“For dogs, eh? So instead of you throwing the ball, this thing throws it for you?”
“ She just loves it.” I told him. “She jumps about, all excited yet totally focused, her tail beating like a propeller. It’s just about impossible to imagine a creature as perfectly alive in it’s own body, you know?”
He smiled and nodded.
I was going to move on but I didn’t.
“Can you remember anything that made you feel as alive in your body as fetch does to this dog? For me I think it was playing hockey as a boy. It was like being free of from the limitations of my body, almost from gravity, and I loved it so much that I would play for hours and hours and hours, finally walking home in my skates with frozen feet.”
The man didn’t say anything and I felt I’d gone on too much and was being weird and was about to move along again, but then he started to answer my question.
“I wasn’t much at sports and I guess I liked being alone– I didn’t have the best home life– but what I loved was kites. I had a Superman kite and I would go out into a field when I was about 8 or 9 and just see how high the wind could take it, imagining myself to be the kite, to be up there like Superman. So like you said, it was being free from your body, and those were the greatest moments of peace and happiness I think I ever had in my life.”
On Lowther Street, a young mother cycled by, her child towed along behind her in a little trailer. She was so happy, healthy and competent looking that I thought she could put out fires with her mind. She was simply glowing, as if the sunlight was radiating out of her rather than falling upon her, and the fact that her child was actually screaming didn’t seem to diminish the gratitude she had for her life one bit.
On Bloor Street I saw a supremely confident man. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit and sunglasses, and with his hands tucked deep into his pant pockets he strode down the street chewing gum. His facial expression was fixed, as if posing for unseen photographers, and I looked warmly toward him, trying to get him to acknowledge me, but it was not possible for he was projecting ever outward, letting nothing of the world around him in.
When the dog and I returned home there was a street couple resting on the edge of the pathway to our apartment. He was defeated looking, bearded and hiding beneath a ball cap while she was round, ruddy and loud in appearance. They both had huge knapsacks on their backs. “Hey team!” I said, as I moved past them. They nodded, sheepish, maybe a little defensive, and then inside from my desk I watched through the front window as she secretly passed him a big bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid sloshed in the bottle, was then caught by the sun and for an instant appeared luminous and divine– a small, perfect miracle unfolding before me.
]]>What follows are the text messages that I sent to Rachelle.
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Me: Is Angus still gaying it up in there?
Me: Can’t believe he was married.
Me: Really, who did he think he was fooling?
Me: I could tell from the first time we went bowling that he was gay. Way too much follow through.
Me: Rachelle?
Me: Rachelle?
Me: Remember what our therapist said about you ignoring me?
Me: I feel invalidated.
Me: That’s why I drink so much. You invalidate me.
Me: Rachelle?
Me: Door to outhouse seems to be locked.
Me: Door is locked.
Me: I AM TRAPPED IN THE OUTHOUSE!!!
Me: HELP!!
Me: I THINK THERE IS AN EVIL GHOST ON THE ISLAND!!
Me: IT LOCKS PEOPLE IN OUTHOUSES AND WATCHES AS THEY GO INSANE AND DIE OF HEART ATTACKS!!
ME: IT’S PROBABY AN INDIAN GHOST MAD ABOUT US STEALING LAND!!
Me: I HATE EVIL GHOSTS!!!
Me: Must calm down and breathe deeply.
Me: Sweet Jesus!
Me: Breathing deeply was a very bad idea.
Me: Now very dizzy. Could vomit.
Me: Must be 1000 degrees in this coffin.
Me: Fuck global warming.
Me: I’m going to bang on the door and yell.
Me: Listen for me!
Me: Dizzy again, now with splinters.
Me: Pretty sure I’m going to die here.
Me: In my poo coffin.
Me: Amazing how strong outhouse is and how weak I am.
Me: Feel like a girl.
Me: Going to die feeling like a girl.
Me: Going to die never having seen a UFO or discovered my spirit guide.
Me: Never got to go to Japan.
Me: So sorry I never got to take you to kinky Japan.
Me: I love you Rachelle.
Me: I loved you with everything I had.
Me: Never really cheated on you.
Me: I want you to go on and live a beautiful life without me– like that speech in Titanic.
Me: I’m Jack and you’re Rose.
Me: Watch that and think of me swimming around in the water.
Me: But DO NOT hook-up with Armand.
Me: Yeah, don’t think I don’t notice the way you light up around him.
Me: Armand. Stupid name.
Me: Like a perfume.
Me: How could you like him???
Me: Would haunt the hell out of you if you hooked-up with him.
Me: HE IS A DICK.
Me: Getting darker in here.
Me: Oxygen must be getting low.
Me: Don’t know how much longer can last.
Me: Would like Sigur Ros played at my funeral and that scene from Armageddon when Bruce Willis is saying good-bye from space projected as backdrop.
Me: My love, you were always the best part of me.
Me: I will be with you always.
Me: You were my everything.
Me: Waiting now for the chariot to swing low.
Me: When the light comes for me I will go to it.
Me: I am ready.
Me: NO!!!
Me: I will fight for you!
Me: I’m not going to give up!!
Me: Splinters be damned!!
Me: Oh.
Me: Just spotted little clasp under handle.
Me: WOW!!
Me: The clasp releases the external lock!!
Me: The world is an explosion of sunlight!
Me: Electrolytes dangerously low, but will stagger to cottage.
Me: Realize how precious life is now.
Me: Hate abortion!
Me: Just stubbed toe on rock!
Me: Hate abortion, rocks and global warming!
Me: I’m coming for you, my love, I’m coming.
Me: If you get this, please save croissant for me, feeling peaked.
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