The other day while taking the Queen streetcar through the east end no-man’s land, I listened as a man spoke, in a thick and slurry Newfoundland accent, into his cell phone.
“What are ya doing, ya old hound?”
He lurched when he said this, his black, Dupont Automotive toque tilting ridiculously to the side.
“Nah, ahm not drunk!”
He winked at a pretty, young blonde woman who sat clenched by the window. She had the healthiest hair that fell from beneath her Arctic Expedition toque and she was wearing a brand new Lulu Lemon jacket, her black tights so right for a different part of downtown. She sat there praying silently that he wouldn’t wobble over to her.
The man on the phone nodded at me, raised a calloused and scabby hand as a salutation and continued with his phone call.
“Ah, “Jesus, my old lady be driving me up the wall! Now look, hey, hey, hey, you bring some presents with ya, eh? Yeah, presents. I got a present for you. Yeah, a good one, I do.” And then he smiled at me, nodding.
A menacing looking aboriginal man was pacing the aisle looking slightly agitated. He sat directly in front of a couple and then just stared at them, looming, like a giant rock that’s about to fall.
“Do you ever eat alone?” he asked them.
The man answered, “Yes, sometimes.”
“I thought so,” the aboriginal man said, and then he got up and left, getting off at the next stop. The woman, still feeling a little too tense to laugh, put her hand on the man’s shoulder and rested her forehead upon his, smiles slowly starting to illuminate their faces.
At Sherbourne, a thin black man, just as transparent as a ghost, stepped onto the car. He was graceful, so light of foot that he almost seemed to be floating. He was wearing a white visor on his head, had just a little bit of white spittle on his lower lip, and was smiling and nodding at everybody. He spoke to himself, alternating between English and French, as if channeling prophecy from distant lands.
“Je me sens triste dans cette terre. Les personnes sont si lointaines and I can’t go to church if I don’t have my meds.”
Everyone looking out the windows of the streetcar, hoping he didn’t get too close.