Frankie
I wasn’t even supposed to be there.
I don’t really like doing the home greets.
Some of the new arrivals, they just don’t get it.
I once had a woman attack me with pepper spray ’cos she thought I was an intruder.
Another time, this dude had a heart attack.
Right there in his brand-new kitchen. Good job I know first aid, or he would have been cooked. Gotta appreciate the irony, right?
Also, summer, it’s too frigging hot for the armadillo costume. It’s the biggest and heaviest of all the costumes. And if you’re under six foot, it’s hard to see out of the damn eyeholes. Normally, I wear Lenny the Leopard ’cos it’s cut tight and I’m the skinniest out of the Mascots.
Chris always wears Arnie. Chris is eighteen, six and a half foot and built like Thor.
He looks like he’s dumb as wood, but don’t let that fool you.
He’s smart. And rich. His dad works at the Hub, and his mom is a doctor.
Chris plans to go to medical school after college and, in his spare time, he plays in a band.
Needless to say, Chris gets laid. A lot.
Anyway, a few days before the Arnie meet-and-greet, Chris comes to see me at the diner.
He didn’t usually do that. He hung out with the jocks, the popular kids.
They came into the diner sometimes, and he’d say ‘Hi,’ but he wouldn’t really talk to me.
That was okay. I got it. I’m twenty-one.
I work a dead-end job, and I live with my gran.
I am the definition of ‘loser’. If I didn’t grow the best weed, no one would talk to me at all.
But this evening Chris came up to the counter and asked quietly if he could have a word.
He looked upset, worried. And that wasn’t like Chris.
Chris didn’t worry about anything. Why would he?
So, I got the feeling something was up. I asked Lou if she could cover for me for a few minutes.
She rolled her eyes, but said, ‘Yeah. I guess.’
We headed out the back. I looked around and then slipped out half a joint I’d saved in my apron pocket. I sparked it up and took a drag. ‘So, what’s up, dude?’
‘I, err, I wanted to ask you a favour?’
‘Okay?’
‘Can you do the Arnie meet-and-greet on Monday?’
I stared at him. ‘I got work.’
I didn’t have work till the evening, but there was some shit I needed to do which I couldn’t tell Chris about.
He frowned and looked agitated. He hadn’t even asked for a drag on my joint (and I wasn’t going to offer) so he must have been preoccupied. ‘Please, man. I really need someone to cover for me.’
Still, I hesitated. ‘I dunno—’
He looked desperate. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, man.’
Did I mention Chris’s family is rich? I mean, really rich. They own one of the biggest houses in Serenity Falls. Chris drives a brand-new Porsche and always wears the latest designer gear. He once told me he has like, fifty pairs of trainers.
Unlike me, he doesn’t need to do the Mascot work for cash.
He does it for the kudos – being a Mascot is seen as serving the community in Serenity.
Sure, it gets you other perks, like discounts at places to eat, free popcorn at the cinema and, for college kids, it goes on their record when they graduate.
It might seem dumb to some people, but I guess it all filters down from the original guy – Harold Winsom.
Even when he became mega rich, he would still wear a Mascot costume from time to time and walk round the parks to spread some joy and all that shit.
I considered. ‘I mean, I guess I could move stuff around—’
‘I’ll pay you a hundred dollars.’
I blinked. Chris must be really desperate. Which made me a little concerned.
‘Is everything okay, man?’
‘Yeah. I just … I just got some stuff I need to do – a college assignment. I got to hand it in or get an imposition.’
Chris was smart, hot and an okay dude. But he was a terrible liar.
But still, one hundred dollars.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a deal.’
‘Great.’ His face broke out in relief. Like someone had just lifted a noose from his neck.
‘Remind me again,’ I said, stubbing the joint. ‘Which house is it?’
‘Twenty-two Acacia Avenue. The Brits.’
‘Ah, right.’
People had been talking about the new people. Apparently, they were from the UK, and they inherited the house. Like, really? That place had been a ghost house for years. Then suddenly these two show up claiming an inheritance. I was kinda curious.
In fact, when Monday rolled round and I made my way over to Acacia Avenue, I wasn’t feeling too bad about the meet-and-greet. I had my costume slung over one arm, the balloons floating up from my other hand, and I had a sweet one hundred bucks back home.
The new owners weren’t due till late afternoon, so I got there a little early, let myself in the back gate and settled down in the yard to light up a small spliff. I tied the balloons to one of the deckchairs and lay the costume by my feet. I’d put that on last minute ’cos it was freaky hot.
While I waited, smoking, I flicked through my phone, replied to a few messages.
But I felt restless. My mind was on other things, had been for the last week or so.
I felt on edge, like I’d accidentally stepped on a mine, and I was waiting for it to go bang.
In a way, doing the meet-and-greet was a welcome distraction.
After half an hour or so, when I was just thinking about rolling another joint, my phone pinged. Frances: ‘Suit up. They’re on their way.’
I sighed and started to slip into the suit. It’s a fucker to put on, the armadillo, and although the costumes are supposed to be cleaned every few wears, this one still stank of stale sweat. Great. I popped the head on and untied the balloons.
The head is also stupidly cumbersome. Like I said, the eyes just aren’t in the right place.
I could barely see the smallest sliver of trees and sky.
Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to wear it for long.
I heard a noise behind me. The back gate.
I frowned. Surely, the new people couldn’t be here already.
It must be Frances. Probably here to chide me about the smell of weed.
‘Frances?’
No reply. I turned slowly, so as not to trip up over the huge feet. That’s when I felt the sharp sting in my neck. I slapped at it. Shit. Don’t tell me a fucking bee or wasp has got inside the suit. I pulled at the head, but my arms felt oddly weak and heavy.
‘Frances,’ I said. ‘Can you help me get this frigging head off? I’ve been stung.’
But my mouth couldn’t seem to form the words. What came out was: ‘Funces. Cun hel fugging head. Bin stug.’
What the fuck was wrong with me? Was I having an allergic reaction?
I tried to tug at the head again, but it was impossible to keep my arms up.
I needed help. I needed to get out of here.
I took a step, but my legs gave, and I almost fell.
Fuck and fuck. You can become allergic at any time.
I read about it. Still, a tiny part of my brain was shouting that this wasn’t it.
Something else was going on here … but before I could understand just what, someone shoved me, hard, and I hit the water.
Cold after the heat. Even through the suit.
And it was grasping, pulling me down. I flailed wildly, flapping my useless, heavy arms and legs, made heavier by the stupid frigging costume.
Even if my limbs weren’t weighted with lead, I wouldn’t know what to do with them.
I never learnt to swim. Always hated water.
Humans aren’t built for water. We’re land mammals.
Not like fucking armadillos. But now, I wish I’d tried just that bit harder.
‘You never try.’ That’s what my mom always said.
‘You’re lazy. You always take the easy route. ’ Like this was fucking easy.
Somehow, my head broke the surface, and I gasped in air, but before I could get enough, I was sinking again, and the damn costume was pulling me down, like a suit of fucking concrete.
I fumbled for the zipper, but my fingers wouldn’t coordinate.
My whole body was starting to feel numb, like it didn’t belong to me.
Above, I could just make out a faint glimmer of rippling light.
The surface. So tantalizingly close. But my head was fogging, my chest burning, and if I didn’t open my mouth to breathe, it might just burst. And even though I knew it wasn’t air I’d be taking in, I couldn’t hold it any longer.
I opened my mouth and felt the sour sting of chlorinated water as it flooded my lungs.
People say when you drown you feel a strange sense of calm. A dreamlike serenity as you fade away.
Bullshit. I just felt panic and pain, and as darkness clouded my brain I thought: Chris. Fucking Chris. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not Arnie. I’m never fucking Arnie …