Having looped through revisions of the first few chapters of my (as yet untitled) new story, things seem to be flowing now. In the excerpt below, Leila, our protagonist, is in the car with her mother, Penny. Leila is about to embark on her walk through Toronto, along the path of a buried creek. Penny has mapped out pitstops along the route and charged various friends and family members with the task of manning these stops. She has linked each one of these individuals with a character from Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland, one of Leila’s and her favourite books. She has just lamented the fact that she could find no one, amongst family and friends to represent the famous character of the Cheshire Cat.

This scene was inspired by a true event, recounted to Ingrid and me by a close friend.

They are at a stoplight now, Bathurst and Davenport. They are a scant five minutes from home. Penny is watching her daughter fidget with her hands and with the map. Then she takes a moment to examine Leila’s hair.

Give it time. She remembers Frank’s words. You’ll get used to it.

But will she? This straightened hair? This highlighted, parted in the middle, all-together tamed mane? Right now, she misses Leila’s dark curly locks so much it is making her eyes watery. But it is what Leila most wanted for her birthday – a new look.

Penny takes a quick intake of air to get her daughter’s attention. She points out the little cottage nestled in the grove of trees on the northwest corner.

“I know Mom,” Leila says. “The old tollkeeper’s place. You tell me about it literally every time we are stopped at this intersection.”

“But look at the workmen. Look, I think they’re fixing the roof.”

“Noted.” Leila rolls her eyes.

Penny is used to deflecting her daughter’s sarcasm. “Maybe you should note it. It could be your first picture of the day.”

Despite her mild disdain, Leila cannot resist this idea: taking a photo of the old cottage as a way of paying the entrance fee for the day’s journey. She nods and pulses her hands in and out, fingertips touching, before rummaging though her bag for her phone.

The light is still red. Penny sees a sudden movement of one of the shrubs on front of the cottage. A man emerges. He is tall and he has a bright pink head that is a little too big for his body. He starts to walk with loping, uneven steps, straight towards their car. When he is about ten yards away, Penny can see that his face is the colour and texture of boiled shrimp and that it is oozing pus.

“Leila!” she shout-whispers, remembering one of Leila’s OCD rules – avert your eyes from anything disgusting or violent. “Don’t look up! There’s a man!”

“What?”

“I think he is a homeless man. Maybe he’s squatting in the tollkeeper’s cottage,” she muses, the tremor in her voice betraying her attempt at composure. The man with the oozing face is ten feet from them now. Penny can see the whites of his eyes, which, she notes, are also oozing.

“A homeless man?” says Leila with her head still down. “Mom, no big deal. I can—“

“No! Leila, trust me. There is pus!”

“What? There’s a bus now?”

“No. Pus, Leila! P-U-S pus!”

He is practically on top of the car, when he makes a sudden jag to his left towards the passenger side.

Penny reflexively pushes the door-lock mechanism. There is a dull clicking sound.

“What’s going on Mom?”

“Don’t look!” Now the man lowers his face to the window and looks in. “He’s…” Penny is frozen.

“What Mom?”

They are both breathless. Lela covers her head with both hands.

“Don’t…”
The man presses his pink face to the window.

“Oh God, no!”

“WHAT?!”

He rubs his face back and forth across Leila’s window, leaving a gooey patina. Then he puts an index finger up into the middle of the mess: two vertical lines for eyes, and a dot for the nose.

“Oh!” Penny’s voice has changed from one filled with fear and revulsion to a surprised and amused cluck. “Look Leila.”

Leila looks up. The man has etched a happy face into the glaze of his pus, complete with a grin that stretches the width of the window. He dashes away, north up Bathurst Street.

Leila turns to her mother, catching her breath.

“That man!” Penny shouts.

“What?”
“My God, Leila! He is your Cheshire Cat!”