Toronto and Other Lives
by Wayne Scott Ray
The heat only increased the moisture on the window of the Greyhound bus at the York Street Station. As the seats filled up and the din died down he numbed out the noises and pulled out a book of short stories to read on this midwinter trip to Toronto. He sat next to the window wishing the seats were farther apart as he wedged his long legs behind the chair in front of him. The smell of diesel began to seep into the bus and the driver closed the door, putting the tickets away in his briefcase. He began his own repetitive journey.
The bus pulled out of the station and after it went under the Via Rail tracks at Richmond Street, turned easterly along Hamilton Road. Hamilton Road below Adelaide was the old working class and now working class Portuguese section of London, Ontario. The in-town drive wasn't conducive to relaxing or reading so he just gazed out of the grey, cloudy window and watched the dark brick houses and businesses pass by him for a long time. The bus eventually turned south onto Highbury Avenue and headed for the 401 East.
White. Don't focus your eyes and your concentrated stare is clothed in white. Winter snow white. Open your eyes and the white is spelled by bare branches and fields left fallow with stalks of dead plants. Mostly snow. This was an organized snow.
Her car was covered all week with about two feet of fallen snow encasing the white Buick like a marshmallow in a plowed parking lot on the other side of town. He
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