― R.D. Laing
Nightly Retreat
I was not in a good mood―actually, I was quietly enraged. I kept replaying the Dean's letter in my mind and watching a whole generation of students marching obediently like lemmings to the edge of a cliff.
I had to stop ruminating, not because it wasn't warranted, but because it was too painful. My jaw hurt from my unconsciously clenching it.
They say hell is a place where there is gnashing of teeth―Well, I might amend that to include 21st century regressive education under the Nationalist Party.
And yes, I was committing Thoughtcrime―I'm sure Big Brother would be watching.
I stopped by the Hart House Tuck Shop on the way to the car, and not for an umpteenth coffee. I had already consumed way too much―but needed Rolaids. I had acid reflux.
Yeah, living in the year 2040 will do that to you, especially if fascism upsets you.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror and didn't like the angry young man who glared back. But the western world was hell-bent on destruction and I was just as bent on going in the opposite direction and saving as many of my students as I could manage.
"I'm not surprised," Creed said when I updated her, "word has it we're heading for closed borders and isolationism. The Dean's letter is vanilla―it could have been much worse."
"You're such a positive lady," I smiled bleakly.
"Look, I know it's hard being an educator and especially a historian, but we are making a difference. The neighbours are on our side and if that happens at grassroots all across the nation, it could turn into a massive movement that Quade O'Brien and the National Party won't be able to contain."
"Well, that's true," I conceded, "actually, Ari updated me on Nestor Marx's latest moves. The local network is up and running and cameras are installed at key locations across the neighbourhood. I suppose I can look on the bright side in that regard."
"For sure," she smiled, laying her head on my shoulder.
I just wanted to go home, go for a hike and relax before the fire with her and Happy. We still had a private life and our own space...and that was something.
And we had our own nightly retreat and haven from the storms raging about us.
We changed into outdoor gear and then started out on the Bruce Trail for our hike.
The western sky was on fire and there was a slight nip in the air. It would be a perfect night for rum hot chocolate around the fire.
On the walk, Creed kept glancing around nervously especially the deeper we walked into the woods skirting the ravine.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Someone's following us. I just caught a glimpse of a dark figure darting into the trees."
"Okay, " I whispered, "let's not take chances. Take the next bend that leads out to the road."
In five minutes we were walking on residential streets with no one in sight behind us.
So much for my notion of a refuge from storms. The way things were going, even our home might not be safe.
Maybe we didn't have a safe house, despite all our cameras and alarms.