Tuesday, August 02, 2016

a true story


When I was young, we would go often to feed the ducks at a pond in the park near our house. It wasn’t the best neighbourhood, so the park was scraggly and special. Sometimes, if we were lucky, there would be fat, cranky canada geese that would honk at us and occasionally nip at our ankles if we weren’t fast enough with the bird seed.

Our family cars were always getting stolen. I learned later in life that it was a bit absurd exactly how many times over the years we lost our cars (though somehow, they always found a way back to us). They were always old beaters of cars, strong boxy metal frames with really weak keyholes. One of the cars could be opened with any set of keys, another had a sliding door that would come right off its track, and we’d have to climb through the front like a monkey.

imageOne morning, we woke up and the car was gone. My parents dialed the police and the cops dutifully took down all the information. They explained that there were thousands of cars that were missing at every given time, so that unfortunately the best way to find it was to call your friends, keep your eyes open, and just look.


We walked the next morning to feed the ducks at the park, and the car was waiting for us, almost expectantly. All the doors were open. image

The air was damp, in the way that only Vancouver mornings can be. The birdseed strewn on the back seat had sprouted, little shoots reaching for the roof.

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