Coming Home-a short story

Coming Home

Sitting in the car, overlooking farmlands, the child moans, "Are we there yet?"

"Not yet, be patient! Three more giant steps today, one more sleep." This was the only way she knew to explain it. There were 5 giant steps —5 long hours of travel— in their trip the first day. The trip had begun the day before, hoping to take it easy, enjoying the sights and sounds of the countryside. It is a concept difficult for adults to master: time and distance, let alone that for a young boy.

They were on their way to their family vacation in the Maritimes. Living in Toronto, for this momentous trip East, they chose to drive gradually across the provinces. Through south Ontario towns to Quebec’s farms and cities, on through New Brunswick to Nova Scotia, they wanted to take it easy and enjoy he scenery.

 Gineen, whose family had live in Halifax, hadn't been home since she'd escaped her home. Andrew was the one who broke her free from the small town minds. The gossips, the redneck ways of her neighbours, racial profiling, friends refused entrance into bars; the racism in Nova Scotia made her skin crawl. It rankled her that in this day and age a mixed marriage was a shock. It shouldn’t have been. Pockets of racism existed even in a country that patted itself on the back for being the multi-cultural peacekeepers of the world. It was a huge embarrassment to her.

She loved Toronto, where rainbow colours of faces decorated the streets; where food, sounds, smells, and faces celebrated the one humanity. She felt liberated in Toronto. No one noticed them. Below the radar, they fit into the diaspora of emigrants fleeing from war, poverty, unemployment, and dead ends. The taunts and surprised faces of old friends had shattered her convictions of racial harmony when she announced her marriage. She protected her brown son by living in a city where white, red, yellow, black and brown colours were accepted, and were the norm. In Toronto they fit into the multicultural quilt, the mother-fabric that enfolded them into her bosom.

"Andrew, slow down! You're tailing the guy in front."

"Take it easy, woman! Don't take it out on me!"

Her happiness, as dim as her current prospects, had shone like the early rising sun when young. Lately, things just weren’t right. Her work at the law office had been meaningful. As a legal aide her work was important. She was meeting new people who needed help, young and old. The issues of their clients brought the world to one who wanted a worldview. But there was something not quite right in her world. She was angry, and taking it out on her family. They say that anger is covering up for one of three things: hurt, fear or frustration. She thought she was facing the latter two.

 Anxiously, she wrapped her coat more tightly around her. The windows were open to let in the cold, fresh air. A peculiarity, Andrew liked to drive with the heater on, and the windows open. Still, she felt smothered and stifled. For a spring day, it was chilly. Frost had appeared overnight in a season that promised to be early.

The melting snow gone from the sides of the road, but there were places where the sun did not shine. The creeks, normally full at this time of year, were sadly as low as her spirits. This would be trouble for farmers, families, and tourists, alike. Wildlife hungry for food, tourists hungry for entertainment, the foxes and coyotes, finding their territory invaded by two-legged pests, were learning to adapt. Snow remained in pockets here and there, but not enough to raise the water table. Climate Change was a reality in her mind.

In the skies, raucous ravens were harassing another pair. The treetops rang with their loud cries. Flying in updrafts, circling like hawks, the raven’s rebuttals reflected the anxiety of the season. That desperate instinct to reproduce dominated their condition. They mate for life. Destined to spend their lives together, they stand up for one another. They know their place and instinct governs their cycle of life. They battle the enemy together, putting a newer pair out of their territory. We all need a habitat of our own; we all need someone to cover our backs.

             Their loud 'CAWs' echoed on the forest edge, as they flew above, shrieking at the attackers, flying around and overtop one another. Their cries weighed heavily on the woman's heart. Shrieking at her husband had been their main means of communication lately. Mating for life was a dismal prospect. She had been 19, desperate to fly like the ravens, and married the first man who could set her free from the tyranny of her red-necked neighbours. Her ticket out of this small, dead-end town was a man cruising through on high tech business.

             Gazing longingly over the land, laid bare by early settlers, the dormant fields embraced her. It was Andrew's idea, to take the child home to his grandparents. Of course, they talked on the phone, they'd Skyped their way from his infancy to his youth: fun times watching his growth. Her parents had lauded his spunk. A gregarious child, he loved to ‘Kype with Gamma’. He had shown off his language skills, new words, and vocabulary, words that never included racist talk, blaming, or hostile accusations of abandonment.

Approaching thirty, she wondered what she had become. Labels of mother and clerk were what she figured. The fruit of her union: the sweetest little boy ever, Peter, with his active body and mind, had fulfilled her in the beginning. Her maternity leave was welcome bliss. Aligning paper to computer screen, he would show off his scribbled drawings, from random mandalas, he could now draw arms and legs on his figures. He had demanded a visit to these distant grandparents. Hard convincing a child that the computer screen bridged a distance of several provinces. In Day Care, in a modern building, with as much opportunity as he could imagine, had made a multitude of friends and few enemies. It was only fair to travel to see the folks.

Andrew, her husband, was a good man. A software engineer, he knew the ins and outs of his world. He often travelled, and was highly sought by several companies, hoping to protect themselves from hackers and spammers. Often on the road, he’d not yet settled down. His brief stint in Halifax had led him to her. Her knight in shining armour, she would save him from a life of morbid navel-gazing. He would liberate her from her small-minded neighbours. Determined not to fall into the cycle of ignorance and poverty, she was anxious to get a degree.  She’d gone with him to Toronto, finishing her education while pregnant. Her gown didn’t meet in the middle during her graduation ceremony. It rather wafted in the spring breeze. But that was many years ago. When life, as her body, was ripe with promises.  

Happiness and satisfaction, like the promises to the now dead aboriginal peoples, Gineen feared would never materialize. Her dreams of freedom, promised by a mother who believed in an education, equality and liberation theology, was fast disappearing until Andrew appeared on her horizon. He swept her off of her feet. Tall, dark and handsome, smart and funny, he whisked her away, promising liberation. Liberation at a price.

His engaging personality charmed everyone he met, except the most important ones, indeed. Her parents were furious with her abandonment. They had worked so hard on freeing Nova Scotia from its racist roots. Seamen, porters or domestic work was the lot in life for many blacks in Nova Scotia in previous centuries. While Black Loyalists were promised their freedom, land, and equality, these were empty promises. Africville, a long-gone Harlem-Maritime haven, had only recently been recovered in the history of the city of Halifax. A blemish on the so-called pluralistic Canadian society, rage and racism lay underneath many actions. A dump built on its borders, citizens dumped in unmarked graves, businesses too disgusting to be built near Halifax (the dump, the railway, slaughterhouse), had decimated the spirit of its freed peoples of Africville. Their beautiful church, Seaview United Baptist, had been bulldozed. Many had protested. Her parents had chanted and waved signs with the best of them.

As they drove, the towns became more familiar. The old buildings, the streets, the harbours they passed, the rocks, the ocean were discomforting in some way. Despite the solid ground, the firm foundation of the rock they drove through she just didn’t feel right. Like a thorn, it pricked her conscience. Why was she so irritated? Her work in the law office was interesting and useful. Her husband, a dedicated and hard-working techie. A good father, a good man; one with passion, fragility and strength.

They approached the Maritime coast, having driven across Ontario farmlands, small town, and through Quebec, having fun spotting flora and fauna along the way. Their many weekends driving north of Toronto, to friend’s Muskoka cottages, prepared them for this vista. But the food in Quebec! The poutine was Peter’s favourite, served in a cardboard box, with cheese and gravy drippings. They took their time, languishing over lunch on a chilly bench. Back in the car, the fixed photo radar held Andrew accountable, and Gineen was in no hurry. She was slowly, carefully, preparing mentally for the trip back in time. For she felt she was going backwards.

After a good sleep in a modest motel, a jam-packed breakfast, literally, they were on to New Brunswick. Sackville, St. John, Moncton; she could smell home. What was up? What was wrong? There was a discomfort in the pit of her stomach. The greening trees, wafting pines, and other conifers, soaked up what little moisture remained from melted snow. Trees shedding old needles in brisk air, like the dog shaking fur off in the wind.  The rocks and the land beckoned, but the butterflies in her stomach grew. The skies were so big, farms and fields, rocks, hills, and valleys. Questions flew through her mind: what to expect when they arrived, if they could relax and enjoy.

Time passed. Time travelled.             
They arrived at her parent’s home. Tumbling out of the car, she realized why she was anxious— she felt a sense of failure. Straight into her father’s embrace, she knew his love. A big hug from her faithful Dad restored her. Mom was busy swinging Peter into the air. Such joy. Her mother, gleeful to find her grandson so alive and grown, was squeezing him hard. All took turns and hugged and felt the excitement in the air.

The two-story house was bright and clean; shined until sparkling. Surfaces dusted, walls washed, and spare beds made up. Food bought and prepared. Excitement in the air, along with the smells of baking: lasagna and chocolate chip cookies. With the bags unpacked, the car sank gratefully into the asphalt. The food was brought out, and all began the job of forming new bonds, breaking bread in a family that had not done so in the recent past.

Her parents, civil rights activists, with a determination to change the world, movers and shakers in their own right, had pressured Gineen to make a difference in the world. Not content to accept the ways of their city, they fought tool and nail against those blinded by red-necked ways. They marched and protested against the recent cross-burning. How, in this day and age, could this be real?

Over the days, the extended family began to embrace each other, accepting their differences and lauding similarities. Bonding in a way that made her feel whole, Gineen was feeling better. What a precious wee one, her Peter. How could she have stayed away for this long? But the feeling remained. Something niggled away as she peeled away the layer of anger, and found fear and frustration.

            Gineen and Andrew, taking Peter around the harbour boardwalk, smelling the ocean and shoreline smells, listening to the seagulls and their raucous cries, felt a sense of joy being back in the town.  What a relief. The food, the fish, the friends and the fun meant she had come home. The cars that stopped in the middle of city streets as they tried to cross the road helped her know she was safe. She had forgotten about this life.

            Andrew, always on-duty, was on his iPhone from time-to-time, answering distress calls from various customers. There was enough time for sightseeing and frolicking, trips to the parks to fit in some work-time, too. They got along in their guest rooms, helping with meals and dishes, lot of laughter, games, wine and good food. To be a family again was a blessing. What a massive testimony to the past. Like the butterfly, Gineen was feeling herself emerging from her cocoon. Still feeling anxiety, she felt that something was up.

            The call came in the afternoon, while an exhausted little brown boy was having a nap. The adults were sitting around in comfortable conversation. The lunch dishes cleaned up, food cleared away, plans made for more touring destinations. Peter would love the Citadel, it would be a hit. The steep streets, the old buildings, but the soldiers, especially, warmed the cockles of his inventive mind. Perhaps a trip around Peggy’s Cove?

            But the phone call—the one that would change their lives. Andrew, deep brown eyes sparkling, dark brown hands clasping his handsome sculpted black manly chin, had been offered a job at the new Black Business Initiative Society. Funding was available. Groups, like the Africville Genealogical Society, had been given grants to build a strong Internet presence to form pride, and give young people options. The people wanted resources out there. They needed ITs and they needed Andrew.

In a moment, Gineen knew what to do. It was time to stand up and make a difference and it was time to make a change. She would attend law school there in Halifax. She would follow her heart. Andrew looked at Gineen, after he had explained the proposal, and asked what she thought. Looking into her deep, hazel eyes, dirty blond hair framing her beautiful white face, she agreed. It was time. White cheek touching his deep, chocolate skin, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said that the time had come to stand up and make a difference. 

This story was inspired by a horrible cross-burning only recently in the Maritimes.

More reading about this topic:

1. Mike Barber: Africville apology is a start, not an end Reported by Huffington Post on Monday, 1 March 2010 (on March 1, 2010)

This week\'s apology by city of Halifax Mayor Peter Kelly, for the evictions and razing of the African-Canadian community of Africville in Nova Scotia during the 1960s, marks a small but significant moment in the history of slavery and racism in Canada.

2. Halifax's hidden racism: Haligonians are shocked---shocked!---at charges of racism.

3. Africville-A brief history

4. N.S. couple shaken by cross burning