Okay so this is actually the first ever Georgia story. I re-worked it about a year ago. It needed a lot of work! I wrote this story more than 12 years ago. Barb = me. Most of what happens in here is true, except for what Mike does at the end. That didn't actually happen. Instead he did a midnight runner thing. The note, his paranoia - all true. While Barb moves out at that point, I didn't, so there were four of us living in the little house. I don't think Georgia is very sympathetic in this story. Luckily that changes over the next several pieces. I was still living in that roommate situation when I wrote this, frustrated, from my second story room. It was a nice little house in East Van. - Rupert and 27th (since torn down with a new house in its place). I had the upstairs which had two rooms basically. Turns out that the furnace was not only inefficient but one step away from exploding at one point. The repairman had been told by the owner not to fix it but he felt he had to ethically otherwise it was going to explode and kill us.
Late Saturday evening, Georgia places
an ad on Craigslist for a roommate.
Two
East Van singles looking for a third to share a cozy house. A short walk to the SkyTrain and near grocery
store. Non-smokers only and utilities
not included but are minimal. $500/month.
On Sunday morning she receives more
than 10 phone calls.
“Yes, so Richard and I are in our
forties,” she tells each of the twelve, even though she is 59 and Richard, 52.
“ And we’re quiet people. You know, I’m an ESL teacher so I have to get
up early and Richard is a cook so he gets up a bit later. But, you know, no loud noise after 10 p.m. or
so. And we really don’t want loud
music. Ever. Yeah, no loud music ever. Oh and no smoking. Absolutely no smoking. It comes up through the vents. Or down through the vents since you’ll be
living in the attic. But we’re laidback
really. No big rules. And if you have a car I’d appreciate being
able to get some beer every other week or so, on a Saturday probably, in the
morning would be best.”
“Oh and the heat. To keep costs down we generally keep the heat
off or turned very low. Mostly wearing a
sweater and warm socks will keep the chill off.
But, you know, if you are looking for a sauna we are probably not the
right place for you!”
This monologue or some version of
it, weeds out 11 of the 12 callers. Two
days after the ad goes in, Mike comes over to look at the room. He’s a young guy, Georgia
tells Richard later, in his twenties and a part-time student at Vancouver Community College.
Richard and Georgia
are in need of a roommate because after 10 months Barb is moving out.
Georgia is relieved because Barb
was a little crazy.
Yeah, a bit crazy, Georgia
thinks. Like the time she wrote a note
that said, “You may be having hot flashes but I’m only 34. Keep the damn heat on.”
Georgia tells
Richard that Mike seems far more normal than Barb could ever hope to be.
“Oh,” says Richard. While Richard’s name is on the lease, he
wants Georgia
to be in charge of finding a roommate.
“As long as they can pay, that’s all I care about,” he tells her.
Georgia, who normally bristles at responsibility, takes a certain pride in
being in charge of household affairs.
“And he doesn’t have a girlfriend
and has a Walkman or something so we won’t have to hear his music."
“An iPod,” asks Richard.
“Huh?, says Georgia, “No, he’ll use our phone I
guess or he might have a cell.”
Richard nods. If he can pay, he says, it sounds good.
At the end of November, Barb moves
out and Mike moves in. Georgia suggests getting some beer
for a welcoming celebration but Mike says he has plans.
Oh, thinks Georgia, that’s
a bit of a problem.
“No problem,” she says. Moments later Georgia hears Mike using what
sounds like a power tool. She walks up
to his room.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks.
“Oh, just installing a lock. It’s no t anything personal, just I’ve had a
lot of roommates before and it just seems safer.” He smiles at her.
“Oh, um, okay. Just, careful with the dust. It makes me sneeze and it’s not good for the
floor.”
Feeling a little tense, Georgia tries
to shrug it off with a warm beer from her closet.
Things move along quietly for the
next week. Mike is often not at home and
when he is, he spends the time in his room, watching TV. Georgia is a little disturbed by
the volume and is thinking of a nice way to ask Mike to lower it when he comes
downstairs. Georgia is heating up a can of
Vienna Sausages in Gravy and watches as he opens up his cupboard and starts
routing around. Georgia stiffens when she notices
his agitation growing.
“Georgia,” he says. “Did you take my
tuna? I had a can of tuna here, did you
take it?”
Georgia is started, almost dropping
her Vienna Sausages. “Nope,” she says,
“I’ve never even seen what you have on your shelf.”
Mike slams the cupboard door.
“Well, someone did. All I wanted was
some tuna before I went to school and now it’s gone and Richard’s not here and
maybe he took it or maybe you did and you forgot. But all I know is that it’s not here and it
was here before and I just bought it and it’s not here.”
Georgia looks at him. Her hands begin to shake and she holds them
up in the air as an unspoken plea to get Mike to shut up. She tries to think quickly, to form a calming
sentence that will get him to stop stomping his feet like a little boy.
“Maybe you already ate it and
forgot?”
“I would know if I did, Georgia. I’m not crazy or schizo or something.” He breathes deeply. Georgia hyperventilates. “Well, okay, I’ll let it go this time. Oh and by the way we need to keep the heat at
20, okay? It’s cold.”
A shiver goes through Georgia. I should have had him sign an agreement, she
thinks.
Why was it so difficult to find
someone other than Richard who understood the financial burden of having the
furnace running?
“You said you understood the
financial burden of having the furnace running,” she says.
Mike’s colour is starting to come
down from beet red. Georgia is
relieved to realize that she is not afraid of him, more annoyed by his childish
behaviour and her hatred of confrontation.
“I guess,” he mumbles and Georgia
sees that the tuna debacle has embarrassed him.
“Would you like some of my
cheese? Medium cheddar. You could make a sandwich.”
Two weeks pass when the gas bill
comes in and sure enough, it is already higher.
Georgia
leaves it on the kitchen counter with a big red circle around the total. She
writes their three names on the bill with $9.62 written beside each. She ticks off her own name.
After the tuna episode, Georgia
relented and kept the thermostat at 14C.
When Mike turns it up, she turns it back down. This makes her feel a bit better. Everybody has quirks, she tells herself.
The next morning Georgia finds a note duct taped to
the kitchen counter.
“There must be a ghost in the
house,” she reads. “Because when I woke
up this morning my alarm clock was unplugged and placed on my desk. And my plant, Buffy, which I have had for two
years, is dead.”
Georgia’s mind begins to
rattle. A ghost, she thinks. “A big, bad ghost,” she says out loud. She feels spooked and turns on the kitchen,
dining room and living room lights before she continues to read. I don’t believe in ghosts for god’s sake, she
tells herself.
The note is signed, Mike. Georgia shakes her head and runs
her hand through her short dyed red hair.
She reads it again. It is raining
heavily and begins to hail as Georgia
looks at the outside darkness. Richard
is away for a week, staying at his girlfriend’s trailer while she is at trapeze
school. Mike is never up before Georgia leaves.
“This is a bit creepy,” she says. In general,
Georgia
is an atheist. She has only ever
attended one séance, at a wedding shower for a co-worker. She had found it a rather silly experience
but when the card table levitated a couple of inches, she hadn’t been able to
find an explanation for it. The hairs on
the back of her neck and under her chin had stood up then, just as they are
now. She begins to hear noises from
Mike’s room and in a panic, runs into the bathroom and locks the door. Sitting on the toilet, her pajama pants
around her ankles, she hears Mike coming down the stairs.
“Oh, Christ in a cake,” she says.
“Georgia,” Mike pounds on the door,
“I need to pee bad.”
She puts her head in her hands.
“Georgia, come on, my teeth are
floating here.”
“Okay,” she replies faintly,
feeling faint. “I’ll be out in a
minute.”
She stands up, pulls up her pants
and opens the door.
“You didn’t flush,” says Mike.
“I wasn’t doing, um, toilet
things,” she says.
“Oh,” says Mike. He rushes past her and closes the bathroom
door. She can hear a loud stream hit the
toilet as he sighs.
“Mike,” she says to the door.
“What?”
“Do you think we have a ghost?”
“Well, yeah, all I know is when I
went to bed my alarm clock was plugged in.
And when I woke up it was on my desk.
And Buffy is dead. I sure didn’t
do that.”
Georgia shudders. “But, a ghost? Did you smell anything or see anything or do
you think locking your door is going to keep it out. I hear that they can walk through walls.”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t a ghost,”
Mike says and goes up to his room, slamming and locking his door.
“Oh,” thinks Georgia, something clicking in her
mind, “He thinks it was me.”
Two hours later Richard comes
home. Georgia approaches him.
“Richard,” she says, “I borrowed
your milk because I forgot to buy some and Mike thinks I broke into his room in
the middle of the night. That’s a bit
crazy don’t you think?”
Richard looks at her, “Um, yeah, I
guess. Who knows, maybe you sleep walk.”
he says and heads down to his room.
I don’t sleep walk Georgia
thinks. Do I? No, no, I don’t.
Tuna, ghost, heat,
accusations. Georgia has to sit down. He pays the rent and that is a wonderful
thing. Richard is often two or three
days or even a week late but Mike paid his first month’s rent right on
time. He’s just got strange ideas, she
decides. He’s young, fairly smart and
maybe a bit too much time to sit around and think. But he’s a responsible person.
The next day as she walks the ½
hour from the SkyTrain after work, she is feeling pretty good. It’s warm and the sun feels great on her face. The crows swooping down upon her don’t even
bother her. She decides to ask Mike if
he has the same problem. She pictures
their pleasant bird conversation as she strolls toward the house.
It is only when she gets two blocks
from her home that she is snapped from her reverie by the three police cars and
six police officers in her front yard.
One of them has a loudspeaker and is bellowing something out. As she gets closer, she makes out what is
being said.
“Just come on out, Mike. Everything will be okay. Your mother is on her way.”
Georgia runs over to the police officer
that is re-directing traffic. “I live
here,” she says. “Mike is my
roommate. What on earth is going on?”
“You live here?” asks the police
officer, “What’s your name?
Georgia hesitates and thinks
fleetingly of making something up.
“Georgia. What is happening please?”
The police officer, who Georgia guesses
to be 6 feet four, asks for her ID and then begins to question her.
“What time did you leave home
today?”
“At 7:30, I had to photocopy
because one of the photocopiers was broken after work yesterday and the others
were busy. We only have three
photocopiers for 60 teachers which are –“
The policeman cuts her off.
“Was Mike out of bed yet? Was he making any strange noises?”
“Noises, no, no, he was dead asleep
as far as I knew. Well not dead of
course, but sleeping. Unconscious. My other roommate Richard was staying at his
girlfriend’s so the house was very quiet.
His girlfriend wants to join a circus or something.”
“Mike’s girlfriend?” asks the cop.
“No, no Richard’s.”
“We didn’t realize you lived
here. Richard’s name is the only one on
the lease and we can’t get a hold of him.”
“Yes, that’s right but I’m in
charge of most everything, making sure the rent is paid, the utilities.” Georgia pales. “We’re a bit late on paying the heat but –“
The police officer proceeds to tell her that Mike has been hollering out the
window, threatening to blow himself up with a homemade bomb.
“My god,” says Georgia.
“Mike’s been showing us what he
says is the bomb but we have no reason to believe that he actually has
one. It looks more like a can of some
kind. Try not to worry. We’ve got some specialists here helping to
talk him out. We’re just taking all the
necessary precautions. Nine times out of
ten, everything turns out just fine.”
Georgia and the officer’s attention
is distracted by the sound of the front door opening. Mike has put down what he has been holding
and is heading toward the police, his hands up.
What looks to Georgia
like a bomb squad runs toward the dropped item, put it in a bag and head off in
a van. Georgia runs over to Mike.
“Mike,” says Georgia, “Mike –“
“Please, ma’am,” says the officer
who is handcuffing Mike. “Please step
away.”
As they lead her roommate to the squad
car, Georgia
can only look on, her mouth hanging open.
Mike looks back.
“Georgia,” he moans.
“Mike,” she calls out to him,
feeling maternal.
“You stupid bitch, leave the heat
on.”
Three hours later the police phone Georgia and tell her that the bomb was
not a bomb at all but a can of Vienna Sausages in Gravy.
