Excerpts, From The Corner of Bad and Ass
By Carrie Schiffler
Hear a sample from the audiobook
The Audiobook also includes a selection of poems from Umbilicus: Poetry and Visuals of the Sensuous
Prelude
He looked at my copy of The Glass Castle I had placed on the hospital bedside table. Sneering openly, he asked, “What do you think of the book?” I gave Nurse Don a non-committal, “It’s okay.”
It was prize-winning memoir. I was a quarter of the way through. I’ve been reading autobiographies and memoirs since I was a kid, beginning with The Diary of Anne Frank. True life accounts of enduring hardships and overcoming injustices gave me hope that I too could win at life despite the shitty hand I was dealt. Now as a fifty-whatever-year-old writer of my own memoir, I read them to see what my competition is.
While Nurse Don fiddled with the intravenous bag, I asked, “I take it you’re not a fan?”
“I’m sorry, but anyone who says they remember what happened to them when they were like three years old, I mean come on. She’s gotta be making that stuff up. It’s like that guy, that drug addict who’s book won a ton of awards. He was even on Oprah. They found out most of it was a lie and now he’s got a movie deal!”
“A Million Little Pieces,” I offer “Right! The book with all the donut sprinkles on the cover.”
I wanted to correct him and tell him those aren’t donut sprinkles—they are pills, multicoloured drugs. He’s a nurse. Shouldn’t he know that? I stayed quiet. Why argue with the person preparing me for a colonoscopy.
This exchange with Nurse Don, brought a brief wave of self-doubt. What if after dredging up the past, sifting through the sludge and then painstakingly assembling the muck into a readable form, no one believes me? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I was accused of lying, and it won’t be the last. I learned a long time ago that while it may be my duty to be truthful, I have zero control over how my truth is received. So some may say these stories are too outrageous or too tragic to be true. I say, what better reasons are there to not share them?
Chapter 2, Take It To The Bridge
I had to wear my purple snowsuit. It was too small. Every time I lifted my arms it felt like I was going to split in half. I knew better than to complain. Mom had just yelled at the cats for staring at her. She was having wardrobe issues of her own. A button popped off of her long brown coat. She tore through the house, ripping open drawers and slamming them shut before returning with a safety pin.
ME: Can I do that, Mommy?
She hands me the pin and leaned over.
My hands aren’t shaky like hers. I get it on the first try.
Me: Now you’ll be snug as a bug.”
She grunts, opens the door and swears at the cold.
The cold didn’t bother me. I loved walking to Safeway. We got to cross a huge bridge that went over eight lanes of highway. I’d wave to all the trucks and do the yanking sign with my hand and they would honk so loud we could feel it in our boots. Sometimes Mom would do the yanking sign with her hand too. I swear they honked even louder for her. I could tell Mom was in no mood for honking today so I kept my hands to myself and thought of Cousin Tammy’s Barbie collection.
When we got to the electronic doors of Safeway, I skipped inside to grab a cart. Everything was warm and bright. Mom caught up, grabbed the cart and said, “Don’t touch anything.”
She steered us through the canned goods with one hand while the other reached up, across, down and back so fast I could barely see what she was grabbing. She didn’t slow down until we approached the fresh fruits and vegetables. It smelled like spring and everything was shiny with water drops. She stopped the cart in front of a mountain of the biggest reddest apples I’d ever seen. We stared and I wanted one so bad but I stayed quiet. Apples were not on the grocery list she had written on the back of her cigarette pack.
Mom didn’t say a word until we left the store and she swore at the cold again.
The walk home is never as fun as the walk somewhere else.
I didn’t look for big trucks.
We had our heads down, toques against the wind.
There was no way we could have missed them. In the middle of the bridge, right there on the sidewalk, at our feet, sat a red apple and a golden pear glowing in the slush!
We look at each other, look at the ground, and look at each other again. Mom picks up the fruits, turn them in her hands and says, “We’ll give them a good wash first,” before gently placing them in one of the grocery bags. The rest of the walk flies by. We grew Tigger feet and bounce all the way home.
To this day, we can only guess how the miracle fruit came to be.
Did someone see us in the produce aisle and take pity?
Or maybe someone’s bag broke and two perfectly delicious pieces of fruit rolled out and just happened to land in the middle of our path.
Were we being watched or watched over?
From Chapter 27, Stranger Trip
I've always loved flying, especially back in the eighties when my ass was smaller and the seats were larger. Back then you could smoke on commercial flights too. I had just lit up a DuMaurier Ultra Light King Size to enjoy with a tomato juice when Karen, my travel companion, asked, “What type of dance do you do?”
Was she being serious right now?
Hadn’t Georgina (our travel agent) told her where I worked?
Karen and I were partnered up by Georgina from the Niagara Falls Travel agency.
I was fine travelling solo. In fact I preferred it. I needed to clear my head and detox the phentermine out of my system and I wanted to do it alone.
Georgina was very insistent I travel with a buddy. Not only was it safer but I’d save a lot of money too. She knew just the buddy.
Karen was a waitress at a well-known surf-and-turf up the road. Like me, she was also looking to get away somewhere warm and affordable. Unlike me, she didn’t want to travel alone. Georgina set up a meeting to see if Karen and I were compatible. We met at Karen’s restaurant. I had been there a few times before. In fact the service was so slow it made dining-and-dashing a no brainer. Thankfully none of the staff recognized me. Georgina introduced us. Carrie, this is Karen. Karen, this is Carrie, she’s a dancer. I looked Karen in the eye, smiled and asked her if she was okay with that. For sure! she chirped. We laughed, made small talk, signed the papers and here we are a week later jetting off to Mexico together!
ME: Sorry?
KAREN: What type of dance do you do Jazz, ballet, modern…?
Before answering her, I take a big gulp of juice and regret not ordering a Bloody Mary.
ME: I’m a stripper. Thought I’d mentioned that at the restaurant?
Karen blinks, turns her head to stare out the window and blinks some more.
KAREN: How old did you say you were?
ME: Just turned 18.
KAREN: Well we’re gonna need some house rules.
The revelation that she was saddled with a teenage stripper was a game changer. Karen took it upon herself to play chaperone. Convinced I was bad news, she would not allow me out of her sight. She insisted on following me everywhere—to the pool, the buffet line, to the beach. She was always inches away, breathing down my neck, waiting for me to what—throw my bikini into the ocean, shoot heroin and give blowjobs to the bar staff?
I kept reassuring her I wasn’t there to party and I really just needed some R-n-R. I omitted the bit about the recent bennie binge, murdering Oedipus, and dropping out of school. Why throw fuel at her fear?
We were a good five days into our stay when Karen finally started to show her true colours.
KAREN: See those two guys over there?
I lifted my head off the towel and looked to where she was pointing.
ME: What about them?
KAREN: Rob is from Ohio and Julio is from here.
ME: And?
KAREN: Aren’t they cute?
ME: (I look again. They wave this time.) They’re okay.
KAREN: They want to take us out for dinner.
ME: Not interested.
KAREN: Why not?
ME: House rule #1: no hooking up. Remember?
KAREN: It’s just dinner.
ME: It’s never just dinner.
KAREN: C’mon, they’re super nice and Julio can show us around town. We have to mingle with the locals. It’s the only way to get to know a country.
I conceded but only because I was already bored with the food at the resort.
We arrived at Playa Taco at the designated time. Karen was dressed to impress and had put a little extra shimmer on her face. She was short and curvy, pretty in a wholesome kind of way. With her waist-length hair she definitely could turn some heads. But when she spoke, people turned their heads alright—turned to look for an exit sign. She was tightly wound and so was her voice. The more anxious she became the higher her voice went.
We waited over an hour for Rob and Julio. By the time she concluded we had been stood up she was in full chihuahua register.
KAREN: : How dare they YIPE YIPE YIPE!!!
ME: Let’s go back to the Alba. I’m tired.
KAREN: YIPE!- Can not believe this- YIPE YIPE!!!
ME: I need to go to bed. Do you mind if I go back?
She actually let me go! For the first time in almost a week she allowed me some alone time. I practically skipped back to our room; whereas little wholesome Karen slunk in around three a.m.
KAREN: (Stage whisper) Carrie. Carrie? (Full voice) CARRIE ARE YOU AWAKE?
ME: Am now.
KAREN: Guess what happened?
ME: You got drunk?
KAREN: No—ah! Maybe a bit tipsy, but Julio showed up!
ME: Why was he so late?
KAREN: He felt so bad!
ME: Did he have to wait until his wife was asleep?
KAREN: He apologized like crazy. Paid for everything! We had soooo much fun. What a dancer he is, and he taught me how to speak Mexican!!!
ME: That’s nice. Can I go back to sleep now?
KAREN: Buenos nachos mon amigo!
End Excerpt