Eight minutes

My walk to school is only eight minutes but sometimes it can feel like I'm moving in slow motion as the city bustles by. There's so much to take in during those eight minutes but I recently realized that I've become desensitized to most of these things. I barely pay attention to what is going on since the walk has become routine.

To help recitfy this, I decided to take a more active approach while on my latest trek. I tried to pay more attention to the sites and sounds that can be disheartening but at the same time, they add layers to the city. The path I take goes across Carlton Street, through Allan Gardens, across Gerard Street and down Mutual Street.

There's the man that sits like a pillar by the flowerbed just before I cross the street. It appears that he has no place to go for the day. "Do you know what time it is?" he asks. "3 o'clock," I reply, only to be asked the question again by the same man on my way home an hour later. This is a man looking for simple things. He doesn't ask for change or food. He asks for time, both literally and figuratively. All he wants is a little human interaction.

Walking through Allan Gardens, I hear the sounds of two adults yelling at each other, dogs barking and a man ringing his bicycle bell. A line of toddlers linked together by belt loops and string, are led to the greenhouse by an older woman, presumably their teacher. The children, playful and smiling, are juxtaposed by a man who lies on a park bench with a water bottle beside him filled half way with a yellow, dingy liquid. This scene makes me hopeful that these children will not make the same mistakes or have the same pitfalls that this man has gone through. It also makes me sad for the man who is constantly stared at.

The Jarvis and Gerard intersection brings beggars, usually four or five different ones at various points of the day. "Can you spare some change?" I'm asked all too often. "Sorry."

Some don't even ask, they just simply hold a cup up to car windows in hopes that someone will give them a break. One woman takes the most active approach I've ever seen. As she opens the passenger door of a stopped car, the woman quickly says, "All I want is some change. Do you have any change?" The driver, a grey haired man in a shirt and tie and dark glasses turns and looks at her sternly as if to say, "Get out of my car!" The woman shuts the door and moves onto the next bewildered driver.

The woman doesn't care if she's scaring anyone. She's just looking for some change. She's just looking for her next meal.

I quickly approach Mutual Street and as I walk past the plethora of parked cars along the side of the street, a tiny, older man, in his blue uniform and cap, begins writing out tickets to unsuspecting drivers. Here, it doesn't matter is you drive a station wagon or a BMW, if you didn't put money in the metre, you're getting a ticket.

I arrive at school and head to class. It took me just eight minutes and I might have seen, heard and essentially learned more than I will all day. I have seen disparity, struggle, happiness, solitude, persistence. I have seen life in an eight minute walk to school.