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  • Writer's pictureWellington Lambert

South of Moosonee 16

Sturgeon falls with Sasha


I went to Marks last night and had him sign the contract I wrote up. It said he couldn’t play the songs we wrote together.

I gave him his masters back.

It’s weird, I never felt in control before…I like it.

He said it didn’t have to be this way, but I don’t know what he means, he never offered an alternative.

HWH 149

I think that’s it; I think that’s the license.

Sly and I would pretend to be spies. Watch drug deals, find hideaways, make shit up.

We followed a car to Barrio’s pit, they were getting drugs. My bike broke on the way there, so we turned back. There was something exciting about thinking we were watching real criminals. Something inside me wanted them to catch us following them, kidnap us, escape, have a real-life dangerous adventure. But in the end, it was probably just a bunch of kids in a car, drinking.

My Mom thought Sly was too bold because when she called me, she would just say “Greg there?” Nothing else. My mom valued politeness.

Sly was my best friend , her and Peter. We liked hanging out with Peter because he was the smartest person we know. It was strange that he had so much intelligence, without an ounce of common sense. He would do anything without second thought about how much it could hurt him. Jumping off buildings, smashing a bullet with a hammer. Peter was crazy, Sly was fun.

Sly doesn’t take shit from anybody. If I didn’t take shit from anyone I would be completely alone. One of my biggest talents is taking shit, I’m a professional shit taker.



Her family lived on the edge of town. There was a path from her backyard to a small square fenced in brick building that hummed with electricity. Trails splintered off through the forest, connecting to larger roads that were part of town, like veins and arteries in a body. The road near her house was the road to Sturgeon falls, my favorite road. Her grandmother lived in her house. She had her own room and when I would go there to visit, she would call me Tiger, because my hair was wild and curly. She was always in bed and laughed a lot. I liked her. I imagined that is what a grandmother would be, always happy to see you. Grandparents are foreign to me, the two I have left don’t seem to exist. All I remember of my grandfather on the east coast was him saying “That’s some good,” to my mother when he finished eating a meal she cooked. Slys’ grandmother looked super soft, like a big pillow. I wanted to talk to her more, but I really couldn’t think of what to say. I never leaned the language of old people.

Sly was always up for adventure. She would look for hiding places with me and we would sit and talk in places no one could find us. We would discover mysteries together and hunt for excitement. We would try to change the ordinary into the something dangerous, something we could chase, something that might chase us back. Sly wasn’t into girly things and she wasn’t a boy. She was my first real friendship.

For a while Peter joined our team. He managed to pump up our exciting adventures to a dangerous level. His lack of limits pulled us into a world without consequences. It was fun, until it wasn’t. It came to an end when Peter drank a full bottle of unopened wine we found behind a grocery store near the circle. Sly and I didn’t drink it, it smelt bad to us. After a while Peter started acting strange, he was laughing at anything and seemed to lose his ability to walk straight. I didn’t know then what drunk looked like. My parents almost never drank, and I definitely never saw them drunk. We went to the municipal lot, jumped over the fence, and started climbing the mountains of sand they store for the winter. Peter became impossible to talk to, like he was somewhere else. We decided to take him to my place. He then puked on my parents’ car and on the garage floor. I told my parents he wasn’t feeling well and my dad drove him home with Sly. Later Sly told me the ride was very…quiet. My Dad dropped Peter off at his house, Carl got out, ran into a tree, then found his way to the front door. Sly told my dad “He’s not feeling well.” When Carl managed to get into the house, he told his father he swallowed chemicals… then the shit really hit the fan.


Puberty took my friends away.


I had one of those dreams again. I suddenly popped into a place where there were old stone buildings. It felt like a school. There were walkways and a lot of creatures gathered on these walkways. They all looked similar, but they didn’t look human. When I appeared, they all stopped talking and looked at me. It was clear they could see me. It wasn’t a dream where I could just walk around and explore. I quickly disappeared, I felt threatened. They weren’t human but I was the alien. Sort of how I feel now, in real life.

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