jumpingfish

1. 

There was barely a breeze, and the lake was glassy-still when a young couple came trolling by. He was shirtless and wore long swimming trunks. She had long hair and was bikini clad. He was standing on the bow of his boat casting. She was sitting in the back reading. They looked quite comfortable.  

As I looked up, the guy got a bite on his line. He turned and said something to her, and she came to the front where he gave her the pole and began taking pictures of her reeling in the line. She stood pole in hand as the fish slowly pulled their boat thru the water. After a few minutes, I saw her holding a very large fish as he took more pictures.

With that, the big jumping fish by Janet’s dock was caught. 

2.

He must have thrown the fish back, because a few moments later, he was trolling the same spot again.

As soon as he cast his line into the water, it went taught and his pole bent over. He turned to the woman and said something. He reeled the line in. The woman picked up a net and held it over the side. He reeled some more and then some more, and then she bent over and scooped up a very large fish. 

And with that, the big jumping fish by Janet’s dock was once more caught. 

3.

This time he held up the fish, and she took the pictures. He turned away, and I couldn’t see what he was doing. He bent over for a moment, stood up, and then threw the fish back. The two of them sat down, pulled the trolling motor up, and drove their boat away from the shore.

I guess the fish will live to jump by Janet’s dock another day.

Much to the chagrin of the girls I am sure although they were far too polite to say anything, I sat in the cottage for a long time before finally walking out to our teardrop trailer.

It was late, and the woods was dark for eyes accustomed to being indoors. Still, there was a slight glow from inside the trailer, so I managed to find my way without tripping over the various minor hazards along the way. Once inside, I arranged the blankets and sleeping bag (yes, even in summertime), shut the door, and turned out the light.

When I had laid my head on my pillow, I heard some loud voices. Distant but not distant, it sounded like two people arguing. I opened the door, stepped out, peered into the darkness and listened. There was indeed some sort of argument — two or more agitated people yelling very loudly.

Then there was a loud Bang! 

I peered in the direction of the shot (for a gun shot it clearly had been). There were lights at a cottage that I had never noticed you could see thru the woods. And the yelling got very loud and very, very frantic.

“Get into the car,” a woman shouted. “GET INTO THE CAR!” 

I heard a door slam shut, and then there was another Bang! 

I could see red tail lights light up thru the trees and hear a motor revving and tires spinning. The revving and spinning would stop and the then restart. I heard the sound of kicked up gravel. This went on for a few moments, and tail lights moved forward and back a few times and then finally disappeared into the woods. The sound of the engine roared down what I knew to be a long driveway to the road. 

Just then there was another Bang!

I could see a second set tail lights and hear another engine which also raced down the driveway. And I could clearly hear first car turn onto the road and speed towards 16 Mile Road, where it must have spun as it turned northward, tires squealing loudly. The second car went in the same direction. A few minutes later I heard sirens, but they never got close. And then there was silence.

Back in the trailer, I rearranged the blankets and sleeping bag, shut the door, turned out the light, laid my head back on my pillow, and fell fast asleep.

The early morning fog had just risen, although there were places in the reeds on the far side of the lake where a few wisps remained. The water was as still as glass. The forest on the western shore was reflected perfectly on the surface.

A small dog barked somewhere over there — just one small yip followed by a few more that sounded as if the dog had turned away and was barking into the woods. This then grew louder and became frantic. The barking echoed as if the dog had descended into a cavern. 

Then all was quiet. And moments later there was a splash on the far shore. Ripples radiated into the otherwise still water.

The splash and the ripples are unrelated to the silence, right? The dog will be yipping again this evening. Right?

On the Corner

The corner of St. Laurent and Montreal is a happening place. From the point of view of a periodic visitor, it always has been.

Wheelchair-bound folks hang out under the trees in the shade at the corner of the parking lot. They talk. They laugh. The group varies in size. Sometimes they have small dogs in their laps. Sometimes they gather instead by the tables in front of the grocery store. 

Folks in the neighborhood meet and gather for coffee in the morning: men with dapper hats and striped socks and dress pants, women with silver hair and colorful sweaters and sometimes with grandchildren. They smile. They greet each other. “Comment ça va?” “Bien merci, et toi?” They sit with coffee and their donuts and talk with flowing voices and animated gestures.

1.

I drove into town just before the summer sun went down, and by the time it was dark I surrendered to hunger. In spite of the hour, the McDonald’s was full. There was a mother and son in bicycle helmets sitting by the door. There were two giggling sisters calling their mother and asking for a ride home since their bus passes had expired. There was a group of friends on their phones who nominated one to order for them all — or perhaps she was the one with money. There was a loud guy with a speech impediment walking from table to table waving and saying hello and then walking back to his friends.

And then there was this other loud guy who came in with a backpack and a sleeping bag and disheveled clothes. He threw his stuff on the floor and walked to the counter. He shouted at girl waiting there, but she answered calmly. He shouted again, but she smiled and answered calmly again. He threw up his arms, returned to pick up his pack, and cursed loudly without looking at the girl. Then he left, cursing as he went.

“The city has changed a lot,” Fatima said to me when we talked about it.

I suppose it has, although my sample is not necessarily reliable, coming here at most once a year. I supposed it has. She would know better than I.

2.

It was breakfast time.

“Hello!? Hello, are you in there?”

The woman in a red shirt working at Tim Horton’s held a phone to her ear as she knocked on the men’s restroom door. Someone was in there. They were not responding, and she couldn’t open the door. 

She had called the police but was put on hold when she said it was not an emergency. She waited, and she knocked again, repeatedly trying to get the man in there to leave.

“Does it really have to be an emergency to get some help?” she asked someone who was standing in line for coffee. She pounded on the restroom door. “Hello? Are you in there?”

The police eventually came, two officers in two vehicles. They put on black gloves and they came in thru the doors and went into the restroom. The woman in the red shirt returned to her station behind the counter bagging donuts and pouring coffee. The officers eventually came out, leading a tall, skinny man to the sidewalk outside and eventually to the shady spot under the trees where the wheelchair people usually hang out.

Then they put him into one of the vehicles and drove off.

Still on the Corner

In spite of these things, people still come in for donuts and coffee and ice cream cones. They still go out for burgers and fries. They still talk and they still smile. The banging on the restroom door that morning didn’t seem to bother any of them. Nor the cursing guy with the backpack the night before. 

Because people need their coffee. They need their donuts. Their burgers. Their fries. And ice cream cones. Life on the corner goes on, despite it all.

The day before, Jasper had prepared (and narrated) a pork loin  feast

only to be followed up yesterday with a feast (with narration) of salmon protein and pasta carbs to boost Ben and Colin for the triathlon that they are running this Sunday morning.

But that feast yesterday wasn’t sufficient for the day. 

As we sat on the deck and on the hill and on the dock by the water, after the sun went down and the sky turned dark (although as for that, the eastern sky was already beginning to glow with a slight light from the just-full-moon rising from behind the forest), as Venus blazed above the western horizon and Mars looked down from overhead, Jasper came out and serenaded us with Nani’s violin, as he has done for so many years.

I laid back on the dock, which briefly accompanied his song with the rocking and rattling from shifted weight. I looked up at the dome of the night sky and listened to his music as the stars came out one by one.