"I Do So, Like Durian" by Jann Everard

A teenage girl heads into Chinatown against her mother’s wishes.

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Photo by Diego Marín on Unsplash

I Do So, Like Durian by Jann Everard

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The 504-streetcar grated against the curve of the tracks as it entered the station. It pulled to a stop directly in front of Holly. The doors opened with such a clunk that she stepped back, treading on the toes of the person behind her. She was blocking the door. A crowd of restless Chinese grandmothers nudged her forward with sharp elbows. 

“Does this car go south on Broadview?” she asked the driver. He adjusted his seat and the booklet of transfers clipped to the dash. He didn’t bother to look at her. “504 turns at Queen, 505 at Dundas,” he said. 

“But does it go south?” she persisted, and he flicked a thumb to the back of the car, signaling for her to board. 

She had never been to Broadview Station before. She rarely used public transit. Her high school was within walking distance of her house. And her mother was happy to drive her wherever she and her friends wanted to go. “I don’t like you girls alone on public transit,” she’d say, the slight wrinkle of her nose suggesting that the matter wasn’t so much about safety. “Besides, driving together gives us a little time to chat.” She would perch on the edge of Holly’s bed until the silence from Holly’s friends went on a little too long. 

Somewhere south of the station was the restaurant where Jon worked. Holly had tried to tease the name out of him but he’d evaded her. “It’s downtown, not anywhere near where you live,” he’d said. “Besides, you told me you only liked sushi and Italian from the Village.” She’d pressed, scooting closer to him on the bench in the library where she kept him company while he studied at lunch. “I just want to know where you are on Friday nights,” she said, her hand brushing his arm. His temptation was palpable, but while Holly silently pleaded for him to make a move, his lips stayed grimly set and his attention returned to his textbook. “It’s on Broadview, near Gerrard,” he conceded.

East Chinatown. Her mother would never agree to drive her there. She hated Chinese food and had always rejected the idea of trying dim sum when Holly had suggested it. “God knows what goes in those odd-looking dishes,” she said. “Chinatowns everywhere smell of dried shrimp and rotting vegetables and the people are loud and pushy and—” She’d caught herself then, perhaps realizing how she sounded or that negativity made her inelegant. “I don’t like that neighborhood, Holly, dear.” 

But Holly liked Jon. Liked the leanness of him, the smooth toffee of his skin and the taut arrow of his ambition. It felt as if he had bypassed the teenaged years and already knew something more about life. With Jon, she could almost see herself as an adult. Confident. Knowing. With him, a relationship could move past Friday nights chilling with friends, vodka shots and inexperienced groping.

Holly texted Sasha to tell her she’d left Broadview Station and eyed the people around her to see if there was anyone she knew—anyone that might report Holly’s whereabouts to her mother, who would surely ground her for lying or impose a curfew. Sasha had agreed to be her cover if Holly’s mom got unexpectedly curious, but only on the condition that Holly texted every detail of her evening. She was thumbing a long message about the rude driver when she heard the streetcar’s announcement system call out Queen Street. The driver had said the car turned at Queen. She rushed to the front. 

“Have we passed Gerrard?” On Google maps, Broadview Avenue had appeared long. She’d been so focused on her text to Sasha that she hadn’t noticed how fast the car was moving. 

“Gerrard was a couple streets back,” said the driver, his tone flat, his eyes dead ahead. He sounded the bell and swore lightly at some rowdy pedestrians who swarmed off the sidewalk at the Queen Street corner, blocking what was already a tight turn. As he waited for people to move, he said to Holly, “You can walk back. It’ll only take you about ten minutes.” He opened the door and let her out, taking advantage of the opportunity to call, “Get out of the way, you crazy bunch of drunks!”

Holly sidestepped a group loitering in the glow of a streetlamp, avoiding eye contact. When she looked up, she was in front of three girls with large, exposed breasts—posters on a brick wall. A couple of guys in toques smoked nearby. Their eyes raked over her, brash, hungry, but dismissive. Above their heads, Jilly’s Exotic Dancing glowed in neon. Holly turned on her heel to cross the street, clutching harder to her Coach bag, running to catch the last few seconds of the warning countdown of the pedestrian light.

The pattern of black and white splotches painted on the outside of the restaurant on the opposite corner was meant to suggest the hide of a Holstein and, by extension, beef burgers, she guessed. As Holly passed the steamed-up windows, she glimpsed five or six patrons inside laughing while making crude sexual gestures and planned to text Sasha that all the people on this corner were lowlifes. For now, though, it was better to keep her phone in her pocket.

She took a glimpse at her watch. 8:30. She still had time to find Jon’s restaurant. He wasn’t off work until 9:00, although he’d told her that even after he’d finished serving customers, there was still plenty of work to do and he wouldn’t be able to meet her. “If you’re off work you should be able to go,” she’d pointed out, and he’d looked at her—was the look impatient? She couldn’t always tell what Jon was thinking—and said, “I’m expected to stay.” 

Holly twitched the zipper of her jacket a little higher. It was a crisp evening and she was wearing only a bra top with spaghetti straps underneath. Her friends—Sasha too—would be going to an all-ages dance club later, near where she lived in midtown. She’d put on the top hoping that Jon might agree to meet her friends there, to take a break, for her sake. She wanted him to dance with her. To hook up with her, finally. Or they could go some place else. It didn’t really matter as long as they spent part of the evening together. Up until now, they had mainly walked in the neighborhood parks during spares, talking about college, life after high school. The top’s tight fabric, rubbing against her nipples, made her feel self-conscious and more forward than she’d intended. What if people walking toward her could tell how little she had on under her zipped-up jacket? What if Jon thought her outfit was over the top for a first date, slutty even? She kept her hand on the zipper of her expensive jacket, her arm hiding its logo.