Fall Semester: Part 1, Indian Summer

For Joseph, summer in suburbia Scarborough, Ontario was sitting quietly by the corner of the wooden porch, watching the family of squirrels diligently racing up and down the grand maple in the backyard to collect various kinds and sizes of nuts and fruits. The smallest one was no larger than the fist of Joseph's young hand; it perked and jerked its furry little body in its own staccato rhythm, ran about vivaciously imitating the demeanor of the older ones. If a butterfly in its zeal strayed too far from mother Ling-lai's flowerbeds of tulips and carnations, the little squirrel would at once drop his collecting chore, bounce, jump and chase his new found plaything with his unique single-mindedness. Towering above, black birds passed by bemusedly over the clear blue sky, sometimes pausing at a high branch to take a breather and witnessed aloofly the family's activities before continuing their laborious journeys. On special occasions, a wandering skunk would lose his way and stumble into Chang's backyard, and that would always cause quite a commotion. The family scrambled quickly and scurried up the maple with eyes pinned on the intruder—father squirrel raised his tail, lowered his head and gated the tree base with his own body in vigilance and tension, until the newcomer eventually found his directional sense and retreated from the grounds peacefully. Such excitement always brought a smile to Joseph's face, who was simply delighted by every turn of events in his microcosmic natural world.

Ling-lai watched his young son lovingly as she washed a handful of plates from afternoon tea in the kitchen sink. Raising his head from his perusal of the Saturday edition of The Toronto Star at the kitchen table, Wah-hung noticed his wife's weak, blissful smile as she stared at the backyard. "He doesn't have many friends, Wah-hong," feeling her husband's glance, she commented with tender concern. "He is happy dear," Wah-hong returned his attention to the paper. Ling-lai laid the cleaned plates carefully on the white plastic dish rack and began chopping green onions and bok-choy with dexterity. A warm, drumming beat began to resonate throughout the small but cozy kitchen, decorated simply with several well-spaced Chinese calligraphy. The late afternoon sun dyed the kitchen walls through the cheap metal blinds in broad stripes of egg-yolk yellow and tangerine orange. "Whee! Whee!" The boiling kettle announced flamboyantly that the jasmine tea refills were ready. "I'll get it," Wah-hung folded his newspaper neatly and walked towards the stove.

******************************************************************

On a warm late summer day in September, the Chang's, whose well weathered Honda Accord was meticulously packed to the top with Joseph's belongings, drove up a long winding driveway that cut across large fields of attentively manicured, lush green grass. The blazing sun pressed hard to leave his fingerprints on the school’s playground with blinding rays and simmering energy. In front of them was a large formidable boarding house in the old English tradition: sturdy red bricks layered one-by-one painstakingly, with large, white window panels and a gently sloped, ceramic-tiled roof built to withstand any Torontonian snow storm. This was where Joseph would again reside in his second year—eighth grade—in St. Stephen's College, a private boy’s school in the northern countryside of Toronto. Staring out of the car window, Joseph looked at the familiar building through his large discerning eyes with both nostalgia and anticipation. What experiences and impressions would a new school year bring to young Joe?

In slow, deliberate motion, the Chang's trekked with blankets and suitcases full of summer and fall clothing laboriously down the long hallway towards Joseph's pre-assigned boarding room. Unexpectedly welcoming them was an early arriving student’s blaring music, booming haughtily, “I am the sun, I am the air …”, that permeated like suffocating black smoke through the hot, sticky air in the corridor. A muscular teen leaned nonchalantly by the entrance to his dorm room with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes piercing at his fellow returnees to the old asylum. Dressed in a deep navy polo shirt and rolled-up khaki pants, his tanned bulging arms stood in strong contrast to his soft blond hair shadowing the left half of his young face. "Hey, Ivan,” Joseph acknowledged his unavoidable peer begrudgingly. "Hey yourself, Joe. Summer sun treated ya good, huh? Back to the grind now, you and me," Chewing his bubble gum without a pause, Ivan spoke jovially with his head perfectly still, his eyes following the steady motion of his smaller colleague with sharp focus. "Yeah, back to school. Ain't so bad though. 'Least the weather's nice," Joseph made an effort to reply. "If you say so, Joey boy. Ain't gonna stay nice forever, I tell you. I'd be seeing ya," Ivan shifted his eyes to another returnee. Joseph dug his head and continued his trot to his destination. Ling-lai and Wah-hung watched and trailed their young son in silence.

A skinny, inconspicuous boy with a thick, dark brown mop top stood waiting at the end of the corridor in excited anticipation; his hands were turning pages restlessly back and forth through an already worn copy of Stephen King’s “Christine” in jerky, unnatural movements. His oversized dark rimmed glasses displayed both an innate intelligence and a juvenile bashfulness. He raised his head nervously as the Chang’s approached. "Joseph! Welcome back! Stayed cool in them hot summer days? Hello Mr. and Mrs. Chang." Ben spoke articulately in a pretended mature tone, though his light brown eyes shifted quickly and betrayed his youth and lack of confidence. "Did ya catch King's new 'Christine'? Boy, he's really outdone himself this time, check out this dude here..." Ben continued his speech privately with Joseph in fast, unrelated spurts. "Yeah, I hear ya, I hear ya," Joseph nodded and occasionally smiled faintly in response, both resuming a strange but familiar communication pattern that the pair had long ago established. Ling-lai and Wah-hung again observed in silence as Joseph resumed his fated role in this second-home habitat, one that neither parent was familiar or accustomed to witnessing.

“So Joseph, another year in St. Stephen’s! Do you best and have some fun,” Wah-hung spoke in a fatherly tone as he entered the family’s Honda. The setting sun continued to burn warmly all earthly things within the torch’s range, and the car seats felt soft and searing like pancakes. “Just be careful, okay?” Ling-lai also stepped stoically into the car compartment, hiding well her yearnings and concerns for her only son. “I’ll be fine, ma. I will call you on the weekend … bye,” Joseph spoke casually, searching but unable to read the expressions on his parents’ faces. After an unspeakable moment of silence, Wah-hung pulled away in slow, steady movements; Joseph stood watching at the dorm entrance, leaning against the rusted rail with peeling green paint. It was too hot to touch with bare hands. “Joseph will be fine, right?” Ling-lai whispered under her breath. “My son will survive, somehow, in his world and in his ways,” Wah-hung assured himself and his wife, "we have to let him be, walk his destiny." He sped away without permitting himself to look back.