We headed downtown, walking in a field of what seemed to be wheat, and springy flowers to get to the subway. Took us around ten to twelve stops to get into the city because we were staying in Vaughan; the typical small town with not much to do. My heart racing, as we got off the subway, frantic to see all the overpowering skyscrapers. I even got to see and snap a quick photo of the CN Tower from a busy crossroad at sunset, the sky all hues of pinks and yellows and oranges. All we did that windswept evening was go to a bookstore—Indigo. It is one of the most heavenly bookstores I have ever set foot in; next to Waterstones in Trafalgar Square. After spending one full hour in Indigo we all collectively decided we were exhausted, took the twelve steps back to Vaughan, got in a cab and drove home. Ate a massive beef burger, went upstairs to the room, slept. Next morning was Niagara Falls. I was absolutely, without a doubt, enthralled. Took a two-hour drive for us to get to the town of Niagara. A town with an abundance of sweet candy shops, with “shops” spelled “shoppes,” people milling about, walking in the astounding weather: open blue sky, as blue as the sea, with the tangerine-colored leaves adding a beacon of brightness and tranquility. Checked into the hotel, hated the basement rooms (I, personally, didn’t mind it, and neither did anyone else, if I’m quite honest, but Judy was quite disgusted), switched to the third floor, dropped off our luggage and walked? Or took the car, I can’t remember—to Niagara. It was breathtaking. The way the water iridescently cascaded down a luminous wash of blue, with currents that were white slivers, like cracks in a pavement. The mist overhead washed over everyone on the bridge, and the cold slipped into and through my body like an eel gliding through the deep sea. We saw a rainbow. At first, very timid, then suddenly, all seven colors painted the sky. We were walking along the bridge some more, when a dull ache, the left side of my head, then my eye, now a throb, then like the banging of a gong. Bang. Bang. Over and over and over. I brushed it aside, as we walked into a maple syrup shop. Looking at the copious amounts of different maple syrup, I noticed maple syrup lollipops, in glass bottles, travel-sized bottles. That’s when the tears came. Tears of guilt, tears of pain, tears of absolute fucking outrage. Why now? Out of all the days…why now? I’m sobbing. In a bloody maple syrup shop. Mom and I scrounged for a cab. Ordered one. Got in, wanting to vomit all over the thin rubber floor. Walked into the hotel, and at this point, grateful to have our room on the third floor. I was vigorously ripping off all my four layers of clothing, stripped down to nothing but my oversized Sex Pistols shirt and black underwear. I slowly descended into the bed; sinking, heavy breathing until sleep consumed me. Five hours pass. My mom wakes me up carefully and gently with her soft and soothing voice, tells me I need to eat. This takes some convincing, but I get up, excruciatingly cautious not to agitate my head, expecting to eat some searing Korean barbecue across the street, but instead eat thick, greasy Papa John’s. The walk there is pleasantly cold. I dig my hands into my pockets and walked synchronized with my mother. She’s freezing, her teeth chattering. We eat breadsticks the size of three fingers. The grease and tomato and cheese seem to put me at ease, but the bright white lives above me hurt my eyes. I stick it out for a while, learning these obnoxious—seemingly college students, but I can’t be sure—yell obscenities at one another, beers in hand, daring each other to do incredulous things. I clench my fingers into my palm and tighten my jaw, holding my tongue, not wanting to say something that I might regret. My mom senses my obvious irritation and puts her hand on my back, somewhat stabilizing me. The lights and noise become overwhelming, so we leave. Back in the hotel room, the bed is my comfort, warmth, home. The soft, crisp clean sheets summon me to them as I fall and fall into a death-like sleep, dreaming of cannabis-smoking tulips.
