Don’t Be a Stranger

1

The first time I saw Leopold Otis Ward III was when I went to get a tea from Tim Hortons.

I’d been avoiding the Tims closest to my house ever since Amy started working there. She wasn’t a bad person, but I preferred thinking my own thoughts than enduring her small talk while I waited for my tea to brew. Last time, while I was waiting, the manager caught her sneaking me a donut that I wasn’t even hungry for. The situation was awkward for all three of us. I hadn’t been back since.

It didn’t matter anyway; the Tim Hortons at Pape Subway Station wasn’t far and, luckily, had the same late-night hours.

I cut diagonally through Withrow Park just as the final few kids were leaving the playground with their Pilipino nannies. I glanced at the ice rink as I passed it, but there was nothing to see except a small puddle that had refused to dry with the afternoon sun. As I got to the middle of the park, I heard something softly crash. A few seconds passed before the sound repeated, albeit slightly louder.

It was coming from the cement patch that people used as a makeshift volleyball court. On the concrete, a kid a bit older than me stepped onto his skateboard. He was a mere silhouette backlit by Carlaw Avenue, but I watched with intrigue. The skater rolled slightly on the board, then slammed his back foot down; the deck popped up, but he tumbled back and fell softly on his butt. I kept walking.

As they brewed a fresh pot of steeped tea, I found a copy of NOW Magazine. I only ever picked it up for the back page, where people asked sex-related questions to an honest and shameless expert. They were some of the funniest things I’d read, and very interesting. Once, a guy wrote in asking about a dildo he could mount on his nose so he could anally penetrate his girlfriend better while she sat on his face and got eaten out. Another time, a straight, married man confessed that he’d been getting the greatest blowjobs of his life from a male co-worker, and that it’d been going on for years. The man asked if he should tell his wife or just continue enjoying himself.

I didn’t finish the page by the time my tea was made, so I tucked the paper under my arm, took my drink and left. It was too hot to sip from, but I did anyway, burning my tongue. I heard the skateboard crashing against the cement before I entered the park. The guy was still trying to ollie, his curly hair shaking with every attempt. But he wasn’t letting the board pop into the air, so he was never able to lift the back wheels off the ground.

I wasn’t an expert by any means, but I could at least ollie. My friend Nick started teaching me when the snow melted, but he gave up once I plateaued. Skating was fun to try, but it was too late for me to get good at. I could ollie, sure, but that was all; I couldn’t do any tricks on the board and never would. My natural balance and footwork – things that helped me in wrestling and hockey – were completely nullified on wheels.

He tried another ollie, fell hard and examined his elbow. Sitting on the ground, he caught my eye, and for some reason I walked straight over to him.

“You good?”

He got up and dusted himself off. He was wearing a light brown V-neck and khaki shorts that had small logos I didn’t recognize. Up close, I noticed a bit of dark stubble running along his jawline. “Yeah, thanks.” He had a slight British accent, as though he’d spent time there.

“Just learning?” I asked, pointing at the board. He picked up and examined the deck like he’d never seen it before, his bright eyes scanning for defects.

“I am,” he said, gently placing the board at his feet and meeting my eye. He slid it over to me with his foot. “Can you teach me?”

I set my tea and newspaper down and moved to open space. “I’m new myself,” I admitted, “but I can sorta ollie.” I did it the way Nick taught me, slamming my back foot down while sliding my front foot up to catch the board as it hopped. The deck went high, but it got away from me, so I landed on the cement instead of the board.

“That was brilliant!” He dashed to retrieve his board. “Marvelous! Really, how did you – say, show me again, will you?”

I thought he was pulling my leg, so I really focused on the next ollie. I got the board in motion, ollied, and landed cleanly; it was probably the best one I’d ever done, and I wished Nick had seen it.

“Perfect!” He closed the distance and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Leopold; Leopold Otis Ward the third.”

I gave my name as we shook hands. Leopold was tall, sinewy and very tanned, even for early June. His beige cotton belt matched his shoes, which were spotlessly fresh. I wondered if he knew that skating would ruin them over time.

He tried a couple of ollies in front of me. He still wasn’t letting the deck jump into the air after he slammed the tail down, and I told him so.

“You gotta slide your front foot more lightly. Does that make sense? If you’re heavy on it, the board can’t really get off the ground.”

Leopold listened like my words had value, then set his board quietly on the cement. He stood on it, gave me a quick nod, then bent down and really went for it. The board popped high, but slipped out from under him on the landing. It rolled over my tea and onto the grass.

“That was good!” I cheered, running into the darkness after the board. It was the best I’d seen Leopold do.

“I’ve toppled your coffee!”

“No worries.”

“I’m so sorry. I owe ya one.”

I picked up my spilled cup and took a sip from what remained. “It’s still half-full. You owe me like, eighty cents.”

Leopold’s laughter carried through the open space of the park. It wasn’t a brightly lit park, and we were near the middle of it, so we had the illusion of privacy.

“You’ll see that money, Jimmie. You can count on reimbursement. We’ll have to meet again, right? If I’m to give you the money.”

 “If that’s the case, I’ll bring my board so we can have another practice.” I didn’t own a skateboard; I just used Nick’s when I was with him. But it wouldn’t be hard to get something to skate on when I met with Leopold again.

  “That’s the spirit!”

Spirit, brilliant; marvelous, toppled – Leopold sounded like he was fifty years old, but I liked it. There was a charm to his intelligent, yet somewhat childish demeanor.

“What’s your cell?”

I gulped. “I don’t have one.”

“No bother. Cell phones are junk, anyhow.” Leopold didn’t miss a beat. He filled silences with the grace of a seasoned radio host. “You’re a neighborhood guy, aren’t you?” I nodded. “You’ll be hard to avoid, then.”

We took turns ollieing and critiquing each other’s technique. After twenty minutes, Leopold had gotten as good as I was when I’d met him, and I’d improved considerably as well. We then switched it up and tried doing manuals across the concrete. I was able to balance better, but neither of us could maintain the trick over the small crack in the centre of our stage.

“Why’d you start skating?” I asked after he failed another manual. I’d already explained how Nick got me into it, but Leopold hadn’t said why he started. He held the board by his hip and studied me with his bright eyes.

“Because a man needs to expand his repertoire before it’s too late; before he becomes rigid with habit and can’t learn new concepts or skills.”

Leopold rolled the board ahead of himself and tried hopping on it, but it slipped out from under him. He fell fast, with one leg awkwardly folding beneath him. It was the first hard fall either of us had taken, so I waited for his reaction before I laughed it of. But Leopold stayed on the ground in absolute silence.

“You alright, man?” I walked over and stood above him. My new friend was smiling, staring at the half moon.

“I’ve been meaning to learn a new language.” He stuck a hand up; I used it to hoist him to his feet. “But I don’t know which language to learn.”

“Go for French,” I suggested. “I’ve heard teachers say it’s the ticket to a government job.”

Leopold inspected the new little scrape on his elbow. “I already know French. I was thinking of Spanish or Italian.” He met my eye. “Or I’ll just take the easy route and learn sign-language.” He winked, then retrieved his board and rolled it over to me.

“That sounds difficult.” I ollied, but couldn’t stay balanced on the landing and had to bail out.

“That’s why I must learn now! I can’t do it at forty. There’d be no way. My brain is spongier now than it ever will be again. The present is imperative! I don’t wanna look back on my life and think I’ve squandered my opportunities for growth.”

Leopold was thinking further ahead in life than I ever had, so I wasn’t sure what to say. He struck me as someone who captained his school’s trivia club, yet also like a guy who could win a student-council election or even make a varsity team. I mean, he spoke like he’d authored a thesaurus, yet here he was, skating with me and scraping his skin on bails. He was a bit nerdy, that was certain, but he wasn’t covered with knee pads and a helmet.

“How about yourself?” he asked after a small ollie. “Other than skateboarding, is there anything spontaneous that you want to learn? Anything you wanna add to your arsenal of knowledge?”

I gazed around the park, which had gotten as dark as it ever would. I wanted to answer Leopold honestly, but also wanted to impress him. Yet I couldn’t find the balance between the two. Everything I thought of was either too insignificant (like learning to juggle) or wildly unfathomable (like sailing around the world). I didn’t want to copy him and pick a language. But what did I want to learn?

 “I always thought it would be cool to go to a different city and stay there for a week. But, you know, as a homeless person. I think it would be cool – I mean, interesting. Like, it’d be a good way to learn about the city.” Leopold was staring at me like a teacher during a presentation, so I kept rambling to earn marks. “You’d learn about the people, for sure, but also about their restaurants and the food. You’d get to know the popular street corners and you’d have to figure out what type of people live in each neighborhood.” The idea was sounding dumber with every sentence I uttered. “I don’t know. I could do it here, but people would recognize me, you know? And I already know Toronto pretty well.” I thumbed my pockets. “I don’t know.”

I thought Leopold would take it as a joke and laugh, but he didn’t. He just rolled the board back and forth with his foot, deep in thought. I realized then that he wouldn’t have laughed no matter what I’d answered. He was diplomatic, asking out of curiosity more so than comparison, which only increased my liking of him. It wasn’t hard to imagine him running our country one day.

  “You’d learn a lot about cities doing that,” he finally stated. “But I think you’d learn more about yourself than anything. Don’t you?”

We agreed, then debated which cities would be the hardest to survive in. I was mostly focused on the weather, but Leopold claimed the culture mattered more than the climate. He had practical concerns about actually trying it, though.

“Children’s Aid can take us since we’re under 16.”

I didn’t blame him for assuming I was younger. “I just turned sixteen. I’d be fine.”

“Ah. Well, I think it’s a grand idea. But I’d have to wait another year if I were to join you.”

“You’re only fifteen?”

“Just had my birthday last week.”

The stubble on his chin looked like it could sprout into a beard overnight. Yet he was a full grade beneath me; merely a kid.

A superkid.

 We chatted and skated for a bit more. Leopold’s vocabulary was impressive, so I figured he read a lot of fiction like I did. But when I asked him, he scoffed and said he was more interested in ‘scientific articles’ than ‘books of fancy.’

After fifteen more minutes, Leopold took out his phone and told me the time. It was later than I realized. As we gathered our things, he asked which direction I lived.

I pointed south with my newspaper. “I’m on one of the side streets off Logan.”

Leopold thrust his head east. “I’m on Strathcona. Say, is that NOW Magazine?” He stuck his hand out for the paper, so I gave it to him. He flipped to the second page, which was titled ‘Letters to the Editor.’

“Do you read this often?” he asked, squinting to read the page in the dark.

I’d never read NOW in my life. I just liked skipping to the sex questions at the back. I wasn’t even sure what sort of paper it was, but just that it was Toronto-focused and displayed advertisements for prostitutes. But I didn’t want Leopold knowing my ignorance.

 “Oh yeah. I read it all the time.”

“I’ve been writing in about how schools are increasingly failing boys due to systemic bias, but they never publish me.” He shut the newspaper and rolled his eyes. “God forbid they feature a diverse opinion from a not-so-very-diverse person.” Leopold laughed like he’d told a joke, so I laughed along with him. But this only made him laugh more. Eventually, we were nearly in tears, giggling about something I didn’t understand.

“Publish me or not, it’s still a decent read.” He handed the newspaper back to me. “Strong liberal bias, but a decent read.”

Unsure what I could add with my words, I nodded.

“Now, Jimmie – don’t be a stranger. I owe ya eighty cents for the coffee and definitely something extra for the lesson!”

Leopold tucked his board under his arm, shook my hand firmly and walked across the grass towards Carlaw. I tucked the newspaper under mine, determined to finally read the entire thing, front to back.

2

The second time I saw Leopold Otis Ward III was on the Danforth a week after our skate session.

I’d just finished a ball hockey shift at the centre and was hunting a gyro for dinner. There was a big line at Messini, and I was debating whether to join it or move on when Leopold passed me. He was in a group of tall, well-dressed guys strolling along the sidewalk. I would have assumed they were college kids but, with Leopold among them, I couldn’t be sure; he looked every bit their equal.

 We made eye-contact as his group went by; I saw his face flash recognition, but turned from it before he could notice my noticing. I studied the Messini line seriously and let his group distance themselves.

When I glanced back at them, Leopold was just taking his eyes from me, turning his attention back to his friends.

3

The third time I saw Leopold Otis Ward III was in line at Tim Hortons two weeks later.

Amy took my order. She asked about my brother, sister, mother and step-dad as she gave me back my change, so she didn’t notice that she needed to brew a new pot of steeped tea.

“Sorry, Jimmie!” she squealed, emptying and rinsing the old pot. “I’ll make you a fresh one now. Can you wait a few minutes?”

“Yep. No problem.”

“Want a few timbits while you wait?”

I shook my head and moved to the bagel and sandwich area of the counter so Amy couldn’t sneak me anything.

The next guest was Leopold Otis Ward III, though I didn’t realize it until I heard him order two medium iced cappuccinos with his trace British accent.

Amy made the iced capps while my tea brewed, forcing Leopold to stand and wait just five feet from me. I pretended to be absorbed reading the menu and avoided eye contact until he got his drinks. A few minutes later, my tea was ready. I said goodbye to Amy and went to leave.

Leopold and a gorgeous woman were sitting by the door. She looked even older than he did, so it surprised me when he reached across the table and held her hands in his.

4

The fourth time I saw Leopold Otis Ward III was months later, in the heart of winter. It took a moment to recognize the man sitting across from me on the subway, wrapped in a black peacoat, reading from a thick textbook. I tried to see the cover, but couldn’t without drawing attention to myself.

Leopold stood as we approached St. George Station. He glanced down at me, but I closed my eyes and nodded along to my music as he tucked his textbook into his shoulder bag and exited the train.

5

I crossed Leopold Otis Ward III’s path six more times, but never saw him again.

Jay is a supply teacher working out of Toronto, Canada who has been published an incredible amount of times - once. He tries to keep his writing honest by only writing about what he sees, but if he's being (really) honest, he actually makes a lot of it up. Though they won't be published, Jay is looking to print his first book of short stories soon.