Herewith, the latest selection from dusted-off published poetry and short fiction, circa 1970s vintage and beyond....
Life's A Ball
They got a good laugh out of that. How they came from small towns right next to each other; him from Elora, her from Fergus - and they had to move to Toronto before they met. At the Brown Derby one night, with their friends. That is, he was with his friends and she had gone there with hers.
After that night they just happened to gravitate toward each other; they used to meet at the tavern regularly. For a while they dated, then they stopped seeing one another. It seemed to him later, thinking about it, that he just suddenly realized he wanted to be with her, to have her around all the time. Naturally, they married.
"I don't know, I'm not too sure I want to live in Toronto for the rest of my life", she said thoughtfully.
"Aw, come on honey! This is where the action is! You know it as well as I do. Neither of us are small-town types."
"Well, that's true, but there's something about this place..."
He grinned, made a grab for her and lifting her, whirled her around in an excess of exuberance. "Honey!" he shouted, "life's a ball!"
When he finally stopped whirling her, she clutched his curly head between her arms, hugging him. He rubbed his face between her breasts, then his hands began searching.
One thing she was willing to admit to herself, it wasn't where they lived that made life a ball. For her, it was because she had him. So Toronto it was. But because he wanted to please her, they often drove back 'home' in the Volksvan to keep in touch with family.
When they decided to buy a house because Dora didn't like living in an apartment, they found they couldn't afford anything right in Toronto. They began looking around and finally came across a subdivision going up in Richmond Hill. He thought it was a little too far but she liked the house and the area.
"Freddie, it's just up Yonge Street, that's all. It won't take us any time at all to get back into the city. P-l-eese!"
So the deal went through and they made arrangements with some of his friends to move their furniture into the new house. Moving day turned into an all-day party with Dora cooking up a vat of chili and everyone washing it down with plenty of cold beer. No one got to bed before four that morning. Fred felt pretty pleased with himself.
He continued to commute into the city to his job as a type-setter, and Dora managed to get herself transferred from the downtown branch of the Toronto-Dominion, to the Richmond Hill branch. Only temporary, her job. They talked about starting a family, had agreed she'd only work long enough to pay off the second mortgage.
Construction continued all about the street their house was on; new streets were just being plowed behind them to take more houses and a shopping plaza just two blocks away was being worked on. The roads were still unpaved.
One day when Fred was coming home from work he suddenly was struck by the thought that every other house on that street was a semi-detached red brick bungalow; the other model was a two-story grey brick. He grimaced to himself, recalling the solid grey granite quarried from the Elora area, the distinctive and substantial houses that were built in the area, of the native stone.
"At least", he kidded Dora, "the wood trim is a different colour on each of these. Still, it's a good thing we're a corner house or I might just stumble into the wrong one some dark night."
A week after they'd moved into the house there was a big advertising campaign got underway by the builder. He brought in searchlights, sound trucks moved through the town and surrounding area, a local radio station advertised 'Come and see a house being built from cellar to roof in just, yes folks, just twenty-four hours!" It being Saturday, they did just that and so did a myriad of other people. They watched as, on into the failing brightness of the escaping day, hammers pounded furiously to get the last of the shingles on the roof, carpenters continually tripped over each other laying the last of the mouldings inside, and the painters finished the trim with a flourish to the sound of people cheering, and even booing.
Fred had his doubts about the soundness of a house built in a day, but house sales soared and families began to fill in the empty spaces. Work started on a school right across the road from their house. Being away at work all day, the noise didn't bother them; in fact, they delighted in the changes taking place each day.
They planted trees and shrubs and seeded the back yard, then stood across the street to get a better view of the total effect. Fred began decorating the kitchen with bright wallpaper and Dora at last knew what it felt like to be house-proud. They became acquainted with their near neighbours; everyone seemed anxious to make a good impression.
As a surprise for Dora, Fred brought home a black cocker-spaniel pup. (Actually, he thought no household was complete without a family pet.) At first the dog padded around the kitchen after her and she was delighted with its cuddly appeal, its quick understanding of the purpose of the newspapers laid down on the kitchen floor.
That night they put it in a cardboard box lined with old clothes. It whimpered. "I heard somewhere a clock will do the trick", she suggested. It didn't. Finally, Fred ended up placing the box beside the bed and he dangled his arm as far as he could reach into the box so the puppy could snuggle in his warmth. After that little episode, the dog seemed to transfer its allegiance, trotting devotedly after him instead of Dora.
Watching the progress of building around them, seeing all that material lying around as though no one owned it, gave Fred and a few of the neighbours some interesting ideas. All that building going on made the men restless - it'd be a good idea to get going themselves - they could use some material to start finishing their recreation rooms. "Christ!" Jack said, "we paid enough for these dumps!" No night watchman, the builder was a cheap bugger - his lookout.
They began going out in groups of three. Two to carry the loads, one to watch. It was amazing how quickly the piles grew in their basements. No one bothered them, but they were careful not to be sloppy.
The town had a very small police force. Just a handful of constables for the whole area. The one police car was a light green Plymouth, almost the same as their next-door neighbour's. "Aw, c'mon George", Fred said. "We'll just have a little fun. Look, if you don't want to, I'll drive, okay?"
Just about everyone did the same thing; loaded up with building materials. All you had to do was look out at night; you'd see vague shadows hurrying all over the place, hefting supplies. Even bricks, pulled in kids' wagons.
So four of them prowled down the street slowly, headlights off. Fred was driving. They turned and went up the next street then shut off the ignition and waited. Half an hour later, two men struggling under a long load. The first guy looked up and down the street, cautiously stepped onto the road.
"How stupid can you get! They didn't even bother with a lookout. See - what we're doing is teaching them a valuable lesson", Fred explained to George reassuringly.
"Okay, now!" Jack called, and Fred turned on the ignition, the lights, and drove up the street, the other three leaning out the window simulating the police car's siren.
The lumber crashed to the ground and the men panicked in opposite directions like bats out of hell. They stopped the car and laughed helplessly, then backed up, leaving the lumber where it lay, across the centre of the road.
It wasn't long before they expanded their circle of friends to include the people who lived on the street behind them, including the men they'd played the practical joke on, but by then no one minded. Everyone would take turns hosting the others. There was the occasional neighbour who complained about all the noisy parties, but what the hell!
Fred started night school at Algonquin College. He grasped mechanical and electrical concepts easily and soon began to repair television sets. He advertised home T.V. repairs in the local paper and the plaza's bulletin board. Before long, he had more extra work than he could carry. But he did the repairs because he enjoyed it, not really for the money; sometimes he only charged for the parts.
He installed a ladder-type aerial behind the house, one of the first in the area. Of course people began to call him to do the same for them. Business was really good; he began to nurse the germ of an ambition to open a full-time T.V. repair shop in Richmond Hill.
The cocker spaniel, Lucky, was full grown now, a pampered and integral part of the family. After some initial doubts, the dog learned to climb the aerial to the roof. Trouble was, the little beggar wouldn't come back down by himself; Fred had to go after him. Lucky was rewarded for his showmanship with potato chips dunked in beer, and he loved the treat.
After Dora's father died, her mother came to live with them. Everyone got along well together; Fred and his mother-in-law had a grudging respect for one another. And the family acquired a reputation of open-handed generosity; their house was always open to their friends. At Hallowe'en the neighbourhood kids knew where to go for home-made candy apples. Their house was the most lavishly decorated at Christmas time. They threw the most gala New Year parties and everyone was glad for an invitation.
During the fall of their third year in the house, Fred began tentative negotiations for a lease of a building on north Yonge Street. He would surprise Dora. Tell her he'd been fired, put a glum face on it.
She had her own surprise for him, was going to tell him the coming week, when she knew for certain. And
shecertainly would be quitting her job. "About time too", her mother grumbled.
There was going to be a surprise party, planned for Friday night, their fifth wedding anniversary. Everyone, just everyone was invited. She'd bought a bright red dress; a little flamboyant perhaps, but bright colours suited her. It was figure-moulding, but it would be the last time Freddie would be able to see her look sexy for a while, until her figure got back to normal.
They'd been cooking and baking for weeks ahead, her and her mother; freezing and storing food for the party. Once more she got out the new watch she'd bought for him, checked again to be sure the engraving had the right date. She worried about him getting home too early, spoiling the surprise,but Brian and Joe had promised to keep him busy.
Even Lucky was dressed for the occasion, a red bow on his shaggy head. "the poor mite", her mother said, watching him trying to rub it off. "Take the thing off him!"
"Nope", Dora said, giggling. "He looks cute."
At the bar, Fred showed Brian and Joe the legal papers, just signed, for his new business. At first they bought the drinks, then they had a tough time encouraging him to leave. He wasn't supposed to know, of course, so they followed his van, at a distance, up Yonge Street.
He made the right-hand turn at the top of Yonge Street, thought how Dora'd love the bracelet. He pulled the blue Birks box out of the glove compartment, fumbled to get it open. Busy admiring the gold filigree work, he didn't bother with the crossing. It was cool, the van's windows were up. Brian and Joe, their car now following behind, desperately trying to bridge the gap between them, leaning on the horn....
There was a tremendous impact. Before he became nothing, a firework of colour emblazoned itself on his mind's eye and what had been his life became an incandescent ball.
c. 1979 Rita Rosenfeld
published in Mamashee; a literary quarterly
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