The Summer Is Ended and We Are Not Yet Saved by Joey Comeau Read Free Book Online Page B

a kid, like, five years ago,” Ricky said, “who didn’t let go in time, and he bounced right off that short pole and landed on his head. Everyone could hear his neck snap. I know a kid who was here that year and he said he was over by the canteen and he still heard the kid’s neck snap. Everyone watching heard the weird grinding sound when the kid tried to get up again. Every single person said they couldn’t forget that sound even if they wanted to.”
    Martin could tell Ricky had told the story before. He made little hand gestures the whole time. He had a whole routine worked out. Every time he said “snap,” he pretended to break a stick with his hands. Snap. Snap. After he said “grinding,” he made a sound in his throat that was not right.
    “He didn’t die, either,” Ricky said. “That’s the sick part. He’s still alive out west somewhere. Somewhere where there’s no hills, because he has to be in a wheelchair. It’s probably one of those wheelchairs that people control with their tongues. I heard that every once in a while his head comes loose, and it rolls around on his neck because the bones aren’t connected anymore. Someone has to come and help him put it back in his plastic brace. Otherwise it just swings down and he has to look at his chest all day.”
    Another pair of boys was coming toward the Flying Fox. The kid on the right was black, with his hair cut in a mohawk that stood up a few inches. He was wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and it was hard to read what it said because the font was so crazy. He noticed Martin staring at his shirt.
    “It says, The Hospital Bombers,” he said. “But don’t tell anyone. When our counsellor, Matt, asked me, I told him it said ‘The Hospital Funders.’ That they played benefit shows for hospitals.”
    “I like it,” Martin said.
    The kid on the left was a bit chubby and he was wearing all black even though it was so hot out.
    “I’m Martin,” Martin said. “And this is Ricky.”
    Ricky was still looking up at the Flying Fox. He glanced back at the two new kids. Then proceeded to ignore them.
    “I’m Gabe, and this is John Dee,” the kid with the mohawk said.
    His friend offered a weak wave, and Ricky gave Martin a knowing look. He jerked his thumb at John Dee.
    “What did I tell you?” he said. “Dressing all in black on a day like this. Man. Weirdo kids.”
    Martin,
    I don’t know when you’ll get this email. You probably haven’t even unpacked your bags yet. Mine are still in the middle of the floor where I dropped them. I’m in a hotel in downtown Toronto, with a window looking out over the city. Or part of the city. I can see the CN Tower off in the distance, like a postcard.
    You haven’t been to Toronto so I will try to do my best at describing it, but it’s difficult. The pictures don’t really do it justice. The CN Tower, for instance, lights up different colours. It’s cute and all, but once every hour it turns blood red and lets out a scream like a dying animal. At least, I think it comes from the CN Tower. I was just getting off the plane on Toronto Island when I first heard it, and nobody else even flinched. There was this giant, glowing blood spire screaming in agony up above us, and they just kept that same bored, irritated look on their faces that Torontonians always seem to have.
    It sounded like the creaking groan of bridges when the metal twists. Like something alive and not alive at the same time, and it occurred to me that every city must have a creature like this. Some guardian of cement and metal and glass that watches over its home. The bridges in Halifax, standing guard out in the fog and the wet. The CN tower looking down over Toronto.
    A car met me at the airport, like in a movie. There was a man in a suit with a driver’s cap, holding a sign with my name on it! I was so excited, Martin. I’ve never been picked up from an airport like that before. He took my bags and carried them for me, and