Almost nightly I would take that bike ride from Perth St. over to Ann St. to that small two story house with the flaking white siding. Risking his disdain, I'd get her father to call her down from her upstairs bedroom so we could walk together again to the park. There, we'd sit and listen to the music of the creaking swings or, in the cloak of those safe nights when the sun had descended, hide away from that single streetlight that illuminated the corner of William and James and sit in the grass at the opposite corner of the park, where the light wasn’t attending, where we would talk in hushed tones. The neighbours could look down on us through their backwindow curtains and chainlink fences, but they would never hear a word we said.
