FLATTENING RAINDROPS

...

Says my mom while we stand together in the thrift store, my arms full of small dresses and boardgames and school backpacks. Fake pink flowers that the cubs will put in their hair. 

It was at the table where he sat and pulled the prickly leaves of speech...

29.04.15

It is a puzzle but we crawl our way out of town. At a stop sign, we yell out the window at familiar faces. At the post office, we hear our names called out from over there. In the Tim Hortons, again. In the grocery store, again. 

We stop at the secret roadside spring. The water is delicious and the sign is blank. A foot of empty grey plywood nailed to a leaning post. We drove past where you hit the moose. We picnicked at the hidden favourite waterfalls. You know where you are going.

Sitting, tapping our feet. Drumming fingers over the paint we left on the desk. Coffee rings and masking tape. Reluctant to call the pilot because we’re reluctant about answers. So we stay sitting & drumming & learning about aunts that drive transport trucks deep into the united states and build cabins deep into the woods.

In the film photographs, they lean against a long history like a rusted pickup, elbows casually draped over the edge. Sisters held by the waist. Flannel tucked into leather belts, patched pants. It is a faded colourful gradient, from then to now. The trails are overgrown today.

We drive by the jackpines on the way to the airport, beside the band office and bicycle tracks. AD is called from rattling truck windows and runs through the dry grass and scrap metal, so we get to hug again, and again, and okay, one more highfive. AR sits in my lap. Fits perfectly. 

Lasagna soup and pudding cake. It was all an experiment, so don’t worry. We don’t have that much time to lose, and there isn’t much else that we can call our own around here.

I’m glad we know how to say goodbye quietly and slowly. Jumping on the bed and cradling human pretzels and remembering nicknames, primarily.  

27.04.15

Dark porch steps and wet gravel. We’re walking to my house, fleece sweaters covered in mud. Was that chocolate or dirt you’ve been eating? Soon there will be puddles, warn the dark clouds, and we’ll change our shoes, but you’re wearing faster ones for now. So let’s run, skidding down to the community hall where we had all those loud days and family days and market nights and baking afternoons and cooking classes and quiet sweeping moments. 

There’s a few more moments to be had. There are balloons and streamers along the walls (that we decorated for Christmas). There are cakes and platters on the tables (that we’ve washed so many times). There are all the kids. Half the school running and yelling. It’s a surprise! They hugged me all at once. 

Then gifts, because they haven’t given me enough. A painting, quietly given in a black plastic garbage bag before anyone can see. A beaded medicine wheel from E (We look out the window together and see the first baseball game of the new season. That’s how I found you). There’s fur lined moccasins and a beaded beret from S (who planned all this, and the bonfire, and the boat rides, and the walks). A beaded green dreamcatcher, wrapped in brown paper with masking tape (for all your dreams about Cat Lake). A quilt homemade and handpicked during busy Friday markets on early dark nights.