The Fine Walk Home
This past Christmas was a good time back in St. John’s. Weeks in the home town, spending most of it
with the family as well as a few lunches and suppers with friends.
One highlight of the time was the evening I went for drinks
with Sam. Mom and dad drop me at his
in-laws place overlooking Quidi Vidi Lake and from here, because it was a mild
and still night, we walk to the Duke of Duckworth for some drinks to sip on as
we catch up.
1:00 AM comes fast.
The hours feel like twenty minutes in the passing. But at 1:00, it’s time to move on.
With the weather still so nice, we once again walk the
streets. Strolling along the old city
downtown… cutting through the majestic neighbourhoods of old homes… and
reaching the top of the lane where we part ways. Sam, heading back to the in-laws and I
deciding which route to take from here.
If I go left, it will bring me to the busy streets where I
can walk up Torbay Road alongside taxi cabs, most of which will be carrying
downtown patrons back to the suburbs but maybe one of which could be flagged
down for a lift the rest of the way.
I decide on going right.
This takes me along the scenic, longer and quiet route. I make my way down the hill towards the lake.
Circling a quarter of Quidi Vidi brings memories. I pass many snoozing ducks, huddled along the
shoreline. Some of them perk up and keep
an eye on my intrusion. Most remain
undisturbed, bills tucked under wings… or sputtering quietly amongst
themselves.
At the head of the lake is the bridge my father and I
crossed many times on winter walks to hockey games at Memorial Stadium. Looking across the street to the parking lot
there, I see the building that once housed the St. John’s Maple Leafs. Now a grocery store, it still feels wrong to
have such a business taking over the building.
Further along, the gates to the soccer field loom in the
darkness. King George the V pitch is the
site of soccer history. I was at the
game in September of 1985. One of 13,000
fans who saw the Canadian National Team beat Honduras 2-1. And with the victory, Canada gained access to
their first, and only, World Cup of soccer.
That day was sporting excitement with a magnificent energy
through the stands. But this night, as I
walk along, all is quiet. The slumbering
ducks to my right are louder than the empty stadium to my left.
I’m tempted to continue along the lakeside but, being past
1:30 in the morning, the darkness on the far side, where the bandstand appears
as an even darker mound within the darkness of the slope… I decide to stay to
the sidewalk and the lit street. I don’t
want to venture along a darkened bandstand where it’s possible a group of
drinkers may be holding court.
I walk along the streets of Pleasantville. All is quiet.
I pass along the building I went to in order to sign up for my Social
Insurance Number. Today all is
quiet. I pass along new
construction. Condos and town houses I
never knew were here… most still in the process of being built… a few with cars
sitting in driveways.
And along the way, I come to a realization. Having been drinking for the last several
hours… and with a good 45 minutes to go before home… I realize the bathroom is
too far away.
With that, here at 2:00 AM, I see the billboard back off the
road, telling passers by of this new subdivision. Let it be said, when peeing within the heart
of a city, billboards make for good bathroom stalls.
Continuing on my way, I come to one of the many city
trails. I used to work with the Grand
Concourse Authority and, although I didn’t actually build any of these trails,
I often walked them and viewed their maps for work. I veer of the road and onto the trail home.
Here, I feel as though this must be what walks home must
have been like for my father back in the dark winter nights of Joe Batt’s
Arm. Moonlight guides me through the
winding woods trail. All is quiet and
peaceful.
But as I go, my thoughts turn back to those I had when
eyeing the Quidi Vidi bandstand. I
probably won’t come across anyone on this trail tonight. But if I do, it likely won’t be a nice
meeting here in the middle of the night.
At best, would be an uncomfortable “hello” as we pass and wonder what
the other is doing there. At worst, a group
of six or seven, made brave by booze, would decide I’ll be paying for their
night out.
With these thoughts, I decide the street is where I should
be. And I pull off the main trail at a
fork that leads me up to another building under construction. This mammoth building where seniors will soon
be living. The size of the building
hinting at the aging of the city’s population.
The problem with it being a construction site still… access
to the road is cut off. Great fences
have me pinned in and I have to turn back and head back for the woods once
again.
Only a hundred feet further down the trail, another fork and
this one brings me out into the world of houses again.
Back on the street, the silence of the night is broken by
bizarreness. I begin to hear Christmas
music.
The music is as that found in the halls of a mall. It sounds like the type of music that would
come from an ice cream truck. The kind
of music you’d expect to see coming from an organ grinder as a monkey dances
nearby.
As I continue on, I see the source. Across the street is a well decorated home,
all bright with Christmas cheer in the dark of the night. And outdoor speakers pump out Christmas cheer
in maniacal fashion. I pity the
neighbours… and continue on.
Crossing Logy Bay Road feels like wandering the streets of a
deserted town. This four-lane road,
normally busy, is empty. I pause in the
middle of the crosswalk, looking along the distance of the road… and feel
small.
Once across Logy Bay Road, I feel as though I’m home
already. Along Newfoundland Drive, I see
the continuation of dark woods trails I had previously been on. Here I remember the past summer, walking
these trails with family… a caravan of Browns making their way along to end a
pleasant summer evening.
I continue along the road though, feeling the light of the
street remains the smarter way to go.
And soon I reach St. Paul’s school.
The parking lot of this school was once a great sporting arena in my
youth. I think of the one and only money
street hockey tournament I ever played in.
Some six or eight teams came together from the east end of town, each
team paying a fee to play, and two games went on at a time… one in the front
lot, another in the back.
Our team pushed through to the end. We won the final by a 5-2 score with me in
net for it all, coming out bruised from a mighty slap shot that caught me in
the side of my thigh, and leaving me with the mark of the hard orange ball of
serious street hockey players (no jelly balls or tennis balls that day).
The glory of the win was soon a memory as I made it to my
girlfriend’s house for supper a good hour late.
They were already finished with their meal… I was served leftovers and
my girlfriend glowered at me for the silliness of my being a boy.
After St. Paul’s passes by, I turn on to Carrick Drive and
can now see home. At the turn of
Carrick, the ball field sits dark and, beyond that, the darkness of my parent’s
house. From the sunroom there, I would
now be visible as a shadowy figure in the night.
Cutting along the ball field, I look out at my memories
there. I see where I used to stand at
first base. I see the backstop where I
through bats in disgust after striking out.
I see the centerfield fence I cleared with the first home run I ever hit,
only minutes before my father reached the stands to watch. And I see left field, where I stood as a
rookie men’s league player, chatting with heckling players from other teams who
sat on the mound behind the left field fence, sipping on bottles of Blue
between jibs directed, good naturedly, towards me.
From there is the rec centre. Where softball practices took place on cold
March Saturdays and swim lessons turned my skin blue with cold.
And the rec centre parking lot, which now I cross, was a
site of hundreds of street hockey games.
Some organized over easter… most coming together more haphazardly among
me and my neighbourhood friends. We all
knew full well that after school winter activities meant street hockey.
I round the corner onto Gleneyre Street and make my way the
remaining three houses along to home.
Arriving an hour and a half after our departure from the downtown
pub. Having seen not a soul in the last
hour of the trip. And remembering what
it is I love about walking through the city so late at night.
I walk through the darkness of the house to my basement room
and turn in with thoughts of the organ grinder Christmas carols echoing down
deserted streets.
FRIDAY…
--- Day shift. Fairly
regular one. Head to Walmart afterwards
to pick up an iTunes card. $50 cards
going for $40 is good.
SATURDAY…
--- Days again. Warm
out there. After work it’s movie night
at home. Watch three movies before
bed. 28 Days Later, on the Movie
Network… I watch for a second time in a week.
Love that movie. One of the best
end of the world movies in my books.
SUNDAY…
--- Pre work softball.
We win 6-3 with me on the mound.
Several new people on the team for the winter. They’re looking good.
--- Wendy’s on the way to work. And the work is pretty slow going tonight.
MONDAY…
--- Last night of work.
Fairly non-eventful though I’m ready for another vacation. Too soon to be thinking that way again.
TUESDAY…
--- Quiet house day.
Do a walk and watch some TV.
WEDNESDAY…
--- Break in the snowshoes.
Out for an hour. Good workout and
fun wandering over snowscapes.
--- Star Wars tonight.
Read about watching the episodes in what they call Machete Order. I’ll give it a try and see how the story
holds up. Machete Order means watching
in the following order… Episodes 4, 5, 2, 3, 6.
Yes, Machete Order leaves out Episode 1 altogether. Poor Jar Jar really is a hated fellow.
THURSDAY…
--- Cold. Too
cold. -25 or so with the wind so I stay
in all day… watch some movies and be here for the Minto guys to come and touch
up a few things for the one year inspection.
