Visiting Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island
There’s no sense of urgency in Charlottetown late on a Sunday afternoon.
A kind of stillness presides, an unhurried ease and absence of pretence. Nobody we saw was lost into the world of their iPhone like so many people in Toronto appear to be, all of them attempting to project a narrative of velocity and importance to the strangers passing by. No, the conversations here came slow and easy– almost humidly– as if each encounter were expected to last weeks rather than seconds.
While in a somewhat matronly dress shop I overheard the two middle-aged women who worked there talking.
“ John keeps crashing the truck into the barn.”
“Lordy!”
“I know! He hasn’t done any damage yet, but geez, it’s only a matter of time.”
“You gotta paint a big, red stop sign on that barn, I tell you. You have to stop that man!”
On the street a woman of about 25, pretty but wounded, approached us and asked for some change. She gestured to her loose fitting denim shirt, “I’m pregnant and hungry.” Seeing her moving toward us I had already decided that if I had change in my pocket I would give some to her, but if I had to dig into my laptop bag, I would not. This was the calculus I had made, the line I had arbitrarily drawn in the sand. After checking my pockets I apologized to her, telling her I didn’t have any change and she trembled, about to cry. Rachelle then dug into her purse and gave her a couple of dollars, as regardless of this woman’s articulated circumstance, her need, for whatever reason, was more immediate and real than our own.
Cutting through a park near a church we passed a group of about a dozen people seated in a circle on the shaded grass. One man, probably around 35, sat elevated from the rest in a lawn chair that might have been bought at a Canadian Tire in the 1980s. He looked a bit like Jesus, this man, and the resemblance didn’t seem accidental. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded beatifically as the people around him brought him their troubles. A 50 year-old, a round and pale dad wearing a floppy Tilley hat, frustrated, was speaking with his hands, “It seems that the kids today are so remote from both their parents and God, all they ever do is play video games and I worry about this disconnect.” Canadian Tire Jesus put his finger to his lips, composing a thought, while the young girls sitting in this circle of faith watched him so closely, their eyes shining with something they couldn’t quite put into words.
These brief essays are as real to my senses as scenes from a film and that is how they play out in my mind as I read the words.
Thank you for sharing your talent with us, sir.
Jon:
Thank you so very much for your beautifully kind and generous comment!