Alone at 90 Foot by Katherine Holubitsky Page B

time. They need some excitement in their lives.”
    â€œNo, Pam. It only seems that way to you and me. They are content. They need the routine. It may be hard for you to understand, but they do well when their days are arranged. They know what to expect. Some of them have lived through more excitement than anyone needs in their lives.”
    And they continued like that. Every time we went, it was the same old thing. I got so bored, sometimes Mom would send me down to the gift shop to buy a comic or a magazine. Then at Christmas, Santa Claus came. He ho, ho, ho’d around the cafeteria, passing out presents, bellowing out Merry Christmas in his big booming voice. There were many relatives and little children running all around. The Boy Scouts put on a skit and a choir from the nearby United Church sang carols, inviting the relatives to all join in. There was food and punch and lots of noise. Too much noise for Mr. Cruikshank, who began to scream and bang on his tray. Too much for Mrs. Grewal, who rolled herself in a ball and cringed against the floor. Mr. Jones gave up smoking and returned to his room. And the girl my age, with her big scared eyes, opened her mouth and made an almost-silent terrified noise.
    When we returned two weeks later, peace had been restored. Mrs. Grewal danced with a smile on her face. Mr. Jones smoked happily. My grandma read her book, with three others stacked in a pile beside her. At one o’clock, the physical therapist came in. They did their exercises without any complaints. They followed their routine. They all seemed content. They were sick and old.
    I’m not. And I sure am getting tired of Rudy Lantz, Mr. Bartell and my same dull face.

FIFTEEN
    June 9th
    Dad and Jenn took me out to buy a puppy last night. She’s sleeping on my lap as I write. She is so adorable you just can’t believe it. She’s a basset hound, she’s twelve weeks old and her name is — guess what? — Emily. Jenn helped me with that. Her ears are so long, she trips over them when she walks. She takes a step, trips on her ear, does a somersault and starts again. I’m allowed to keep her kennel in my room, as long as she sleeps in it during the night. I couldn’t make her last night. She looked waytoo neglected with her sad eyes and nose sticking out between the bars. I let her curl up next to me on the bed. I mean, seeing as it was her first night away from her mother. As if I don’t know what that feels like that.
    It was quite a surprise. I was just coming in from a walk in the canyon. Dad and Jenn were sitting at the kitchen table. They had these looks on their faces like they knew something I didn’t know. Not something bad, but like something they wanted to tell me, but they were going to have some fun with it first. By playing it real cool. You know the kind of humor, kind of feeble.
    â€œSo, what’s up?” asked Dad when I came in the door.
    â€œNothin’,” I said. I dropped my backpack on the floor next to the refrigerator. I looked at Dad. Then over at Jenn. They both had these big smiley eyes. “What
is
up?”
    â€œHow was your walk in the park?”
    Dad won’t call it the canyon. He won’t even hint that it’s anything other than this green playing field, where, unless you’re playing some contact sport, you could not possibly get hurt. He hates me going down there. He tried to forbid me at first. We had this big argument when it finally came out that he was afraid I might do what Mom did. We both ended up crying when I told him I had a littlemore common sense than that.
    â€œIt was alright. Mrs. Marshall’s still looking for Krissy.” I poured myself a glass of juice. “She’s got hip waders on and she’s stumbling down the creek, trying to peer through the water. But she’s not looking for Krissy’s body. Just Krissy’s pink sweater. She’s absolutely convinced Krissy’s