“The aggressive use of secrecy,” by Sasha on the Ossington bus

Friday September 28, 2012
5 minutes
The Fluoride Deception
Christopher Bryson

I’ve got that itch again. The one that starts in behind my heart, almost hide-and-go-seek-ing, almost aching, but mostly itching. It might be because I’ve been a wreck of late and you’re inhumanly patienta and wonderful and kind. Tonight you tell me about your brother’s wedding, how you smear turmeric as well wishes and blessings and the itchy ache almost lets go but then when we hang up the phone and I see the city speeding by, the steetcar rattling westward, I realize it’s still there. It’s still strong. I think about calling you back to… apologize. Or to tell you how excited I am and how much I love you. All of these things are true. The itch carries me all the way to the big park at the end of the line. I’m carrying my stinky work shoes in hand because I don’t want them stinking up the new bag I bought for far too much money. People are staring. It’s the stink and the itch and my overwhelming need to run. I leave the shoes at the bus stop with a note on the back of a drugstore receipt that says, “Free. Smelly but comfortable.” I draw a ❤ so that it doesn't look so observational and it has some… heart.