Hardly Working. Betsy Burke

      “And animal rights?” said Cleo.

      “If you swat a fly around Lisa, she’s likely to try CPR on it….” I countered.

      Lisa clarified herself. “Before giving it a dignified funeral.”

      We all grinned, then Cleo looked at me. “Uh, Dinah? Do you actually know what you’re looking for?”

      “Sure.” I peered out from behind the high-rise of cardboard boxes that had inhabited the corner of my bedroom for ages. “My protest-against-the-big-money-grubbing-corporation wardrobe.”

      Lisa smiled. “We all go through it. You’ll outgrow it.”

      “Outgrow what?”

      “Dressing up for protests. You’ll be wearing your worst rags at the next one. These kind can get messy.”

      “Lisa, when I left Vancouver Island, I promised myself I would try not to look like a shrubbie from the Island. If I can just figure out which box the damned clothes are in,” I murmured.

      Cleo said, “It’s important to consider your wardrobe at all times. There could be some interesting men there. When they come to arrest us, there could be men in uniform. I love men in uniform.”

      Lisa said, “You love men…period.”

      “Ha. You’re right.” Cleo took in the varnished pine floorboards, oyster-white paint that was no longer fresh, and mountain of cardboard boxes. “You moved into this place…when, Dinah? Three years ago?”

      “Two and a half.” I tried not to sound defensive.

      “When are you planning on unpacking them?” Lisa asked.

      “Just these boxes I haven’t unpacked. I had them sent over later but there isn’t enough closet space. So they’re staying there. This is my storage depot.”

      Cleo stopped flicking her Ray-Bans back and forth and parked them on her head. “Come on now, Lisa. Poor Dinah. Give her time. Moving is traumatic. It’s number two after divorce.”

      “I wouldn’t know anything about divorce,” Lisa muttered. “Never having been married myself in the first place.”

      I had once caught a glimpse of the pile of Bride magazines stashed in Lisa’s desk drawer at work. They definitely marred her free and easy earth-mother image.

      “To hear Fran tell it, we’re not missing a thing,” said Cleo. “She’s always saying there’s nothing like marriage to cure you of wanting to be married.”

      This was one conversation I had no intention of getting involved in. I set a carton precariously on top of another and was not quite in time to catch it as it tumbled to the floor. The three of us winced in unison as its contents tinkled dangerously.

      “Not the Limoges, I hope,” said Cleo.

      I shifted the box gently out of the way. “I have no idea and I’m not going to open it to see. Then I’d have to deal with it. You know I’m cleaning-impaired.”

      Lisa smiled, revealing her big teeth. “Confession is the first step toward recovery.” She glanced at her psychedelic Swatch. “Just grab something so we can go, will you, Dinah. We’re late. The others will be there already.”

      I tore frantically at packing tape and box flaps. My eye lit on something charcoal black. “Aha.” I held it up, triumphant.

      Lisa made a face. “You cannot wear a Chanel suit to an environmental protest.”

      “Yes, she can,” said Cleo. “She can wear whatever she likes.”

      I was already pulling off my office skirt and scrutinizing the little black suit with the red trim. “It’s a demoted Chanel suit. I got it at a secondhand place. It was a steal. Secondhand means it’s recycled so that makes it environmentally correct, right? Now where have those flats gotten to…?”

      Lisa shrugged.

      After a burst of haphazard ironing, elaborate squirming and a tiny intervention with a safety pin at bust level, I was dressed. I grabbed the deluxe knapsack I’d prepared and followed them out. As we ran down my stairs, I felt proud. We were a squad, ready to lay down our lives for a stand of ancient trees. Well…maybe not our lives, but part of a sunny October day. Or so I thought until we were standing in front of Lisa’s van.

      While Lisa was doing a last check of the heavy chains and padlocks in the back, Cleo leaned into me and whispered, “None of that stuff is touching my body. I agreed to be a presence but I’m not chaining myself to a damned thing. You know how hard it is to get grease or pitch out of corduroy? This is my best Lands’ End protest outfit. I’d planned on wearing it to the next No-Global.”

      “Get in, girls,” ordered Lisa. “It’s already going to be hell finding parking.”

      The van wheezed into gear and coughed and spat all the way up West Fourth. I was in the back, and Cleo, up in the passenger seat, turned back to face me. Over the sound of the engine, she said, “This apartment is definitely a step up from your last.”

      “Ten steps,” I mumbled.

      “I remember Dinah’s last place well,” said Lisa.

      “It could have housed morgue overflow,” said Cleo.

      “It wasn’t that cold,” I protested.

      “No? You didn’t notice my fingers turning blue from hypothermia whenever I came to visit you? And those clog dancers living overhead were amazing.”

      “The upstairs tenants were a little noisy.”

      “Your landlord had a nerve. Calling it a basement suite,” Cleo said. “It was a bunker. It was almost completely underground.”

      “It was a bit dark,” I admitted. I didn’t tell them that it had been so dark that once during a power failure, I thought I’d gone blind. My only consolation in that moment was the possibility of expanding my love life to include ugly men with beautiful voices.

      “If you can just get those last few boxes unpacked, you’ll be all set,” said Lisa.

      It was a very big if.

      We rode along in silence for a while. Then I said what we’d all been thinking. “I sure hope nobody finks on us.”

      “It was a previous commitment,” said Lisa. “If it gets back to Trutch we’ll just tell him that protests like this are part of Green World’s constitution.” She made a fast turn and came to a screeching halt.

      “Stanley Park?” Cleo raised her eyebrows.

      “This is it,” said Lisa. “This is our destination.”

      I was confused. I’d been expecting a long ride into an immense dark rain forest.

      “Douglas firs. And not just one but four,” said Lisa. “They’re saying that they’re diseased, but it’s pure propaganda….”

      I laughed.

      “Okay. Let’s go,” sighed Cleo, and climbed down from the van.

      Lisa bulldozed ahead of us. “It’s not far from here.”

      I grabbed my knapsack and we followed, almost running to keep up.

      When we reached the site, it was deserted.

      Lisa stood immobile. “Oh my God.”

      “We obviously have the wrong day.” Cleo looked a little relieved.

      Lisa was close to tears. “We’re too late.”

      The freshly cut naked stumps of four huge Douglas firs made us all feel cheated. A couple of minutes passed before we could hear a strange low hum coming from Lisa.

      “What’s she doing?” whispered Cleo.

      “Singing,