Thursday's Dinner, October 2009

I walked in the door only have Boss greet me with a series of jumps and tail wagging. She certainly welcomed me as if I was really her owner. I rarely saw her this excited to see Raymond and he was the owner of this big, furry, fluffed hair Siberian Husky. I could hear him fixing up something in the kitchen. Now under normal circumstances, I would of asked him to try to get Boss not to jump all over my khaki pants and cross stitched sweater. But, as a new tenant, you have to know when to pick and choose your battles. This was not one. All it meant was that I was going to be doing laundry downstairs 2-3 times/week from now on. I flicked off my slim, pointed dress shoes, picked them up and headed for the basement stairs. I didn’t smell any food so I knew Raymond was about to leave. This nigga was always on the go.

“Better that than chilling at yard doing fuck all” I thought to myself as I headed down the stairs. I reached the bottom and could hear her young, excited voice chuckling in conversation.

“YO! Carla is a slew guyyy.!! Trust me!! OMG…”

Throwing my backpack and shoes down on the ground, I had come to the realization that after being with her for just about a year, I had definitely got accustomed to her voice. It was girly, but it was swag girly and that’s what I loved most. I walked into the room just as she turned around from the laptop she was currently Skyping on.

“Joseph!!” the excitement in her voice gave me a smile like no other as I walked up to the reclining chair.

“Are you ever gona call me by my first name?” I asked, gently holding her soft, long hair as to avoid the webcam.

“Phhhsshh. No! C’mon nigga, act like you know..” her response confident enough to get a visibly upset reaction from me.

“Crystal!! You’re not even listening!!!” I could hear her best friend Nikki visibly scream through the laptop screen.

“Okay, okay! Ya, you were saying?” She got back to her Skype convo just as quick as she acknowledged my presence as I headed back up the stairs to cook dinner. A part of me felt that there was something seriously wrong with any girl not being able to cook but remembering all the support I had received from her in the early days of our relationship made me overlook it. At least for now. I walked into the now empty kitchen, seeing a few cupboard contents left on the counter by the recently departed Raymond. Boss paced around the floor as if she was anxious. I could hear the CP24 voices through the 53” inch widescreen. My ears picked up when they mentioned Transit City.

“Ahh, yes..” I said unknowingly softly, “we need that. The Vern needs that.” I  knew the entire plan, including the Scarborough-Malvern LRT that was planned for the very Morningside Avenue I lived right off of. The question I kept asking myself was where I would be ten, twelve years from now when this was all done. Would I still be a Malvern resident? Would transit even be a part of my life then? I planned to be paid in full by 2020 and if that’s the case, why did I care about this public transit ish? It was irrelevant! I reached for the soy sauce and seasoning salt in the upper cupboards and began to prepare the evening’s meal. The chicken still needed to be cleaned. Peas washed, potatoes crushed. I thought of calling Crystal up to help things along a bit quicker but I needed to be alone with my thoughts. This transit -ish was bugging me, so much so to the point that I wanted answers. Answers as to why I gave such a fuck as to what new train lines where being built where. I was a filmmaker. A filmmaker who just last year was in New York at the New York Film Academy. Why did I care about these damn trains??! My frustration sparked my motivation to prepare the meal in double time. In fifteen minutes I had the chicken skinned, cleaned, washed and seasoned. I had the potatoes boiled and crushed, the rice steamed and the peas were del on their way. It was looking good. The aroma of the meal brought Crystal upstairs in no time. Her hair was tied up oriental style as if two chopsticks were holding it up. Starring at her 34 double d breasts, I burned myself as hot oil spewed from the frying pan.

“Ahh.. fuck!”

Asking if I was okay and then if I needed help, I shrugged off the offer knowing it wasn’t of much use now. Placing the table mats on the wood finished table, I had made up my mind. I was going to do some serious transit research that night and just see what was out there on the vast world wide web. Who knows? I might even like it.

An excerpt from ASS: A Smart Story, Ch. 24: Fate



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