Catboy - Eric Walters [11]
Hands shot up around the room, including that of Doris, who spoke Cantonese. This was fun, and it had been my idea!
Seven
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Simon didn’t walk home with me. He went to a special math class. How strange, to be as fantastic as he was at math and still go to special lessons. Then again, maybe that’s why he was so good. In some ways he was no different than the kids who were rep basketball players and went to basketball camp every summer, or people who had a great jump shot but spent hours on the court taking shots.
I went to cross the road, hesitated, and looked around a parked truck as a car sped by only inches from my face. I staggered back. I was more aware of the traffic now, but it still unnerved me.
Both sides of the street were lined with parked cars, bumper to bumper. I didn’t know how they would ever get out. There was a gap in the traffic, and I shot past several passing cars. If you waited until there were no vehicles to cross the street, you’d be waiting all day. Simon used to kid me about that—Don’t they have cars where you come from? he’d ask—so I’d made a point of walking more “city.” Back home the drivers looked out for people crossing the road, especially around schools. They’d slow down and sometimes even stop and wave you across. Here in the city, it was as if the drivers got bonus points for close calls with pedestrians.
Where I grew up, there were cars and pickup trucks, but not much else. Here there were so many cars and trucks, big and little, as well as lots of bikes, mopeds and motorcycles. A bus line connected to the subway that ran alongside the main roads. The only public transit system in our old town was a local taxi— Bert’s Taxi.
I knew Toronto wasn’t that far from our old town, but it was so different, it was as if I was in a different country. In my old town there were houses, of course, but nothing like here. There were a lot more of them here, but there were so many different styles. There were singles, attached and row houses, and they were all painted different colors and in different states of repair. Some were neat and tidy with perfect lawns and flowers. Others looked like they were abandoned. In between the houses were stores, offices, apartments and factories, all stuffed together like a crazy patchwork quilt. And in the city there were people, lots and lots of people everywhere. Our old downtown had been a few stores, the Legion, the arena and the beer store.
I’d been thinking about heading through the hole in the junkyard fence, but I was worried about running into those bullies. Even Catboy didn’t want to face those evildoers without the assistance of the Korean Kid. But I did want to see the cats.
I changed direction and headed toward the main gate. I could find Mr. Singh and take him up on his offer to go in through the front.
I approached the fence surrounding the junkyard. A canvas covering over the fence blocked what was on the other side, but I could see the cars—a mess of wrecks and parts strewn about—through some large rips and tears.
There was a little guardhouse beside the fence, and towering over it was a gigantic billboard. It showed a big, shiny-new building and the words COMING SOON—CONDOS—LIVE THE CALIFORNIAN WAY!
I’d seen enough tv shows set in California to know that there was nothing about that building that looked Californian. But, hold on a second, did that mean the junkyard was becoming condos?
“Hello, my friend!”
I looked over. It was Mr. Singh. I waved, and he walked out of the guardhouse toward me.
“Are they building condos here?”
“Yes, coming soon,” he said. “That is what the sign said when it was put up three years ago. It is now an old sign, and there are no condos planned, so maybe we should not always believe what is written.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“I am sure it will happen one day though,” he said. “Nothing stays the same.”
I knew that.
“This neighborhood was for working people, regular people, but now the land is too valuable to stay a junkyard