Growing Up in the Suburbs of Toronto
June 4, 2012
Growing up in the suburbs of Toronto my earliest memory was taking the transit downtown I remember begging my parents for a window seat on the bus, a small hand against the dirt-ridden pane catching my fading reflection staring back street lights being blinded by the sun I remember the elevator up the C.N. Tower My heart against my chest and parents’ smiles, and standing on the glass floor looking down at people tinier than me walk by. I remember being scared, of something I didn’t understand. I remember the ferry rides to Centre Island waves in the lake smaller than me, slipping under the boat me rocking the boat, rocking the lake. I remember the Eaton Centre, as it swallowed me whole, and how it surprised me to see, all the legs their feet and their shoes sandals and slippers and I remember looking up, through the glass ceiling, (as the sun’s rays cascaded through and through) at birds that sailed on a higher plane. I remember the cold water of Lake Ontario, and swimming out, while my parents got in only shin-deep and stood the size of my thumb. I remember beads of water, some easing off my face others resting and the waves cradling me to and from shore. I remember the stars— little bulbs that God switched off when the sun came up— and I remember the moon, still made of cheese. I remember flashes of the subway (and eyes closing) and the bus (and eyes closing) my feet moving my mind frozen (and eyes closing) being wrapped under the blanket, the cold comfort of the pillows (and eyes closing.) Today, I remember everything as it moves to my peripheral (eyes closing) and I rush like after busses at their stops and trains at their stations to write it down (eyes closing) because tomorrow’s a new day and tomorrow I might forget. Eyes closed.