On a Day in May Encounters
August 3, 2011
My friend, my friend, I cannot stop the rain. I cannot catch your grey clouds in the cup of my palm and prevent the murky drops from seeping through the ridges of my hand. I cannot turn back time to foreshadow what has happened. Nor can we close our eyes to still the frames in our lives. I can only place my olive-skinned hand upon your cheek and tell you I understand.
And that is the problem, we understand too well. We can’t explain it away because we know what it’s about. And as much as we know why such events happen, there’s only so much within our control. Events have a way of unfolding, as they often do. We’d like to think they can be indiscriminate, but you and I know that this isn’t always true.
That Sunday, I waited for you. How I waited in anticipation. After a year separated by distance, I relished every moment to be spent with you. One o’clock, two o’clock, where are you? Three o’clock, four o’clock . . . and then as if on cue, I hear from you by phone, your voice muffled by the sound of cars speeding by.
Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 3. Purchase the book to read the full piece.
Toronto locations referenced in this piece
“What? At the corner of St. George and Bloor, in front of the shoe museum, you say. On your bicycle, then stopped by two police officers, you continue . . . ” —St. George & Bloor
“And so at the corner of St. George and Bloor, steps away from the shoe museum, on one of the sunniest days of May, they search your knapsack, checking every item while throngs of passersby gather to pass their judgement . . . ” —Bata Shoe Museum