April 18, 2004

On our way to buy frames for the Faflak project, we paused to look at the water. The river is seductively green at night, but on warm spring days it looks murky and swollen.

“I wanted to go canoeing down this river since I came here,” Trevor said.

“What are you doing today?” I asked, knowing that he’ll leave Waterloo forever on Tuesday.

Twenty minutes later we walked out of Zellers armed with two picture frames and a rubber boat. We didn’t buy paddles since they were nearly as expensive as the boat itself — we decided to use our hands and will power to navigate the river. With the sun in our hair, we felt as happy as kids about to embark on a summer adventure.

Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies …

I sung excitedly as we walked towards the gas station in the corner. Gas stations are an excellent place to inflate rubber boats, we found out, and then we ran to Trevor’s place to grab provisions for our voyage.

“Do you guys know where you’re heading?” his roommate asked.

“Down the river,” we said, unsure where the river went. We expected to rush over rapids and waterfalls. It didn’t much matter where the river was going — it was going somewhere and that was reason enough to trust it.

Because our plan sounded crazy, his roommate agreed to walk down to the river with us and even gave me a pair of pants. I shoved two bananas into my pockets as we ran to the river half-naked and eager to flow with the currents.

“Are you boys going to the river?” Trevor’s neighbour screamed at us.

“Yes,” he said, mumbling that she was a raging alcoholic.

“Good for you!” she screamed, proving that raging alcoholics are essentially nice people.

The freezing water went up to my knees, making me wince. I held the boat steady as Trevor got in, and with a leap we were floating and shouting, our little boat bracing itself against the currents.

Trevor offered me a puff of his cigarette. We felt incredibly cool and free, and the little kids on the bridge above us waved pleasantly as we passed by. We waved back, and assured them that we had no idea where we were going.

I grabbed a stick from the shore and used it to navigate the river as Trevor feed me crackers now and again. A thousand marvels were hid around every bend of the river: we saw the exposed, living roots of trees and ducks floating nearby.

“We can eat ducks and live like kings,” I declared. The ducks flew away, the tips of their wings touching the water, and all was at peace. I gave up trying to see where the river was heading, and leaned back against Trevor listening to the birds in the trees and the gurgle of the water. The river was sublime.

Each bridge we passed was a miracle of silence.

While approaching one of the bridges, we saw another group of kids, their eyes wide with amazement. They shouted at us, impressed by our adventure, and ran along the shore until we pulled over and gave them some of our crackers.

We told them to take 20 bucks from their parents and buy a boat too — it would be fun, we promised. They shouted after us and told us that we were heading towards waterfalls. They lied. Kids just kill me.

The currents did get stronger as the river widened, and we held on tight as cold water splashed against our bodies. The riverbed was one uninterrupted moment of visual ecstasy, and we both regretted not bringing our cameras along for the ride.

After a while, we started to recognize our surroundings. We passed through the park where Trevor masturbated on a bench one night — he wanted to see what it felt like — and in the distance we heard the highway rumble uneasily.

The river made a giant loop and brought us just a few bocks away from Trevor’s house. If you trust the river it will take care of you. Trevor’s roommate was there to meet us and show us the way. Our adventure made us feel youthful and alive, and we ran through the streets as people stared at us strangely.

The two girls waiting for the bus screamed to us from across the street.

“Do you guys have a toonie?”

I stopped running, muddy and sweaty. I had nothing on me except the pants I borrowed from Trevor’s roommate, which were now starting to slip down my hips.

“Do we look like we have a toonie?” I asked.

“Are you going down to the river?” they wanted to know.

“Been there done that!” we shouted back, extremely pleased with ourselves as we started running again. We decided to float down the river every day — we need more mad adventures in the spring.