Subdiv
Two styles: split level and bungalow. Three colours
of brick: red, white, and grey. A single maple sapling
in the middle of each front yard. Curved grey of the street, the steep
grey bank of our driveway. My father said, I said, are you going to
level it? I want it flat, like those ones over there. And they said,
yeah, yeah, it’s gonna get done. Like that foundation post
in the basement — isn’t it a bit close to the basement door? Oh, that —
it’s only temporary. And when I opened the door for the first time, smack
I ran right into it. Garden plots of petunias. The trees too thin
to hide our faces when we counted down from a hundred — had
to do it against the telephone pole in front of our yard — then
“Ready or not, you shall be caught!” Once, with “Ring
around the rosie, pocket full of posey” — tree bending back and forth —
“Don’t hold onto the tree like that! YOU’LL BREAK IT!”
Marauding up and down the asphalt with
hockey sticks and tennis ball, 15 boys, all born
within three years of each other.
At the top of the street, Perry got cancer, passed at 17. His
brother, Jack, won the high school trophies for Math
and Science three years running — gonna be a professor or somethin’
someday — dropped out to become a Jehovah’s Witness minister. Bruce,
who dented cars with his tennis ball slap shot, tried out for the Leafs
and became a TV repairman. Jeremy was found in a Vancouver
basement: overdose, they said. Greg, my best friend, started
drinking at fifteen. Died this year of liver failure — his mother
couldn’t stop crying when she told me. Remember Maria? We all
got wet over gorgeous Maria — alone in our beds, making
the puppet spit. She married a nice boy from Palermo — worked
in real estate. Bought the house next door to the parents: had
four kids. The rest: teachers plumbers nurses bricklayers
bartenders accountants police officers dentists mechanics carpet layer
working on the construction site with dear old dad.
Now the streets are empty.
As for my own demise, it’s long forgotten.
I only live to write this.
