by Bobbie Smith

Created on: June 28, 2009

Chapter 2 - Christy (Ch.1 Emily, in Novel excerpts: Trust, Ch.3 Anna, in Novel excerpts: Uncertainty)

Christy wasn't a long way from home like Emily, Anna and Fatima, but she despised Ottawa with the contempt that comes from familiarity; she could have been thousands of miles away from home and it would have felt the same. Toronto was only a four-hour drive from Ottawa but she may as well have been in Thailand. To Christy, Ottawa always felt like a different time zone.

Mom, why haven't we gone back home yet?

Well, honey, says her mother, not looking up. Ottawa is home now. She stares at her newspaper on the kitchen table.

No it's not. I can't stand it here. Christy folded her arms staunchly across her chest hoping for a more sympathetic response.

Her mother sighed, frustrated at the reoccurring argument and finally looked up. Oh, come on, Christy, it isn't that bad.

It is. Christy turned her body and walked to the counter. She leaned her arms on the hard surface and looked out the window. The spindle-like trees stood erect and unmoved by her frustration. It's small and boring. And you promised we'd go back and we haven't. She paused for effect. Ever.

I promised we would try to get back as often as possible. Her mother let out a long sigh. And besides, you know how much your father hates Toronto.

Her father's deep and exasperated voice comes from the living room, Oh, so now it's my fault, is it?

Well, it is your fault we're not going back.

My fault. I'm the one with the career that pays for this house, remember? Otherwise we'd be in some dive in that ratty city.

Can't you think about this family instead of your career for a change. You're so selfish sometimes. Her mother stood up and started noisily folding up her paper, relieved at the distraction and yet fed up with the stagnant water in which she found herself standing.

Me? I'm selfish? You're the selfish one wanting to drag me back there. We're not going. It's too much of a rat race.

But Dad, I want to go back, said Christy. It's not fair! She ran to her room, straight to her bed and buried her head under the covers. Under the duvet, she could still hear the muted rhythm of their angry jabs at each other. They disappeared onto another radio frequency when they fought. They didn't even register that she'd left the room. Quietly, she cried for a few minutes but the drones keep going. She no longer wanted to hear them shouting from downstairs so she reached her arm out from under the covers and turned on her music,

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