Identical brick houses flank the gridded metropolitan streets of Southern Ontario. The horizon is confined to a few blocks. After living in Hamilton for five months, I (Nick) felt an inkling of suffocation, so I booked a plane ticket home to Newfoundland on a whim, and took a deep breath… is salt-spray in the air?
Friday, 16 February, 2018
My dorso-ventral girth is doubled with the addition of my hiking pack, and its brain rises a full six inches above my own. Crouching like a spelunker, I attempt the low-ceilinged staircase and manage to ascend eight steps before my ski bag rams the door at the top. I curse. Letting go of the carrying straps, I pinch the far end of the bag and advance to the top step. Reaching up, I twist the knob, flooding the passageway with light. Through eight or nine convoluted maneuvers, I finally make my escape from the basement.
Three flights and thirteen hours later, my beaming parents collect me from the bottom of the ‘Arrivals’ escalator in YYT. Dad’s jocular efforts to heft my baggage from the conveyor metastasize into a comedy of errors, drawing chuckles from onlookers. A warm welcome indeed.
We are Daniel, David, Nick & Erik.
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