“Princess Tire”
Out of place vs. out of time
Mail also comes in.
Today, my mailbox contained (1) a postcard from Niagara, taunting me to return (should I?); (2) the hard copy of a book I’ve been reviewing, taunting me to finish my work (I should…); and (3) an excessive number of flyers for big-box retailer Canadian Tire.
Briefly embarrassed, I stuff the flyers back into my mailbox, trying — yet again — to lock it and leave them behind. Junk mail is relentless in Halifax. What is that — willful ignorance?
I feel mostly annoyed, over-capacity, before I pause to remember that for years, my American ex routinely confused Canadian Tire with the much more chaotic surplus store, Princess Auto, making her own portmanteau: Princess Tire. Clearly, our mail carrier once respected the sign: “No flyers, please.”
Were those simpler times or places?
Either way, I smile at the memory before turning to walk “home” away from the mailbox, and from my smile. My headphones dangle around my neck, their sound still audible: I feel stupid, and contagious …
I stop the song and walk in silence.
Disoriented, I strain my ears to listen for Niagara Falls as a way of being in relation while feeling strewn. I do not like rainbow crosswalks, but goddamn, I miss the Rainbow Bridge across the US-Canada border, and Princess Tire, too.
