HIGH PARK IS the largest park in Canada’s largest city. Stretching several square kilometres from the Bloor subway line all the way down to Lake Ontario and across three subway stops, it provides samples of many of Canada’s landscapes, from rolling fields covered in snow to bushy areas to forested enclaves.
Somewhere near the centre of the park sat a Native man, his back to the sun and his face to the openness of the grounds. Though it was still deep in winter’s embrace, the city was experiencing a brief warm spell, enough to feel the distant kiss of an approaching spring. Ralph did not know why he was sitting here. This was the second day he’d come to the park. Did he trust that crazy homeless man? If so, why? Perhaps that man wasn’t any crazier than anyone else he’d met in his travels. Wisdom and knowledge come with many faces. He’d read that somewhere. And, as he’d learned on the job, it didn’t hurt to investigate all possibilities.
The hot chocolate in his cardboard cup could no longer be legally called “hot.” How long he’d been sitting here, watching the population at winter play, he couldn’t say. A fair percentage of any person’s job in the police force involved doing nothing; it truly was a hurry-up-and-wait career. Spending hours watching the world pass by was pretty much second nature to Ralph. But he’d lost track of the multitude of joggers, strollers, and dogs. After two days, Ralph felt as much a part of the landscape as the park bench he sat on. He’d turned down an offer to return to the condo construction, saying he was reassessing his priorities. Instead, he sat here getting colder and colder, wondering if he should have his sanity reassessed.
Shelley and William had been amazed. Currently in the third trimester of child number four, they were unable to jump into their minivan and race into the city, as eager as they were to view the Horse. The picture Ralph had taken with his cellphone and sent didn’t do it justice, he had told them. Instead, they wished him success in his plan. All three had reminisced for a good hour when they’d finally connected on the phone, reliving every remembered moment. The two of them doubted, and to a certain extent so did Ralph, that doing what he was doing would produce any reasonable result. Still, it was better than doing nothing, and that was something he would not do anymore.
If by some miracle Danielle was around, what would he say to her? Even this he did not know. The sun was setting typically early for this time of year, casting long shadows in front of him, reminding him of winters at home. Currently the young man was trying to decide if he was an idiot for sitting here so long or if he should return to the park later in the week when he had another free day and take the opportunity to confirm his idiocy. After all, this whole situation was a long shot. Definitely a shot long enough to be measured in years. He took a sip of his drink then just as quickly spit out the half-frozen beverage. Disgusted, he placed it on the bench beside him without looking. Surprised, Ralph felt his paper cup knock something over that hadn’t been there when he had sat down.
Looking down to his right, he noticed a small figurine that had somehow materialized on one of the bench’s wooden slats. It looked like a small plaster horse. One leg was broken off, and both ears looked damaged. It was discoloured in a particular way; it was scorched. But somehow, it seemed familiar. Picking it up delicately, he rolled it over in his hands, unwilling to believe what his memory was telling him.
Looking up from the horse to the ground in front of him, Ralph noticed something else different. He now had two shadows. He was fairly sure he had arrived with one. It hovered there on the snow before him, slowly shifting weight from one foot to the other. Occasionally he’d see the head flip and long hair, almost like a mane, swirl in the air. Behind him, he could hear light breathing.
“Hey, Danielle …” His tone was husky and a little cautious.
Behind him, he heard a voice.