memories that are yet once more removed from the present. All these things have found their way to this specific spot on earth, 72 St. Lawrence Avenue, Centralia, Ontario, Canada. Our stuff.
As usual, kids gather tentatively around the van. A couple of kids who don’t count because they’re too young—their bikes still have training wheels. And the Hula Hoop girl.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
They watch the van for a while. The Hula Hoop girl has curly copper hair, freckles and cat-eye glasses. She turns and asks, “What’s your name?”
“Madeleine McCarthy. What’s yours?”
“Auriel Boucher.”
They watch the van some more.
“Where did you just move from?” asks Auriel.
“Germany.”
“We lived there too.”
“Neat. I was born in Edmonton.”
“Neat, I was born in England.”
“Neat.”
It turns out that Auriel is hilarious, and she doesn’t care if she’s fat. Plump, that is. She’s not really fat anyway, once you get to know her. And freckles are nice.
“I like your bike.”
“Thanks,” says Madeleine. “I like your top.”
“Thanks,” says Auriel. “It improves my bust.” They burst out laughing.
You can’t tell if Auriel actually has a bust behind her polka-dot pop-top, but that’s beside the point. Another girl joins them, Lisa Ridelle, in brand-new Keds.
“Hi Auriel.”
“Hi Lisa.”
“Hi,” says Madeleine.
Wispy white-blonde pageboy, pale blue eyes, Lisa laughs at everything Auriel says. Soon she is laughing at everything Madeleine says.
“You laugh exactly like Muttly on
Penelope Pitstop,”
says Madeleine, and Lisa laughs her rasping laugh.
“She’s right, you do!” agrees Auriel, imitating her. Madeleine joins in and they all do the wheezy laugh like the cartoon dog. They have known one another for five minutes and already they have their own laugh.
“What grade are you going into?”
“Four.”
“Me too.”
“Me three!”
Lisa can turn her eyelids inside out, it’s really creepy. “Do it again, Lisa.” Auriel knows how to paralyze your hand. “Squeeze my thumb as hard as you can. Okay, now let go but don’tstraighten your fingers….” Then she tickles your wrist lightly. “Okay, now try and open your fingers.”
Madeleine can barely get them open. “Wow, I’m paralyzed.”
“Do it to me now, Auriel.”
“Want to set up a lemonade stand, you guys?” It’s a hot day, they could make a fortune. But Lisa and Auriel are going to a baseball tournament overnight in the Bouchers’ van. Auriel is catcher and Lisa plays shortstop. You can easily picture Auriel wearing the leather chest protector, the face cage and a backward cap—she would look exactly like a turtle. In a good way.
“Auriel, come get your tea, pet, Daddy’s on his way.” Auriel’s mum is calling from the Bouchers’ driveway. She stands next to the open VW van with an armload of baseball bats and shin pads. She has the same curly hair.
“Coming, Mums,” calls Auriel.
Oh, to be like Auriel Boucher and Hayley Mills, and call one’s mother “Mums.” Mrs. Boucher is a war bride, you can tell from her English accent.
The moving van is almost empty. Madeleine watches her new friends run up the street to the Bouchers’ house, just as her father rounds the corner. “Dad!” She hops on her bike and rides to him, pedalling furiously. “Dad, look!” He smiles and leans forward with his arms open as though to catch her, Zippy Vélo and all.
Everything is going to be fine, Centralia is going to be great.
“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie,” says Dad as she leans her bike against the porch and follows him in. Boxes and furniture crowd the rooms, awkward herds as yet untethered to walls and corners. “Mimi, I’m home.”
Already the echo in their voices has abated, absorbed by their things which have caught up to them, the rest of the family. Alive with all they have taken in over the years, these things will exhale memories of times gone by, filling the house with
As usual, kids gather tentatively around the van. A couple of kids who don’t count because they’re too young—their bikes still have training wheels. And the Hula Hoop girl.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
They watch the van for a while. The Hula Hoop girl has curly copper hair, freckles and cat-eye glasses. She turns and asks, “What’s your name?”
“Madeleine McCarthy. What’s yours?”
“Auriel Boucher.”
They watch the van some more.
“Where did you just move from?” asks Auriel.
“Germany.”
“We lived there too.”
“Neat. I was born in Edmonton.”
“Neat, I was born in England.”
“Neat.”
It turns out that Auriel is hilarious, and she doesn’t care if she’s fat. Plump, that is. She’s not really fat anyway, once you get to know her. And freckles are nice.
“I like your bike.”
“Thanks,” says Madeleine. “I like your top.”
“Thanks,” says Auriel. “It improves my bust.” They burst out laughing.
You can’t tell if Auriel actually has a bust behind her polka-dot pop-top, but that’s beside the point. Another girl joins them, Lisa Ridelle, in brand-new Keds.
“Hi Auriel.”
“Hi Lisa.”
“Hi,” says Madeleine.
Wispy white-blonde pageboy, pale blue eyes, Lisa laughs at everything Auriel says. Soon she is laughing at everything Madeleine says.
“You laugh exactly like Muttly on
Penelope Pitstop,”
says Madeleine, and Lisa laughs her rasping laugh.
“She’s right, you do!” agrees Auriel, imitating her. Madeleine joins in and they all do the wheezy laugh like the cartoon dog. They have known one another for five minutes and already they have their own laugh.
“What grade are you going into?”
“Four.”
“Me too.”
“Me three!”
Lisa can turn her eyelids inside out, it’s really creepy. “Do it again, Lisa.” Auriel knows how to paralyze your hand. “Squeeze my thumb as hard as you can. Okay, now let go but don’tstraighten your fingers….” Then she tickles your wrist lightly. “Okay, now try and open your fingers.”
Madeleine can barely get them open. “Wow, I’m paralyzed.”
“Do it to me now, Auriel.”
“Want to set up a lemonade stand, you guys?” It’s a hot day, they could make a fortune. But Lisa and Auriel are going to a baseball tournament overnight in the Bouchers’ van. Auriel is catcher and Lisa plays shortstop. You can easily picture Auriel wearing the leather chest protector, the face cage and a backward cap—she would look exactly like a turtle. In a good way.
“Auriel, come get your tea, pet, Daddy’s on his way.” Auriel’s mum is calling from the Bouchers’ driveway. She stands next to the open VW van with an armload of baseball bats and shin pads. She has the same curly hair.
“Coming, Mums,” calls Auriel.
Oh, to be like Auriel Boucher and Hayley Mills, and call one’s mother “Mums.” Mrs. Boucher is a war bride, you can tell from her English accent.
The moving van is almost empty. Madeleine watches her new friends run up the street to the Bouchers’ house, just as her father rounds the corner. “Dad!” She hops on her bike and rides to him, pedalling furiously. “Dad, look!” He smiles and leans forward with his arms open as though to catch her, Zippy Vélo and all.
Everything is going to be fine, Centralia is going to be great.
“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie,” says Dad as she leans her bike against the porch and follows him in. Boxes and furniture crowd the rooms, awkward herds as yet untethered to walls and corners. “Mimi, I’m home.”
Already the echo in their voices has abated, absorbed by their things which have caught up to them, the rest of the family. Alive with all they have taken in over the years, these things will exhale memories of times gone by, filling the house with
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