Opening Shift
5:30 in the morning:
with bloodshot eyes and chlorine shot up my nostrils I watch the broken down bus driver whose thick grey scar is looped like a belt from his furry neck to his spaceship hip. There's the woman tethered to the wall who jogs with a water belt before she goes to work. She complains how her daughter doesn't appreciate how much Law School costs while I appreciate how the fat falls off the hour she chews before my break. The lane ropes look like they did when I was in grade 12 and held the county breaststroke record they keep locked behind dirty glass next to a portrait of the Queen. One time after night practice our relay team sat on my dad's tailgate and ate Harvey's. We were on our way home when Gabe told me to slow down and took our brown bag of splattered wax plastic burger wrappings and ketchup packets and whipped it at an old lady hunched over and waiting for the bus. The kid that broke my record the next year swims for the University of Calgary. He takes pictures of himself swallowed by glaciers while he holds a vat of draft beer in his huge hand. Now I pull unbroken strands of wet hair from the drains. Victory is relative to getting out of bed to stretch your shattered spine. I climb the lifeguard tower Sisyphus had all day I do this every 45 minutes. |
Alex Carey is graduating this year with an Honours Specialization in English Literature and a Minor in Creative Writing. He received an honorable mention in the 2013 Alfred R. Poynt Award in the Department of English and Writing and volunteers as a reader and social media editor for The Rusty Toque. He is from Guelph, Ontario and he usually works at a summer camp for July and August, but now that he is graduating, he is looking for more boring and adult ways to earn a paycheque.