March in Canada is an impermanent, unreliable month. It’s rarely congenial or amusing. Spring is a notion, a longing, an urge. Conversations, crackling with profanity, begin and end with the weather.
For ports on the Great Lakes it can be the start of the shipping season, when the long lake boats begin to force their way through the reluctant ice to swallow ore, grain, or salt and plough the rough passage to anxious recipients.
One Saturday afternoon in the middle of March, my parents decided to visit some friends who lived near the lake. They liked to have a few drinks, play some cards and talk about people they knew. My little sister was in the same grade two class as the little girl who lived there, so off they ran to play dolls.
Perry, the son, was a couple of years older than I, already in high school while I was only in grade seven. Nevertheless, he was told to take me with him when he went to hang out with his friends. He just shrugged and said, “Sure.”
“And stay out of trouble,” his father shouted at us as we left. The adults all laughed.
Perry was too old to ride bikes, so we slushed along the sidewalk. I was wearing my winter coat and boots but Perry just had on a jean jacket and a pair of running shoes on his feet. He pulled a package of Players cigarettes from a pocket and offered one to me.
I took it, held it as I had seen my father hold his, and puffed when Perry flicked his lighter. I felt dizzy and tried not to show it, but Perry had spotted a couple of his buddies, yelled a greeting and didn’t notice.
“This is Jimmy,” Perry told his friends. “His folks and mine are playing cards, so he’s going to hang out with us.”
We headed towards the lake, Perry and his friends laughing and shoving and comparing the girls in their classes. We came to a gully and slithered down the bank by grabbing tree roots. I slipped, cracked my elbow on a rock but didn’t let on.
In the cove big chunks of ice bobbed and bumped. Several older kids were already there, jumping from one floe to another, playing tag. A couple of girls were sitting on a log beside a small driftwood fire. Taunts and name calling welcomed us. Perry and his pals quickly joined the fray.
I watched the game grow more frantic as players swerved and leaped on the erratic ice. Springing feet tipped and dipped the edges of the floes causing the cold lake water to slosh up and freeze.
“Aren’t you going to play?” One of the girls called to me.
I looked at her: she was pretty and I blushed.
“Go on,” she said. “Look at how much fun the other guys are having.”
I walked to the nearest floe and jumped on. It shifted and I moved to regain my balance. I rocked it back and forth until I felt stable, then jumped to the next one. Same thing: I waited for it to settle then jumped again. This was fun.
Unexpectedly, one of the big guys jumped onto my floe, tagged me, yelled, “You’re it!” and bounded away.
The floe tipped; I lost my balance and fell. My cheek smacked on a chunk of ice. The rocking shook me up and I lay still until the movement subsided.
“You okay, Jimmy?” Perry shouted.
I stood up. “Yeah, I just slipped.” The others were catching their breath, waiting for me to continue the game. I jumped to the nearest floe, then to another, heading for the closest kid. But they were bigger and quicker. I attempted to change direction suddenly, to lunge towards a guy on the next floe, when my foot slipped on the icy edge and I was in the water.
My coat soaked up the frigid liquid. When I kicked my legs to try to surface, my galoshes, filled with freezing water, came off and sank. I thrust with my arms, my head emerged and I struggled to grasp the edge of a floe with sodden mittens. Hands clutched my arms and pulled me out of the lake.
Perry was there, telling some to build up the fire, others to grab some blankets and he helped me to take off my sopping clothes. They rubbed me with the blankets and brought me close to the fire.
My teeth were chattering and I was shaking. One of the guys took off his coat, wrapped it around my shoulders and put the hood over my head. Someone passed me a bottle and told me to drink. When I did, I choked and spit out the whiskey. Even so, some of it burned its way down my throat and I felt woozy.
My clothes were put on branches and hung over the fire to dry. Gradually my shivering diminished and I drowsed. How long we stayed there, I was never sure. Darkness comes early in March and many of the kids drifted away.
We heard people calling our names and saw flashlights searching. Perry and I recognized our fathers’ voices. We had to reply.
There was hell to pay that night.
