Jake and his colleague Mike turned from Davie Street then continued along Pendrell, a quiet parallel street of apartment high-rises, old houses and gardens. The wind blowing off the water was cold, though the sun still held its warmth. The two men kicked aside coloured fallen leaves and idly watched the horse chestnuts that scattered the pavement like the lost souls of the dead. They were both mental health workers. They had worked together almost three years, having been hired simultaneously.
“We got hired at the same time, right?” Jake said.
“Three years today.”
“How did you get to be friends with Amy?” He almost finished with, and I’m not, but knew better and held his peace.
“I don’t think anyone’s friends with Amy, or at least not in the mental health system. Her boundaries are flawless.”
Jake had no time for professional jargon off duty, not even from a coworker. He spared Mike his opinion. For him the word "Boundaries" as it is used in the mental health system had a nearly magical resonance. One need only utter the word boundaries and like a magic shield it could repel arrows, bullets, neediness and entitlement. Likewise the word "Miscommunication." As long as it was a miscommunication no one need ever accept responsibility, no one would be found to be wrong. He was as intrigued as appalled by the professional jargon used at work, and horrified that now he was using it too. Even during his off time. Jake wanted to tell him this but dutifully held his tongue. He was one of Amy's friends. He couldn't trust him. Amy was their manager.
“Didn't she invite you out for drinks with her last week?”
“We went out for coffee, and it was strictly to discuss a couple of clients. This is the only time we have been anywhere together outside of the office. If I didn't work here I would not be seeing her for anything.”
Turning into his building, Jake heard Mike say, "Tomorrow at the meeting you will understand why.”
While turning the key in the lock it occurred to Jake that till now he had assumed that Mike was a good friend but they really knew very little about each other. Occasionally they went for lunch together, sometimes stopped for a beer or coffee after work, and usually took the same bus since they lived within one block of each other. They got along well, but it had already occurred to Jake that they really knew nothing about each other. He had never mentioned to Mike that he had a kid, only that he had been previously married. Mike hadn't asked. He asked him almost nothing and somehow they managed to keep the conversation inpersonal but amusing and sometimes fascinating for Mike always had opinions and questions and observations about the human condition, the world, society and politics. Of his own life he remained tight-lipped as though carrying in his mouth a shameful secret. Yet Mike did not appear as one who would have any sense of shame neither anything to be ashamed about. Opening the door and stepping into his sad little apartment Jake found himself wondering if he had ever in his life had any real friends.
Early in the morning he woke and climbed out of bed. It was still dark and the clock said 5:10. Jake knew he should go back to sleep, but a dream he was unable to remember had disturbed his sleep and he might have to make do on less than six hours. He hated not feeling rested and fresh, especially for a morning meeting. He still had a couple of hours and thought of taking a nap before leaving. After showering and washing last night’s supper dishes he put on the coffee then went to his computer. There was an e-mail from Heidi asking him to take their little son next weekend for Thanksgiving. She didn't say why but he knew already. She would be going away with her rich boyfriend to some seaside haven. “Shit,” he muttered half under his breath. He would have to cancel his golf game with Paul. Or fit it in somehow? Not with his kid around, who would demand his full and complete attention over the forty-eight hours they would be together. He thought about getting a bigger apartment. Living in a bachelor was not conducive to child custody visits. But he wasn’t expecting a raise soon. He heard the coffee machine force the aromatic morning brew through its sputtering finale, jumped up and poured his first cup of the day.
The thirty-minute nap revived him, and Jake left his apartment feeling rested and buoyant. What is this thing called joy, he mused as he passed the shining brass mailboxes that gleamed this morning like autumn gold, for today, suddenly he felt joy. He had felt it once, perhaps twice in recent memory. Certainly on the day of his marriage, and most certainly at the birth of his little boy. Otherwise he had lived out his life as a series of trade-offs and compromises. He noticed the autumn crocuses on the lawn next door, bowed down to the inevitability of the soil to which they soon must return. It was Heidi, an avid gardener, who had first alerted Jake to autumn crocuses, and to copper beech trees and rhododendron bushes. She especially loved autumn crocuses, for the way they carpeted the dirt in a solid sheet of lavender pink, her favourite colour she would often say. They had lasted almost seven years together, both of them clinging as though to a disintegrating life raft to the increasingly remote possibility of surviving together. Outside of an emotional and physical attraction that still held between them an alarming intensity, they really had nothing in common. She loved the earth, nature and beautiful art objects, and Jake, a graduate in philosophy had always lived in the realm of ideas. The two year training course he had taken as a mental health worker he had undertaken primarily out of practical concerns, the need to earn a living and support his son, since Heidi’s career as an interior designer was at best inconsistently lucrative, especially given the two years she had taken off for Daniel their son. Six months into his new job, they both realized that they would not be married for much longer. To this day he still didn't know who first had suggested they file for divorce. It had not been a particularly emotional moment for either of them, he was sure of that, though still they had both grieved the death of their marriage, the loss of their love, but each in their silent enclosed solitude, each in that place they alone occupied where they had never allowed the other to enter and share.
The warm sun covered like a thermal blanket the cold morning as though promising another beautiful day of denial that summer was over, and Jake ignored the bus stop, then walked past another. He had left early enough to walk the entire distance to work. He loved walking. He had a bike, but it got him places too fast and traffic often terrified him. He preferred to move slowly, to actually see, hear and smell his surroundings. He felt beckoned by the Burrard Bridge with its generous sidewalk and sweeping view of the ocean and sky. He felt a spring in his step today, a buoyancy in his pace. He looked out on the distant forest of Pacific Spirit Park and the nearer buildings on the far shore. At the bottom of the forest beneath the university was the famous Wreck Beach where Jake had fled for escape and solitude for the summer following the end of his marriage. For the first time in his life he had gone naked in public, for this was a clothing-optional beach, hence its fame, and being publicly naked was a state to which he never quite became accustomed. A bald eagle flew swooping over the bridge just in front of him, flying towards the water, and he thought this might be an omen. Jake was not in the habit of reading omens into eagles or anything else. He wondered why now, this morning, he would even notice this. He arrived at the office five minutes late for the meeting.
Amy and Mike sat side by side, as though to facilitate the small group together. Amy was dressed in a flowing red caftan, flaming scarlet with gold embroidery. It was eye-stopping. She usually wore modest, dapper and well-tailored suits and chunky costume jewelry. Her only jewelry today was a thin gold chain on her neck and a thin gold bracelet. She never wore rings. She was in her fifties, a large, edging on fat Jewish woman with short bleach-blond hair and rimless glasses that seemed always about to fall from her nose. Her round, strong face wore a sphinx-smile, which was not unusual, but today there appeared to be laughter concealed behind the corners of her mouth. She looked majestic and hilarious. Jake felt his shoulders hunch involuntarily as he mumbled a half-hearted apology for arriving late. As an after-thought he noticed Mike, dressed today all in black. Save for the purple collar of his shirt peeking out of his collarless black pullover he would have looked like he was auditioning for Hamlet. He was paler than usual, his face shining like polished alabaster in the harsh office light. His dark eyes appeared large and solemn. They were bright as always but for a change they did not appear to dance across his face.
“Good morning, Jake.” Amy said cheerfully. Usually a little frightened of her today he found her terrifying and had to fight the desire to run out of the room. “And welcome. We are just about to begin.” Jake interpreted her as meaning, “you've been keeping us waiting and now we can finally get on with our meeting.” He poured himself a coffee, and took a seat near the back of the room. There were at least twenty colleagues and coworkers: social workers, psychiatrists, case managers such as himself and Mike, occupational and recreational therapists, all gathered together with nice salaries and benefits to heal the troubled minds and reintegrate into the social fabric those whose lives had been shipwrecked by mental illness. Jake and Mike, still newbies, were still near the bottom of the pay scale, but for the two peer support workers present who were scandalously underpaid at not much over minimum wage. Jake and Mike both particularly liked the peer support workers, who still were recipients but for one of mental health services, who still but for one took their daily medication. The single exception, a fifty-ish man named Harold, sat near the door at the chair on his right. One would have sworn he had never been mentally ill and his skill set and ability to work well with their patients had made him almost a local legend. Jake was already working with him with one client. They were seldom in contact, but he wished they could talk more, certainly about their client, but also so he could learn more of his story.
“Well,” said Amy, “It looks like everyone is here.” Jake couldn’t help wondering why they were sitting side by side dressed so…formally? Were they about to announce their engagement? Mike was hardly thirty, but more and more young men seemed to be going for older women these days. He did look distinctly nervous, as though he did not want to be in this meeting.
“Before we get on with the clinical details of the day,” Amy said, “Mike and I both have an announcement we would like to make.”
Here it comes, Jake thought.
“Would you like to begin?” she said to Mike. He cleared his throat. Not once had Mike looked in Jake’s direction. But why should he? They were at work. He was more a colleague than his friend.
“After three years here,” Mike began “It’s become evident that there are some things that I probably might have mentioned some time ago, at the beginning…I guess the best way to say it is…simply…” he cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. After taking a cautious sip, as though inoculating himself against something lethal, he said. “I have a mental illness.” The silence was palpable. No one seemed even to breathe. Amy glanced at him and offered him the full benefit of her serene sphinx smile.
“I am more or less recovered. You see, five years ago I was hospitalized with bipolar disorder. I was in the middle of writing exams, it was not a good time in my life for other, more personal reasons that I needn't go into here. But with good psychiatric support and the right combination of medications, I have been stable now for well over three years.”
Amy chimed in, “Mike and I have been discussing this at length, and we have both come to the conclusion that these things need to be openly discussed here. I should also like to add for the sake of transparency that I also have a mental illness.” What seemed like a genuine and very relieved smile suddenly cracked through her mask and she took a full deep breath that caused her ample bosom to positively heave. Jake, when he had first gone naked at Wreck Beach had realized then for the first time that being naked among the naked was possibly not such a bad thing after all.
“Twenty years ago I was diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder,"Amy said. " Five years ago I suffered my first relapse. Those of you who were here then must have known that I was on holiday. Well, it was in the hospital where I spent my vacation. This is where Mike and I met each other for the first time."
The unexpected disclosure was followed by a brief discussion in which Amy and Mike both emphasized that not only were they recovered but more than ever felt empowered to provide quality care to their clients as more than anyone other than a peer support worker they could empathize with the experience of mental illness and recovery. That they were not simply clinical abstracts for them to ponder and resolve with the right combination of medications, the right hospitalisation and the right rehabilitation programs and recreational activities. When it became clear that no one in the room knew what else to say, that they might want to have time to recover from the shock, they began to race through the clinical details and client concerns of the day as though nothing else had been said. For Jake it was a blur, a sonorous hum of white noise. He got through the rest of the morning quickly enough. He had two home visits to do and one service assessment to perform. There was nothing out of the ordinary for him to worry about today. The first client had just been released from hospital and wanted ongoing support from the team. The second was struggling with a relapse and asking to be readmitted. The service assessment involved an elderly woman suffering from severe depression. She reminded him of his maternal grandmother. In the corridor he saw Mike leaving the washroom.
“Are you busy for lunch?” he asked Jake, his look almost pleading.
“Yeah, sure. Usual place?”
“Yeah.”
“See you in fifteen.” Jake just then felt on the cusp of mentioning to Mike that their style of communication was almost identical to that of two fifteen year olds in grade nine together. Amy was just stepping out of her office.
“Hey Amy,” Mike said, “want to join us for lunch?”
They sat together in the usual Indian restaurant where Jake and Mike had lunch every week or so. Amy had just returned from the buffet, her plate laden with rice, vegetables and highly spiced sauces.
“I’d like to thank both of you for your courage today,” Jake said, between mouthfuls of butter chicken.
Amy replied, glancing at Mike, “We both felt it was time.”
“I find you both exceptionally good at what you do. Does personal experience factor in here?
“Without doubt,” Mike said. “But I also feel stifled because we don’t have the freedom to disclose anything about our experience of illness and recovery with any of our clients. That’s what peer support workers are for.”
“They’re twice as good as we are at assisting clients through the recovery process for less than half the pay,” said Jake.
"And no benefits,” Amy said. Jake had almost invited Howard the peer support worker to have lunch with them. Now he regretted that he hadn't. The afternoon passed in a quiet unfocussed blur as Jake looked after clients, phone calls and paperwork. He felt as though he were doing everything in his sleep. On the way home with Mike on the bus he learned that they used public transit for rather different reasons. Jake after the divorce sold his suv out of financial necessity, since on his low wages he knew that he would have to sacrifice something in order to not default on child support payments. Mike proudly confessed that he had never learned how to drive. With an automechanic for a father he decided there were already enough polluters on the road. This was when he admitted to never liking his cars or his father.
They never visited each other. Jake was not one to have guests in his apartment. Even the occasional woman he had hooked up with since the divorce had never seen his place. Mike on occasion had appeared on the verge of inviting him to his apartment and Jake felt greatly relieved that he still hadn't worked up the courage and hoped that he never would.
Jake noticed the prostrate autumn crocuses, now dying and bowed down to the cold damp earth. Heidi had told him how similar these are to the flowers from which saffron is obtained, the only difference being that these autumn crocuses were poisonous and eating even one of their stamens could result in death. From his mailbox he pulled a brightly coloured postcard. For the first time in months he felt appalled at the mess in his apartment. He wanted it to be neat and clean for his son's visit and now it looked just like the bedroom of an adolescent boy. He was not going to employ a cleaning service. His paycheck, following the inflated rent, and child support, left him very little discretion money. He also needed the exercise, since he obstinately refused to join a gym. He already swam and jogged twice and three times a week though he supposed he could still improve on his fitness. He hated the near proximity and smell of grunting and sweating strangers and had always felt awkward in public showers. He wasn't particularly modest, and still sometimes bared everything at the famous Wreck Beach. although he found it creepy and sinister standing naked together at close quarters with men he didn't know.
He sometimes wondered if his average physique was Heidi’s real reason for losing interest in the marriage, especially after seeing his rival, a personal trainer with the body and looks of a personal trainer. He still didn’t really know why she wanted to end it, even after they’d been divorced for three years and even after she had several times told him that she was no longer attracted to him, that they were emotionally incompatible. He also felt sure she was lying. They never really fought, not even once. But one day she didn't come home, leaving him with the full care of their infant son. Four days later he got an e-mail from her sister, who instructed him to get a lawyer. Heidi had moved in with her personal trainer.
He washed the breakfast dishes, then wiped down the kitchen, cleaned the bathroom and ran the vacuum cleaner everywhere. There was still that mess of books that never seemed to let up. He couldn’t help it. Not even the Internet could cure Jake of his compulsive book buying. He guessed that of a personal library of some five hundred volumes he had read perhaps fifty. He lay back on his bed and reached for the TV remote. Supper could wait till he actually felt hungry. He watched the news and it was nothing but the usual scary, frightening, horrifying and sad. He turned it off and thought about the leftover Chinese take-out in the fridge. He supposed he could nuke it in the microwave. Jake didn’t mind cooking but his imagination always went suddenly dormant whenever he found himself in the kitchen. He still missed his wife’s cooking. His wife. They had been divorced for three years. He missed Heidi’s excellent cooking. He still missed Heidi.
He returned to the bed with a steaming plate full of rice, chow mien, vegetables and dumplings and remembered the postcard. It featured a bright green and gold rice paddy against a backdrop of blue and purple mountains from anywhere in Southeast Asia. “Hey Jake: Here I am in Cambodia of all places. I just saw the temples at Angkor Wat yesterday. Amazing does not describe them. I only wish you were here to see them for yourself. I’m just winding down six weeks of travel here. I started in Thailand, then I crossed over into Cambodia, Laos, then Vietnam, and now I’m back in Cambodia. I’m back this coming Saturday. Let’s do a meal together sometime soon and I’ll tell you everything. Love, Anne”.
He switched on the TV and channel surfed till he could bear it no longer. He knew he was avoiding the Internet. He did not want to read e-mail, though he didn’t know why. He still didn't have a smart phone. He didn't want one, neither could he afford one. He reached for his laptop, turned it on and waited. Three e-mails: one from his Mom, reminding him of dinner at her place for thanksgiving and asking if he would be bringing her grandson, another from Heidi, reminding him about taking their son for the weekend, and spam advertising the latest penis-enhancer. He picked up the postcard. He met Anne in the college where he had taken the mental health course. She now worked in the same field but elsewhere in the city. They had never been intimate, neither had romance ever been suggested between them. It was rather like his friendship with Mike: often coffee or a beer or the occasional meal together, talking about almost everything and nothing with no real depth and no hidden agendas being suggested and above all no embarrssing self-revelations. He almost wanted to believe that she was a lesbian, or that she was asexual, the thought of which he found formidable. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Heid. But there was nothing there, and she appeared to know it as well as he. His palms had gone suddenly moist and his breathing shallow. They were having dinner together next week.
He slid open the little drawer in his night table where all his post cards and letters inevitably ended up. He still hadn't cleaned out the drawer, not since his marriage ended. He picked up his cell phone. There were no messages. He thought suddenly of calling, or texting Mike, but they’d already seen plenty of each other today. Besides, what would they talk about that wasn’t strictly work related, and this was his time off? Had he been anyone else, Jake would have suggested that what he really needed was a woman. He had lost interest in dating. After burning himself out on two websites and meeting a half dozen candidates, two of which he had more or less successfully bedded, he gave up the chase. He simply still wasn’t ready. Then when would he be ready? He felt suddenly surprised that he had never had this conversation with Mike, whom to his knowledge was single and who gave nothing away about his personal life, given that he even had one. Paul, his only real long-term friend was older, over fifty, and already securely married with college age children. They had been friends since university where Paul registered as a mature student. He was too discreet and mature to offer unasked advice and Jake had never been one to ask anything of anyone. He didn't knowwhy, but had always assumed that no one would know what to tell him, nor that he would even know how or even what to ask. He had not even proposed to his wife. She simply suggested, during a romantic dinner in a French restaurant that maybe they were going to be married one day and Jake didn’t see why not. Whatever he had needed or wanted in life had been what he had stumbled across. What did he want? Go out and get drunk? He didn’t want to come to work with a hangover. What did he want? He looked at the clock as he put away his final mouthfuls of takeout Chinese. It wasn’t seven yet. He might have time to catch a movie? He didn’t feel like it. He was tired. Maybe he should just go around the corner and rent a video? But the video store was closed and the twenty something girl who worked there who always smiled at him so sweetly was forever gone. do. He left his dirty plate on the night table, next to the bed, put on his shoes and threw on a sweater.
Heidi once yelled at him, “You always expect someone else to do all the driving. You never initiate. Anything. This is driving me crazy!” He honestly didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He had packed along a small paperback novel, an Agatha Christie mystery he was about to begin. No one knew about this quaint, utterly unmasculine preference of his in literature. It was like a secret vice, perhaps like enjoying gourmet chocolates but only when wearing women's underwear, or a discreet porn addiction. In the café he occupied the table of his preference, in the back,
a sequestered upholstered nook on a pedestal, where he placed conspicuously his sweater on the seat and his Agatha Christie on the table while ordering his tea and biscotti. They still hadn’t changed the art on the wall, which again was all photographs. They were rather interesting but he preferred paintings. It was one of her earlier mysteries, featuring Hercule Poirot, set in a tropical resort in the early thirties. The music was softer than usual, and as he listened more carefully realized that it was classical, Mozart he thought. It wasn’t crowded for a change. Mike came in still all in black, and straight to his table. “I’ve never seen you in here before”, said Mike. “Busy?”
“Have a seat.”
He placed his latte on the table then put himself behind it.
“Come here a lot?”
“Every other day maybe.”
“Beats Starbucks, anyway.”
"What’re you reading?”
Mike snatched the novel away before Jake could conceal it.
“Agatha Christie! Sweet! I love her work!”
“Tell me you’re being ironic.”
“She is still the master of mystery.”
“Well, mistress.”
“Please don’t quibble. I have almost all her books and some of them I still like to read.”
“You’re going to tell me that I’m not the only male Agatha Christie geek under forty on the planet?”
“Your claim to uniqueness is over, my friend.”
“What claim to uniqueness!” The remark had hurled from his mouth like a badly aimed bullet.
Mike looked at him, slightly slack-jawed.
“Sorry. I guess that sounded harsh.”
“No worries.” He quietly drank his latte for a while then asked, “Have you ever suffered from depression?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Something I’ve wondered about sometimes, that’s all.”
“I’ll think about it.” He shoved the book gently aside. “What have you been up to this evening?”
“I just returned from having dinner with my ex.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“We got hired at the same time, right?” Jake said.
“Three years today.”
“How did you get to be friends with Amy?” He almost finished with, and I’m not, but knew better and held his peace.
“I don’t think anyone’s friends with Amy, or at least not in the mental health system. Her boundaries are flawless.”
Jake had no time for professional jargon off duty, not even from a coworker. He spared Mike his opinion. For him the word "Boundaries" as it is used in the mental health system had a nearly magical resonance. One need only utter the word boundaries and like a magic shield it could repel arrows, bullets, neediness and entitlement. Likewise the word "Miscommunication." As long as it was a miscommunication no one need ever accept responsibility, no one would be found to be wrong. He was as intrigued as appalled by the professional jargon used at work, and horrified that now he was using it too. Even during his off time. Jake wanted to tell him this but dutifully held his tongue. He was one of Amy's friends. He couldn't trust him. Amy was their manager.
“Didn't she invite you out for drinks with her last week?”
“We went out for coffee, and it was strictly to discuss a couple of clients. This is the only time we have been anywhere together outside of the office. If I didn't work here I would not be seeing her for anything.”
Turning into his building, Jake heard Mike say, "Tomorrow at the meeting you will understand why.”
While turning the key in the lock it occurred to Jake that till now he had assumed that Mike was a good friend but they really knew very little about each other. Occasionally they went for lunch together, sometimes stopped for a beer or coffee after work, and usually took the same bus since they lived within one block of each other. They got along well, but it had already occurred to Jake that they really knew nothing about each other. He had never mentioned to Mike that he had a kid, only that he had been previously married. Mike hadn't asked. He asked him almost nothing and somehow they managed to keep the conversation inpersonal but amusing and sometimes fascinating for Mike always had opinions and questions and observations about the human condition, the world, society and politics. Of his own life he remained tight-lipped as though carrying in his mouth a shameful secret. Yet Mike did not appear as one who would have any sense of shame neither anything to be ashamed about. Opening the door and stepping into his sad little apartment Jake found himself wondering if he had ever in his life had any real friends.
Early in the morning he woke and climbed out of bed. It was still dark and the clock said 5:10. Jake knew he should go back to sleep, but a dream he was unable to remember had disturbed his sleep and he might have to make do on less than six hours. He hated not feeling rested and fresh, especially for a morning meeting. He still had a couple of hours and thought of taking a nap before leaving. After showering and washing last night’s supper dishes he put on the coffee then went to his computer. There was an e-mail from Heidi asking him to take their little son next weekend for Thanksgiving. She didn't say why but he knew already. She would be going away with her rich boyfriend to some seaside haven. “Shit,” he muttered half under his breath. He would have to cancel his golf game with Paul. Or fit it in somehow? Not with his kid around, who would demand his full and complete attention over the forty-eight hours they would be together. He thought about getting a bigger apartment. Living in a bachelor was not conducive to child custody visits. But he wasn’t expecting a raise soon. He heard the coffee machine force the aromatic morning brew through its sputtering finale, jumped up and poured his first cup of the day.
The thirty-minute nap revived him, and Jake left his apartment feeling rested and buoyant. What is this thing called joy, he mused as he passed the shining brass mailboxes that gleamed this morning like autumn gold, for today, suddenly he felt joy. He had felt it once, perhaps twice in recent memory. Certainly on the day of his marriage, and most certainly at the birth of his little boy. Otherwise he had lived out his life as a series of trade-offs and compromises. He noticed the autumn crocuses on the lawn next door, bowed down to the inevitability of the soil to which they soon must return. It was Heidi, an avid gardener, who had first alerted Jake to autumn crocuses, and to copper beech trees and rhododendron bushes. She especially loved autumn crocuses, for the way they carpeted the dirt in a solid sheet of lavender pink, her favourite colour she would often say. They had lasted almost seven years together, both of them clinging as though to a disintegrating life raft to the increasingly remote possibility of surviving together. Outside of an emotional and physical attraction that still held between them an alarming intensity, they really had nothing in common. She loved the earth, nature and beautiful art objects, and Jake, a graduate in philosophy had always lived in the realm of ideas. The two year training course he had taken as a mental health worker he had undertaken primarily out of practical concerns, the need to earn a living and support his son, since Heidi’s career as an interior designer was at best inconsistently lucrative, especially given the two years she had taken off for Daniel their son. Six months into his new job, they both realized that they would not be married for much longer. To this day he still didn't know who first had suggested they file for divorce. It had not been a particularly emotional moment for either of them, he was sure of that, though still they had both grieved the death of their marriage, the loss of their love, but each in their silent enclosed solitude, each in that place they alone occupied where they had never allowed the other to enter and share.
The warm sun covered like a thermal blanket the cold morning as though promising another beautiful day of denial that summer was over, and Jake ignored the bus stop, then walked past another. He had left early enough to walk the entire distance to work. He loved walking. He had a bike, but it got him places too fast and traffic often terrified him. He preferred to move slowly, to actually see, hear and smell his surroundings. He felt beckoned by the Burrard Bridge with its generous sidewalk and sweeping view of the ocean and sky. He felt a spring in his step today, a buoyancy in his pace. He looked out on the distant forest of Pacific Spirit Park and the nearer buildings on the far shore. At the bottom of the forest beneath the university was the famous Wreck Beach where Jake had fled for escape and solitude for the summer following the end of his marriage. For the first time in his life he had gone naked in public, for this was a clothing-optional beach, hence its fame, and being publicly naked was a state to which he never quite became accustomed. A bald eagle flew swooping over the bridge just in front of him, flying towards the water, and he thought this might be an omen. Jake was not in the habit of reading omens into eagles or anything else. He wondered why now, this morning, he would even notice this. He arrived at the office five minutes late for the meeting.
Amy and Mike sat side by side, as though to facilitate the small group together. Amy was dressed in a flowing red caftan, flaming scarlet with gold embroidery. It was eye-stopping. She usually wore modest, dapper and well-tailored suits and chunky costume jewelry. Her only jewelry today was a thin gold chain on her neck and a thin gold bracelet. She never wore rings. She was in her fifties, a large, edging on fat Jewish woman with short bleach-blond hair and rimless glasses that seemed always about to fall from her nose. Her round, strong face wore a sphinx-smile, which was not unusual, but today there appeared to be laughter concealed behind the corners of her mouth. She looked majestic and hilarious. Jake felt his shoulders hunch involuntarily as he mumbled a half-hearted apology for arriving late. As an after-thought he noticed Mike, dressed today all in black. Save for the purple collar of his shirt peeking out of his collarless black pullover he would have looked like he was auditioning for Hamlet. He was paler than usual, his face shining like polished alabaster in the harsh office light. His dark eyes appeared large and solemn. They were bright as always but for a change they did not appear to dance across his face.
“Good morning, Jake.” Amy said cheerfully. Usually a little frightened of her today he found her terrifying and had to fight the desire to run out of the room. “And welcome. We are just about to begin.” Jake interpreted her as meaning, “you've been keeping us waiting and now we can finally get on with our meeting.” He poured himself a coffee, and took a seat near the back of the room. There were at least twenty colleagues and coworkers: social workers, psychiatrists, case managers such as himself and Mike, occupational and recreational therapists, all gathered together with nice salaries and benefits to heal the troubled minds and reintegrate into the social fabric those whose lives had been shipwrecked by mental illness. Jake and Mike, still newbies, were still near the bottom of the pay scale, but for the two peer support workers present who were scandalously underpaid at not much over minimum wage. Jake and Mike both particularly liked the peer support workers, who still were recipients but for one of mental health services, who still but for one took their daily medication. The single exception, a fifty-ish man named Harold, sat near the door at the chair on his right. One would have sworn he had never been mentally ill and his skill set and ability to work well with their patients had made him almost a local legend. Jake was already working with him with one client. They were seldom in contact, but he wished they could talk more, certainly about their client, but also so he could learn more of his story.
“Well,” said Amy, “It looks like everyone is here.” Jake couldn’t help wondering why they were sitting side by side dressed so…formally? Were they about to announce their engagement? Mike was hardly thirty, but more and more young men seemed to be going for older women these days. He did look distinctly nervous, as though he did not want to be in this meeting.
“Before we get on with the clinical details of the day,” Amy said, “Mike and I both have an announcement we would like to make.”
Here it comes, Jake thought.
“Would you like to begin?” she said to Mike. He cleared his throat. Not once had Mike looked in Jake’s direction. But why should he? They were at work. He was more a colleague than his friend.
“After three years here,” Mike began “It’s become evident that there are some things that I probably might have mentioned some time ago, at the beginning…I guess the best way to say it is…simply…” he cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. After taking a cautious sip, as though inoculating himself against something lethal, he said. “I have a mental illness.” The silence was palpable. No one seemed even to breathe. Amy glanced at him and offered him the full benefit of her serene sphinx smile.
“I am more or less recovered. You see, five years ago I was hospitalized with bipolar disorder. I was in the middle of writing exams, it was not a good time in my life for other, more personal reasons that I needn't go into here. But with good psychiatric support and the right combination of medications, I have been stable now for well over three years.”
Amy chimed in, “Mike and I have been discussing this at length, and we have both come to the conclusion that these things need to be openly discussed here. I should also like to add for the sake of transparency that I also have a mental illness.” What seemed like a genuine and very relieved smile suddenly cracked through her mask and she took a full deep breath that caused her ample bosom to positively heave. Jake, when he had first gone naked at Wreck Beach had realized then for the first time that being naked among the naked was possibly not such a bad thing after all.
“Twenty years ago I was diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder,"Amy said. " Five years ago I suffered my first relapse. Those of you who were here then must have known that I was on holiday. Well, it was in the hospital where I spent my vacation. This is where Mike and I met each other for the first time."
The unexpected disclosure was followed by a brief discussion in which Amy and Mike both emphasized that not only were they recovered but more than ever felt empowered to provide quality care to their clients as more than anyone other than a peer support worker they could empathize with the experience of mental illness and recovery. That they were not simply clinical abstracts for them to ponder and resolve with the right combination of medications, the right hospitalisation and the right rehabilitation programs and recreational activities. When it became clear that no one in the room knew what else to say, that they might want to have time to recover from the shock, they began to race through the clinical details and client concerns of the day as though nothing else had been said. For Jake it was a blur, a sonorous hum of white noise. He got through the rest of the morning quickly enough. He had two home visits to do and one service assessment to perform. There was nothing out of the ordinary for him to worry about today. The first client had just been released from hospital and wanted ongoing support from the team. The second was struggling with a relapse and asking to be readmitted. The service assessment involved an elderly woman suffering from severe depression. She reminded him of his maternal grandmother. In the corridor he saw Mike leaving the washroom.
“Are you busy for lunch?” he asked Jake, his look almost pleading.
“Yeah, sure. Usual place?”
“Yeah.”
“See you in fifteen.” Jake just then felt on the cusp of mentioning to Mike that their style of communication was almost identical to that of two fifteen year olds in grade nine together. Amy was just stepping out of her office.
“Hey Amy,” Mike said, “want to join us for lunch?”
They sat together in the usual Indian restaurant where Jake and Mike had lunch every week or so. Amy had just returned from the buffet, her plate laden with rice, vegetables and highly spiced sauces.
“I’d like to thank both of you for your courage today,” Jake said, between mouthfuls of butter chicken.
Amy replied, glancing at Mike, “We both felt it was time.”
“I find you both exceptionally good at what you do. Does personal experience factor in here?
“Without doubt,” Mike said. “But I also feel stifled because we don’t have the freedom to disclose anything about our experience of illness and recovery with any of our clients. That’s what peer support workers are for.”
“They’re twice as good as we are at assisting clients through the recovery process for less than half the pay,” said Jake.
"And no benefits,” Amy said. Jake had almost invited Howard the peer support worker to have lunch with them. Now he regretted that he hadn't. The afternoon passed in a quiet unfocussed blur as Jake looked after clients, phone calls and paperwork. He felt as though he were doing everything in his sleep. On the way home with Mike on the bus he learned that they used public transit for rather different reasons. Jake after the divorce sold his suv out of financial necessity, since on his low wages he knew that he would have to sacrifice something in order to not default on child support payments. Mike proudly confessed that he had never learned how to drive. With an automechanic for a father he decided there were already enough polluters on the road. This was when he admitted to never liking his cars or his father.
They never visited each other. Jake was not one to have guests in his apartment. Even the occasional woman he had hooked up with since the divorce had never seen his place. Mike on occasion had appeared on the verge of inviting him to his apartment and Jake felt greatly relieved that he still hadn't worked up the courage and hoped that he never would.
Jake noticed the prostrate autumn crocuses, now dying and bowed down to the cold damp earth. Heidi had told him how similar these are to the flowers from which saffron is obtained, the only difference being that these autumn crocuses were poisonous and eating even one of their stamens could result in death. From his mailbox he pulled a brightly coloured postcard. For the first time in months he felt appalled at the mess in his apartment. He wanted it to be neat and clean for his son's visit and now it looked just like the bedroom of an adolescent boy. He was not going to employ a cleaning service. His paycheck, following the inflated rent, and child support, left him very little discretion money. He also needed the exercise, since he obstinately refused to join a gym. He already swam and jogged twice and three times a week though he supposed he could still improve on his fitness. He hated the near proximity and smell of grunting and sweating strangers and had always felt awkward in public showers. He wasn't particularly modest, and still sometimes bared everything at the famous Wreck Beach. although he found it creepy and sinister standing naked together at close quarters with men he didn't know.
He sometimes wondered if his average physique was Heidi’s real reason for losing interest in the marriage, especially after seeing his rival, a personal trainer with the body and looks of a personal trainer. He still didn’t really know why she wanted to end it, even after they’d been divorced for three years and even after she had several times told him that she was no longer attracted to him, that they were emotionally incompatible. He also felt sure she was lying. They never really fought, not even once. But one day she didn't come home, leaving him with the full care of their infant son. Four days later he got an e-mail from her sister, who instructed him to get a lawyer. Heidi had moved in with her personal trainer.
He washed the breakfast dishes, then wiped down the kitchen, cleaned the bathroom and ran the vacuum cleaner everywhere. There was still that mess of books that never seemed to let up. He couldn’t help it. Not even the Internet could cure Jake of his compulsive book buying. He guessed that of a personal library of some five hundred volumes he had read perhaps fifty. He lay back on his bed and reached for the TV remote. Supper could wait till he actually felt hungry. He watched the news and it was nothing but the usual scary, frightening, horrifying and sad. He turned it off and thought about the leftover Chinese take-out in the fridge. He supposed he could nuke it in the microwave. Jake didn’t mind cooking but his imagination always went suddenly dormant whenever he found himself in the kitchen. He still missed his wife’s cooking. His wife. They had been divorced for three years. He missed Heidi’s excellent cooking. He still missed Heidi.
He returned to the bed with a steaming plate full of rice, chow mien, vegetables and dumplings and remembered the postcard. It featured a bright green and gold rice paddy against a backdrop of blue and purple mountains from anywhere in Southeast Asia. “Hey Jake: Here I am in Cambodia of all places. I just saw the temples at Angkor Wat yesterday. Amazing does not describe them. I only wish you were here to see them for yourself. I’m just winding down six weeks of travel here. I started in Thailand, then I crossed over into Cambodia, Laos, then Vietnam, and now I’m back in Cambodia. I’m back this coming Saturday. Let’s do a meal together sometime soon and I’ll tell you everything. Love, Anne”.
He switched on the TV and channel surfed till he could bear it no longer. He knew he was avoiding the Internet. He did not want to read e-mail, though he didn’t know why. He still didn't have a smart phone. He didn't want one, neither could he afford one. He reached for his laptop, turned it on and waited. Three e-mails: one from his Mom, reminding him of dinner at her place for thanksgiving and asking if he would be bringing her grandson, another from Heidi, reminding him about taking their son for the weekend, and spam advertising the latest penis-enhancer. He picked up the postcard. He met Anne in the college where he had taken the mental health course. She now worked in the same field but elsewhere in the city. They had never been intimate, neither had romance ever been suggested between them. It was rather like his friendship with Mike: often coffee or a beer or the occasional meal together, talking about almost everything and nothing with no real depth and no hidden agendas being suggested and above all no embarrssing self-revelations. He almost wanted to believe that she was a lesbian, or that she was asexual, the thought of which he found formidable. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Heid. But there was nothing there, and she appeared to know it as well as he. His palms had gone suddenly moist and his breathing shallow. They were having dinner together next week.
He slid open the little drawer in his night table where all his post cards and letters inevitably ended up. He still hadn't cleaned out the drawer, not since his marriage ended. He picked up his cell phone. There were no messages. He thought suddenly of calling, or texting Mike, but they’d already seen plenty of each other today. Besides, what would they talk about that wasn’t strictly work related, and this was his time off? Had he been anyone else, Jake would have suggested that what he really needed was a woman. He had lost interest in dating. After burning himself out on two websites and meeting a half dozen candidates, two of which he had more or less successfully bedded, he gave up the chase. He simply still wasn’t ready. Then when would he be ready? He felt suddenly surprised that he had never had this conversation with Mike, whom to his knowledge was single and who gave nothing away about his personal life, given that he even had one. Paul, his only real long-term friend was older, over fifty, and already securely married with college age children. They had been friends since university where Paul registered as a mature student. He was too discreet and mature to offer unasked advice and Jake had never been one to ask anything of anyone. He didn't knowwhy, but had always assumed that no one would know what to tell him, nor that he would even know how or even what to ask. He had not even proposed to his wife. She simply suggested, during a romantic dinner in a French restaurant that maybe they were going to be married one day and Jake didn’t see why not. Whatever he had needed or wanted in life had been what he had stumbled across. What did he want? Go out and get drunk? He didn’t want to come to work with a hangover. What did he want? He looked at the clock as he put away his final mouthfuls of takeout Chinese. It wasn’t seven yet. He might have time to catch a movie? He didn’t feel like it. He was tired. Maybe he should just go around the corner and rent a video? But the video store was closed and the twenty something girl who worked there who always smiled at him so sweetly was forever gone. do. He left his dirty plate on the night table, next to the bed, put on his shoes and threw on a sweater.
Heidi once yelled at him, “You always expect someone else to do all the driving. You never initiate. Anything. This is driving me crazy!” He honestly didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He had packed along a small paperback novel, an Agatha Christie mystery he was about to begin. No one knew about this quaint, utterly unmasculine preference of his in literature. It was like a secret vice, perhaps like enjoying gourmet chocolates but only when wearing women's underwear, or a discreet porn addiction. In the café he occupied the table of his preference, in the back,
a sequestered upholstered nook on a pedestal, where he placed conspicuously his sweater on the seat and his Agatha Christie on the table while ordering his tea and biscotti. They still hadn’t changed the art on the wall, which again was all photographs. They were rather interesting but he preferred paintings. It was one of her earlier mysteries, featuring Hercule Poirot, set in a tropical resort in the early thirties. The music was softer than usual, and as he listened more carefully realized that it was classical, Mozart he thought. It wasn’t crowded for a change. Mike came in still all in black, and straight to his table. “I’ve never seen you in here before”, said Mike. “Busy?”
“Have a seat.”
He placed his latte on the table then put himself behind it.
“Come here a lot?”
“Every other day maybe.”
“Beats Starbucks, anyway.”
"What’re you reading?”
Mike snatched the novel away before Jake could conceal it.
“Agatha Christie! Sweet! I love her work!”
“Tell me you’re being ironic.”
“She is still the master of mystery.”
“Well, mistress.”
“Please don’t quibble. I have almost all her books and some of them I still like to read.”
“You’re going to tell me that I’m not the only male Agatha Christie geek under forty on the planet?”
“Your claim to uniqueness is over, my friend.”
“What claim to uniqueness!” The remark had hurled from his mouth like a badly aimed bullet.
Mike looked at him, slightly slack-jawed.
“Sorry. I guess that sounded harsh.”
“No worries.” He quietly drank his latte for a while then asked, “Have you ever suffered from depression?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Something I’ve wondered about sometimes, that’s all.”
“I’ll think about it.” He shoved the book gently aside. “What have you been up to this evening?”
“I just returned from having dinner with my ex.”
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“We lived together on and off for a few years, then he left me and I had a breakdown over it. That’s what
landed me in hospital five years ago. Mind you, a lot of my behaviour then alienated him anyway. I was in full
denial about my illness. He’s just been amazing for his support and friendship over the last few years. Both he
and his wife.”
“She doesn’t mind—"
“They’re both amazing.” He finished his latte. “You look like you want to read for a while.” He was
getting up to leave.
“It’s just a book.”
“Time with Agatha is sacred,” Mike said, smiling. He suddenly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a
purple, or rather pinkish-mauve piece of paper that he handed to Jake. “If you’re not busy Friday we’re
doing a concert at the church across the street from your building.”
“Concert?”
“Didn’t I tell you about the choir that I direct?” Jake stared stupidly at the piece of paper, coloured
identically to the petals of the autumn crocuses. He recognized the name of the choir, and had read favorable
reviews.
“I didn’t know—“
“I have a lot of secrets,” Mike said, grinning. “Or, I had a lot of secrets. See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, let’s get drunk.”
“Tonight?”
“Soon.”
“Yeah, why not?”
He sat and read he didn’t know how many pages in the back of the café. He wished Mike had stayed, he
wished they could see more of each other, and he wished he'd told him the name of the man he had been lovers
with as well as the name of the woman he married once it was finished between him and Mike. He had so many
questions about this, but such questions as he could not begin to put words to. Jake suppressed as though
chopping off the emerging heads of a Hydra the many questions that would beg to be asked had he allowed them
to take shape or form. He hadn’t bothered to go running today and thought of walking on the beach. It was early,
not eight-thirty.
Jake was the only person on the beach. Like the slow stentorian
heartbeat of the Great Mother the surf pounded the wet sand. In three days he would see his little son,
scarcely four years old. Heidi had
mentioned how fond her new boyfriend was of the boy but Jake already knew this. They had never met but just a
few weeks ago he saw them all, together, inside a local restaurant that he was walking by. They did not see him,
they were seated further back from the window. While pretending to tie his shoe Jake looked up at the chiseled
face of Heidi's personal trainer, and his boy Daniel climbing onto this stranger’s lap, and he had to quell the urge
to run inside and snatch his child away and run outside with him. He quickly walked home, swore loudly at a
driver who nearly ran him over on a right hand turn then nearly ran to his apartment. He searched through the
fridge and cupboards. There was not a drop of alcohol in the place. He did not feel like going back outside to
buy something. He would have to suffer. Jake lay on his bed under the bright ceiling light of his sad little
bachelor apartment, trying not to hyperventilate, trying to breath deeply, slowly and rhythmically. He tried to
imitate the sound of the surf that still played on in his head. But he wanted to do only one thing and with all his
might he resisted, until the dam broke with the first tears’ appearing. Not even able to call or summon his wife’s
name, Jake wept like a girl, like a baby, like a small little boy on top of his lonely narrow bed and paid no heed
to the dirty plate next to him on the night table. When he was finished he got up, left the soiled dinner plate in the
sink and went to bed.
He woke not knowing where he was or the time of day. Brilliant red lines and shapes glared at him in the
dark. Gradually they assumed the form of a number, a colon and two more numbers. The clock radio said 6:30
and he assumed it was morning. He had slept profoundly without dreaming. He lay there in the quiet protective
dark waiting for the weight of sleep to slide off of him. His breathing was deep, steady and assured, like the
heartbeat of the Great Mother. He was suddenly thinking of his little boy, Daniel, and his ready and unfettered
laughter ringing and tinkling in his ears. A delicious warmth began to flood Jake’s being as the joy of soon
seeing his son crowded out every anxious worry and every selfish fret of having to give up his precious alone
time. He only saw Daniel every other week. He wanted it to be more, and Heidi was beginning to see the logic
of this. He had yet to formally meet her personal trainer boyfriend and he was going to be damned if he was
going to permit this chiseled gym-god to steal from him his little son’s affection. He needed a bigger apartment,
he needed a bigger paycheque. His eyes closed momentarily, but he had already slept enough. The new day was
awaiting.
The autumn crocuses save for one had vanished into the earth as though by the insidious magic of nature.
From his pocket he pulled out the flyer for Mike’s choir. They were almost exactly the same colour, the same
shade of pinkish-mauve. There was a subtle difference that he couldn't identify. Perhaps, he thought, a vibrant
vestige of life shining from the dying petals that could not be reproduced in paper, ink or paint. He had time
to walk. He would be early. On his left like a golden sacrificial disk shone the newly risen sun
already warming the chill air. On his right the water of English Bay shone gleaming turquoise. Joy was filling
his mind, his soul and his body. Each step that echoed lightly on the pavement ahead was a tread of joy. In the
rhythm of the dance Jake strode forward tasting already the the gift of the new day, the frustrations and
distractions of his job, his anticipated discomfort with Amy and her confession yesterday, and towards Mike
with whom his friendship had just moved into a new and perhaps alarming realm and depth. The colours of the
day spread out before him summoned to mind the highly coloured postcard he received yesterday from Anne.
In two days she would be back from Southeast Asia. She made his palms sweat but he would see her, they
would dine together in the Thai restaurant around the corner from where he lived. They would meet and have
dinner and over red and yellow curry or Pad Thai they would chat about her trip, her adventures, the
ancient temples she visited, Jake’s work, and his child and many countless things they would speak together of,
such things as but only hinted of their existence.
He looked for the eagle, but she did not appear again. He always thought of eagles as being female. The
message had already been made manifest, and now he must decipher it, now he must decode it even as the
message of the eagle was now deciphering and decoding him. He heard a raven’s sonorous croak and Jake knew
that he was being warned, he knew not of what, but today as he shone like a newly minted coin he knew
he must take heed. So much depended on this today, and he said this aloud “So much depends on this today,” as
he stepped off the bridge and waited before a stream of car traffic for the pedestrian light to change, and to take
his next faltering step in the dance.
landed me in hospital five years ago. Mind you, a lot of my behaviour then alienated him anyway. I was in full
denial about my illness. He’s just been amazing for his support and friendship over the last few years. Both he
and his wife.”
“She doesn’t mind—"
“They’re both amazing.” He finished his latte. “You look like you want to read for a while.” He was
getting up to leave.
“It’s just a book.”
“Time with Agatha is sacred,” Mike said, smiling. He suddenly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a
purple, or rather pinkish-mauve piece of paper that he handed to Jake. “If you’re not busy Friday we’re
doing a concert at the church across the street from your building.”
“Concert?”
“Didn’t I tell you about the choir that I direct?” Jake stared stupidly at the piece of paper, coloured
identically to the petals of the autumn crocuses. He recognized the name of the choir, and had read favorable
reviews.
“I didn’t know—“
“I have a lot of secrets,” Mike said, grinning. “Or, I had a lot of secrets. See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, let’s get drunk.”
“Tonight?”
“Soon.”
“Yeah, why not?”
He sat and read he didn’t know how many pages in the back of the café. He wished Mike had stayed, he
wished they could see more of each other, and he wished he'd told him the name of the man he had been lovers
with as well as the name of the woman he married once it was finished between him and Mike. He had so many
questions about this, but such questions as he could not begin to put words to. Jake suppressed as though
chopping off the emerging heads of a Hydra the many questions that would beg to be asked had he allowed them
to take shape or form. He hadn’t bothered to go running today and thought of walking on the beach. It was early,
not eight-thirty.
Jake was the only person on the beach. Like the slow stentorian
heartbeat of the Great Mother the surf pounded the wet sand. In three days he would see his little son,
scarcely four years old. Heidi had
mentioned how fond her new boyfriend was of the boy but Jake already knew this. They had never met but just a
few weeks ago he saw them all, together, inside a local restaurant that he was walking by. They did not see him,
they were seated further back from the window. While pretending to tie his shoe Jake looked up at the chiseled
face of Heidi's personal trainer, and his boy Daniel climbing onto this stranger’s lap, and he had to quell the urge
to run inside and snatch his child away and run outside with him. He quickly walked home, swore loudly at a
driver who nearly ran him over on a right hand turn then nearly ran to his apartment. He searched through the
fridge and cupboards. There was not a drop of alcohol in the place. He did not feel like going back outside to
buy something. He would have to suffer. Jake lay on his bed under the bright ceiling light of his sad little
bachelor apartment, trying not to hyperventilate, trying to breath deeply, slowly and rhythmically. He tried to
imitate the sound of the surf that still played on in his head. But he wanted to do only one thing and with all his
might he resisted, until the dam broke with the first tears’ appearing. Not even able to call or summon his wife’s
name, Jake wept like a girl, like a baby, like a small little boy on top of his lonely narrow bed and paid no heed
to the dirty plate next to him on the night table. When he was finished he got up, left the soiled dinner plate in the
sink and went to bed.
He woke not knowing where he was or the time of day. Brilliant red lines and shapes glared at him in the
dark. Gradually they assumed the form of a number, a colon and two more numbers. The clock radio said 6:30
and he assumed it was morning. He had slept profoundly without dreaming. He lay there in the quiet protective
dark waiting for the weight of sleep to slide off of him. His breathing was deep, steady and assured, like the
heartbeat of the Great Mother. He was suddenly thinking of his little boy, Daniel, and his ready and unfettered
laughter ringing and tinkling in his ears. A delicious warmth began to flood Jake’s being as the joy of soon
seeing his son crowded out every anxious worry and every selfish fret of having to give up his precious alone
time. He only saw Daniel every other week. He wanted it to be more, and Heidi was beginning to see the logic
of this. He had yet to formally meet her personal trainer boyfriend and he was going to be damned if he was
going to permit this chiseled gym-god to steal from him his little son’s affection. He needed a bigger apartment,
he needed a bigger paycheque. His eyes closed momentarily, but he had already slept enough. The new day was
awaiting.
The autumn crocuses save for one had vanished into the earth as though by the insidious magic of nature.
From his pocket he pulled out the flyer for Mike’s choir. They were almost exactly the same colour, the same
shade of pinkish-mauve. There was a subtle difference that he couldn't identify. Perhaps, he thought, a vibrant
vestige of life shining from the dying petals that could not be reproduced in paper, ink or paint. He had time
to walk. He would be early. On his left like a golden sacrificial disk shone the newly risen sun
already warming the chill air. On his right the water of English Bay shone gleaming turquoise. Joy was filling
his mind, his soul and his body. Each step that echoed lightly on the pavement ahead was a tread of joy. In the
rhythm of the dance Jake strode forward tasting already the the gift of the new day, the frustrations and
distractions of his job, his anticipated discomfort with Amy and her confession yesterday, and towards Mike
with whom his friendship had just moved into a new and perhaps alarming realm and depth. The colours of the
day spread out before him summoned to mind the highly coloured postcard he received yesterday from Anne.
In two days she would be back from Southeast Asia. She made his palms sweat but he would see her, they
would dine together in the Thai restaurant around the corner from where he lived. They would meet and have
dinner and over red and yellow curry or Pad Thai they would chat about her trip, her adventures, the
ancient temples she visited, Jake’s work, and his child and many countless things they would speak together of,
such things as but only hinted of their existence.
He looked for the eagle, but she did not appear again. He always thought of eagles as being female. The
message had already been made manifest, and now he must decipher it, now he must decode it even as the
message of the eagle was now deciphering and decoding him. He heard a raven’s sonorous croak and Jake knew
that he was being warned, he knew not of what, but today as he shone like a newly minted coin he knew
he must take heed. So much depended on this today, and he said this aloud “So much depends on this today,” as
he stepped off the bridge and waited before a stream of car traffic for the pedestrian light to change, and to take
his next faltering step in the dance.
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