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Monday, January 31, 2005
toronto
Saturday afternoon, I interview a Polish woman, who arrived in Canada 13 years ago. She loves Brampton. "Anything is better than communism," she says once. She had never seen people from other races before she arrived in Toronto. She thinks this place is amazing. This is not the first time i've heard this from the mouths of my interviewees.
That night I head over to the JCCC after work. There, my brother will receive a scholarship from Shinkikai. Wait to board the train at Sheppard station for Don Mills station. Train arrives. Doors to the car open. Shouts punctuate the air. Upon entrance, a family of three is arguing with two teenagers holding skateboards. Dark, angry wheel marks criss-crossing each other on the floor of the car. Thin tracks colliding with thicker ones, fighting for space. The mother’s eyes are wide and livid. The teenagers bait her with dismissive hand gestures and effortless insults. The mother pushes the baby carriage out of the car, her body attempting to shield her child but twists to hurl reprimands, head high, voice shrill. The parents yell for the train conductor. The teenagers spit out accusations of harassment.
Then one boy yells out,
“Are you even legal in this country??”
His voice echoes.
The father crosses over the threshold, quickly, quietly, furiously. The father walks straight up to the one standing, and places his face so close to the boy’s, the boy can’t ignore him. Their faces nearly touch. The father jabs a finger in the space that divides them, mutters a threat barely audible. Yet the angry tremors of his voice ripple through the car.
The boy yells at the father to back off. The father stalks off, enraged strides cut through the air. The air reverberates. The mother volleys one more shot. Snickering, the boys turn their backs.
A girl around my age in a brown tweed coat asks me if it’s safe to sit in this car.
I say I think so.
The car fills up with passengers, a blur of colour. The boys’ faces blend in with the others. I don’t remember them leaving.
Saturday afternoon, I interview a Polish woman, who arrived in Canada 13 years ago. She loves Brampton. "Anything is better than communism," she says once. She had never seen people from other races before she arrived in Toronto. She thinks this place is amazing. This is not the first time i've heard this from the mouths of my interviewees.
That night I head over to the JCCC after work. There, my brother will receive a scholarship from Shinkikai. Wait to board the train at Sheppard station for Don Mills station. Train arrives. Doors to the car open. Shouts punctuate the air. Upon entrance, a family of three is arguing with two teenagers holding skateboards. Dark, angry wheel marks criss-crossing each other on the floor of the car. Thin tracks colliding with thicker ones, fighting for space. The mother’s eyes are wide and livid. The teenagers bait her with dismissive hand gestures and effortless insults. The mother pushes the baby carriage out of the car, her body attempting to shield her child but twists to hurl reprimands, head high, voice shrill. The parents yell for the train conductor. The teenagers spit out accusations of harassment.
Then one boy yells out,
“Are you even legal in this country??”
His voice echoes.
The father crosses over the threshold, quickly, quietly, furiously. The father walks straight up to the one standing, and places his face so close to the boy’s, the boy can’t ignore him. Their faces nearly touch. The father jabs a finger in the space that divides them, mutters a threat barely audible. Yet the angry tremors of his voice ripple through the car.
The boy yells at the father to back off. The father stalks off, enraged strides cut through the air. The air reverberates. The mother volleys one more shot. Snickering, the boys turn their backs.
A girl around my age in a brown tweed coat asks me if it’s safe to sit in this car.
I say I think so.
The car fills up with passengers, a blur of colour. The boys’ faces blend in with the others. I don’t remember them leaving.
// posted by naomi @ 1:14 p.m. 
