BC's True Nature

I feel the pull beginning at my wrist and setting into my shoulder. The brute strength of the puppy at the end of his leash, bounding happily from scent to scent identifying every dog that has walked through before. As he settles on the perfect place to empty his bladder, I take in the scenery around me. At a glance, the bold greens camouflage the underlying scars set deep in the dirt. Manmade trails accumulated between the layers of regrowth, greenery that can swallow a man whole. Evidence of the life fighting to survive, tracks laying silent now, but once were screams. Recreating the history of a life that is lived by a civilization of transients, most not lucky enough to escape the woods.

Taking a moment to see the truth behind the broken twigs, remembering the man who kept his home in a cart. Trudging into the woods hoping for a quiet place to lose reality. Skittering mice follow for any crumbs dripping from the cart; their bellies dragging along as this method has proven fruitful. The man cares more for the little bag in his pocket, once dotted with white sparkles of life, now a dull shade of brown. Missing the euphoria easily gained with one breath; now his veins collapsed and skin speckled with scabs, only reaching a release from withdrawal pains. The snapped branches and trampled flowers following him to a place where society does not go. He lives in the dusk. Hiding his shame, what cannot be seen cannot be true.

He wanders, back into the woods forcing rusted wheels to spin through the mud; clinging to the grip as though it might keep him on the ground. Tearing up the top layer of grass, exposing the insects on the surface of the Earth. He can feel the skitter inside his boots, hoping to join them deep beneath the surface of the Earth; desperately seeking solitude. He struggles to keep his feet from rooting into the dirt, feeling comfort with every step deeper. No longer fighting the draw of this peaceful patch of grass hidden amongst the thick BC undergrowth. Eyes closing, his mind driving down a chemical highway, he sets off on a stationary journey.

Daylight shines through the specks of morning dew on the leaves, the nocturnal creatures fall into the shadows; avoiding judgement from the beings of the daytime. He cannot see the sun rise, reality has run off with the moonlight and leaving only blurry stars blinking in his peripherals. There is no undoing to the night sky in his eyes, the only true light being the northern lights of his memories; dancing images of the soul before it was freed from that shell. The highlights of his life flicker, the good and the bad that led to the crumpled pile tucked away in the forest. The question is whether or not he will be met with intervention before it is too late.

The packed down grass, like a cradle gently coddling him to sleep. In his mind he is a child, able to do in his dreams, all of the wild games he longed to play again. His body no longer struggling with movement, lungs easily breath in fresh air. In a sense, he knew it could not be true; being buried by a heavy weight on his chest pushing the dirt into his skin, rhythmic punches that shatter his ribcage. This feeling does not stay, he has hidden so well from reality that he has lost the path back. You cannot revive a soul that has chosen to depart, eventually all reasons to stay become forgotten; family long since spoken to and friends mostly following down this same path. The sky draws closer, aware of every broken bone with no sensations of pain, there is acceptance in his heart. No rehab could ever be as effective as death, the cycle of addiction to rehabilitation followed by relapse; not ever being desperate enough to clean up. What point could you find in a life with no ceiling or walls?

I haven’t seen that man in a few days, no matter how hard I try to pretend he’s moved on, gotten his life together; I know better. A day ago, the ambulance lights sparked up through the neighbourhood, a common song of our community. Like the music of an ice cream truck, heads pop out of doorways looking to see what treat lays before them. Another grim bag pushed on a gurney, deepening the tracks in the mud and adding one more reminder to the scenery of the underground community. Leaving empty paths for the mice now in search of a new master to chase, sad and hungry for only a moment before easily finding a replacement. The world continues to push forward, barely scuffed from this loss; only a few rodents noticed his disappearance. And me.

I watched his whole life, written in the splotchy woods behind my house; I can feel the pain settling in my limbs and the numbness in my heart. It is dangerous to dwell on a single life in a city with such rough edges, knowing his life is not unique. The population living in the streets continues to grow as fast as it is eradicated, a new addict losing his home as others lose their lives. Dealers bank on the constant flow of clientele, not concerned with the return of any customer as long as there is someone to sell to. Cocktails of different chemicals simple made for higher profits and given labels of cocaine and heroin. Never really mattering what led to the downfall, the outcome is almost always the same.

I struggle to separate myself from this man, my hardships seeming so minor in contrast; a couch is much softer than the forest floor. One bite into this lifestyle, never making it past the point of relying on the kindness of friends; the taste too bitter dripping onto the back of my tongue. I felt drawn to this deadly façade, it takes away the edge of waiting for the generosity to end, waiting to be told again that you are too much of an inconvenience. Saving every penny from my job in Yaletown, listening to complaints of the wealthy while I barely paid my bills. It is an acquired skill in life to be able to smile and apologize for things out of my control, hoping they will still tip enough to eat this week. Hearing how our egg-based restaurant does not provide them with enough vegan options or the audacity of the company to not use portable payment devices. I spent my breaks wishing I had their lives, looking for clues on how they succeeded while I failed.

The snap of a leash brings me back, that violent pull on my arm of curiosity mixed with boredom. I leave that moment where it lies, knowing you are safer now. There never was an escape for someone that deep in those woods, only the sweet grip of losing yourself completely. I force my feet to move forward, hoping to return my shoulder to its socket and shake the death hanging in the air. A dog with joy bubbling through his veins returns me to the present, moving away from the secrets scattered through the trees. New smells direct us to happier places where the transients sit in our peripherals, this is the ecosystem we’ve created.