Part VIII, by lengli
A few minutes later, Perry parked the Escalade in the driveway of the Gunn family's split-level ranch. The house Tim had grown up in was modest, in a neighborhood not too far from the steel mill, where Poppa Gunn had put in several decades of work and clandestine union meetings.
Tim stopped in the driveway, the scent of the nearby Tim Hortons (after whom Tim was named) bringing back childhood memories. He used to play by himself in this very driveway, as the other neighborhood boys played street hockey without him. Though Tim was not very athletically gifted, the emotional pain of never being asked to play still hurt, especially after Momma Gunn had taken him to Eaton's to buy a Maple Leafs jersey just in case such a situation ever arose. It never did. As a result, whenever anyone asked him in future years why he never attended home games, he simply answered that he was a Canadiens fan, which was usually enough to stop any further inquisition; however, it also prevented him from cementing any friendships amongst fellow Ontarians.
Maybe he had been wrong about coming back. He had never been accepted here before, who was to say that he would be now? However, before he had time to ponder further, he heard a great whooping noise and was startled out of his reverie to see Momma Gunn's powerful frame barreling down the front steps, rolling pin in hand. "Holy shit, Timmy, I think she's going to kill us!" Perry exclaimed, the whites of his eyes gleaming in contrast to the smog of the steel mill.
"Timothy Miles Gilbert Horton Gunn!!" Momma Gunn bellowed, engulfing him in a massive bear hug.
"Hello Mother, I've come home for a visit," Tim spluttered with what remaining breath he had left.
"Well, I can see that, mister," she replied, relinquishing her death grip on Tim's slight frame. The notable body mass discrepancy between Tim and his parents was something that had always bothered him as a gangly adolescent, and had contributed to his daydreams about being the illegitimate love child of Rock Hudson and Joan Collins. "Planning on staying a while this time?" she asked, in a clear dig at Tim's past lackadaisical attitude towards his Canadian heritage.
Tim winced at the jab and at the feeling of air once more entering his lungs. Keep it together, Tim, he told himself, you just have to make this work.
Tim stopped in the driveway, the scent of the nearby Tim Hortons (after whom Tim was named) bringing back childhood memories. He used to play by himself in this very driveway, as the other neighborhood boys played street hockey without him. Though Tim was not very athletically gifted, the emotional pain of never being asked to play still hurt, especially after Momma Gunn had taken him to Eaton's to buy a Maple Leafs jersey just in case such a situation ever arose. It never did. As a result, whenever anyone asked him in future years why he never attended home games, he simply answered that he was a Canadiens fan, which was usually enough to stop any further inquisition; however, it also prevented him from cementing any friendships amongst fellow Ontarians.
Maybe he had been wrong about coming back. He had never been accepted here before, who was to say that he would be now? However, before he had time to ponder further, he heard a great whooping noise and was startled out of his reverie to see Momma Gunn's powerful frame barreling down the front steps, rolling pin in hand. "Holy shit, Timmy, I think she's going to kill us!" Perry exclaimed, the whites of his eyes gleaming in contrast to the smog of the steel mill.
"Timothy Miles Gilbert Horton Gunn!!" Momma Gunn bellowed, engulfing him in a massive bear hug.
"Hello Mother, I've come home for a visit," Tim spluttered with what remaining breath he had left.
"Well, I can see that, mister," she replied, relinquishing her death grip on Tim's slight frame. The notable body mass discrepancy between Tim and his parents was something that had always bothered him as a gangly adolescent, and had contributed to his daydreams about being the illegitimate love child of Rock Hudson and Joan Collins. "Planning on staying a while this time?" she asked, in a clear dig at Tim's past lackadaisical attitude towards his Canadian heritage.
Tim winced at the jab and at the feeling of air once more entering his lungs. Keep it together, Tim, he told himself, you just have to make this work.
posted by lengli at
10:03 PM
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