Nostos Algos

Bacardi chasing lizards next to our veggie garden

Barbeque

At the beginning of spring, we decorated the fire escape behind our house with tea lights. We swept up the last of  the rotting leaves, left over from Autumn, that the snow had kept hidden through out winter. Our bbq, old and bet out of shape, filled the neighbourhood with the smell of dripping sausages and faintly burned gas. The temperature had finally stuck above ten degrees and after being cooped up in our apartment for four cold months we wanted to breathe in as much fresh air as possible.

My memories of that night blur together and then separate into distinct snap shots like the coloured glass in a kaleidoscope: bottles of Labatt Bleu and Moosehead balanced on the concrete steps, a cake lit up with candles and glowing brighter than the lights spilling out from the kitchen, voices drunkenly singing out of chorus to Mike Snow. And, of course, all of us together, propped up on chairs or perched on the edge of knees and laps, reaching for arms to be pulled into photographs and yelling for more beer.

When it got too cold to be outside in the t-shirts we insisted on wearing, we moved inside to the squashy blue couches. Outside a lone raccoon picked through the scraps of our bbq and I watched him silently through a steamy patch on the window. The streets were quiet and empty and so we fell quieter too. In the crowded space of our lounge, we passed around the last of the wine and beers. We couldn’t all fit on the couches so some spread out on the floor, too drunk or too high to care discomfort. We were still drugged on Montreal and the prospect of a few more treasured months spent in the city.

 I propped my feet onto the table and let the conversation of my friends gently lull me into something close to sleep. In another country, in another world we had lives waiting for us to return. But for now, there was wine that needed to be finished.

I like these spring nights we are spending together. You: perched on the end of the bed, strumming on your guitar and me tapping away at my computer or curled up and reading, my hair still damp from my shower. I like the way we fill the silence and the smell of the crab apple blossoms drifting through the window. I like the way you frown slightly and press your lips together as you bend over your guitar. I like how I can fall asleep like this, with the lights on and a book still open on my chest until you finish practicing and fall asleep with me. I like the way our bodies fit together and that we don’t have to sleep with the heating on. I want spring to last all summer.

Swim

Today we braved the lake for the first swim of the season. Usually, when I’ve lived in the Southern Hemisphere, the first swim of the season arrives in early August when we brave our swimming pool. To me, this felt completely backwards. The temperature was hovering in the thirties and my skin was slowly turning from white to a sort of pinky brown.

In the morning we took the dogs for a walk to the pond up the road. By the time we reached it we were hot and sweaty, beads of perspiration clinging to our brow and the back of our legs. The pond looked wonderful: cool, deep and clear. I wanted to strip, right there on the side of the road, and plunge into its inviting depths. The lake, naturally, seemed like a wonderful idea.

When we arrived the sun was at its highest and hottest. The sky and the lake combined at the horizon so that you couldn’t tell the one from the other. After an hour or so of baking in the sun we figured we were ready for the lake.

We weren’t. It was freezing. The minute the waves lapped gently over my toes they turned pink. Goose bumps travelled from my knees to my elbows. But, I had been eyeing out the lake all week and was determined that today would be the day I swam. So I waded out into the freezing water, trying to convince myself that this was no different to the icey waters of Cape Town in which I’d spent my childhood holidays.

About thirty metres out, waist deep in water and shivering, I turned to look at my boyfriend who was cautiously surveying me from the lakes edge. And then, before I could loose my nerve I dropped my knees from beneath me and sank below the surface. For a few brief moments the world fell silent around and I opened my eyes to stare blindly into the yellowy depths before bursting to the surface.

My boyfriend eventually made it out, wincing and yelping and complaining about the cold. But both of us were laughing. Freezing, laughing and giggling, wondering what we were doing swimming in such cold water. We stayed in for another ten minutes before accepting defeat and made it back to the shore goose pimpled, shivering but happy and satisfied. We lay on the rocks warming up and as I stared up at a cloudless blue sky, life couldn’t have been more perfect.

It was 16 degrees in Montreal today

and my afternoon class got canceled.  So we went for lunch at The Yellow Door cafe. We walked along the sunny streets, past people riding bicycles and drinking coffee on the stairs of their houses. We rolled up our sleeves and when that wasn’t enough we pulled off our jackets. My skin saw sun for the first time in months. And then, because we hated the idea of being in doors we continued walking. We stopped in the shops and fingered scarves and held earrings up to our lobes. We bent to smell the pots of flowers lining the streets and tried to decide if tulips would survive in our kitchen. We passed police on horses, beggars singing, and women in dresses. And every where people were smiling and stopping to talk to each other. We drank white chocolate and raspberry smoothies and stopped to pet the dogs on their afternoon walks. We fell in love with Montreal all over again.