My early childhood pre going to school was idyllic. I had three really close friends, two boys who lived next door Matthew and Justin and then a friend of my parents daughter Antigone. Matthew and Justin were athletic kids and I would play sports with them and they didn't even make fun of me. They were typical boys boys, and that would be the last time in my life I would ever be comfortable in that crowd. We would play for hours on end until the sun came down. Antigone did not live next door but wed visit her so much she might as well have. As kids the two of us were joined at the hip. Her mother used to joke that one day we would get married. I clung to that joke as fact because at four/five playing with Antigone my whole life sounded really appealing. We used to harass our younger siblings together and when we weren't doing that I would make her take on roles and create little dramas with me. When I entered school I didnt see Matthew and Justin as much, soon afterwards, they moved out of the neighbourhood.
School was different the idyllic view of people that I had had was starting to wear down. For whatever reason I was immediately targeted and within weeks of starting elementary school my role at the bottom of the social chain had been cemented. I still don't know why I was targeted at that point, i don't know if I was seen as faggy or what I mean I was six so I don't see how I could have been. Regardless I was informed that I spread Kosta germs and was avoided because they make people sick.
Just about every evening though after school I would see Antigone my future wife, she went to a different school so hadn't been warned about Kosta germs, I hope I never made her sick. I never told her they didn't like me at school, we just played.
When I got the news it hit me like a pound of bricks. I was being abandoned. Antigone's father had gotten a job in Greece and their whole family would be moving to the other end of the world. My comprehension of Greece was at that point this magical fantastical land where a lot of my family lived and where people who loved me lived but that was too expensive for us to go to. Seeing Antigone in Greece at the time seemed at the time as fantastical as the idea of one day seeing my Grandfather in heaven.
Matthew, Justin and Antigone had all left my life, in their place was six hours a day of being run away from. From that point on it would be about ten years before I would receive a sense of being wanted by someone my own age again.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
My High School Best Friend
He was the smartest
most counter culture, craziest
articulate
profound
his pants made of a sofa from
the seventies
the material necessary to rival Dolce and Gabbanna
his filthy beard
truly a kings mane
his energy on the dance floor
the movement of his hips
a religious experience
mom said he smelled
dad said he was a freak
this made him more thrilling still
he taught me to question
he taught me to think
he taught me to argue
perhaps mom and dad were right
perhaps he lived in the suburbs
perhaps there was irony in his cell phone
but what he gave me will never cease
to be a part of me
most counter culture, craziest
articulate
profound
his pants made of a sofa from
the seventies
the material necessary to rival Dolce and Gabbanna
his filthy beard
truly a kings mane
his energy on the dance floor
the movement of his hips
a religious experience
mom said he smelled
dad said he was a freak
this made him more thrilling still
he taught me to question
he taught me to think
he taught me to argue
perhaps mom and dad were right
perhaps he lived in the suburbs
perhaps there was irony in his cell phone
but what he gave me will never cease
to be a part of me
A Village of Artists
A village of artists,
collectively and individually creating,
worlds, ideas, social movements
condemning all things mainstream
fighting to prove they are the weirdest
amongst the strange
taking pride in every old lady they intimidate
these are now the hippies of my generation
someone I recall
someone I once was
someone I still know
but someone from the past
they raised the rent
collectively and individually creating,
worlds, ideas, social movements
condemning all things mainstream
fighting to prove they are the weirdest
amongst the strange
taking pride in every old lady they intimidate
these are now the hippies of my generation
someone I recall
someone I once was
someone I still know
but someone from the past
they raised the rent
Monday, September 28, 2009
the lost paddle
I lost my paddle
lost it a time ago
and the further down stream I went the more lost I became
Somehow though I managed to use my arms
to claw at the few stray branches along the river
and thusly pull myself upstream
through the torrent rain
and all extremes
I found my bearings and momentum grew
I knew I would survive and find my way
home
But every moment passing now and then
another wave sets me back towards where I began
but never do I allow a wave
to send me back fully from whence I came
lost it a time ago
and the further down stream I went the more lost I became
Somehow though I managed to use my arms
to claw at the few stray branches along the river
and thusly pull myself upstream
through the torrent rain
and all extremes
I found my bearings and momentum grew
I knew I would survive and find my way
home
But every moment passing now and then
another wave sets me back towards where I began
but never do I allow a wave
to send me back fully from whence I came
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Greyhound to the Garden
David had seen it all before, the greyhound station on George to the YMCA next door. In high school he had friends who went to the thrift store there. He knew the trees and he knew the smell of the Quaker Oats factory. This smell meant he was within minutes of his family. Despite the familiarity though it felt strange for him to be here. He had fought so hard to escape this place. He had saved so much for his move to New York two years prior, he had managed to avoid returning up until now, and the sight of everything though warm and nostalgic reminded him of all the tension he left behind.
His bus was early and he knew his father who had agreed to pick him up would come now if he called but he chose not to. Instead he resolutely reached into his overly worn messenger bag (he had paid a lot of money for it once though one would never know it) and he found at the bottom, below all the paper work he had "filed" a metallic cigarette case with an image of the Beatles adorning the cover. He bought it with a gift certificate from an ex who hated that he smoked after their relationship ended. He loved little bits of irony like this and went to large extremes for them.
Calmly David lit a cigarette and began to inhale, his father would be there soon but for now David was happy to just stand next to the greyhound station alone. An elderly woman got off the same bus. She had flaming red hair, which was in no way natural, and lipstick that had been applied far more liberally to her teeth then any other place. She approached David and let out a shriek.
"David" said the woman "Davy Pappas".
David had been found his anonymity shattered.
"How are you Mrs. O'Hara" he said to his third grade English teacher who had unfortunately recognized him. He had always been her favourite though he never understood why and the way she favoured him led the other kids to be so cruel. He had always wished she would be as mean to him as she was to everyone else.
"Are you living in Toronto now" she asked, it made sense that was where he last transferred buses.
-No New York actually
-Oh
-Yeah I moved there two years ago, right after I finished at Trent
-Well that's wonderful, I always knew you would do great things
-Thank you Mrs. O'Hara
David did not hate people, nor did he hate his town, If you asked David about Peterborough in New York he would tell you romantic, wonderful things about it, but being here at this time alone for him brought great strain.
A black lexis pulled into the greyhound parking lot, in nineteen eighty five it was a beautiful car but this was two thousand and one. In the drivers seat sat a man, This was David's father John. John was not a very tall man, he had a grey moustache and little hair. He also had about him though a quiet, stoic, dignity that David had always admired as a child.
John was proud, he was proud of his courage to leave home for Canada in the late seventies, he was proud to own both his house and restaurant, mortgaged as they were. He was proud of his family and all that he had achieved. David saw this and was inspired, he would not have come out had it not been for John, nor would he have gone to New York or pursued screenwriting. John taught him that whatever you want is attainable and that you need to control your life.
John didn't exit the car, instead he honked. He loved to honk.
David opened the door and sat in the seat next to John.
-How are you
John asked
-I'm fine
David replied
-mana mou
said John. They didn't say another word the rest of the way home.
Ellen was David's mother, she was tall and strong, but also very youthful and pretty. The perfect word to describe Ellen was grace. As John and David pulled into the driveway Ellen was folding laundry in the living room window as she always did. David sometimes got the image that she was always there waiting for her children to return like a light house keeper waiting for the boats. When they walked in the door she immediately dropped the socks she had been working on and leapt to embrace her son.
David was emphatic in the way he hugged his mother. He truly was so happy to be there with her. This trip would be good, thought David, he had his stresses but it would be good.
David placed his bags in his old bedroom. The suit of armour his aunt Jane had bought him for his eleventh birthday still stood guarding his bed. The king Arthur poster giving a detailed bio of every round table warrior still hung above it. Something was missing though, the bed was made and there was no clothing scattered across the room. This gave the room a haunted quality for David, that is the only way he could describe it.
Once Mary his sister had gotten back they all got together around a table. On the table was all the evidence of Ellen's immense talent in the kitchen. There was spanakopita, calamari, shrinp, chicken stefado, lamb, and rice. It didn't matter that none of these things were part of the same meal but they were all David's favourites. God forbid she spread them over the weekend. Mary was asked to say grace. She rolled her eyes. Ellen was not impressed.
-Mary, okay I'll say them
and then she did.
-Oh heavenly father, we thank you for this food we are about to receive and for the hands that have prepared it. We thank you for this fellowship, for bringing all three of my children together this night after two years. We thank you for David and pray that he will find his way back to you.
Amen
His bus was early and he knew his father who had agreed to pick him up would come now if he called but he chose not to. Instead he resolutely reached into his overly worn messenger bag (he had paid a lot of money for it once though one would never know it) and he found at the bottom, below all the paper work he had "filed" a metallic cigarette case with an image of the Beatles adorning the cover. He bought it with a gift certificate from an ex who hated that he smoked after their relationship ended. He loved little bits of irony like this and went to large extremes for them.
Calmly David lit a cigarette and began to inhale, his father would be there soon but for now David was happy to just stand next to the greyhound station alone. An elderly woman got off the same bus. She had flaming red hair, which was in no way natural, and lipstick that had been applied far more liberally to her teeth then any other place. She approached David and let out a shriek.
"David" said the woman "Davy Pappas".
David had been found his anonymity shattered.
"How are you Mrs. O'Hara" he said to his third grade English teacher who had unfortunately recognized him. He had always been her favourite though he never understood why and the way she favoured him led the other kids to be so cruel. He had always wished she would be as mean to him as she was to everyone else.
"Are you living in Toronto now" she asked, it made sense that was where he last transferred buses.
-No New York actually
-Oh
-Yeah I moved there two years ago, right after I finished at Trent
-Well that's wonderful, I always knew you would do great things
-Thank you Mrs. O'Hara
David did not hate people, nor did he hate his town, If you asked David about Peterborough in New York he would tell you romantic, wonderful things about it, but being here at this time alone for him brought great strain.
A black lexis pulled into the greyhound parking lot, in nineteen eighty five it was a beautiful car but this was two thousand and one. In the drivers seat sat a man, This was David's father John. John was not a very tall man, he had a grey moustache and little hair. He also had about him though a quiet, stoic, dignity that David had always admired as a child.
John was proud, he was proud of his courage to leave home for Canada in the late seventies, he was proud to own both his house and restaurant, mortgaged as they were. He was proud of his family and all that he had achieved. David saw this and was inspired, he would not have come out had it not been for John, nor would he have gone to New York or pursued screenwriting. John taught him that whatever you want is attainable and that you need to control your life.
John didn't exit the car, instead he honked. He loved to honk.
David opened the door and sat in the seat next to John.
-How are you
John asked
-I'm fine
David replied
-mana mou
said John. They didn't say another word the rest of the way home.
Ellen was David's mother, she was tall and strong, but also very youthful and pretty. The perfect word to describe Ellen was grace. As John and David pulled into the driveway Ellen was folding laundry in the living room window as she always did. David sometimes got the image that she was always there waiting for her children to return like a light house keeper waiting for the boats. When they walked in the door she immediately dropped the socks she had been working on and leapt to embrace her son.
David was emphatic in the way he hugged his mother. He truly was so happy to be there with her. This trip would be good, thought David, he had his stresses but it would be good.
David placed his bags in his old bedroom. The suit of armour his aunt Jane had bought him for his eleventh birthday still stood guarding his bed. The king Arthur poster giving a detailed bio of every round table warrior still hung above it. Something was missing though, the bed was made and there was no clothing scattered across the room. This gave the room a haunted quality for David, that is the only way he could describe it.
Once Mary his sister had gotten back they all got together around a table. On the table was all the evidence of Ellen's immense talent in the kitchen. There was spanakopita, calamari, shrinp, chicken stefado, lamb, and rice. It didn't matter that none of these things were part of the same meal but they were all David's favourites. God forbid she spread them over the weekend. Mary was asked to say grace. She rolled her eyes. Ellen was not impressed.
-Mary, okay I'll say them
and then she did.
-Oh heavenly father, we thank you for this food we are about to receive and for the hands that have prepared it. We thank you for this fellowship, for bringing all three of my children together this night after two years. We thank you for David and pray that he will find his way back to you.
Amen
He
I don't want to hear about it, I want to know that you are working. That's it, I don't give a shit about your relationship. I don't give a shit. I just want you to stop being embarrassment for your family. I will never be okay, it never happens. I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you. It hurting me he said. This is no normal. How is my gene this. My gene is no this. He said.
Unlike before this time he was cold, he could find no warmth and when he went through his memory all he could think of was how he was always made to feel like he failed to deliver.
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