A N D R E A C U R T I S
142
We are survivors. If we make it to the mainland, it will be up
to us to speak for those who didn’t. It will be up to us to tell
their stories. The responsibility is heavy on my shoulders.
We’re nearly at the lifeboat when Daniel reaches out a
hand to help me get down a short slope. His fingers are warm,
his hand enclosing mine. But I quickly pull away. We can’t
afford to dwell in this fiction any longer.
I’ve been fooling myself thinking that all of this has
changed me. I’m the same selfish girl Mother always said I
am. Even last night I was thinking only about myself when
there is so much more at stake.
We sit down on the rock, looking south over the channel
we crossed yesterday, watching the rhythmic movement of the
small waves. I steel myself. I have to stop this. Daniel needs
to know who I am. What kind of impatience, what kind of
cruelty, I’m capable of.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve run away,” I tell him as we
watch the water. “The first time was right after my brother
died. I didn’t think about anyone else. I just left. I wasn’t even
sad. Not at first.”
Daniel nods kindly.
“No. You don’t understand. I just left. I didn’t say a word.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I wandered out of
Parkdale into one of the ravines in Toronto. I stumbled around
down there in the muck and mud and garbage. I was like a
lunatic. Then the creek began to shrink and the slope of the
riverbank flattened out until I emerged at the street that cuts
across the top of Toronto. Bloor. It’s more like a country road,
really. My boots were filthy, the hem of my dress torn and
covered in dirt. When I saw a woman hustle her daughter to
