Steckland Russ -- (Chapter IV.i)

    (xi) ---



    I think of all the people before and after me who at some point have and will write accounts of their lives. Each person is a story and a different one at that, yet when the retelling of our lives and experiences stop so does the story. We still live and experience life, but if we share it with no one then it is just a tree falling in a forest without being heard.
    This is why I have decided to continue my chronicles to you, Future Steckland. My desire to document my experiences is still strong, for life is a forest filled with many trees and I want to tell the stories of as many of them as I can.
    I realized this earlier today, this evening when I was riding the subway from Laurie's East End apartment to home. I had just passed Greenwood station when a familiar dark skinned face boarded the train and sat two seats away from me. It was Tom Northcliffe, alone and carrying a heavy knapsack surely full of textbooks and homework assignments I'd not bothered to discover.

    'Tom! Over here!' I called.

    Tom looked around, confused. Eventually he saw me, and a smile appeared on his face: somebody genuinely pleased by the surprise of seeing me. The smile on my face reflected that thought.

    'Steckland! Hey! How's it going?'
    'Okay I guess.' I lied. 'You?'
    'Fine, fine.' nodded Tom. 'Where you been lately? Haven't seen you in World Politics or Film Studies for a while. Did you drop them?'
    'Been sick with a bad flu.' I lied again. 'Feeling better recently though. Have I missed anything?'
    'Nah. Foxwell is still screwing with us. The test on Thursday is apparently worth fourty percent of the final mark. Impossible of course, since the final exam isn't even worth that much! Otherwise, no. Things are pretty much the same.'

    Deflating, as I suppose I'd expected the gears of the school to grind to a halt without me.

    'Anything else interesting?' I asked.
    'Nope, not that I can think of.' replied Tom.

    We sat for a few moments not speaking, both of us just looking off at the fascinating subway car ads. I was reading one about a ninety year old guy claiming he was still sexually active when I noticed we had arrived at Chester station. I was ready to say goodbye to Tom but to my surprise he stayed in his seat.

    'Hey, I thought you lived around Chester?' I asked.
    'No, no. My parents moved almost a year ago.' said Tom. 'We're all the way at Royal York and Eglinton now, one of those new condos there.'
    'Geez that's far.' I commented.
    'Yeah. Nice area though. We're on the twentieth floor too, so the view's great for when I've got really tough biology homework.'
    'Sounds sweet. Hey, remember that time when you had me over at your old place, and your brother kept trying to defend Star Trek Enterprise?'
    'Oh my! Yeah!' exclaimed Tom. 'Russell kept saying it was the best Trek series and we didn't understand it! We just laughed and laughed and he got so upset. I felt bad about that but he sorta deserved it. Enterprise? Inexcusable.'
    'Man, we watched so many episodes that day.' I said. 'We should do that again some time. If you're free.'
    'That would be fun. As long as I don't have too much homework.' said Tom.

    It was this moment I noticed a strange man at the end of the train. His hair was long, tangled and unclean like his clothes, and on his foot was a black hackysack that had been so worn down it rested flat against his shoe. I watched him jump around for a moment until a question popped into my head.

    'How's your brother doing, anyway?' I asked.
    'Quite good,' Tom replied. 'He's just finishing up Junior High this year. He'll actually be going to Highview next year!'
    'Really?'
    'Yep!' said Tom, smiling. 'Funny how I'll have left Highview the same year Russell will be arriving there.'
    'Well you can always go back and visit him.' I suggested.
    'True, but so much of that depends on where I end up. I've been reading about universities and the ones I like the most are in other cities. McGill, UBC, McMaster. I'd miss him and my parents terribly but I can't miss the opportunity, right?'
    'No. Of course not.' I agreed timidly.     
    'Man, these are the good times, right Steckland?' said Tom thoughtfully, watching the departing station through the train window. 'Right now we don't have to worry about paying for education or finding employment or any of that. No fifteen thousand word university essays to write, no rent or bills to worry over. There's lots of hard work ahead, lots. I don't know if I'm... yeah I dunno.'
   
    I fiddled with my loose shirt buttons while Tom Northcliffe dwelled in his silence. Through his eyes I could see the sprockets of his mind turning, demanding more concentration and focus and results at any cost. Christie station, which is my stop, came soon after this, though I suspect this mental absorption of my classmate could have continued past Kipling.

    'Hey this is my stop.' I said, standing up.
    'Oh! Well.' said Tom, snapping out of his trance. 'I'll see you in class tomorrow, if you're feeling better?'
    'Yeah, hopefully.'
    'It was good to run into you. We'll talk soon.' said Tom.
    'Of course. Take it easy.'

    I left the train and through the sides of my eyes watched it shrink into the westbound tunnel.

    ***   

    When I arrived home my father was in his usual place: sitting on the couch in front of the television, a generic beer and remote control casually held in either hand. He nods me hello as I take off my shoes, his eyes unmoving from the flashing screen.

    'Message for you. Someone called from school.' he grunted.
    'Do you know who?' I asked.
    'I dunno. Something about a "bowler." Are you on the bowling team?'
    'We don't have a bowling team.' I said sharply.
    'Oh. Guess not then.'

    My father returned his attention to the flickering television while my attention went towards my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and surveyed the condition of my room: a laundry basket overflown onto most of my floor, several plates of mostly eaten meals sitting upon my dresser, school textbooks stacked in a corner with a very fine layer of dust atop them, my bedsheets twisted into a sculpture upon my bed, and my baseball glove resting on Caplan's smelly gym shorts. I sat myself on the floor beside my bed, threw off my socks and tried to fall asleep in this uncomfortable position.
    My mind drifts to the guy with the hackysack I saw on the subway. I remember the people sitting nearby trying their best to either ignore him or glare their annoyance at him, yet he was oblivious to all of it. The guy kept hopping around in the subway car, completely engrossed in kicking up the sack. His eyes were red and hazy, his balance slightly wobbly and his jeans and sweater torn, yet there was nothing that could distract him. I wonder what it must be like to be so engrossed in something that nothing can bother you.
                    

    (xi) --- Greenwood To Christie