No Title

All the young men marvel at him as he speaks. Them, in their brand new suits which were bought at the sacrifice of many a life’s luxury, Listen intently to the words that speed out of his mouth. All around the big oak table they jot down notes in the crowded space allotted. When seats became used up they stood, all bunched together, sport jacket to sport jacket, blackberry to blackberry. No one speaks, no one asks questions. Before this he was a man riddled with rumors that eventually turned into myths within the company. He ends his speech, thanks everyone and leaves the room. Speechless.

The secretary Sheryl looks up as he walks by. “How is the new team looking Greg?” Without missing a stride he responds, “Eager and motivated, just like me 30 years ago”, than disappears behind the door to his office. Sheryl smiles to herself as she returns to her work.

Rubbing his eyes, Greg Leans back in the large comfy leather chair behind a broad, hand made desk. The wood is smooth, but covered with piles of folders and loose papers. Behind the mounds of unkept work are picture frames. A beautiful women who holds a young boy in each arm. The kids wave ecstatically in the picture, the one on the left is missing a tooth in the top left side of his mouth. Behind them is a great tree, short, but very thick, and quite comfortably plotted in the ground. The sun is shining, and during the winter the lush grass in the open field, bordered far in the background by a wall of trees, is almost too much to look at.

There are other pictures, graduation day of each of the boys, the wedding of the one, the girlfriend of the other. Hidden away behind a flat panel computer monitor at the edge of the desk is an old man and women on vacation. She is wearing a sun hat, and he a Hawaiian T-shirt, half of the buttons are undone, and the shirt flaps in the winds that cruise across the ocean, cooling down the sun soaked skin of the old couple. Behind them, beyond the front of the ship the water glistens with the skies reflection, and stretches to infinity like the dreams of the young. Greg takes off his sport jacket. He runs his hand through his skim, grey hair, and takes a moment to be absorbed back into the memory.

He leaves early this day to beat out a busy subway ride, and get home early with all his aspirations accomplished. On the subway he chooses to stand for the six stops he has to wait, headed southbound. Going against the flow it’s not too busy, and he could easily find a spot to sit if he so chose. He straightens his red tie against his finely pressed white shirt, tucked in perfectly to his black suit pants. The dark triangles on this tie instantly made it his favorite, a bold yet successful choice for a birthday present from his now daughter in law.

In the seat some twenty feet away sits a punk rocker, equipped with a Mohawk, leather jacket with spikes protruding from all places and one of those chains that attaches to his wallet from one of the notches on his ripped worn blue jeans. He glances over too often at Greg, sneering at his corporate outfit. His face remains stern, but inside he laughs to himself, thinking all the while. “You pathetic corporate dog. HA, slave to the man, working away your existence all day long, your fucken sad man. And the worst part is I gotta share the subway with you. What, no company care today, aww so sad, you dress up like a clown everyday, and you still end up underground with the rest of us, the people ready to step up and make a real change in the world.” He dares Greg to look over at him; to stare into his hateful eyes. But Greg follows his own train of thought, and exits at his stop paying no mind.

Getting off in the new neighborhood he lives in he spots his next two places of business. First, the bar for a pint to unwind, than the small community grocery store to get the food needed for the next days early breakfast. Upon walking in he loosens up his tie and undoes a couple buttons, than proceeds to occupy one of the empty bar stools all lined up in a row. In a booth are a group of construction workers reminiscing about the hard week endured, and cursing the extra day they all have to do on their weekend. “A bunch of hard working chaps”, Greg thinks, “coming down here to let loosen up after a proper day put in, they keep this world a spinnin”.

“What can I get ya”. An over weight man comes over to him. “Well I would do with a pint of Guiness to wash away today’s work.” He walks over to get the beer, “sure think boss”. As he pours the pint the bartenders thoughts wonder. He sees the mess of his shirt and tie, and presumes to know the guys life based on it. “sure” he thinks, “Five O’clock pint, old man, no suit, thick unshaved stubble. Just another guy who never made it to the place he thought he would. No problem I can get this pint for ya, and the next one to come. You just keep on drinking your forgotten dreams away bud, I’ll be here all night, and it’s all I serve.”

The bartender hands the beer over, unconcerned of his customer. “It’s 6.50 now, and it aint a problem to start a tab for ya”. Greg hands a twenty to the man, “No thanks, this will do fine, just a ten back please.” He takes his time to finish the beer, about twenty minutes, than leaves without another word spoken. On the street now, headed to get the groceries he untucks his shirt, and in the light breeze it flutters softly like the felt of a proudly raised Canadian flag.

In the grocery store he takes seven minutes to gather all the food into a green basket, than makes his way to a short line up at the front. “how are you doing sir” A bright smiling face greets the now weary looking old man. “Oh good good thanks”, the faint wiff of beer turns her off instantly, and she bows her head down while scanning his items with a noticeable expedition of speed. “Yeah great day isn’t it, you asshole, smiling at me like that, your four times my age perv. Go get plastered at home sicko, and watch porn if you wanna get friendly with a young girl so bad”. She doesn’t make eye contact when she petitions for the 32 dollar and 72 cent tab, “Have a good day sir”, and with that Greg leaves the store.

Upon reaching home, which only takes eight minutes from the grocery store, he packs away the items, making sure a second time he got everything he needed. The house is empty right now which means his wife is still out with the car finishing her errands. Greg eases into his arm chair and kicks the leg rest up. He slips his tie off and tosses it to the new leather couch they bought when they moved in. He flips the channel to news, but soon drones off into sleep. His head is filled with kidnappings and stabbings and accidents on the 401. In Toronto, they’re just the new lot of people becoming victims during the daily walk through life.

When Greg comes to its late. He squints at the clock above the black tv screen, 9:25. Lifting his body from the arm chair that has absorbed his form feels like lifting a boot out of the vacuum suck of thick mud. He kicks the leg rest back into its shell, and wavers over to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off onto the bathroom floor, his body hair, from his shoulders to his chest, are a mess behind the old thinned white wife beater he is now standing in. look at you old man. Look at your grey hairs, look at your old wrinkly body. You’ve had it, your bones are weak and your muscles are exhausted. He remembers how years ago he could work three shifts of work before getting faint; now, he skips out of work early and can’t even make through the evening news.

He stares a few more moments at an old cracking mold of a man, that was once a statue of success. He now slides his pants and socks off, and makes his way to bed where his wife is waiting, reading another thick book about the trials of life. “We have everything ready for tomorrow?” Without look up she replies. “Yes dear, all that’s left is to go to bed and wake up early”. Greg slips in beside her and kisses her on the cheek. He rolls over to hide his face from the reading lamp and already begins to nod off. “It sure will be nice to see the kids again”. She puts down her book and pauses, than a smile draws on her face, it sure will.

In no time Greg is asleep, and his wife bookmarks at chapter 17. She looks over at her sleeping husband. His broad shoulders illuminated in the light of the single reading lamp, all else around him are mere shadows of his success and diligent work. She rolls over on her side facing the same way as him. She places her left hand on his hairy bicep. Her right hand supports her body at the elbow while her hand faintly strokes against the back of his neck. Her finger traces along his scalp, lost deep within the brush like a traveler moving through an untreked forest.

As her gentle caresses ease the weary body she thinks of her good fortune to be so close to such a man. A man whose success was brought on by nothing short of his tireless work efforts. His two kids raised properly by his resolute, yet just sterness. Through all the trials over the years he never fained to love her, never was too tired to dance closely with her to their favorite songs in the candle light after the kids were gone to bed. When he was wrong he would admit it with his head held firm and straight, and when he was right he was patient and delicate to her pride. Over all these years he has built her dreams, layer by layer, and brick by brick. She turns over to switch off the lamp when she notices a picture of the whole family some ten odd years back. The grandparents from both sides and the kids and them standing outside their first house. She smiles back at the faces in the picture, and a single tear dribbles down her cheek. It sure will, she thinks, it sure will.

A Long Days Work

    Cool winds blow across a small complex stirring dry rigid leaves under the moons shadow. The leaves scrape against the black bumpy pavement in and out of the spotlight, lit by small fixtures attached to the ceiling of the one story buildings.

    All the store fronts are dark and deserted. A pizza place, a porn shop, a travel agency. And than there’s Kevin store. Hiding behind the darkness through the isles a crouching light peaks its head out from behind a barely ajar door.

    In the back sit Kevin and his wife Lila. Half asleep eyes stare down at a pile of paper work. Even with the support of his hand his head begins to nod off almost falling to the desk.
  
    On the other side of the desk, just past its corners, Lila leans against the wall where it cuts in to give support to the ceiling. She tucks her body into the corner so that one shoulder blade supports her weight on the wall, and the other on the protruding beam.

    The support that radiates from connects to him like a cell phone’s signal to a satellite. Her eyes are closed, her feet blistering, and mind exhausted. The stench from their work wraps around an invisible bubble that traces her body like an aura. Eventually she slips to the ground. Silently the fabric from her brown skin-tight sweater glide her off her feet.

    As tirelessly as she works, endless days and interminable nights, her strength shines through. A bright smile; a warm kiss; a never dying promise of tomorrow. But tomorrow never seems to come when today refuses to end. Even unaware, a quick glimpse of her beauty feeds niblits of strength back into him. Hope. Strength. And perseverance. All carried into his body from a casual glance.

    Kevin looks up at his tanned skinned wife. Her body fallen to the floor, legs collapsed, and noodle arms folded. Her head dips forward and her body becomes so intertwined with itself it looks like a cylindrically curled up cat sleeping on the cushion of a couch.

    He smiles at her with a tear in his eye. The moment of happiness he feels is fleeting. Again looking below his chin he sees what he must do, and looking up again what he would love to, and misses doing. Just keeping her in his thoughts warms up the room, and soothes an aching neck.

    The business, the dream that has promised to give them everything they’ve ever needed but now risks taking away everything they ever wanted. A brick framed window happily displays their products and invites contractors and handy men from all walks of life. But outside the chilly air cools the naked bricks to the core, leaving the building in a state of frozen stillness.

    Kevin stands up wearily, his arms falling limply do his sides. The chair squeaks backwards; Lila’s head jerks to the sound but than falls back into calmness. Kevin walks towards her, gets down on his knees before her, than lets his legs fall sideways, one resting on top of the other. His left hand rests on her steady beating heart and he finds it again, that blissful and forgotten feeling.

    “Tomorrow” he whispers into her ear. With this her head turns to face his, and their lips rest together barely touching. Squinting eyes open slightly than close only to try again. After failing she attempts to laugh, but the sound is just a burst of rushing air. A fading smile struggles to appear and than is kissed lovingly; softly.

    Her senses are awakened for a moment, and a flood of desires and urges stream into her mind. “Tomorrow” she whispers back, than is kissed one more time before she slips into a sleep where the interaction continues without him.

    Kevin sneaks in behind her so that her head is cushioned by his strong yet weary chest. “Tomorrow” he says again, but this time to himself. Together they sleep the night away in the back storage room of the business they built together. Surrounded by broken tools, boxes, years of filed receipts and cleaning supplies they dream of the life they never get to wake up to. As has happened time and time again the business becomes their bedroom.

    The following day’s first customer is Rick. He is a carpenter who has been buying from their store since he started four years ago. “How’s it going Kevin” he says with his usual cheerfulness. “Oh still day dreaming about a good nights rest” he jokes back.

    Rick buys a few pads for his palm sander and a 1’000 box of screws. “You outta see this deck im building, oh boy it’s gonna be a beauty. Hey, you still want me to build you a deck don’t you”.
“When I buy the house, you’ll build the deck” he laughs.
“Alright, but you know you could have paid me in free tools by now if you just accepted my offer four years ago”
“HA, the way you break things I could have had you build me ten decks by now”
They both shake hands and Rick leaves. Another busy day and another busy week. Kevin always said that a five day work week wasn’t for the ambitious.

    When things finally cool down Kevin sneaks into the back leaving Lila to take care of things. Everything is as normal. Casual customers, new faces and passers by come in, look around, buy, chat, joke and laugh. More receipts pile up, more inventory counted and checked. Morning, noon, midday to late afternoon.

    As the sun burns a crimson orange that stain the nearby clouds a tap on the glass alerts them to a familiar face. Lila looks shocked and can only stare while Kevin takes a deep breath and nods his head hoping he understands it to be, “give me a moment”.

    His wife turns to him and begins to say something but his expression of defeat satisfies her necessity. “I called him”.
“But why”
“Because its time”
“…”
“I’m sick of everyday dragging us along. I miss walking beside you”
“This is very surprising”
“…”
“And the risk…”
“I’d risk it to spend a night with you in our own bed. The one we consummated our marriage in, the one we dreamt up names for our kids.”
A long silence ensues as they both look forward at the patiently waiting figure at the door.
“Let him in and go get us a pizza ok. Well be talking in the back office”

    She opens the door as promised and Kevin and the man walk to his office. Navy suit and slick black hair. Everything about his appearance both looks professional and sinister. He smiles and shakes his hand. It’s a smug kind of smile, a self righteous I told you so kind of smile. He shows him the products that he can get them, the prices they will have to pay and they set up delivery days and payment arrangements. Buying stolen tools to save money on costs and hide income from the government; it was at first such a laughable thought. They both declined the offer, then spent the night cuddling together, sharing each other’s energy with one another, at a time when they both still had some.

    They speak for two hours until it is an agreeable time to shake hands and part ways. A twisted feeling stirs in Kevin’s stomach about the whole deal. From the back he feels the soundless thud of the door closing. He looks around at everything, at all the paper work, all the hours taken away from their lives. The step has been taken, and he immediately wonders if it’s walking he’ll be doing, or running.

    Lila comes in with a cold pizza and puts it on the box of a rebated hand saw with a chewed up power cord. She pushes the desk chair back and snuggles onto his lap with her hands meeting at the back of his neck; sitting there as if she were on the lap of Santa Claus, listing off dream toys that have been dancing around her little head all winter long.

    “Why” she softly asks him in a tired voice. Although her emotion is fearful, she is simply too tired from all the years, and all the dreams and all the waiting, to show it. She looks at him, his head bowing down, eyes directed into his lap. He searches for an answer through a crowded attic under dim lights.

    Outside the air cools down once again. Cold bricks shiver in a gentle passing breeze. Staggered cars zip by unnoticed; their headlights being the only indication of their short passing through. Somewhere a sun rises, while somewhere else it sets. On this plaza however both transitions have already passed and night quickly creeps across the hollow streets.

    “With the money we save we can hire a hand in the store. We’ll take the weekends off and still save for our house. We’ll live instead of dream. Lie under the sun instead of fearing its constant coming and going. We’ll touch the love that we now only trust is still there.”

    His eyes rise and meet hers; both building up fearful tears. Their consciences clasps hard to their hearts as both sides of the scales are weighed. “Who suffers for what we just got into, if it doesn’t end up being us.” No answer is given. Instead they both deal with the reality of what is, or has recently become.

    Their eyes separate, him looking past her at the door into their store, while hers just passed her lap towards the old rickety beat up hard wood floors; or more specifically a nail sticking out and arching to the side.

    “Maybe” he thinks to himself “we just wanted too much in a world that offers everything. Maybe, one day Rick will finally get to build us that deck”. In a sleepless night full of silence the store retains its shape as a bed. Somehow the sun has already found its way back to that small corner complex where the day never ends, and the night barely exists.

    Lila gets off his lap and walks to the door. The store is covered in shadows still, though outside the tide of light has made its way up shore, slowly leaking under the front door threatening to flood the building once again.

    Soon customers will come, as if it’s just another Saturday under God’s sun. Her tired body walks back to the desk to retrieve the front door key. He looks at her as he gets them from his pocket. “Weekends off” she says with a disturbed smile. “It just doesn’t sound very ambitious”. The keys drop in her hand as he stretches his stiff bones to a standing position. “That’s because weekends off aren’t for the ambitious.” She holds the keys in her palm but moves not an inch. Not even the pattering at the front door causes her body to flinch. He walks over to her and places his hand on the keys to take them from her. “They are for the happy”. She is left with a kiss that holds no promises but only renewed hope. It hasn’t felt that way in a long time. No disguises, no coating, just a lip pressed on her cheek. Maybe soon” she wonders silently in her stillness “this eternal day will finally come to an end.

Facing a Better Team

    The game of Futbol, as it’s known in Spain, or soccer as it’s more popularly known in North America, grosses the biggest fan base during the world cup which is held every four years, and although most people watch during the world cup, it is during the many European cups that one will see the best soccer in the world.

    But getting away from the pros, the millions of dollars and multitudes of fans who watch brings us to an empty pitch behind a church. Dandelions infest the clumpy uneven grass field which lowers and rises like a ship at sea.

     Over head dark grey clouds set the mood with a promise of strong showers. You can smell it in the freshness of the air and in the coolness of the breeze. You can see the sky’s dark grin as it waits to release a downpour at any given moment. Long strands of uncut grass flutter in a low gust of fast-moving air across the ill-tended field.

    Two teams are going to show up here and play. The match is an exhibition game between a second division team and a fourth division team. Two teams are going to show up and are going to battle for a win. No refs; only spectators’, players and coaches.

    One by one cars pull off the two lane highway into the gravel parking lot of the small church. Some of the cars carry players from the second division team, the better team, while in other cars are players from the fourth division team, the underdogs. I arrive with my friend earlier than most; we travel in an underdog car.

    As we warm up under the eyes of a lounging squad of 15 we wonder to ourselves if we have what it takes. I play defence and try and imagine making the right stops at the right times; the right pass to the right player. I’m probably more nervous than most as I didn’t spend my childhood in leagues and had to grind out ball control at a much later age.

    Every nervous pass and bad shot I’ve made trail across the back of my mind as I drill the top corner during warm up. Everything looks good during warm up; it always seems to. But when the field is emptied of practicing players, positions are assumed and things become serious, a different story always seems to unfold.

    The coach gives us a final prep talk. He thinks we can do well but isn’t expecting anything from us. He tells us to have fun and enjoy the game. Were told to just relax and play the ball. We stand there listening, anxious to get started; anxious to get that first touch out of the way and break through their defence and open up the scoring.

    I stand on the sidelines as each team makes its formation on the field. A warning drop of rain is launched to the ground splashing unnoticed onto the petal of a dandelion. I kick the ball around the sidelines, then sit on the bench before taking a warm-up jog in small circles.

    Soon enough I sub in, followed by my first touch, first clear, first pass, first mistake. The game continues through the sweat and aches of the players, and through the drizzling of light rain. It continues after they score, and after we equalize. In front of the eyes of scattered fans and hopeful coaches until the first 45 minutes passes.

    Going into the second half even makes us feel good. Although they have had better chances our passes are starting to connect and the field is starting to open up for us. We forget that they are better and instead adapt to the old philosophy “it’s not the cards you’re dealt but how you play them”.

    This has to be your mentality when playing a better team. Unless you’re scratching lottery tickets you can’t win if you’re expecting to lose. Shot after shot and pass after pass the game goes on. By the end the rain has stopped as dark drifting clouds clump together with no visible direction.

    Everyone shakes hands at the final before cooling down and changing. Some players talk about the game, others about Montreal’s chances against Pittsburgh or weekend plans or availability for practices. We split up into our underdog cars and ride away under the influence of a hefty loss.

    Being new to the team I don’t quite know how to feel about the game. My teammate Rob tells me about last year when they beat us 10 – 0, making our meagre 5 – 1 loss not seem so bad. Furthermore it’s expected that in our division a team of their calibre will be rare.

    The truth is, without negating or confirming any of the above given facts, that we have to be that anomaly. Our goal is to develop into a winning futbol team that plays well together, communicates, and above all else, wins. When we step onto a field and confront another 90 minutes of uncertainty it is not us, but them who will be facing a better team.