“If you find your mind wandering, just guide yourself back to the breath. No judgement. Just watch your thoughts like they are clouds in the sky.” As part of the exercise, each elder pointed at their distracting thoughts, imagining them passing over their head. Firuzeh found it ironic that she was teaching these folks to meditate when her own thoughts crowded her emotional brain. She thought of her ex surprising her at work with flowers. She thought of her ex dancing with her under a bridge while a train passed overhead. She thought of her ex painting her toes on a lazy Sunday morning.
“Great work,” she told the elders. “Follow your breath from your nostrils into your lungs and back out again.”
After most of the participants had left and Firuzeh had put away all the mats, she noticed one elder struggling with his jacket. It was Said, one of her favourites, although she would never admit to having favourites. She adored how in class he would assist Firuzeh by showing his fellow classmates his versions of various poses and encourage them, sometimes a bit too aggressively, to follow along.
“Hey, Said! Did you need help with that?” Firuzeh rushed to his side.
“If you don’t mind.” When she reached out to bring the sleeve closer to his arm, she noticed a scabbed-over scar running down his forearm.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“My neighbours. They jumped out at me in the stairwell. All of my groceries fell to the ground.” He closed his tired eyes and shook his head before enduring the last push of his arm through the fabric of his sleeve. He groaned.
“What?! Why did they do that?”
Said smirked in contempt. “Why do any of them do what they do?”
“I’m so sorry, Said. I know you were just placed there recently.”
“Housing for people like me is hard to come by. I’m not complaining about the bedbugs. Not complaining about the constant noise. I just want to be safe.”
“Did you see the doctor? Do you need stitches?”
“No. Doctor told me to go home.” He managed to get his other arm into the sleeve and winced in pain. “The doctors keep turning me away. First it was my prescriptions. The doctor refused to fill them. Told me I had an addiction problem. Now this. They told me to go home and sleep it off. How can you sleep off a wound? Glad it has scabbed, though.”
Firuzeh’s throat grew warm. This wasn’t the first time she had heard of this happening to the Others. It was why the walk-in clinic at the centre was constantly full. With dry pursed lips, Said kissed both Firuzeh’s cheeks goodbye.
She closed up the recreation room, waved goodbye to Quin, the night security guard at the front desk, and headed home into the crisp winter air. Her head was full of worry about clients such as Said and Bahadur. How fragile safety is, she thought to herself.
Yet another Boots checkpoint was situated at the intersection closest to the centre. Firuzeh sighed and decided to take an alternate route home. Anything to avoid yet another pat-down by the Boots.
By the time the streetcar approached her home, Firuzeh had decided that, despite the cold, it was warm enough for her to sit in Riverdale Park and contemplate her new single status. She had a lot of time for this kind of reflection these days. She sat on a park bench next to another on which a couple was locked in a heated embrace, kneading their faces into one another. At the basin of the park, framed by a baseball diamond, Firuzeh could see another tent city alive with activity. Laundry hung on makeshift lines. Groups encircled smoky fires. Out of one of the tents, a Black woman emerged from the zippered door and braced herself against the brisk breeze. Ragged and weary, she made her way up the hill towards the public washroom with a tray full of dirty dishes and a half-empty bottle of dish soap. Firuzeh closed her eyes at the sight of the woman. These tent cities were becoming more common, with no solution in sight.
She took out the joint she kept in an eyeglass case in her bag. With each exhale, the smoke blurred the skyline. The CN Tower was changing colours from blue to red to green. Laser beams shot out from some event in the heart of downtown, an exciting event that did not include her. How fragile life is.
Firuzeh walked up the lonely staircase to her third-floor apartment, made a beeline to her bed and cried herself to sleep.
The next day, Firuzeh packed what was, thankfully, the last of that dreadful Loving Kindness meal and headed to work. A Boots checkpoint was set up at the intersection outside her apartment building. She casually waited in line with the Others. Raised her arms for a pat-down.
As per usual, the Boot opened her purse for inspection.
“And what is this?”
“It’s my lunch.”
The Boot winced at the container’s smell.
“Verification Card, please.”
The streetcar was, mercifully, less crowded than usual. She entered the Transgender Assistance Centre. She said hello to Justine, the daytime security guard at the front desk. Took the elevator to the third floor. Nodded in Kyle’s direction. Pumped some hand sanitizer from the dispenser on the wall and rubbed it dry. Sat at her desk and checked emails. Deciding that her emails would go better with coffee, she got up from her desk and headed to the hospitality station across the hall. She poured ground coffee into the filter and heard a noise. She peeked her head around the corner and saw seven Boots with leather jackets and shiny boots making their way down the corridor aiming their guns left and right. They were like an arrow. Swift. Graceful. They wore matching helmets and held matching rifles.
“Excuse me, sir?” said Jesse, the second-floor front desk administrator, to the man at the front of the pack. “Can I help you?” From far away Firuzeh could see one of the Boots in the back of the pack intercept Jesse, preventing her from following any further. Firuzeh couldn’t hear what was said but could see that it was a threat. Jesse’s hands went up and she stopped in her tracks; her face was red and she helplessly looked down the corridor. For a brief moment, she locked eyes with Firuzeh in a look of terror.
Firuzeh ducked back into the station and tried to put the filter basket back into the machine, but for some reason it wouldn’t fit despite her attempts to jam it in again and again. She could hear their footsteps getting closer. Firuzeh knew in her heart the feeling of impending disaster. She had felt it many times. She knew what it meant to run for your life. So she did. She dropped the filter, and the coffee grounds spilled like soil onto the floor. She ran to her office.
Through the wall, she could hear the Boots speaking to Kyle. They sounded calm. Quiet. Smooth. Barely discernible. But Kyle was pleading.
“I just work here . . . I don’t know! Please!” The sound of an overturned table. Or chairs? A slam against the wall. Another smoothly delivered sentence. Moaning. A cabinet opened. Paper being scattered. Shattered glass.
Firuzeh frantically searched for her cellphone; it always slipped to the bottom of her purse. She started a live video on Facebook and aimed it at herself hiding behind her desk.
The video caught the sound of a doorknob turning. Firuzeh covered her mouth and shut her eyes, willing the nightmare to end. Two legs from the knees down could be seen rounding the desk. A Boot crushing the cellphone into static, into a memory.
With Firuzeh’s hands up in submission, the Boots also pulled the landline phone from its socket. All of Firuzeh’s files were tossed to the floor, rummaged through and confiscated.