Yesterday

Woke up at 6:00am. Caught the bus to downtown. Had some time to kill, so I got a coffee downtown that was too sweet. I caught the bus to work, and worked from 8am-4pm. I worked with someone who texted at the front desk. Not to say that I am the most diligent worker of all time, but this is usually where I draw the line.

I made the mistake of not eating. Too many ideas, and all I wanted was more coffee. By the time I was done, I was hungry and angry and didn't want to go to a party. Work ended at four, and John would be home by eight, and I didn't have a key to get in. I go to the one place where you can sit for four hours, and have nothing expected of you. Not even expected to look clean. Off to Jackson square arms full of bags and books and notes to John and Ryan.

I write in Jackson square. Sore feet and exhaustion from the day. Still feeling bitter. Very very bitter. Hating work, hating school, hating the party that is to come, and feeling slightly bad about being angry to the last three people I saw. I write half letters to three people and work out a new art project.

Short haired girl in a hat beside me. Wearing all black, and looking like I feel. (Although, I'm pretty sure I looked how I felt). Too tired. Too bitter. Too angry to stay there for long. Everything in Jackson square closes at six. Can't even buy a coffee, not that I should have bought another one.

I go outside and see a girl I've seen from downtown at least three times. The kind of kids that hang out, and walk around downtown without actually going anywhere or doing anything. Their lives are full of drama in their little groups, and chosen homelessness. Back of her black sweater says "KICK ME" in white writing.

I get food and take it to the rooftop of Jackson Square. Climbing up the stairs, a little girl of six is playing with her older sister who is at least 17. The little girl pushes her to the wall and her sister says "Ahh Aieesha, Tegan's trying to arrest me." I smile.

I go sit on the grass outside, and eat. It's not a nice evening. Cold. Cloudy. Kids are playing beside me. Fifteen year olds laughing and smoking. Hanging out in their trendy clothes and expensive shoes that their parents bought them. Lying back on the grass and staring at the clouds I feel old. When did I get this old?

I see stairs that might lead directly inside, and I head towards them after I am done eating and reminiscing about the past. I see a wallet near the stairs in an unkempt garden where people just throw their cigarette buds. Two abandoned photographs of a little black girl make me stop. Out loud and to myself I say, "Oh no, that's so sad."

I climb into the garden and pick up pieces of this girl's life. Makeup. A wallet with no cards. Flowers for Algernon the book. Homework questions for Flowers For Algernon. A pink bus transfer from April 21st 2010. My heart breaks a little when I see a Sarah Bardwell business card from when she used to work at the YMCA. I pick up everything I see and put it in my bag. I will document this all later, I tell myself.

I get a hold of John and go to his apartment. I show him my things and give him my gifts. I hope he likes the gift that is in the process of becoming something. Matt comes and the three of us escape for dinner. I forget how much I like Matt, and how good they are together. As we are walking, I think that he looks a lot like Andy Warhol or reminds me of someone who looks like Andy Warhol. Mostly, I like the sound of his voice. This is how I know I like someone and can get to know them.

The party starts. I am asked to play. I play "You". I'm singing it like I'm singing it to the person it's inspired by. I try to play the song I learned for Carly's birthday. The cover I worked hard to learn for a few days. Carly drunkenly talks over me as I'm singing. Tells me not to play it. Doesn't want me to embarrass her. I stop mid song. Didn't even get to the verse.

"Happy fucking birthday," I say and crumple the sheet in her chest and walk away and pack up my guitar. Julie and her girlfriend tell me I played well. That they only came to see me play, and were leaving. I am too mad to really accept the compliment but say thank you anyways.

Go to Tim Hortons. Something happens there that changes me. The story that is only meant to be told aloud. Feel like a queer feminist superhero. I no longer have room to feel really bitter or upset with anyone. Come back, and see Terra Lightfoot as she's coming in. Walk Nesreen to the bus and tell her the Tim Horton's story. She's the very first to hear it with all the swearing and the heroism. I don't pay attention while we go, and get momentarily lost trying to find 42 Caroline on my way back.

The rest of the night is a spectacle other people's drunkenness. Girls loudly talking about birth control. Dropped baked goods, spilt drinks. Elliott Smith covers, songs from broken up bands. Terra Lightfoot plays softly on the couch. The green second-hand couch that has a hundred stories now has a hundred and one stories, but don't all couches?

In John's room listening to queer stories. Adventures into the sketchy gay bars in Toronto, white trash camping stories, straight gayness. Stories that intrigue me more than they should because they are the first kinds of stories I have ever heard like that.

Kieron, the British exchange student comes back to the party when he left ages ago with Alaina. Lost her to some girl at a club or some friends. He wasn't sure which. He sits on John's bed and I tell him and Matt and John my story. It is past 3:00am, and there is still singing, and Carly is still loudly talking and on top of this all she has to work tomorrow at 8:00am.

The rest of the party people leave, John and Matt leave, and I steal John's bed. Kieron takes the couch, Jeremy and Carly in his room, and I go to bed thinking about all the things that have happened.