Dated:
31 Dec 2014
Since
we’re all in the throes of readers’ fatigue with trite and preachy New Year
updates, I’ll just share an anecdote and Changing, by soulful, raspy Paloma
Faith and Sigma, my anthem for 2015.
The
song is about freeing ourselves, not necessarily from untenable relationships
or situations, but prisons we build inside our minds. How can you expect to see
a better view when you look at life through the same old broken picture frame…
Recently
a friend moved out of town and I’m trying to dispose of some furniture she’s
left behind. On Christmas Eve, while helping another one move an item he’d just
bought down to his car, I locked myself out of the duplex. The attendant at the
Laundromat next door tells me the landlord is sometimes found conducting his
daily business at the local Starbucks; the equivalent of a mafia don’s
favourite watering hole. The barista, an Asian guy with immaculate hair and
pronounced vowels, is sympathetic to my predicament. While I wait awkwardly,
ill-clad in gym gear and Wellies, he leaves a voicemail for the landlord and
offers me a hot chocolate; I evidently look in dire need of one.
On
a whim I go back and wait on the sidewalk, unsure of my plan. While my beverage
is still hot, I hear descending footsteps from inside and inch closer to the
door. ‘I’m Sarah from across the hall. I think we’ve met before,’ says my
saviour. I had assumed no one was home, and hadn’t even thought to ring the
bell! I tell her she’s my Christmas miracle; I mean it. Duly flattered, she
waits for me to retrieve my phone and record her number. Her boyfriend grows
impatient, visibly languishing under the weight of the packages he’s unwisely
offered to carry; Christmas is also about fulfilling one’s duties…
Last
night, I was back to meet Jess, who’s buying a pair of Ikea Kallax shelf cubes
I posted online a few days prior. I am concerned when the drawers can’t be
removed, but we decide to carry it downstairs anyway. 70 lbs would seem
manageable, but the staircase is precarious, steep, and narrow in this turn of
the century row house. The drawers keep sliding open and hitting the walls and
my gloved hands can’t get a firm grip; as long as I don’t drop it on her foot
I’m golden, I grit my teeth in grim determination. We finally make it down,
only to find the thing doesn’t fit either the trunk or the doors of her Mazda.
I suppose the Japanese only design cars for flat packed furniture. Two words
before you try this at home, possums—Allen Wrench.
So
we’re a couple of hapless rookie furniture movers freezing on the sidewalk when
a young couple walking their Boxer approaches us. ‘D’you need help with that?’
the man asks. People may find it hard to believe but this is quite commonplace
in downtown Toronto; equally commonplace is to thank profusely but politely
decline, which I do. ‘You guys are sweet, but thanks anyway. Happy New Year!’
Ten
minutes later, Jess is still methodically contemplating her options while I’m
just dreading carrying the damn thing back upstairs. The couple reappears, on
their way back from the landlord’s Starbucks. They are wearing matching jaunty
Christmas hats to go with their red coffee cups; I reach to pet the pup, they
call him Mason. Picture of perfection—ugh. Jess has decided to return the next
day with her parents’ SUV. ‘OK then I’ll just carry this back up for you,’ the
man offers. He is hardly waiflike, perhaps even stocky under the pouffy jacket,
but I am skeptical and uneasy with the imposition. ‘Can you manage all by yourself?’
I step forward. ‘Oh yes I can. I am a powerlifter.’ Jess and I couldn’t have
been more incredulous if we’d encountered a unicorn, ‘Do those truly exist, and
could you be one of them?’ He hoists the shelf up exerting as much effort as I
would with the cardboard box these came in, while the girlfriend participates
with an emphatic ‘yeah baby’ with every couple of stairs he conquers.
I’m
overcome with relief and struggle with words to thank him. ‘I’m Coco; sorry I
know we’re just strangers, but I’m going to hug you.’ The sensation is not
unlike the first sip of hot chocolate on a frigid day, I allow, even as his
lucky lady waits downstairs. ‘Hey Coco, I’m Nick. We’re not strangers,’ he hugs
me back and we ceased to be; ‘we’re neighbours.’ Saint Nick.
I
love how this object, this piece of furniture has connected two people like
ships that pass in the night. Jess has just moved from Vancouver, where my
friend now lives. Perhaps she is meant to have them. They are black with accent
drawers of the truest red. In a well-lit, lived-in room, vital and warm with
friends’ laughter and merriment, they had looked cheerful, but in their
abandoned state appear indecent and grossly out of place, like a clown’s
make-up when the circus is done, and sadness resides again in each wrinkle and
crease of his face. I feel Jess will give them a loving home, make them shine
again.
Speaking
of sadness, for the past ten days I’ve felt a general despondency, as though
I’m losing something precious and try as I might, can’t hold on. But maybe
there’s a silver lining I can’t yet see and something has been gained in the
balance, however fleeting: a learning experience, minimal wisdom, a snatch of
song lyrics at the very least. Finally, the lyrics to Changing:
A
wondrous 2015 to you, friends. May it be all you wish it to be, and more.
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