Happy Violent's Day

From watching the black—clad dancer on the corner of Grange and McCaul, I moved on to rescuing a damsel in distress. The sun was still shining unheated and the GPS took me to the back of the building where "Y" was impatiently waiting.  She called me on the phone and explained that I had to go around the block to meet her at the right place. Passengers rarely call me to tell me where they are waiting for me. I have learned that they do so when they don't have the time available until I figure out their exact location. At the airport, calls are more common, perhaps because people don't want to wait any longer to get home.

 

I followed Y's instructions by talking on speakerphone. After a while, I found her a few meters away surrounded by large suitcases at the front door of an apartment building. Tall, charismatic and sad.  On her slightly curved back, she seemed to carry the enormous weight of bad news.

 

—Could you help me with the suitcases, please?— I heard her through the passenger window. 

 

—Sure— I said and got out of the car. I opened the back door, which again was dirty with that form of ash left by the snow. I loaded two large suitcases. Both are very heavy, almost on the verge of bursting. Then a medium red one and a canvas backpack. She was carrying a couple of expensive store bags.

 

—Thank you very much— she said as she climbed in.

 

—You carry your whole life in those bags— I said as the app pointed out the destination of the trip.

 

It was somewhere in Mississauga. It would be at least a forty—minute trip.  The first thing we would have to do was escape the city to the unpredictable Gardiner. (A few months ago, I solemnly referred to it as the Gardiner Expressway, but a Canadian friend explained to me to simply call it the Gardiner, and the Don Valley Parkway, DVP).

 

—Seeing you with so many bags, I assumed we were going to the airport— I said.

 

—No, I'm sorry. It's just that my boyfriend kicked me out of his house. I got the place we're going to in no time— she said as if to keep from crying.

 

—Today?

 

—He told me three days ago— she answered trying to smile.

 

—What a son of a bitch— I said from the bottom of my heart.

 

We had a short silence that I used to concentrate on taking the right lane on Jarvis to get on the freeway instead of going down Lakeshore.  I still get nervous about certain traffic situations.

 

—If you want, I can go back and break his knees. I was a hitman when I was young— I joked. And she laughed.

 

—I think you've had the worst Valentine's Day in the history of mankind— I suggested.

 

—Yes, I think so— she said and laughed again, releasing all the air from his lungs with a sigh. The Gardiner offered no further resistance. And the app said there were 28 minutes left in the trip.

 

—We lived together for six months— she blurted out.

 

—How old are you?— I asked her because I already suspected she was very young.

 

—Twenty years old. He is thirty—five. He's divorced and has two children who don't live with him.

 

—He did you a favour by kicking you out of his house. His is not a life a girl like you should fit into— I said honestly.

 

—My girlfriend told me the same thing.

 

—How long have you been here?— I asked.

 

—I arrived two years ago. My dad wanted me to study medicine in Germany and then have my clinic in India. I didn't want to, I wanted to come to Canada. So my dad told me that I would have to do it on my own, and that he would not help me. I have been supporting myself and next week I will finish my studies to work in real estate. I already have a secure job.

 

—I guess your ex couldn't tolerate you being so strong and independent, could he?— I suggested, admiring the girl's courage.

 

—My girlfriend told me the same thing.

 

—How old is your girlfriend?— I asked amused.

 

She recently turned twenty—one.

 

— Well, I have the brains of a twenty-one-year-old girl—I replied.  And she laughed again with a musical laugh like Krishna's flute.

 

Suddenly she started a call on her cell phone, speaking in her native tongue. He chatted intensely with someone for about five minutes, and we were close.  We skirted a street under construction. Toronto and its surroundings remain in a state of construction. Sometimes it is very difficult to drive with so many closed roads, all planted with orange safety cones with black stripes that look like the Hatter's hat from Alice in Wonderland.

 

—That was my mom. I told her I broke up with my boyfriend. I told her what happened.

 

I had little desire to hear the mother's opinion. And she started looking out the window like she was looking for a bird flying.

 

—I don't like my new place. I'm afraid of heights, I like being close to the ground. The apartment I got is on the 32nd floor.

 

—I don't like heights either—I replied—but I guess it will be a temporary place, won't it?

 

—I don't know yet. A friend of mine said she would come live with me. I wish she would. Living alone is very hard, it makes me sad.

 

The shadow that was in her eyes when I picked her up came back. I felt a shred of tenderness and pity for that young girl who, from my way of being, was living situations still inappropriate for her age. We arrived at a huge building. I helped her put her bags on a luggage cart and she disappeared behind the double glass door, forgetting me forever in twenty seconds.

 

I walked out onto a side street. Mississauga's roads are much, much more relaxed than in Toronto. I looked for a place to park for a few minutes to rest and turned off the app. Lately, I have no energy to spare. It could be the famous "winter blues", who knows. Putting a name to the problem, as poetic as it sounds, doesn't solve the situation.  The temperature had dropped a few degrees and my mind's attention turned back to my immediate life and waiting for further notice. Today my future is meagre, it is almost a permanent present. It is foreshadowed in the minutes I wait until the app rings, in the minutes announced to pick up the passenger, and in the minutes or so that ride will last.  There are no medium or long lead times that feed into the sense of false certainty I had in my past life.

 

One thing I have realized is that when I came to Canada I gave up my past. And when you give up your past, you give up your future.

 

I am not complaining, I am happy here. There is no moral or negative charge in the verb "renounce" in the previous paragraph. And by future, I am referring to the very possible outcomes that the inertia of the life I had since I was born had in store for me. What I said was just an observation.

 

I closed my eyes for a moment and thought about how sometimes the sleek downtown buildings are drawn against a red and yellow sky and the image is gorgeous, like the pictures painted by Christopher Walken's character in Stand Up Guys.  And sometimes the colourless fog is all you can see from the same spot while the red light lasts. Those are the pictures I paint.

 

I console myself with the knowledge that in both cases there is life bubbling up like the belly of a volcano, and tales cry out to me to fire up the app.

 

See you next time.