Cruising along. People who pass us stare. I mean stare. They turn their heads and keep watching. It's the hot red sports car, the IV hanging from the sunvisor or both.
Somewhere around Forest, I mention that Theresa Baird is a real estate agent in my area. We went to school with the Bairds. Our parents were friends. I was riding with Van Baird, speeding down Zion hill, when I fell off the bike I borrowed from Lisa. It was a pretty severe crash. I was unconcious. I don't even know how my parents got there. Zion hill is paved now, but still intimidating.
We name the Baird children: Van, Lisa, Theresa, Mike, Derek. Michelle insists there was one more boy in the family. Older. I don't remember him, but then again, if he was older than Derek Baird, he had to be at least 10 years older than me. It's not surprising that I don't remember him. Naming him is now an obsession. Michelle is certain his name started with 'D'. From London to Kitchener, we name every D-name we can think of. I mean every name. Dewar? That's not it either, but we know a Dewar. Michelle comes up with a lot more than me. My brain is very slow. I'm dehydrated. I've had some water, a little lemonade, a little lemonade mixed with water, some water mixed with lemonade. A collection of nearly-full bottles at my feet, other unfinished beverages have been unloaded as we go.
For no particular reason, I take Michelle into Waterloo via the scenic route. Several times, she thinks we're lost. I reassure her. I've never been to Shannon's place in Waterloo, but I can get us to WLU, and count on the driver from there. I'm back. My brain is working again. Two hours running the IV (1/2 liter of fluid) and there's a definite difference. Michelle notices it too.
While Michelle cuts the grass, I stroll around the neighborhood. Discovery! There's an art gallery right behind the house. It is incredible. The owner is closing up. I explain that we are from out of town and my sister is an artist and would die to see this place. That's her right there. I point out the window where, 30 feet away, she's mowing the lawn. The owner agrees to stay open for a few minutes. Michelle cuts the motor, hops the fence and goes in. There are some really breathtaking pieces here. Her eyes light up in the gallery. She and the owner discuss the Pino and that Michelle is studying at Michael John Angel Studio in Toronto, and so on. This is all above my head. Michelle is passionate about art. We thank the owner for staying late. We keep to the sidewalk and return to the house.
Michelle has this thing about cutting the lawn. She puts patterns in the grass. A different pattern each time she mows. I insist on cutting the front lawn. She watches. I divide the lawn by making a large X. I go to the center of the yard and cut a circle. Around about 5 times, then back to the X pattern. I stand on the porch when I'm finished and look. Very erratic. Perfect! I think Michelle will go back in a few days to "fix" it.
On the road again, we consider calling Mom to get the name of the oldest Baird (if he really existed). Batteries dead on both phones.
Take the scenic route home so we can check out the country mansions. At home we unload the car and Google the Bairds.
"There!" Michelle exclaims.
"Where?" I ask because I still don't see this irrefutable proof.
"Right there!" She points at the screen. "Stephen!"
The gallery: Double T Fine Arts. 76 Regina St. N., Waterloo (519) 746-1291.
Wipeout Hill on Zion Road 
2 comments:
You KILL me, you're such a funny storyteller! I'm sitting here wiping tears from my eyes, laughing hysterically aloud while all the house sleeps.
Why is it, during that entire 7 1/2 hour car ride that we talked about the Bairds, you never once mentioned the wipe out on Zion hill?
I'm a little offended that you would not remember it. Full face plant with a head-first slide down the hill! It was pretty messy. After we got back from the hospital, I got in trouble too, because we weren't allowed to go past the crest of the hill. 'Now that we know you're ok, no bike for a week'.
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