Chapter 1 (Cont, Part 2)
But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have even started the way I did. I’m no good at these things, really. Have I missed anything important? Well, shit! I haven’t even told you anything about myself. Where to start? Okay… I’m an actor. That’s pretty significant, not right now, but later, later that will come up. Oh, and my name is Blake. I’m deathly allergic to cats, require at least 8 hours of sleep to properly function and I enjoy, despite my complete and utter lack of skills, playing video games. I live in Winnipeg, a city smack dab in the middle of Canada, significant in that it is close to nothing of significance.
But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.
The problem with telling a story is that you never know how much you need to share in order to make your whole tale make sense. Sure, I could rant on and on about all sorts of background information endlessly, but I’m libel to go off on plenty of tangents that have nothing to do with the story as it is, so better that I at least make the token effort to reign myself in. So, the question becomes a simple matter of deciding exactly how to frame what I want to say. I’ve already well and truly messed up any chance of creating a different ambience then my inane ramblings (sorry), so all it comes down to is thinking about what you need to know.
So, let’s check the facts here. So far, from what I’ve told you (dear reader), you know that:
A) My name is Blake
B) I am an actor
C) This story takes place in November
D) It has something to do with a girl.
Those of you who were taking particular attention will probably have seen that love has something to do with the whole thing, although I can’t think of many stories worth hearing that don’t. Even more attentive readers might have figured out that it has something to do with promises, or more specifically broken promises (not quite, but close enough) from the title. Wait, am I even allowed to make reference to that? Hell, maybe the title will change by the time I’ve finished this. Are there rules about this? Am I being a little too meta-story? See, I’m just not very good at this.
Anyway, that’s what is known for right now. Honestly, that’s not a lot. I’m sure in the hands of a more able narrator you would already be filled with information, but I’m afraid to say I’m the best you’re getting. Hell, maybe my slower pace will just allow you to better digest the nuggets of wisdom and wit that I’m soon to be lobbing at you. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Too bad I didn’t think about that before I started off on all this ranting, I might have saved myself some trouble and looked somewhat competent. And now here I am making self-loathing comments instead of telling a story.
Let’s try to get back on track, shall we? Here, let’s start with a certain day in November.
I honestly can’t remember what the exact date was (my memory, right?) but it’s not really important. This was years ago, and I was walking through St. Vital Park on a particularly warm evening. I remember pondering at the time if global warming had anything to do with the weather, and then wondering why no one talked about global warming anymore and if I should be worried about it. I don’t recall why I was at the Park- I had moved a few years before away from St. Vital, a suburb that practically defined what a Canadian suburb should be: Quiet, clean and polite. The biggest cause of concern was a few roaming bands of tweens on skateboards, occasionally causing some petty vandalism or hosting noisy parties after stealing away some of their oh-so-observant parents liquor. I grew up there with my parents, although my “wild” days were spent in front of a Nintendo or novel rather then discovering my adolescent body’s tolerance for alcohol.
Maybe I was back because of my history: The park and I had seen some good days together. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that my happiest moments were spent there (we’ll get to those later), but I did have some good times, memories worth keeping. Nothing too special: Skating on the man-made park with friends in the winter, playing Frisbee in the open area on hot summer days, one special day in 9th grade, reaching second base with Shelly Stevens deep in some hidden corner of the various thickets strewn around the park. Good memories. Happy memories.
I won’t bore you with more of that. All that really need to be known about St. Vital park is that it is a park (obviously enough) that is against a river. At this point I suppose I’ll have to back up a little bit: Remember when I said Winnipeg was not noteworthy? Well, that’s not entirely true. Along with being surrounded by a whole lot of nothing, it does have a few other points of interest: It is very close to being the geographical center of Canada (useless but true), and it is probably one of the only places in the world that might benefit overall from global climate change. As it is, Winnipeg is subject to weather between -40 and 40 Celsius (a quick Google later would reveal to all you followers of Fahrenheit to be the equivalent of -40 and 104. Don’t know where you crazy folks got the extra 64 degrees, but there you are) and that kind of weather means that ANY change can only be for the better. In fact, Winnipeg’s only real natural disaster fear is flooding, as the city is built around the Red and Assiniboine River, which converge right by down town. You see what I meant before? Did you need to know all that? Probably not, but at least I know that I’ve done my part to fill you in on the incidentals.
But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.
The problem with telling a story is that you never know how much you need to share in order to make your whole tale make sense. Sure, I could rant on and on about all sorts of background information endlessly, but I’m libel to go off on plenty of tangents that have nothing to do with the story as it is, so better that I at least make the token effort to reign myself in. So, the question becomes a simple matter of deciding exactly how to frame what I want to say. I’ve already well and truly messed up any chance of creating a different ambience then my inane ramblings (sorry), so all it comes down to is thinking about what you need to know.
So, let’s check the facts here. So far, from what I’ve told you (dear reader), you know that:
A) My name is Blake
B) I am an actor
C) This story takes place in November
D) It has something to do with a girl.
Those of you who were taking particular attention will probably have seen that love has something to do with the whole thing, although I can’t think of many stories worth hearing that don’t. Even more attentive readers might have figured out that it has something to do with promises, or more specifically broken promises (not quite, but close enough) from the title. Wait, am I even allowed to make reference to that? Hell, maybe the title will change by the time I’ve finished this. Are there rules about this? Am I being a little too meta-story? See, I’m just not very good at this.
Anyway, that’s what is known for right now. Honestly, that’s not a lot. I’m sure in the hands of a more able narrator you would already be filled with information, but I’m afraid to say I’m the best you’re getting. Hell, maybe my slower pace will just allow you to better digest the nuggets of wisdom and wit that I’m soon to be lobbing at you. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Too bad I didn’t think about that before I started off on all this ranting, I might have saved myself some trouble and looked somewhat competent. And now here I am making self-loathing comments instead of telling a story.
Let’s try to get back on track, shall we? Here, let’s start with a certain day in November.
I honestly can’t remember what the exact date was (my memory, right?) but it’s not really important. This was years ago, and I was walking through St. Vital Park on a particularly warm evening. I remember pondering at the time if global warming had anything to do with the weather, and then wondering why no one talked about global warming anymore and if I should be worried about it. I don’t recall why I was at the Park- I had moved a few years before away from St. Vital, a suburb that practically defined what a Canadian suburb should be: Quiet, clean and polite. The biggest cause of concern was a few roaming bands of tweens on skateboards, occasionally causing some petty vandalism or hosting noisy parties after stealing away some of their oh-so-observant parents liquor. I grew up there with my parents, although my “wild” days were spent in front of a Nintendo or novel rather then discovering my adolescent body’s tolerance for alcohol.
Maybe I was back because of my history: The park and I had seen some good days together. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that my happiest moments were spent there (we’ll get to those later), but I did have some good times, memories worth keeping. Nothing too special: Skating on the man-made park with friends in the winter, playing Frisbee in the open area on hot summer days, one special day in 9th grade, reaching second base with Shelly Stevens deep in some hidden corner of the various thickets strewn around the park. Good memories. Happy memories.
I won’t bore you with more of that. All that really need to be known about St. Vital park is that it is a park (obviously enough) that is against a river. At this point I suppose I’ll have to back up a little bit: Remember when I said Winnipeg was not noteworthy? Well, that’s not entirely true. Along with being surrounded by a whole lot of nothing, it does have a few other points of interest: It is very close to being the geographical center of Canada (useless but true), and it is probably one of the only places in the world that might benefit overall from global climate change. As it is, Winnipeg is subject to weather between -40 and 40 Celsius (a quick Google later would reveal to all you followers of Fahrenheit to be the equivalent of -40 and 104. Don’t know where you crazy folks got the extra 64 degrees, but there you are) and that kind of weather means that ANY change can only be for the better. In fact, Winnipeg’s only real natural disaster fear is flooding, as the city is built around the Red and Assiniboine River, which converge right by down town. You see what I meant before? Did you need to know all that? Probably not, but at least I know that I’ve done my part to fill you in on the incidentals.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home