking lot adjusting our packs; Sarah making a funny face at the camera as we start off on the trail; the trail in a wide open field, mountains all around; Liam and I setting up camp by the lake. Sarah, Jarret, and Thomas were there for me the first month or so after my bear incident, brought flowers and chocolates to the hospital, but they graduated last year and moved away. Thomas for university in Toronto, Jarret for tree-planting in northern B.C., and Sarah for volunteer work in an orphanage in Africa. I miss those times; we were such a tight group.

  I go downstairs for a snack before bed. I find Dad like I always do—sitting at the kitchen table with the lights dim, head down, staring into his glass of Scotch. Ruby gets up from under the table and wags her tail to greet me. I pat her and head for the cookie jar.

  “Sure miss Jeannie’s homemade cookies,” I say and pick out a few edible-but-far-from-delicious store-bought cookies.

  Dad looks up at me. “Huh?” I can tell this isn’t his first drink.

  Why am I so afraid to ask him why he’s so sad? “Nothing. Good night.”

  “Nite,” he says and takes another gulp. I so badly want to wrap my arms around his shoulders in a big hug, tell him everything will be okay. But I don’t. Too afraid somehow. Instead, I head upstairs and Ruby follows.

  That night I dream about the grizzly bear. The skin on my arms and legs is scraped off, my body’s screaming in pain as I scramble up the nearest tree. Her bounding toward me. My body flying out of the tree, landing on a stump hard on my back. Her stench and ferocious roar. Right in my face. I try to push her away, but her jagged teeth bite into me. She leaves me. I don’t see Liam, but I hear him screaming in the distance. I wake up sweating, out of breath. I get out of bed and search for the bear figurine standing on her hind legs with her head playfully thrown back. I rub the smooth surface with my thumb.

  BEAR BAIT

  Liam walks down the hall toward me, and we meet at the door of biology class. My heart starts pounding. Remember me? I want to yell. I know I look like a freak, but I’m the same person under all these scars. The same girl you were pretty hot for last year. The same girl you even told you loved.<
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  “Hi,” I finally blurt out.

  He glances at me, mumbles something I can’t understand, and heads into the classroom. If I weren’t graduating this year, I would drop this class. Serena’s holding court in the classroom, circled by five guys. As soon as Liam enters, her attention is immediately diverted to him. I get a quick wave from her as I make my way to the back of the room. Attending this class for the next four months is going to be torture.

  After bio I go to my locker. There’s a group crowded around, hands over their mouths, looking shocked, saying “Holy shit.” On my locker, in thick black felt pen, are the words Bear Bait. I feel faint, nauseous, and I lean up against the wall to steady myself. Mr. Hardy, the vice principal, is dispersing the crowd. He turns to me.

  “My apologies, Abby. I will do everything I can to find out who is responsible for this.”

  I turn and walk-run down the hallway toward the door that leads to the student parking lot. Schultzy catches up to me, her nylons shushing together as she tries to keep up.

  “Let’s talk,” she says.

  “Not now.” I push my body into the door.

  The crisp air hits me like a slap. I take gulps of it, trying to stop myself from fainting. In the distance, the Rocky Mountains poke up from the foothills as a tragic reminder. To think I used to find peace looking at those mountains. Mason, Dax, and another guy are smoking pot by Mason’s rusted-out truck. Dax, with his straight dark-brown hair hanging over his face in sharp points, looks like a beanpole next to Mason. They see me. I hear Dax say, “There she is.” They bark and howl at me, and then laugh their stoned asses off. I hold tightly to the tiny bear in my hoodie pocket. I turn around to head back into the school, but I still feel woozy and sink to the ground. Mason struts over, bends his knees, legs spread so his crotch is right in my face.

  “How does it feel to be humiliated? Huh, Bear Bait?”

  “Get over it, Mason. It’s old news. Can’t we just move on?”

  “Move on?! You kidding me? You wouldn’t have sex with me. Said you weren’t ready, and I respected that, didn’t I? Then you go screwing around behind my back and make me the laughingstock of the whole school. Know what you are? You’re a fucking slut.” He thrusts his crotch even closer. “Aren’t you, Bear Bait?” I look down at the pavement. Dax cracks up laughing.

  “Isn’t my messed-up face revenge enough for you?” I say in a weak, pitiful voice.

  “Not even close. When I’m done with you, you’ll wish that bear had finished you off.” He finally joins the others. Most days I wish the bear did finish me off. I stand, take a few deep breaths, and wobble back into the school. I should be scared shitless, but there isn’t much more Mason could do to ravage my already miserable life.

  ***

  At the end of the day, I meet Simon at my locker. “When are you going to bring your lock?” Simon says. “Someone’s going to steal all the shit out of your locker.”

  “When I have some shit worth stealing, then I’ll bring my lock.”

  Ms. Cooper, the custodian, has done her best to erase the felt pen, but Bear Bait is still visible. The locker will probably have to be painted to totally hide it.

  “Whoever did this, I’ll kick their ass, even if it’s a girl,” says Simon, looking all agitated. He runs his fingers through his bushy hair.

  I smile at the image of Simon getting all He-Man on anyone. “I doubt if they’ll find out who did it.” But, of course, I know exactly who it was. “Besides, if I can step out of my pathetic existence for a moment, it is kind of funny. Bear bait.” I chuckle weakly as I close my locker. We start walking down the hall. Deep down I feel gutted.

  “Not funny. I’m thinking the Sticky Hive did this.”

  “You have a totally warped view of them.”

  “The only reason they haven’t stomped me into the ground under their high-heeled boots is because I’m friends with you.”

  “They’re all good people. They’re just caught up in—”

  “Themselves? Their looks? Their plastic existence? Firing off their pheromones in all directions just to toy with unsuspecting schlubs like me?” Simon opens the door to the parking lot, and we walk to the sparkling new Jeep his dad bought for him for his eighteenth birthday.

  “Was I, you know, as plastic as them?” Even as I say the words I know the answer.

  “Uh, yeah!” Simon gives me a can-you-really-be-that-clueless look. “The only thing that saved our friendship is our history and our shared love of foreign films and decadent flavors of ice cream. And you were outdoorsy, which at least kept you somewhat grounded. But, boy, could you ever flip the bitch switch.” Simon points his fob at the Jeep to unlock the doors.

  Simon is right, and it makes me feel even worse than I already do. “Grace is outdoorsy,” I say as I climb into the passenger seat.

  “Used to be. The Queen Bee is not, so Grace stepped up her sidekick game this year—in a big way.” Simon starts the Jeep.

  I haven’t heard Grace talk about snowboarding this winter or any hikes planned for the summer, and there’s no evidence on Facebook or Instagram. But then again, what do I know?

  ***

  I flip through a fashion magazine at Dr. Van der Meer’s Calgary office. Images of models looking all beautiful and perfect. Good marketing ploy for a plastic surgeon’s office. I put the magazine down and look over at Dad flipping through Golf magazine, a sport he’s never tried but sometimes watches on TV. Two middle-aged women sitting across from us look like they’ve been seriously beaten up, with facelift bruising under their eyes and dark purple lines down their faces. One woman tries to hide her black eyes by wearing sunglasses. Inside. Not cool. And I can tell she’s staring at me behind her shades. Also not cool. A younger woman, slim and fit, reads Hello magazine. I don’t think those are her real boobs—too big, high, and perky for someone her size. I pick up a brochure from the magazine table. Facing It: Supporting people with facial differences. Dr. Van der Meer talked to me about this group last fall, but that was when I refused to leave the house, even to go to a meeting with people whose faces might be as scarred as mine. I toss a brochure into my purse.

  Finally the receptionist calls my name and leads us to the exam room.

  I sit on the table while Dr. Van der Meer inspects every inch of my face, as closely as I inspect hers. She has deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and two lines in her cheeks around her mouth. Laugh lines.

  “Have you ever had plastic surgery?” I ask. Her face looks like a woman her age should look, but maybe she had some belly fat removed or something.

  “Abby…,” Dad says. Deferential to the medical profession, he thinks patients should be seen and not heard.

  Dr. Van der Meer chuckles. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Why did you become a plastic surgeon?” I ask.

  “When my older brother was ten, he got cancer of the jaw, which, after several operations, disfigured his face. I wanted to help people like Jeff. People like you.”

  I have a feeling she makes most of her cash from facelifts, tummy tucks, and boob jobs, but I keep my mouth shut.

  She touches the left side of my face. “How has it been feeling?”

  “Okay, but it aches sometimes. Well, most of the time.”

  “Any fever, bouts of severe pain?”

  “Not really.”

  “If anything changes, call my office and I’ll get you in right away.”

  “When’s the next surgery?” Dad asks.

  “You’re pleased with how you’re healing. But I’d like to hold off a bit longer. Maybe schedule something for after Abby graduates.” She turns to me. “We can work the surgery around your plans. Have you applied to college or university for the fall?”

  I shake my head. “After June, I’ll have nothing but time.” No university, no work, no boyfriend, no life.

  �
��OK then, I’ll have my office set the surgery for mid-July.”

  “What will this surgery entail?” Dad asks all the important questions.

  “I want to build Abby a new cheekbone.”

  “How are you going to do that?” I ask. I’ve heard her talk about this before, but I remain skeptical.

  “I’ll be shaving bone from one of your ribs and reconstructing your cheek. Then flaps of skin will be taken from your chest wall, thigh, or buttocks to cover the area.”

  Dad shakes his head, incredulous. “The wonders of modern medicine.”

  “You’d be surprised how successful this surgery has been. My brother is a great example.”

  I look at myself in the mirror hanging on the wall. I’ve already had seven surgeries, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever look even close to normal.

  ***

  “You’re wrong,” I say, reading from my phone. “Wikipedia says the Caspian Sea is often regarded as the world’s largest lake, but it contains an oceanic basin, rather than being entirely over continental crust. Whatever that means.” On the drive home, we’re stuck in traffic on Bow Trail, so Dad and I play our geography game.

  “It’s still regarded as the world’s largest lake.”

  “Nice try.”

  “Which is the largest of the Great Lakes? And no surfing the web for the answer,” Dad says. He pulls the truck forward until we’re once again at a standstill.