mornings of milky coffee, newspapers near the sunny window, four open books, paper snow-flakes. making plans, wanting to keep them. prairie phone-calls and avocado on toast.
afternoons of glass and wood, hands in pockets, sweet potato fries, snowstorms. walking through kensington with a tourist and her backpack, the snow like cake batter beneath our feet, forming ridges & folds. the art gallery, talking about it. we are the trans-atlantic types.
evenings at the movie-theatre, ginger tea, stealing things. understanding and discussing the mutual fear of being misunderstood. downtown drives to nowhere, christmas lights on yonge street, coffee on bloor. the collective astonishment of snow.
at last night's family dinner i was watching who framed roger rabbit with the kids. max, eleven, wanted to skip the part where you hear jessica rabbit 'play patty-cake' with mister acme.
- it's weird, he said.
- weird how? i asked.
- i don't know, just...weird.
andrew, seven, piped in.
- but it's just patty-cake, max!
- yeah, but it just sounds....weird.
adolescent understandings of sexuality are formed.
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