Brent Mason: Intense in tents

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We moved the tent under the overpass late last fall. We used to have it in the parking lot off Waterloo Street, with a whole wack of other ones. We moved in there when the rent got jacked up in the spring. Went from 750 to 1,500 when the building got sold. I … we … couldn’t afford it, and there was nowhere else to go; everything’s gone through the roof here. Crazy expensive with people moving here from all over. Used to be fine with our disability cheque. Not anymore…

We got the boot at the end of April. At least it wasn’t January, I guess. We woulda froze. Still, what the hell do you do with all the crap that builds up? We were in the apartment since ‘89, when we came to town because he got a job at the shipyard; they were building the frigates for the Navy. Good money. It seemed like that was going to last a long time, but years can scoot away on you pretty quick. It was like watching a kite on a broken string fly away. He got hurt just before the contract ended and couldn’t work no more after that.

We put what we could fit into one of those storage lockers that are popping up like mushrooms everywhere. Some furniture, mom’s good China that she left to me. Photo albums. Stuff that means something to me; all of our dear little Margeret’s things from when we still had her. The rocking horse … We sold what we could and piled the rest of it out on the curb. Most of it was gone in a day. I remember at the time he joked about those old Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom shows we used to watch on Saturdays, before we moved to the city; when a cow would fall into a river in a jungle somewhere and get devoured in minutes by those fish with the sharp teeth. Piranhas, I think they call them. Strip ‘em right to the bone.

It was good there for quite a while. Well, not good, but not the worst either. Most of the people were okay. Fun to be around, or at least safe enough. Some real characters. It was a warm summer. Not the stinky, damp days we used to get. The weather has definitely changed since we moved here. Used to be nothin’ but fog and rain, but they cleaned up the pulp mill with the scrubbers, and yeah, might be true what they’re saying about the global warming, because it actually got hot here, especially in August. It was nice getting to know some new people, not so nice getting to know some of them, too. There’s a lot of troubled ones, but there’s a few that are just trouble. The drugs make that a lot worse; ya gotta keep an eye on things, so they don’t get stolen and sold.

Like I said, it was good for a while. After the big fire, the one where Scooter got burned so bad, we decided to move away from ground zero. That’s what we came to call the encampment. It just wasn’t safe anymore. At the end of October, we tore down the tent and hauled everything down the hill in shopping carts we took from the mall. It was at least a dozen trips, even though most of what we have is in storage. I always make sure I’ve got enough to pay for the that. I had to do it all on my own. He can’t do much. Plus, he’s got the oxygen tank to haul.

We stay good and dry under the overpass. That’s the main reason we picked it. Location location, right? It took a while for me to get used to all the traffic going through the intersection, stopping at the lights, people looking over, staring from their cars. I’m over it now; screw’em, right?!

It’s getting a lot colder, but we’re gonna be okay. I scored a kerosene heater which does the trick. We really only need it when it gets really cold. It’s kind of nice here late in the afternoon, when the sun slices over top of the old bowling alley and covers our little patch of ground in light. It only lasts a little while, but it can be really beautiful. I open the flap and try and get him to look. I keep telling him, you gotta keep an eye out for the blessings.

Brent Mason is an award-winning musician and writer living in Saint John (www.brentmason.ca). Mason’s Jar is a column featuring short, fictional musings largely, but not exclusively, set in New Brunswick.