Tuition Fee

That day was awesome for those who came first time to view the festive site. Fresh snow flakes were swirling through the naked trees and hitting the ground. Children were busy craving the statues of the snowman. Little bunnies were running off the road into the bush to keep themselves safe from the drunk drivers. Skaters were on the ice in the fancy ride along the lake curve and many of them were children. Dads and moms were watching them falling off and rising the ice bed. It was not a fun to those who never happened to be in the snow before.

There were different kinds of recreational activities for the adults and the children. Ice hockey, Curling, Figure skating, Freestyle skiing, chariot riding drawn by the horses for the adults. Children were sliding in the ice sliders, carving images of snowman, gingerbread man in the ice, and walking through the ice maze. Ice castle was a fun point for the adults as well as the children. There were primitive huts, inns, traditional homes where you could take a shelter from the wind chill and get a chance to bite a couple of primitive foods.

Children also could play curling and ice hockey with their caretakers. There were fire places where you have your cheeks roasted and the pants dried. Marshmallows were always there for kids a real Smokey. We could see the drummers and the chanters performing rituals having bird’s feathers in their hands and dancing in a tantric way. They were like a humming bird while singing and stay in the perfect circle while dancing. They were also singing some of the kid’s stuff too, so that they could pass their culture on to them willingly and reluctantly.

‘Hello! How’s going?” a middle-aged Caucasian woman covered in the Burberry Down filled parka coat looked at me. Her mouth looked like a chimney, with a white shutter. “Good! Yourself?” I choose to be nice. Wires in my head were reeling in dilemma “what the fuck?”. You talk to the people you’ve never met before just to be nice. And twist your snout when you turn back. No, I should not be that much negative about the ‘nice people’.

“Can I have a seat please?” she pointed the little space next to me where her right buttock could fit through the curve.

“Sure” I moved slightly to the right. The flickering of the fire was dancing around the head. Darkness was pouncing its claws real close & close. There were five of us sitting on the same bench in front of the fire. Others were standing around the fire giggling and smashing the snow flakes. Wind chill was nasty. I fed a few faggots to the fire as the fire was already dying.

“Thank you”, Parka coat said. I was amazed. I looked at her eyes and just smiled to be nice. A long silence filled the space which added colder to the environment. An elderly lady walked away leaving more space to Parka Coat.

I’m “Lorrie”, she extended her right hand towards me. “I’m “Peter, nice to meet you”, I smiled. A little bunny passed by the hut next to the fire place. Everyone had a time to take a glance at the bunny. “How can these little bunnies survive in the winter” I spoke to myself.

“Bunnies are seasonal mammals. So, what do they eat? Much to the chagrin of our hard-working grounds staff, cottontail rabbits often resort to eating bark from shrubs, young trees and other woody perennial plants to survive,” Lorrie explained as if she was the bunny specialist in the environmental science.

“OH, I see.” I pushed a log to the middle of the fire. I couldn’t understand much of her saying like ‘cottontail’ ‘perennial’.

“How long have you been to Canada, Lorrie?” I glanced at her eyes while she was nice to me. Her eyes were like a pair of blue pearl with black eyelashes. Downy bond hair sprinkled her arms through the hew line of the neck. She looked like a Rapunzel in the light casted artistically by the fire. It was already peach dark outside.

“I am born and raised here. I am a Canadian.” She smiled at me.

I was expecting similar question from her. And I was prepared to answer her in the right way, at least ethically right. I remained quiet for long to give her space to open like a flower. When she did not ask me the question back, I felt uncomfortable.

“Is she racist, because I look brown”? I mumbled. But I have a white name “Peter”, and there are many Canadian born brown.

‘Where do you live, Peter?” She was more beautiful at time. Her expression was rhythmical. It rang into my ear as a musical chime.

“I live in downtown close to Oliver Square. How about you?”

“I live by Southside by 34^th Avenue. I live by myself for over a year after we separated. “She looked the other side of the bench. The word separated hit my head like a nail hit by the hammer on the rock. I couldn’t dare to speak further. I looked around and saw nobody. I saw a few volunteers standing at the distance. They were probably clearing the people for the night.

“Do you drive, Lorrie? I tried to be nicer than earlier. She was now closer to me than earlier. “What do you do Peter?” she asked me unexpectedly the most uncomfortable question. ‘Why the fuck she cares what I do”? I murmured silently. “I’m a Janitor”. I spoke a pack of lies.

“How about you?”, I asked.

“I do escort”, she smiled.

The word escort buzzed in my head. I heard the word multiple times before but never knew what that shit means exactly. I choose not to ask again. She was closer than earlier. I was feeling warmer on the side than the front.

A girl in the yellow vest appeared, “this is home time guys. We are closing.”

We walked towards the parking lot. There was only my car left in the parkade.

“Where did you park?” I asked her in dilemma.

“I took a bus. But I see no buses on line. I might call a cab.” she replied.

“I can give you a ride, if you like”, said I.

“Are you sure?”, came the reply. “Holly shit, why did I offer a ride. Why am I pretend to be nice?”

I opened the door by the side. She climbed on the heated seat and heated mine. I drove to the corner of the park under the tree. I forgot where was I and what was I doing. Her head was between the legs of mine. She was playing the with the little naughty of mine. After a few minutes I was done.

 “Do you need the extra service”?

“No, I am fine.” I said with a conscience.  “How much you need for the cab?”

“Fifty for the cab, fifty for the food, that is enough for the night.” She said zipping her pant.

I paid hundred dollars to learn the meaning of the word I have heard a lot but never knew before, “ESCORT.”