I was walking in the Mile End with my friend Lila, and I was telling her one of my most embarrassing stories—one that will never see the light of day. Just as I was getting to the juicy bits, we saw this table planted on the edge of the sidewalk. If the table had eyes, they would be watery, droopy, and begging for attention.
We locked eyes and communicated, of course, non-verbally. I told the table, with my eyes, “I’m gonna bring you home, okay? But promise me you won’t fall apart during the trip.” It looked down, looked back up, and said, “I will remain one, I promise.”
I studied the table, put my hands on the top, and gave it a gentle shake. Its legs were as weak as a marathon runner on their last mile. Nails were loose, and the wood had been slightly chipped in certain areas. “A promise is a promise,” I whispered under my breath.
I picked it up with both hands, walked to the bus stop, and said my goodbyes to Lila. Getting on the bus was no problem. I took a seat in the front, and the table was placed by my side as if I were dining at a restaurant. Someone had the nerve to lean on the table as if it was part of the STM’s interior design.
With all the potholes and extreme braking (I’m under the impression STM bus drivers brake hard on purpose to give themselves a little chuckle, but that’s for another story), we made it back to my house. After tightning the screws and giving it a little wash, it’s existence has been restored.
