Ronnie’s gotten herself into a real mess. How could finding a secret message in a bottle possibly change that?
“Fired from my job, married to a loser and pregnant! My life is crap,” Ronnie tells her friend Charlie, who looks down at his coffee and lets her rant. “How did this happen to me -- the sensible girl, the straight-A student who was going places? What would that girl think of me now? I’m twenty-two years old and a total screw-up!”
Charlie looks at her beautiful face, now contorted in anger, and calmly sips his coffee. Ronnie’s long brown hair is piled high on her head in a messy lopsided knot. She isn’t wearing any makeup, and her oversized black hoodie and ripped jeans look like she’s slept in them.
“Ronnie, calm down. Are you sure you’re pregnant?” Charlie asks her.
“Well, if you mean, am I barfing up my guts, no, I’m not,” she hisses at him. “But I haven’t had a period for two months. I went to Shoppers Drug Mart for one of those pregnancy tests, and it came out positive. So here I am -- knocked up, bun in the oven, up the stump, bat in the cave, up the duff….”
Charlie interrupts her litany of euphemisms. “Have you talked to your parents?” he asks quietly looking at her intently.
Charlie’s been her best friend since they were babies. They grew up next door to each other on Pilgrims Way in Oakville, sharing all their skinned knees and childhood secrets. They both had big dreams but somewhere along the way, Ronnie had taken a different path. She left school and married while Charlie was still living at home and working on his engineering degree at McMaster University.
Ronnie always thought Charlie had a cool rockabilly look about him, like James Dean in those old movies: rolled-up cuffs on his Levi’s, pompadour hair shaved on the sides and an intense look that seemed to see right through her. He was always there when she needed him, no matter what.
But even Charlie can’t help her now. Nobody can. She’s stuck in this horrible nightmare all alone, without an exit. She can’t tell her parents without hearing a whole litany of, “I told you so’s.”
“You’ve just had a bit of bad luck,” he offers for something to say. “You’ll get back on your feet in no time.”
“BAD LUCK?” she screams at him. Is that what you call this screwed-up mess I’m in? BAD LUCK?” The other customers in the Taste of Colombia Coffee Shop stop talking and look over at their table.
“It’s getting late; I think I’d better go,” Charlie says, standing to put his coat on. He has no patience for her temper tantrums. He knows when she gets like this, it’s hard to talk to her. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He kisses her cheek and walks away.
“Oh sure, get the hell out of here,” she yells after him. “You’re useless to me anyway.”
Mom and Dad had seen beyond Sonny’s charm and warned her repeatedly against marrying him. But she told them he was going to change after they were married, why couldn’t they see that? And now, only two years into their marital bliss, he spends most of his nights in friendly bars and stranger’s beds. When he does come home, he’s either drunk or hung-over and in a bad mood. She hasn’t even told him she might be pregnant, still hoping for her period to come so she’ll never have to tell him. Ronnie knows she can’t keep the secret forever, and she hasn’t seen a doctor yet. But she did pee on a stick -- twice because she didn’t want it to be true.
And then, on top of everything else, she was fired today. She only took that waitress job at the El Spero Restaurant so she wouldn’t have to think about going to college. But who did that customer think he was, telling her she was rude? So what if his stupid mashed potatoes were cold? Who gives a damn? It’s only frigging mashed potatoes! But telling him to, “Suck it up princess,” was the last straw in a string of customer complaints, and her boss gave her the boot.
“They’re all a bunch of jerks anyway,” she mumbles to herself and gets up to leave the coffee shop.
Where to now? Ronnie and Sonny rent a small bungalow a few minutes away on Sunset Drive. She doesn’t want to go home to an empty house again. If by chance, Sonny does come home, she’ll spend the evening watching him drink himself into another fight. He’s especially obnoxious when he drinks rum, and she can’t face that tonight. He’s never been physically violent with her, not yet anyway. But when he hits the sauce, his verbal abuse is vile, and he persists until she has nothing left inside. He’s gone from one construction job to the next, getting fired because of showing up late, fistfights with the crew or mouthing off at the foreman.
Ronnie walks up Bronte Road and along Rebecca Street, past the South Oakville Centre and doesn’t stop until she reaches the Woodside Branch of the Oakville Public Library. She likes the quietness of the place, the calm, the smell of the books. Ronnie used to be an avid reader, but all that changed when she left high school and married Sonny. All he does when he’s home is sit in front of the television with some sports program blasting. It’s hard to get enough peace to be alone and read. If she moves to the porch or another room, he storms in with, “What the hell’s wrong with you? Come and have a drink with me.” And so it begins.
Ronnie walks past the front desk and proceeds through the library to find a quiet area. Not many people are in the Mystery section at this time of day, so she stops there and leans on a row of shelves. Ronnie closes her eyes, imagining for a moment that she lives here in this quiet, peaceful place. Then she slumps to the floor, hugging her knees with her head resting on her arms, like a lifeless sack of blood and bones.
She stays in that position on the floor until she feels a tap on her shoulder.
“Excuse me, Miss, but the library is closing now.” The librarian looks at her and squats down to her floor level. The woman touches her arm and looks directly into her eyes, “Are you okay honey? Do you need help?”
“I’m just f’ing fine,” she answers. “I don’t need any help.” The librarian smiles, pats her shoulder and walks away. Ronnie rolls her eyes.
As she gets to her feet, she notices a small glass bottle tied with a green ribbon on the shelf in front of her. She picks it up and looks at it closely. It has a jewel on top, and a tiny piece of paper rolled up inside. There’s no one around, so she slips the bottle into her pocket and leaves the library.
Ronnie walks back to the Bronte neighbourhood and sits on a park bench on the pier at the Bronte Heritage Waterfront Park, where she likes to watch the white swans. She sees them floating lazily up and down the choppy waves with their families in tow. It’s like the swans have given in to the force of the water to take them in any direction. Except when she looks closer, Ronnie can see that each swan is hard at work under the surface, peddling their webbed feet like propellers guiding every movement.
The sun is deep in the western sky, and the crimson reflections on Lake Ontario slowly soften. The waves become calmer with the sinking sunset like they’ve run out of energy after an exhausting day of crashing around the lake. She puts her hood up and slouches down into her hoodie. She breathes in the cool breeze and watches a lone swan bobbing past her. “If only my life was as simple as yours.”
Her phone interrupts her peaceful moment. As she reaches into her pocket, she feels the glass bottle she found in the library. Ignoring the incoming call, Ronnie takes out the tiny bottle and examines it. She rolls it around in her hand and reads the word Message written on the little scroll of paper stuffed inside.
Curious now, Ronnie pries the cork top off the bottle and manages to dig the message out. She flattens it in her palm and reads, Do what you love, and the rest will come. “That’s it?” She shakes her head at the absurdity of it all. What was she expecting, a message from the gods, or a divine intervention into her mess of a life? Nope, just -- Do what you love, and the rest will come. Yeah right!
“What I’d love,” she says to the passing swans, “is to be out of this mess I’m in.” She looks at the bottle and wonders who would just leave that on a shelf? Did they lose it or put it there on purpose? Maybe it’s one of those wedding favours, and someone forgot it there.
She turns back to the flickering reflections on the water. The message reminds her of her grandmother Nan who passed on a few years ago. She always said things like that. When she was little, they used to walk this path by the marina and tell stories to each other, with their imaginary friends in tow. Nan would sit on the bench and watch her while she played in the playground beside the Bronte Boathouse Restaurant. Nan was a great storyteller and a great listener. Ronnie wished she were still here; she could tell her grandmother anything.
Once, when she was in grade five at St. Matthew Elementary School, she even told Nan in graphic detail about her Sex -Ed class -- how some of the boys stole the sex props the teacher used and held an auction in the schoolyard at recess. They were swimming in Nan’s condo pool at Ennisclare on the Lake when she told her that story. Nan had to grab the side of the pool to stop from sinking; she was laughing so hard. Ronnie thought of the many things they’d talked about over the years and how she took those days for granted.
Do what you love, and the rest will come. Yup, the message in that bottle was definitely something Nan would have said too. She always had a lot to say about the power of women and the importance of having a dream to follow. Nan believed everyone should try to find something to feel passionate about.
Another memory popped into Ronnie’s head. For her high school graduation, Nan had given Ronnie a sterling silver compass of all things. It was inscribed on the back with, Always head true north. Ronnie was too anxious to make out with Sonny after her graduation dinner to pay much attention to what that meant. True north? She had thrown the compass in her underwear drawer and forgotten all about it.
Why did Nan give her the strange gift of a compass? Did she think Ronnie was lost? Nan died from a heart attack shortly after graduation, and Ronnie was gutted. But the following year, she married Sonny, and that made her feel better for a while anyway. At least Nan wasn’t around to see the mess she was in now.
Ronnie takes out her phone and sees the missed call was from her mom. She listens to the message. “Hello dear, it’s your mom. Dad and I are worried about you. We haven’t heard from you in a while. We just wanted to tell you how much we love you. And um…I guess that’s it. Please let us know you’re okay. We love you…oh, I already said that. Okay, bye.” With a deep sigh, Ronnie deletes the message.
Using her phone, Ronnie looks up the meaning of “true north” to try and understand what Nan was telling her with the compass. She reads the answer in a whisper to herself:
“True north is your orienting point -- your fixed point in a spinning world that helps you stay on track. It is derived from your most deeply held beliefs, values, and principles. It is your internal compass, unique to you, representing who you are at your deepest level.”
Ronnie doesn’t just read the words; she feels each one land in the pit of her stomach. She remembers what Nan said when she gave her the compass. She hugged Ronnie and said, “Listen to your heart, my dear girl and always head true north to find your way home. “
Something breaks inside of her, and Ronnie sits on the bench and sobs until the sun sinks over the trees and darkness comes. The marina lights reflect long sparkling images across the black water.
What was in her heart? What does she want? It’s been so long since she’s even thought about that question. Way back, Ronnie always dreamed of being a music teacher but hasn’t played the piano or looked at a music sheet since high school. Her Dad is a great guitarist, and the two of them used to sing Irish songs together. She wants this emptiness to go away, to feel peaceful and free again, like those swans she saw earlier. And she wants to feel excited about doing things she used to love, like reading, walking the nature trails and swimming at Coronation Park with Charlie.
Ronnie thinks about the message she found in the bottle. And she thinks about her compass. Do what you love, and the rest will come. Always head true north.
Ronnie takes her phone out and holds it to her ear, tears dripping into the neck of her coat. “Hello Mom? Ummm…is it okay if I come home?”
Ronnie waits in front of the Cove Bar and Restaurant on Bronte Road, where she told her mom she would be. Despite the cooler evening, the open porch patio is filled with people, and the smell of seafood makes her feel nauseous. When was the last time she ate? Within fifteen minutes, her dad pulls up and jumps out of the SUV to open her door.
“Hi kiddo,” he says while giving her a bear hug. He can feel her shivering. “Hop in; the car’s nice and warm.” Ronnie’s dad is a big man with a big heart. They don’t talk on the way home, but her dad reaches over and squeezes her hand. She glances over at him from under her hood, and she can see his eyes are wet, and he’s swallowing a lot. She notices he has more grey hair and wrinkles than the last time she saw him. Ronnie has always had a special relationship with her dad.
When she was a teenager, he used to tell her to call him anytime she found herself in an uncomfortable situation or downright in trouble, and he would come to get her with no questions asked. That was their deal, and he always stuck to it. Once when she was fifteen, she called him at 10:00 pm and asked him to pick her up at a teenage party on Dorval Drive. When he got there, he saw the red stains splashed down her shirt and the large bump on her forehead, but he said nothing. He just asked if she was okay.
But the same rules didn’t apply when Ronnie got home, and her mom saw the condition she was in and freaked. Ronnie had to admit to drinking vodka with cream soda at her friend’s place before going to the party, where she threw up on herself, got dizzy and banged her head into a stone fireplace wall. She had been a pretty good kid but went off the rails from time to time, like any self-respecting teenager.
They reach the red brick two-story house where she grew up and sit in the driveway. The place looks the same, and she notices the garage door still has dents in it where she practised her wicked volleyball serves.
Ronnie sees her mother standing in the open doorway. She’s wearing black yoga pants with one of Dad’s oversized white shirts. Under the porch light, Ronnie can see that concerned mother look on her face.
“Oh Gawd,” Ronnie groans, her eyes brimming up.
“It’s okay sweet pea, c’mon in. We’ll get the hot chocolate on, and we’ve got some great peanut butter cookies from Monastery Bakery. Snoops will be happy to see you too.” Snoops was their Dandie Dinmont Terrier, a strange-looking little beast with a long body, short legs and enormous brown eyes in his equally enormous head. The small body and big head are a comical combination, and Ronnie loves this dog to bits.
She gets out of the car and is instantly squashed by her mother’s embrace. All Ronnie wants to do is cry. When she gets inside, she scratches the topknot on Snoop’s head but doesn’t pick him up, despite his insistence.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll just head up to my room. I’m really tired and just want to sleep.”
“Sure honey, of course. I can bring up some dinner, if you like,” her Mom says, watching her closely.
“No, it’s okay; I’m not hungry. I’m sorry about all this. I know you have a lot of questions and probably lots of ‘I told you so’s.’ But can we talk tomorrow? I just want to get into my bed.”
After hanging up her coat, Mom reaches in the closet and takes out an old Roots sweater Ronnie left there. She gently puts it around Ronnie’s shoulders and kisses the top of her head, a mother comforting a wounded child. “This is your home sweetheart. You take your time.”
“There’s no rush to do a damn thing,” her dad pipes in and crushes her in his arms. “We’re just glad you’re here.”
Ronnie turns and heads up the stairs to hide her face. She holds back the tears flooding her eyes and swallows the lumps piling up in her throat. Her parents stand and wait until they hear the door to her bedroom close. Then they go into the kitchen and look at each other helplessly.
“We need to do something Jake. Maybe I should go up there. She needs her mother.”
“Don’t push it Ann, give the girl time. She called us, and that’s enough for now.”
When Ronnie enters her room, it’s the last crack in a sea of ice. She sees her Pakmen Volleyball posters on the wall and the One Direction boy band picture she loved so much over her desk. Her bed is covered with the same jungle-themed spread, and her collection of stuffed Webkinz animals is all there, piled up on the shelves. Something lets go, and she wraps herself in the comforter on her bed and falls headlong into the abyss, crying herself into an exhausted sleep.
When Ronnie awakes with a start at 3:15 am, she’s hot and soaking with sweat. She’s still in her old wool sweater and jeans. Ronnie gets up to pee and looks at herself in the mirror. Her face is puffy, and her eyes are streaked with angry red blood vessels. Her hair has come loose from her knot and falls in a damp, tangled mess around her face.
“You look like crap,” she says to her reflection.
Ronnie jumps in the shower, scrubs her hair and soaps up. Then she closes her eyes and stands under the hot water for so long; it starts to go cold. When she opens them, she sees the crimson tide circling the drain. Her period! The relief is overwhelming, and she leans against the shower wall for support.
She breathes a quiet, “Thank you,” and with renewed strength, she reaches for the towel to dry off. Ronnie’s relieved to find some tampons under the sink and quickly takes care of business. Then she pads over to her dresser and pulls out an old pair of track pants and an Abbey Park High School tee shirt. When Ronnie opens the underwear drawer, she sees her silver compass there, like it’s been waiting for her, exactly where she left it. It’s a bit tarnished, but when she turns it over, she can still read the inscription on the back, Always head true north.
Ronnie collapses on the bed, turning the little compass over and over in her hand. She stares at the ceiling and wonders why some people have it so easy. Her friends are all finishing university now, and she doesn’t see them anymore.
“Bet they’re not lying in their old bedrooms crying about their screwed-up lives. Why does life have to be so hard for me?“
Then she thinks about the swans she saw earlier, how they glided so effortlessly in the harbour, how they bobbed up and down with each wave, no matter how choppy the water got. But nothing is ever as easy as it looks because, underneath the water, the swans were constantly paddling and working hard to control where they were going.
“Do what you love; the rest will come.” Ronnie reads the message out loud. That tiny message she found in a bottle had jogged her memory about Nan and the silver compass. She thinks about the choices she’s made, her life with Sonny, and the ache in her gut leaves her feeling sad and alone.
An hour later, Ronnie smells coffee brewing and, with a deep breath, pops the compass into her pocket and heads downstairs. Breakfast is ready, and no questions are asked. Mom talks about her Next Chapter Book Club, and Dad talks about the Glen Abbey Golf Club and how relieved he is that the golf course was saved from housing development after a three-year fight.
It hurts when she catches them glancing at each other, like they’re afraid to say the wrong thing and scare her off. After he eats, Jake busies himself with replacing the light on the stove hood. Snoops is lying under the table on top of Ronnie’s feet -- like an anchor to keep her there.
Ronnie stares at her plate. “I’m really sorry I worried you so much by not calling for so long.”
Mom sits beside her and takes her hand, “It’s okay honey, I’m sure you have your reasons.” Dad tops up Ronnie’s coffee and joins them.
“I’m leaving Sonny,” she blurts out before losing her nerve. And I want to go back to school.” Her parents look up at her in surprise. “Um, I just think I need to do something besides waitressing.” Jake and Ann are silent, holding their breaths.
Ronnie continues, “I was thinking I’d like to go to McMaster like Charlie, but for the music program. My grades were top of the class when I left high school, so I might have a chance of getting in. Maybe I could become a music teacher someday. But I might need some help,” Ronnie hesitates…“so I’d like to move back home for a while if that’s okay?” She lets out a huge breathe of air.
Jake and Ann both get up to hug Ronnie in her chair. “Oh sweetheart, of course you can move back home,” her mom says softly, stroking her hair.
“We’ll help anyway we can kiddo. And Nan left us some money for your education,” her dad says. You’ll make a great music teacher. And I’ve sure missed your blueberry sourdough pancakes,” he adds.
“Thanks,” Ronnie says, relieved. “It’s going to take some time and a lot of hard work. But I really want to do this…I need to do this.” The terrier sleeps through the whole thing until Ronnie reaches under the table and picks him up.
“Hi Snoops, I’ve missed you.” She buries her face in his fur and pulls away, “Phew! You’re all stinky.” Ronnie gently folds his long body into her arms. “You need one of my special soapy baths,” she says and heads for the garage to give him a good scrub.
Halfway there, she looks next door and sees Charlie working in the driveway on his 1992 Dodge Viper. He loves that car! Her heart hurts remembering the way she treated him yesterday in the coffee shop.
“Hey you!” Ronnie calls out. “Wanna help me give Snoops a bath?”
---
