Televisions

Sunday, March 6th 2005. Circa 3:00 a.m.
Halifax, Nova Scotia

The North-Atlantic winter weather can have the same temperament of a cat. Sometimes it is mild, docile and loving, but some other times, it slaps you in the face with sharp, painful coldness that makes you chill to the bone. This night was on the latter category.

That evening had started with a plan; a practical approach to saying good bye. There would be no sleep, we decided.

After having spent an evening of food, drinks, friends, speeches, salsa dancing and tapas, we knew it was time to prepare our minds, to gain strength, to stay awake and to stay together for the one that was about to leave. We had walked half the city trying to get things organized, barely making it in one piece to our headquarters; the ground was icy and covered with snow so the pilgrimage wasn’t easy.

As three of us, a Mexican, an Italian and a Serbian sat on top of a bed waiting in relative silence for a call that would give us a green light to initiate the mechanical process of farewell, we told silly stories, sipped some tea and fought a difficult battle; to stay awake.

In an instant, a cell phone rang; and just like a whistle that in the past would announce a fleet of workers that their work-shift had started, we bundled up, took what was left of our spirits and walked out the back door, down the stairs on a shaky wooden structure covered with snow and ice; and tripping in between the sea of frozen soil, we made our way a few blocks away to the house of the one that was about to leave.

As we difficultly climbed up the extra-slippery driveway of the Victorian-looking orange home, we made ourselves welcome into the large eat-in kitchen; two things made my eyes dilate with astonishment: On one side, there were 5 or 6 huge boxes and pieces of luggage waiting patiently to be carried an ocean away into a foreign life. On the other side, an army of pigs, gazing at us from all angles of the kitchen, vigilant, looking as if about to charge in the least expected moment. I was tired.

It was then that I saw it, right there, behind some multicolored luggage that looked like if it could explode with the minimum unattended movement that an enormous 29-inch old-style television sat quietly, amid the controlled chaos.

In any other circumstances, I would have used my most powerful talents nursed by being raised a catholic in order to persuade the one that was about to leave not to take that thing along, as I knew it would probably be me who would have to bring it into one of the vehicles; but I knew that this was not an option, she was going back to Cuba. I just looked at the Serbian one and silently communicated my resignation.

Suddenly she emerged; like if she had just being brought back to life by some evil magical spell, the one that was about to leave came into the kitchen with her arms hanging heavily on either side of her body, visibly sad, but with a mission in mind. Her hair was a little mess, barely held by an old hair-band; she had the looks of an announced redemption, tired, afraid.

As the evening began its subtle transformation into dawn, we proceeded to act as little insects carrying each and every one of the packages right inside the trunk of an older vehicle and to the back of a pick-up utility truck; a collective massive effort being executed by the Serbian, the Mexican and the boyfriend of the one that was about to leave. package after package, pound after pound, memory after memory.

And as we were about to finish, with our backs broken and with an increasing sense of time just dripping out of the palm of our hands, the one that was about to leave asked for a private moment with her boyfriend, so we moved back to that kitchen of pig-hell.

With nothing better to do in mind, I started gazing at every possible detail found on the yellow walls of the kitchen, the dark green accents on the rims of the cupboards, and of course, the pigs; until my eyes reached a corner of the room and with an expression of horror I noticed; we forgot the television!

In a decisive impetuous moment I looked directly at the eyes of the Serbian to give the news; our eyes met once again and without saying a word, we moved near that television to finish the ordeal. The television was a big, heavy square and had an odd shape which made the process of coordinating the carrying dance even more awkward, we had a challenge in our hands and an excuse to distract our minds.

Slowly we raised and difficultly stood up holding the heavy box in our hands and arms and headed over to the door out to the slippery driveway.

The Serbian one was at the front, coordinating the pace and direction of the delicate operation. One by one, we first defeated a series of three steps on a small staircase that lead us into the paved dark driveway. What happened next was not what we planned; as the Serbian started her descend into the 30-degree angled driveway she noticed two things: The early signs of dawn and the icy soil.

As the Serbian’s feet started moving without any intention, sliding slowly down the man-made slope, the Mexican stood for a second until he too was trapped by the traction-less soil. They stood quiet, rigid, like a statue erected in honor of two thieves.

In an instant, the silence was broken by a laugh. The Mexican could not find something better to do than to laugh of the disgraceful situation they got into, shortly after, the Serbian joined.

What else can you do when you are caught by the effects of the North Atlantic winter, frozen in the act, sliding down while carrying a huge television in the eerie days of the morning?

There was no call for help, no room for strategies; they just quite literally, went down with the flow; sliding in what some may have found to be a sublime dance, laughing in automatic mode, trapped by the moment, laughing at the moment, their misfortune.

As their strength began to fade and accepted their faith with at least a good sense of humor, two strong arms came to the rescue; They held the television, they stopped the involuntary descend of our feet, they were heroic, they belonged to the boyfriend of the one that was about to leave; and in an instant and with unmatchable skill, he took the big, dark, square object off our hands, brought it down the driveway, and put it on the back of his truck.

In the meantime we were left behind laughing of our disgraceful attempt; of friends leaving; of televisions.