weeks.
Winter 2010
I t is the same dream as it’s always been. I am a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, and this older gentleman, wearing a black suit and a black hat, comes up to me. He offers his hand to shake and removes his hat. In his hat is a bunch of lollipops, the kind our grandmother used to buy for us as children—the ones you used to get near the grocery counter wrapped in cellophane. He smiles at me and when he does, I see his teeth are rotten. I don’t know him, but he has a familiarity about him that I cannot quite put my finger on. Although I can’t see my mother, I can hear her voice warning against taking candy from a stranger. I feel uneasy and it’s usually at this time that I wake up.
I never really paid much attention to dreams, never thought that they held any meaning, but the reason I find this one noteworthy is that it recurs. I have never had, or remember having, a recurring dream before. It seems familiar.
I had better get up and begin my day. I was hoping to jog this morning before work, but judging by the weather, it appears as though that will have to wait. It’s freezing rain outside and not the best condition for running.
I get ready for work and I’m out the door before eight o’clock, ensuring that I will have enough time to get my coffee. As I am leaving my apartment, I see an elderly gentleman in the hallway looking for his keys. I have never seen him before; he must have recently moved in. He appears to be a little frazzled, so I decide to intervene.
“Can I help you with something?”
“I can’t find my keys. I had them when I left. I don’t know—I can’t remember where I put them,” he says.
“I can get Louis, the landlord. He’s got extra keys for all of the apartments. I won’t be a minute,” I reassure him and run downstairs.
Within a few minutes I am back with Louis.
“Mr. Clary, have you misplaced your key again?” Louis asks harmlessly enough.
“I don’t know why this keeps happening. It’s a terrible thing, getting old. I used to have the best memory, and now I can’t remember what I ate for dinner last night!” Although he jokes, his frustration is apparent.
Louis unlocks his door and leaves. Mr. Clary turns to me and asks me to come in for a coffee. As much as I’d rather go to my coffee shop, I don’t have the heart to say no. I go in and see that his apartment is exactly the same layout as mine. It’s small and has several pieces of furniture that do not seem to belong together. He’s got numerous pictures on the wall that I glance at while he fixes our coffees. Based on the pictures, it appears as though he has four children and a wife. I don’t ask him about them, not wanting to pry.
I sit on the couch and we talk about our apartment, the weather and our neighbours. He tells me that his wife recently died and his son moved him up to Ottawa, so he could be near him. As he speaks, I realize that he is not completely pleased with that decision.
“Do you like being in Ottawa?”
“I like the city but it’s not my home; Toronto is my home. How about you? The way you talk about theapartment and the city gives me the sense that you don’t consider Ottawa your home either.”
I am surprised by his interpretation. “I grew up in Lindsay, a small town about an hour and a half from Toronto. I enjoyed it there, but I have to say that I prefer being in the city.”
“Maybe I was wrong. It’s just that you seem to have a sadness in you,” he says. I am taken aback and not really sure how to respond.
“No, I’m fine. I like being here in Ottawa. It’s a great city. I should run, though; I don’t want to be late for work.” I thank him for the coffee and head off to work. I am not one to allow a stranger into my life—not even one as sweet and alone as Mr. Clary.
As usual, I am first to arrive at the office, followed by Deb, and then Dr. Roerke. Cindy is the last to come in, and I sense that the mood is tense between her and Dr.
Winter 2010
I t is the same dream as it’s always been. I am a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, and this older gentleman, wearing a black suit and a black hat, comes up to me. He offers his hand to shake and removes his hat. In his hat is a bunch of lollipops, the kind our grandmother used to buy for us as children—the ones you used to get near the grocery counter wrapped in cellophane. He smiles at me and when he does, I see his teeth are rotten. I don’t know him, but he has a familiarity about him that I cannot quite put my finger on. Although I can’t see my mother, I can hear her voice warning against taking candy from a stranger. I feel uneasy and it’s usually at this time that I wake up.
I never really paid much attention to dreams, never thought that they held any meaning, but the reason I find this one noteworthy is that it recurs. I have never had, or remember having, a recurring dream before. It seems familiar.
I had better get up and begin my day. I was hoping to jog this morning before work, but judging by the weather, it appears as though that will have to wait. It’s freezing rain outside and not the best condition for running.
I get ready for work and I’m out the door before eight o’clock, ensuring that I will have enough time to get my coffee. As I am leaving my apartment, I see an elderly gentleman in the hallway looking for his keys. I have never seen him before; he must have recently moved in. He appears to be a little frazzled, so I decide to intervene.
“Can I help you with something?”
“I can’t find my keys. I had them when I left. I don’t know—I can’t remember where I put them,” he says.
“I can get Louis, the landlord. He’s got extra keys for all of the apartments. I won’t be a minute,” I reassure him and run downstairs.
Within a few minutes I am back with Louis.
“Mr. Clary, have you misplaced your key again?” Louis asks harmlessly enough.
“I don’t know why this keeps happening. It’s a terrible thing, getting old. I used to have the best memory, and now I can’t remember what I ate for dinner last night!” Although he jokes, his frustration is apparent.
Louis unlocks his door and leaves. Mr. Clary turns to me and asks me to come in for a coffee. As much as I’d rather go to my coffee shop, I don’t have the heart to say no. I go in and see that his apartment is exactly the same layout as mine. It’s small and has several pieces of furniture that do not seem to belong together. He’s got numerous pictures on the wall that I glance at while he fixes our coffees. Based on the pictures, it appears as though he has four children and a wife. I don’t ask him about them, not wanting to pry.
I sit on the couch and we talk about our apartment, the weather and our neighbours. He tells me that his wife recently died and his son moved him up to Ottawa, so he could be near him. As he speaks, I realize that he is not completely pleased with that decision.
“Do you like being in Ottawa?”
“I like the city but it’s not my home; Toronto is my home. How about you? The way you talk about theapartment and the city gives me the sense that you don’t consider Ottawa your home either.”
I am surprised by his interpretation. “I grew up in Lindsay, a small town about an hour and a half from Toronto. I enjoyed it there, but I have to say that I prefer being in the city.”
“Maybe I was wrong. It’s just that you seem to have a sadness in you,” he says. I am taken aback and not really sure how to respond.
“No, I’m fine. I like being here in Ottawa. It’s a great city. I should run, though; I don’t want to be late for work.” I thank him for the coffee and head off to work. I am not one to allow a stranger into my life—not even one as sweet and alone as Mr. Clary.
As usual, I am first to arrive at the office, followed by Deb, and then Dr. Roerke. Cindy is the last to come in, and I sense that the mood is tense between her and Dr.
Similar Books
