One
When the coast begins to thaw, there is widespread haste. On a crook in a downtown Granville street, a girl wrestles newspapers into their stand.
Iris skitters across the street, hair blown sideways in a sudden onset
of wind and rain. A tropical emotion brews in her chest. Papayas are on sale (a dollar-fifty each). So are roses. Outside the market, couples set up lawn chairs to watch the ocean blow by. The store clerk
pulls her almond hair off her neck. Iris gives her ten dollars for two papayas and a rose like a cornfield. In the crosswalk, she opens a papaya. Seeds spill between the white lines. Pigeons descend.
Two
Iris lives in a townhouse on the coastal side of Vancouver. She lives alone.
Paintings from the Group of Seven …show more content…
I know. Not trying to tell you
how to do your art, Adelaide says. Just thought you should brighten things up a bit. Are those freckles on your nose?
They’re just like your mom used to have.
Three
On Wednesday evenings, Iris sees her therapist. She tells her about a woman she sees in her dreams. In the dreams, a forest sits on the edge of the Okanagan. Its branches are twined together cage-like
but it isn’t a cage. The shadow of a girl hovers on the other side.
Why is she caged? the therapist asks. She isn’t caged, Iris says.
Most of the time, she just wanders. Why do you visit her? Why go back?
Well, Iris thinks, there are many reasons to go back. I should get visitation rights. Sunlight clutters the room. Iris doesn’t tell her therapist that she sees the girl outside of dreams. Now that it’s warmer,
the girl shudders in the air like a mirage on the windowsill or suspended in steam after Iris showers.
Aren’t you afraid?
No.
Why should I be? She’s not real, not in the traditional sense.
Iris picks up a magazine from the table beside her. Home and Garden.
She bends the corners of pages back then straight again.
What about Noah? He seems pretty real to …show more content…
She crosses her legs in front, unused to the toss and jostle of the ocean. Above her, clouds roil. More rain today. Local weatherman Paul Newman
told her so this morning from a dingy twenty-nine-inch television, balanced precariously among a faux playground for children under ten. Iris likes rain. As a child, she wound earthworms around
her fingers when spring opened and they pushed their heads up through the dirt. She watches one turn backflips by her feet and disappear into the cloud-wet soil. Rain trickles down her neck.
She doesn’t remember much about meeting him, except for the heaviness in his step and his silhouette carved against the stark darkness of evergreens. Her gum boots rest against a toolbox, steel grey and chipped
to reveal its original red. I like that top, he says. She thanks him.
Your hair is wet, he says. I’d have thought you were swimming.
You and your crazy ideas. They share a laugh. He switches gears.
Three
In his kitchen, the window fogs up from the kettle. The potted primula bows its head. Lots of rain this year, he says. Not much snow, though.
Yes, she says. She begins to unbutton her shirt, fumbling amid its
When the coast begins to thaw, there is widespread haste. On a crook in a downtown Granville street, a girl wrestles newspapers into their stand.
Iris skitters across the street, hair blown sideways in a sudden onset
of wind and rain. A tropical emotion brews in her chest. Papayas are on sale (a dollar-fifty each). So are roses. Outside the market, couples set up lawn chairs to watch the ocean blow by. The store clerk
pulls her almond hair off her neck. Iris gives her ten dollars for two papayas and a rose like a cornfield. In the crosswalk, she opens a papaya. Seeds spill between the white lines. Pigeons descend.
Two
Iris lives in a townhouse on the coastal side of Vancouver. She lives alone.
Paintings from the Group of Seven …show more content…
I know. Not trying to tell you
how to do your art, Adelaide says. Just thought you should brighten things up a bit. Are those freckles on your nose?
They’re just like your mom used to have.
Three
On Wednesday evenings, Iris sees her therapist. She tells her about a woman she sees in her dreams. In the dreams, a forest sits on the edge of the Okanagan. Its branches are twined together cage-like
but it isn’t a cage. The shadow of a girl hovers on the other side.
Why is she caged? the therapist asks. She isn’t caged, Iris says.
Most of the time, she just wanders. Why do you visit her? Why go back?
Well, Iris thinks, there are many reasons to go back. I should get visitation rights. Sunlight clutters the room. Iris doesn’t tell her therapist that she sees the girl outside of dreams. Now that it’s warmer,
the girl shudders in the air like a mirage on the windowsill or suspended in steam after Iris showers.
Aren’t you afraid?
No.
Why should I be? She’s not real, not in the traditional sense.
Iris picks up a magazine from the table beside her. Home and Garden.
She bends the corners of pages back then straight again.
What about Noah? He seems pretty real to …show more content…
She crosses her legs in front, unused to the toss and jostle of the ocean. Above her, clouds roil. More rain today. Local weatherman Paul Newman
told her so this morning from a dingy twenty-nine-inch television, balanced precariously among a faux playground for children under ten. Iris likes rain. As a child, she wound earthworms around
her fingers when spring opened and they pushed their heads up through the dirt. She watches one turn backflips by her feet and disappear into the cloud-wet soil. Rain trickles down her neck.
She doesn’t remember much about meeting him, except for the heaviness in his step and his silhouette carved against the stark darkness of evergreens. Her gum boots rest against a toolbox, steel grey and chipped
to reveal its original red. I like that top, he says. She thanks him.
Your hair is wet, he says. I’d have thought you were swimming.
You and your crazy ideas. They share a laugh. He switches gears.
Three
In his kitchen, the window fogs up from the kettle. The potted primula bows its head. Lots of rain this year, he says. Not much snow, though.
Yes, she says. She begins to unbutton her shirt, fumbling amid its