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Holding the damp, soft tissue in the palm of my hands while listening to the sobs of every one around me describes the memory of a series of memories that flow through my mind. The pink lights stand tall over the small gray casket of my uncle and shines dimly as music flows and attempts to lull the weeping of each visitor. I can hear his voice even now, chanting native verses and calling the ancestors. Staring at my feet in the reserved isle of the church, I can remember the sounds of birds singing and feel warm autumn breeze against my tricycle on the days that I used to visit him at my camp in Marten River. Traveling on the dirt road was once a great journey, but seeing his smile was worth it. I remember pulling up to his wood pile, anxiously running over to hug him, his red shirt and mesh hat covered in saw dust, but I didn’t care. I remember him sitting me down and pulling out my newest edition of furniture, made from the scrap wood of the mornings load. I remember using the table to place upon my vanilla ice cream, covered in the homemade maple syrup that was still warm from his morning’s batch. The sweet smell would drown the frozen desert, as well as my tongue with its sugary nature. When winter came, I remember visiting his house made of logs, the interior smelling of fresh pine, no matter what weather it was outside. I remember crawling upon his knee, where he’d distribute the finest handmade, wooden cars and trucks for me to play with upstairs, while he visited my grandparents. I remember playing with his daughter and laughing at the jokes he used to say. I remember when the bright wrinkled smile of the old man began to fade, once his wife was diagnosed with cancer, and shortly passed away. I remember the jet black hair gradually turning white, and the maple syrup running dry from lack of use. I remember seeing the broken heart in his deep brown eyes and the pride in his voice slowly decaying to a whisper of shame. I remember arriving at his last birthday, with a card most magnificent, only to hear that he was sorry, and didn’t know my name. I remember trying to hug him, trying to listen to the beat of his aching heart, but my face was faded and his memories were gone. I remember the phone ringing late in the afternoon, only to hear that he passed away in the hospital alone, without any one.


I remember my first high school dramatic production. Being young and enthusiastic gave me the role of a large Italian restaurant owner in a play called the “Fiendish Firebug.” In this play I had experienced my first serious crush on a student grade 12 student with fiery red hair, thick, black eye make-up, and a deep, calm voice that seemed to seduce me into a dream that was completely inescapable. The moldy scent of the wooden stage was enchanting, and the secret parts of the room caused my heart to soar. The black drapes of the stage would shield the mysterious actor from my grasp, and his eyes of fire, the eyes that burned my skin. Practicing as a male was nerve wrecking, with my voice continuously changing. I remember the day of the performance for the entire school. I’d spent long hours in the back of the clustered French class rehearsing my lines with my friend Jake. I remember pacing back and forth, clenching the script in both, quivering hands and listening to the excitement of the crowd. When I finally decided to give up, Sean was there. I remember my crush’s hair being a deep blue that evening, his nails the colour of coal, and his eyes, a forest green. I remember him reminding me of how great of an actress I was, and that it didn’t matter what other people thought. I watched the tips of my shoes appear and disappear with each step I took, weighed by the padding of my stomach, my battle gear for the upcoming war. I remember closing my eyes and forcing myself to smile as I grasped the black drapes, waiting for my queue. Stepping out into the bright stage lights, I was blind, lost in time and space. I remember feeling dazed and confused, while walking towards my fellow actors, but the moment I heard the words begin to pour from my lips, I knew that I was facing my fears and succeeding. I remember completing each line with ease, and singing the menu better than ever before. I remember the applause and the cheers as the light fell upon me like droplets of sunlight. I remember my face held in his hands, the tips of his fingers gently pressing against my cheek bones as we kissed.
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