Page 31 - Demo

the pictures. They acted —they spoke, they ate ice cream, they were on a boat and shook their fingers at a whale. He saw himself, age three, perhaps, stuff- ing himself with a sticky bun and crying while the whale spouted water in the background. His parents grinned and he saw his father put his arm around his mother. Then the picture dissolved and Kelly saw his father building the garage, and himself, playing on the grass. And Kelly realized that the screens were somehow synchronized, something changed on one, and was reflected in the other.
and all at once he wanted to go home.
He’d texted Bailey, the night before: At my Dad’s,
“I...I don’t know what to say.” He looked sideways at his father. “How long did you say this took you?” he asked, but the only answer was the images and the voices on the screens.
As he entered his neighbourhood, he saw a man be- side an open garage. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that didn’t quite cover the paunch that hung over his belt. Kelly watched as the man set up his tools in the driveway: a table saw with a bench, a level, a measuring tape. The man went to a section of fence at the side that looked like it was falling down, and began measuring. He was alone, and Kelly could see his mouth pursed, as if he were whistling. He might have been listening to music. And Kelly knew that every man was there, this was every man, this was the Sunday of every man, and every man got up and found a project to do and got out of the house. Out, alone, peace. Solitude. Kelly stopped the car
Kelly stayed the entire night, watching his life unfold in bits and pieces. Trying to remember, trying to
understand.
~
The next morning, he stepped into the Sunday quiet; a breeze was blowing and leaves drifted and flut- tered down from the old maple in front of the house, landing on the roof of the garage. This small building, standing apart from the house, looked like a solitary cabin you might find in the middle of the woods.
and watched every man measure and drop a plank and pick it up and measure it again and stub his toe and wipe drops of sweat from his eyes. A husband, a father. Every man was always around.
His father would still be there. Arnie would shuffle around and play with his machine, feeding it memo- ries, living off the fruit of nostalgia and the security of an unchangeable past. And Kelly saw that you couldn’t change it, and you couldn’t get back what you lost. More leaves fluttered down and settled with the first ones—deep red maple and black shingles—
~
home tomorrow.
Right, was all she’d replied.
Bailey was in the kitchen when he walked in; little Brix was in his playpen tossing a ball.
“I’m sorry,” he said, standing before her. “I’m really sorry.”
~
She nodded and held his hand for a moment. “Break- fast?”
They sat on the deck and had sausages and eggs and coffee. She put Brix on his lap; the child swayed and gurgled cheerfully.
“Plans for today?”
“I don’t know,” he said, looking out at the distant hills. It didn’t matter, either.
Gil—or someone like him—would be waiting. And he was ready.
Patterson is an aspiring writer from Cobourg, ON. He is a kinder- garten teacher in a local elementary school. When not at work, he enjoys spending time with his family and reading and writing as much as he can.
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