August 29, 2005

Whenever I worry about something, I run away. On Friday, Waterloo made me feel wary and old, so I bought a Greyhound ticket, and smiled violently all the way to Toronto. There, I not only found out all that I ever needed to know about kitties, but I also found old friends in Mississauga, dinosaur bones at the ROM, sangria in red rooms, couches … beds … nakedness …

Craig and Josalyn met me on the front steps of the ROM late in the afternoon. I was feeling a bit dreamy after my escape from Waterloo, so they cheered me up by grabbing marble asses and poking holes in medieval armours. They even took me home with them to see their apartment overlooking the city. The night was foggy and the city lights were suspended in darkness.

Evening passed and morning came, and Craig made pancakes in a pair of white trousers. He reminded me of some kind of marble god serving food. We ate and were happy and spent hours reading on concrete balconies. When we grew hungry again, we drove down to a Chinese mini-mall to watch food float languidly in large aquariums. Even bones can float.

The only things that weren’t floating were the geoducks.

“The geoduck looks nothing like a duck but it has a 10 foot penis,” Craig said. “Lucky,” I said. Its penis doesn’t allow it to float much. We spent the rest of the day searching for nourishment, movies, wine, and places to dance.

And we woke up Sunday morning with headaches and went to eat greasy breakfasts amongst Italian families. I said goodbye to Craig and Josalyn at the subway station, my pockets full of apples, and made my way to the Central Island ferry. I wanted to run naked on an island. And there’s probably no better place to do so than Hanlan’s Point, which during the day is a fantastic wilderness of flesh.

The last time I went to Hanlan’s Point it was June and the water was still freezing. My sweet friend basked in the sun with me on the empty beach, and her nude body was so beautiful it made me blush. But now, in the heat of summer the clothing optional area of Hanlan’s Point is crowded by naked flesh — 90% of which is attached to a penis and a saggy, bloated belly.

But I don’t blame the old people from coming on the island to wave their testicles in the wind — the feeling is liberating and the sun and the wind that rubs itself against your skin feels sublime.

I left the island late in the evening feeling alive, with memories of the sun imprinted on my flesh. And after such marvellous time, I was even happy to return to Waterloo in the night, my brain cleansed of bullshit.