September Lullaby

September Lullaby

A Novelette

By Laureen Bennefield

September Lullaby

Copyright © 2017 Laureen Bennefield

All rights reserved.

Published by Benn Lee Wong Publishing

blwpub@shaw.ca

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-1-7751572-2-9

Cover image by Juan Villar Padro

For Shirley

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About the Author

Chapter 1

The coins slid into the machine: one loonie and three quarters. Push and pull. Hot water flowed into the tub. Clothes were tossed in: darks, whites, and everything in-between. All jumbled, all messed up. She closed the lid and took a seat on the turquoise plastic chair. She crossed her arms at her midriff, legs at the ankles. She had a nasty complexion—a combination of acne scars, rosacea, and God only knew what else. I looked away.

Got a light?

She asked as she stood up and walked over, parking her butt right next to my face. I want to light my farts on fire. She smiled. Either that, or to light my smoke. You pick, handsome. She wiggled her hips.

I don’t smoke.

Your mistake, she assured me and then let one rip as she sauntered back to her chair.

That was Ruth. You could say she left a lasting impression on people. Personally, she assaulted my senses.

I stepped outside for some fresh air. It was early September and kids were just heading back to school. The leaves were still green, but there was a definite bite in the evening air; still a huge improvement upon what Ruth had had for breakfast.

This was my first year in the city, and I wasn’t loving it. Homesick, you ask? No, it wasn’t that. I just didn’t feel comfortable; it was like aliens had abducted me overnight and dropped me back in a new skin suit; one that was too tight here, too loose there, and on top of everything, it just wasn’t my colour. Dad called it culture shock, but it wasn’t like I’d never been to the city before; I had, lots of times. We used to come up to visit Great Grams Kennedy when she lived in the Gibson Block just off Jasper Avenue. Now, that’s a great building—an old flatiron with a lot of stories. Great Grams lived there for a hundred years! my Uncle Hank would boast. But then she fell and broke her hip and, let’s face it, that’s usually the end of the game for old people. She died.

My parents used to bring us kids to Kingsway Mall every December to see Santa Claus. For some reason, mom liked Kingsway better than Southgate, and we liked to see the planes buzz down to the airport. It was so cool—to see them descend right in the middle of town. I think it’s closed now. We stopped coming when I was about nine. I guess we outgrew it. Something like that, dad would say anytime I’d ask.

Since Kingsway is so close for me, I like to hang out there; you know, blend in with the new crop of students at NAIT. There’s quite a bit of action around here for a young stud muffin like myself: bars; restaurants; a good gym at the school to work on the old physique . . . but there’s also some really run down parts and I skirt around them when I’m out at night. Like, the other night I was coming back from the