(no subject)
1969
Polly
It was 1969. I had moved from a small town of lobsters and general stores to the city, with its noisy, rushing traffic that felt like music, its corner cafés with live music and used coffee cups lining the windows, and soft couches with pillows that smelled of cinnamon. The big city had theatre with red crushed velvet curtains and long golden ropes, and the theatre in the park with masquerade masks and top hats filled with quarters at the entrance.
I didn’t expect this from Halifax. I expected it to be like my hometown, but bigger and with fancier lobsters. But it was a fast city, it buzzed and it beeped and I learned to keep change in my pockets for those people who felt free to share their music with anyone who happened to walk by. Those people gave a gift of music to the people who were too busy to keep it with them. It was a beautiful city, and I could almost feel myself being spun and whirled from Courage to Halifax. I was Dorothy going from Kansas to Over - the - Rainbow. It was terrifying. I wanted my ruby slippers. I wanted to enjoy it, I did. I wanted to eat it up like Velma and Gina did, tearing through it and soaking it up like devouring a juicy watermelon on a hot day. That’s what the city was to them. But for me, it was all a Halloween night. In Courage, there were no people on the streets, with cardboard as a blanket and their hair as a pillow that was rough and hard and mocked them when they rested in the rain. If they did find a place to squat for shelter, it would be chained up the next day. In Courage you didn’t have to think about these people, because there were none. Everyone in Courage knew each other, everyone had lots of family and friends and when you walked down the street you waved. You waved to everyone and there was no reason not to. In Halifax I felt like the crazy townie from Courage. It felt like it was painfully obvious.
I came to Halifax not for the city but for the university. I saw a picture of it once it felt like the ivy that clutched onto the red bricks of the building was spelling out my name. But even when I got there, I didn’t feel like I fit in. I didn’t fit in university, Halifax or 1969. Velma was taking theatre and drama, Gina was taking art and art history, and I was taking business. At the end of classes Velma and Gina would sit on the lawn outside of the university, shaded under a wisdom - filled tree with a group of students to sing and study and neck along with the music. They always invited me to come under the tree, and I always wanted to, but I never let myself. I always knew I would just end up making a fool of myself somehow, sitting there trying not to be noticed because I couldn’t join in and at the same time hoping someone would swoop down and rescue me and make me a part of the group and fix everything, give me that special quality and charm everyone had that I seemed to be lacking. For now I just watched them like a movie. I would rather not be as happy as them alone. So everyday between classes I would turn down their invitation, then ride my bright red bike to The Corner Café.
The Corner Café was my favorite, with its slanted red roof and the door that looked like the one into our house in Courage, with the circular top made out of narrow strips of redwood and on the door, a black knob with dozens of different finger prints that each held a different story.
I had a big red chair in the back corner of the café, that had a small window lined with seashells that looked out into the outside of a train station. The train station was off in the distance, but I could still see the people saying their goodbyes, and I could still see the look of hope in the faces of the people taking the train to a new life and a new beginning. In my big red chair in the corner I would sit with a cup of black coffee and watch people. I didn’t feel out of place when I was watching people, because I was a part of every person who walked in the Courage door.
I was a part of the old couple in matching purple track suits, who came to the café everyday after their run sat at a table for two that was under a picture of a young couple in the roaring sinful 20’s, the woman with a flapper dress and beads and the piano player man in a black fedora and a polka dot tie. The couple in the picture and the couple in the tracksuits had the same laughing eyes, the same grins, the same table and the same names. The swinging track suit couple still fed each other strawberries after they had a naughty afternoon run.
I was a part of the young teenager with messy braids that roller skated into the café every Thursday, and every Thursday she didn’t stop rolling in time and knocked into the counter. Then she would buy a samosa and a marshmallow sticky square and lick it off her fingers as she rolled out.
I was a part of the two girls, one with red hair and one with blue, who would order a buttertart. Then the redhead would eat all the nuts off the top and they would sit down and split the rest, giggling about theatre and love and everything that made their heads spin.
I was a part of the group of hippie hipsters who got people in the café to listen to their stories about Woodstock.
I was a part of the lawyer who brought his love child to the café every Wednesday for bean soup and sangria.
I was a part of the three year old triplets whose mother makes them all dress up like a wholesome Betty Boop.
I was a part of the teenage veagan who worked in a deli and came to the café every night to soak up the vegetarian food on display.
I was a part of the two men in turtlenecks who came for chai tea and who came because it was a safe place to hold hands.
I sat in my big red chair and greeted these friends by sipping my coffee and adding them to the cast of characters in my head. I was secretly the queen of the corner café. I sat on my red throne and watched all my subjects. We were all royalty. The Queen sat in her red throne and jammed along with Bob Dylan who was on the three radios that were tied to the pillars inside the café.
There was one day when the queen’s insides started to dance ballet. It was when a Latte king came in with a crown of black curls and sat on a green throne. The queen decided she had found her king. The queen decided at that moment that the king and queen would sit in their thrones and eat scones and watch people and make lovey eyes at each other and hold hands. They would be the track suit jazzy couple.
We were going to reign.
Velma
I finally felt like I belonged. In Courage I had felt like a flamingo in a town full of pidegons. The flamingo had the long neck and could see past the suffocating town to big cities and exotic countries. I saw them all like the ball pits I played in when I was seven, just settled, waiting for me to jump in and make all the colors mix and bounce. Now I was finally jumping in.
Halifax was an amazing change. It was a city with flamingos, pidegons, doves, swans, robins, hummingbirds, butterflies, pixies, ladybugs, everything. I came and found the place where I could raise a flag made of peace signs stitched together with new ideas and love. I found people to protest and perform with. I had always been a star, and now I was shining.
Gina and I were watching Laugh - In on pink beanbag chairs. She was my Laugh - In lover. We used to sit on benches wherever we went and pretend to be the old woman with the smack-happy purse and the date seeking man. We bought Funk and Wagnall’s dictionary just because Goldie Hawn said it was her best friend. But we also saw the colors and the laughter on the show and I knew that’s what my insides are like. My heart is painted with those trippy colors and my brain is those fast paced jokes that socked it to me.
Gina had made her famous smoothies. The secret ingredients were magic and vanilla yogurt. They were like honey - banana - melon - sugar - milky dew - chocolate - raspberry - love drinks. They were only allowed to be drunk with brightly colored crazy straws.
During that giddy beanie crazy straw time, Polly came bursting into the apartment, doing clumsy caffeinated pirouettes and running her hands through her curls.
"I’m in love!" she sang as she spun. "This is me in love! Love love love!"
She spun over to me, grabbing a crazy straw from the coffee bean covered kitchen counter. She dropped it in my drink and started drinking, still with that giddy twinkle in her eye. Gina and I just sat and watched her for a few seconds. She didn’t do this often. She often came in singing, but never in love. And never being so happy.
Gina finally broke down the web of silence in the room. We had to remember we weren’t watching a dream, we were living one. "What happened?"
"Well Gina." She said, twisting her face into as serious an expression as she could. "If you haven’t heard, I’m in love."
"Actually," Gina said, pressing her forehead against Polly’s and grinning. "I did hear that. And who is this king of hearts?"
Polly lept up to the ground and did more pirrouettes. "Exactly! He is The King of Hearts! And I am The Queen of Diamonds! We’re going to eat strawberries and wear track suits! We’re going to get ice cream and walk down a cobblestone street whispering rhymes! We’re going to live in a tiny house and make gingerbread men!" Polly suddenly sat down and thought about this for a minute. She smiled, frowned, pondered and suddenly ran into her room, skipping and giggling.
Polly and her beautiful sister Velma walked down a busy Halifax street, hiding behind big movie star sunglasses and licking heart shaped lollipops. Polly wore thin red cat’s eye glasses, with little diamonds in the corners. Her lollipop was pink and she was slowly licking it, letting every lick melt on her tounge. Velma’s lollipop was rainbow colors and she began by biting off the corners, then chewing them in her mouth and letting them turn her tongue into a rainbow. Her sunglasses were large and black and stunning and mysterious, and kind of funny.
Polly had worked out what time the king ususally came to his castle, and she pulled Velma along with her, giving Velma a face to go along with the endless hours of made up songs and sonnets that would come bursting out of Polly through out the day. Polly grabbed Velma’s hand and rushed her over to her chair where Velma sat on the window cill, her chin in her hands, both sisters thankful that they could stare because they brought their sunglasses.
"Where is he?" Velma asked, peeking over her glasses.
"Ssh!" Polly scolded. "Don’t say ‘he’. It’s suspicious. Just say ‘the king’."
There was tapping behind Velma at the window, which made her jump up and look out. Kneeling on the ground behind the café was Gina in heart shaped, pink tinted sunglasses and red pigtails. She waved. Two surprised looking faces were looking back at each other in her lenses’ reflections.
Gina put her hands up and mouthed ‘where is he’? And Velma shrugged and turned back around.
"Sweets… I don’t think he’s coming. At least it has nothing to do with you. Maybe he decided to do something first. You should be glad your dream boy isn’t OCD."
Polly glared at her sister and took the coffee that had already been prepared for her as soon as they saw her walk in. She was dissapointed in her king’s timing. She opened her coffee and pushed the door open, growling at the dinging bells hooked onto the door.
If this was a fairy tale romantic sitcom movie, she thought, we would bump into eachother in the doorway. I would spill my coffee on him and the rest would be pulsing history.
Just then, like in a fairy tale romantic sitcom movie, they bumped into each other in the doorway.