Markham Creates

Rainbow Lips - Olga Pugach

Artist Name: Olga Pugach Title: Rainbow Lips Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: I believe that each and every brush stroke is a snippet of a story.

Art Turbulence 1 - Justyn Warner

Artist Name: Justyn Warner Title: Art Turbulence 1 Medium: Oil/Mixed Artist Statement: My Quarantine Collection (11x14, papers) explores an elevated perspective to see possibility instead of pain. These abstracts are expressed on paper, with collaged scripture, hand-stitched textiles, and buttery oils through a minimal colour palette.

Submission 2 - Jennie Belaiev

Artist Name: Jennie Belaiev Title: Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: Art is a great love of mine. It's a way to deal with difficult issues, a meditation and a tool to reflect on things that trouble me. Since the whole COVID saga began, I have been trying to brighten my daughter's spirit with a weekly surprise artwork.

Submission 2 - Marie Russell

Artist Name: Marie Russell Title: Submission 2 Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: You must always embrace your talents. Life got in the way and I did not pick up a paint brush for 25 years - restarting in 2011. My mission is to encourage busy working women not to take a break as it is essential to our satisfaction with life.

Submission 3 - Marie Russell

Artist Name: Marie Russell Title: Submission 3 Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: You must always embrace your talents. Life got in the way and I did not pick up a paint brush for 25 years - restarting in 2011. My mission is to encourage busy working women not to take a break as it is essential to our satisfaction with life.

Joy Fenske - Collection of Bells

The collection of about 500 bells was started in 1993. (Reduced from about 800) The oldest dates back to 1902 commemorates the Coronation of King Edward VII

Chloe Lee

Dhara Bharanitharan

My kids made me admire at you...beauty in its own way.

Lesley Wooton - Unusual Craft Tools Collection

I am a founding member of the Markham Guild of Village Crafts, and for many years taught traditional rug-hooking for the Guild. I am a collector by nature, and among other interests enjoy travelling and collecting antiques. Therefore crafts, from here and other countries, and through the ages, coalesce in my interest in collecting unusual craft tools that people have used to create, to make their work easier and enhance their lives. My collection ranges in materials from metal to wood, silk, paper and plastic; in size; and in age from the 17th century until today.

Frances Yoong

My Journey. An immigrant's story, and his journey to Markham...

It was February 22nd, 1970 when I first stepped foot into the unknown: a new life in a country called Canada. I had just spent two days travelling across the world, and I had no idea what to expect. I had dreamt of coming to Canada for years ever since my brother and his wife had moved here in 1966. But now that I was here, I found myself nervous and unsure what to expect. I was only 19 when I left Ceylon, which would be renamed Sri Lanka just two years later. Like many immigrants who left their homeland in search of a better life, I had mixed feelings about leaving home. On the day of my departure, all of my relatives and friends came to the airport to say goodbye. I was leaving them to travel halfway around the globe for a new and an exciting life. At least, that was what they all hoped for, including me. Mixed in with my excitement and sense of adventure was a feeling of sadness and anxiety. I boarded a small twin-engine Air Ceylon plane destined for Bombay (now Mumbai) India. Then a connecting flight to Amsterdam, Netherlands, and flew across the Atlantic Ocean to Toronto, Canada. It wasn’t until I got on the plane that I realized how much I was going to miss my family, especially my mother. She cried the night before I left, worried she might never see her youngest son again. It was hard enough when my older brother left four years ago, and now her youngest was leaving, too. I began to feel sad, nervous and lonely, all at the same time. It was a weird feeling, as a teenager, to know that my life was about to enter a new phase, without most of my family there to share it. It was the dream of my generation in the 60’s to immigrate to the West, especially to US. At the time, there were few to no opportunities for professional advancement, as social and economic upheavals took hold across South and East Asia, including Sri Lanka. As someone interested in science and technology, I adored the USA for its advancement in science, including the quest to send a man to the moon. USA was a promised land for most young men of my generation, fascinated and mesmerized as we were by the glamour of Hollywood, and glossy Western magazines like Life, National Geographic, The Times and Newsweek. We couldn’t get enough of it. Popular Science magazine was my personal favourite. I couldn’t wait to see it every month at the local library, where I happily spent much of my youth. I was a book worm who loved reading, and the local library was my oasis. It still is! Back to my journey. After an overnight layover in Amsterdam, which was my first time in Europe, I flew to Canada, landing first in Montreal. For the first time in my life, I saw snow. I was so excited. Coming from a tropical island where there was only one season, hot, we weren’t used to checking the weather on daily basis. It was mostly sunny year round, sometimes rainy for days. But always hot. I had absolutely no idea how cold Canada was, especially in the middle of February! It would seem that my brother forgot to tell me that February was not the best month to come to Canada! The immigration officer with a funny French accent said “Bonjour, welcome to Canada!” with a smile! I am sure he meant “Welcome to deep freeze sucker!” knowing damn well that I was coming from a very warm country! Thankfully, my brother met me at the Toronto airport, which looked modern to me at the time. Unlike Montreal, there was no snow on the ground in Toronto. It was dull and grey. All I remember is that it took about 45 minutes from the airport to his apartment along a big highway called the 401. His apartment was in Don Mills, just in front of the Ontario Science Centre. The area was called Flemingdon Park which, at the time, had few high rise apartment buildings and a strip mall. This strip mall had a grocery store called Dominion Store, a pharmacy, a laundry mat, a hair salon, and a little Greek restaurant. My first impression? I couldn’t believe how big everything was in Canada. Big cars, big buildings, big everything! Everything was new to me; it looked so clean and organized well-planned landscapes, roads, signs, buildings, traffic, etc. It was also the first time in my life that I saw so many white people! I was very lucky to have my brother and his wife, who came to Canada four years earlier and cleared most of the challenges that majority of new immigrants face when they arrive in a new country. Another advantage was that I could speak English fluently, one of the only benefits of British colonization. I still remember the first time I went grocery shopping with my brother and his wife. “Whoa“I said to myself as soon as we entered the Dominion Store in the strip mall. It was a huge supermarket to me, aisle after aisle filled with all kinds of, vegetables, meat, fish, and canned food, many of which I had never seen before! I remembered how the friendly cashier entered prices by hand while packing our groceries into brown paper bags. There were no scanners, digital bar codes, or even plastic bags, back then. The first few weeks, I was like a kid in a candy store! I was absolutely blown away when I saw TV for the first time in my life! Even though it was black and white (colour TV came soon after), I was in awe of the five channels available in my brother’s 20” Zenith TV. Being a big fan of Western cowboy movies, I think the first week I watched a show called Bonanza almost daily, including Three Stooges. And, of course, there were my favourite cartoons: the Bugs Bunny and the Road Runner, which I couldn’t get enough of! While I was so fascinated and in awe of all these new things, I knew that I need to figure out soon what I was going to do. My main goal was to pursue a higher education - a dream of many of my generation. Since I didn’t have the necessary qualifications or funds to support myself, my first priority was to find a job, any job, while taking night courses needed for the university entrance. There were many services provided by a government agency called Man Power, which helped new immigrants like me find jobs and training, matched to our previous education and work experience in our homelands. The first question the counsellor at Man Power asked me was what my previous work experience before I came to Canada. I said none, since I had never really worked in my life before. I had only recently finished advanced level, which was equivalent to grade 13 at the time. I said I was willing to do any type of work until I acquired necessary qualifications to enter university in couple of years. I said my goal and dream was to pursue higher education and I was willing to do anything to achieve my goal. He said he was pleased to hear that and would do his best to find a suitable job. Two days later he called me to say there was a small spice company near where I lived, and they were looking for a young person to do book keeping. No previous experience was necessary because it was an entry level job. I was thrilled. I rode the TTC bus for the first time in my life to go to York Mills and Leslie from Flemingdon Park. The trip cost me 10 cents, including a transfer to the second bus on Leslie Street from Eglinton. I was overjoyed when the owner of the Tom’s Spice Mills, Mr. Horton himself, offered me the job on the spot. He was pleased that I came from the land where he imported 75% of his spices. I had no idea what kind of book keeping I was supposed to do, but I felt relieved when his office manager, Ms. Ella Bevan, a polite and well-mannered English lady, said she would train me. I knew I was very lucky to get a job just 3 weeks after arriving in Canada, especially since I never had a job before. My starting salary was $75 per week and all the spices I wanted at 50% off. I was thrilled! So were my sister-in-law and her Sri Lankan friends, who knew they could get their spices cheap through me! I was sad when I left my first job almost two and half years later, in July 1972. After finishing the necessary night courses, I was admitted to the University of Waterloo’s faculty of science in 1972. The work experience and knowledge I gained working at Tom’s Spice Mills was tremendously useful, and helped me to realise that I was now an adult responsible for my own future. The care free teenage years and fond memories were quickly becoming a distant past. In the fall of 1972, I started at the University of Waterloo, a fairly new faculty located in the suburbs of Waterloo. As exciting as it was in the beginning, the transition to the campus life wasn’t easy. The first year’s work load as a science student was overwhelming and stressful. I loved the social and carefree culture of the university life, but found myself too stressed out trying to keep up with the daily work load of lectures, assignments, and so on, which made me wonder if I could really handle it. This era was also the beginning of the computer revolution, as the business and industries began to computerize their operations. As a tech geek, I was very much interested in computer technology. As a kid, I had always been interested in electronics. So, it was an easy and natural transition for me into this new technology. I was amazed at how quickly the world was changing. In the spring of 1976, I met a remarkable woman of whom I had no idea that she would be my wife later! She was also from Sri Lanka, and had lived in Denmark, working as an Au Pair before moving to Canada. We got married on the Labour Day, six months after we had met. After living in a basement apartment owned by a nice Swedish lady in Leaside for nearly a year, my wife and I moved to a high rise apartment in the Flemingdon Park, the very same area I used to live in with my brother when I came to Canada. Around this time, I also got my first job as a computer technologist at General Instrument (Canada) Corporation, which was a leading manufacturer of TV/cable, and data processing equipment. I was hired by their computer data system division located in Downsview. Two years later, in the summer of 1978, my wife was pregnant with our first child! It was exciting, but also scary because we didn’t know what to expect, or how to be parents! The first few months were tough as she experienced morning sickness, but we worked together to become comfortable with the reality of becoming parents soon. On March 6, 1979 she gave birth to our daughter at the Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto. I was excited, afraid, and nervous when the head nurse handed over the little bundle of joy, wrapped in a pink blanket, in the delivery room. I nearly died! I also felt extremely happy because I wanted our first child to be a girl! I know, many Asian fathers want a son as their first child, but not me! Our lives were never the same once we became parents. We were no longer in charge of our lives as it was the baby who was in control. We had to adapt to her commands and demands! It’s amazing how much power a baby has over their parents. My daughter was three when we were expecting our second child. I was hoping it would be a boy this time. My wife went into labour at midnight, and I drove her quickly to Mount Sinai Hospital. This time I wasn’t as nervous or fearful as the first time; I knew what to expect. Shortly after arriving at the hospital, my wife was taken to the delivery room, where her doctor and his team were waiting for her. The nurse was monitoring the baby’s vital signs through a machine. She told me that, according to the heart beat and pulse of the baby, we were going to have another girl. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I didn’t say anything, but kept smiling and sweating every time the nurse updated the results of the monitor. At 4:00 am, on the 5th of April, 1982, a baby boy made his grand entrance into the world. I was so glad that the nurse and her monitor were wrong. It was the baby boy I hoped for and I was thrilled that our son fooled the head nurse and her machine! I had the last laugh when nurse said, “You see Mr. Wick, even the best machines in the world sometimes get it wrong!” “Yep I am glad it did!” I said with a grin from ear to ear! Having two small kids was not an easy task; there were no family nearby to help us. My wife deserved full credit for looking after both children while I was at work. Now that we were a family of four, we realised that we need more space to grow, and that the apartment was not big enough. We wanted to move to a house in Toronto, but the prices were beyond our reach, as I was the only one working at the time. It was also the time that many people were moving away from Toronto and buying houses in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA), where prices were lower. We wanted a smaller house with minimum of three bedrooms and a backyard where the children could play. This was the fall of 1982. The housing market was in a slump. The interest rate was 21%. The economy was in a recession, even though we didn’t really understand what that meant. Yet we kept looking for affordable housing. To boost the economy, the federal government created a program to support first time home buyers like us. A $3000 grant by the federal government was available, and a $5000 interest-free loan was offered by the provincial government. We wanted to move further north of Toronto, but not too far away as my office was in the Downsview area near the Yorkdale Mall. Markham was not initially on our radar, but we decided to take a drive north to check it out. I remember driving through farmland and corn fields on either side of Highway 7, which was a narrow one lane road at the time. On our way we saw a large, newly-constructed mall, called Markville Mall. A block north of the mall, at McCowan and Raymerville Drive, was a trailer with a huge sign announcing that new houses would be available soon in the surrounding area. We found out exactly what we were looking for, a four bedroom, 1800 sq ft house with a fairly big size lot. Prices started at $75,000. With $8000 worth of government grants and loans available, the final price would be $67,000. That was the price of a 4 bedroom detached house in Markham, 38 years ago! We bought our very first house in Markham in 1982 from the blueprint of a house builder who promised that the house would be ready in the spring of 1983. My wife and I were very happy that we finally found the house that we were searching for, even though some of our friends and family wondered why we wanted to move to what they considered the middle of nowhere. The excitement of owning a home was somewhat dampened when my bank refused to give us a mortgage, saying my annual salary of $13,000 didn’t qualify. Unlike today, it was next to impossible for first time buyers to get a mortgage easily. Panicked and upset, we called our real estate lawyer not knowing what to do. He said not to worry, and found a private lender who was willing to take the mortgage at 15% interest for a five year term. I was grateful that our lawyer handled the deal professionally, making our dream come true. In June 1983, we moved into our brand new home on Graham Crescent, just off Raymerville Drive. This was how our lives began in the little town of Markham almost 37 years ago. When we moved there, my daughter was four and my son was one year old. The population of Markham was close to 96,000. I still remember the mayor of Markham at the time - Mr. Tony Roman, a charismatic leader who, according to some long term residents, was an enterprising visionary. After nearly three years since we had moved to our first house, we felt that it would be nice to move to a bigger house since the kids were growing. Though we never actively looked for one, a real estate agent one day knocked on our door and asked if we were interested in selling our house, now that real estate prices were slowly going up. We had no idea what the prices were, but we were curious to know how much our house has appreciated in price over the past two years. He told us that according to their market research, prices had increased nearly 40%. I said that was hard to believe. He had the statistics to back up, and asked us to think about it, which we did. We checked the prices of new houses in the area, since we liked the proximity to schools, parks, recreation, and shopping in the area. After searching for weeks, we nearly gave up the idea of upgrading. It was almost by an accident that we found a small builder who had been building houses on Raymerville Drive. The salesman said the first phase was sold out already but they were planning to build few more new houses on Raymerville. He showed the plan, and we liked the house right in front of the park. We said we have to sell our existing house before we could buy the new. He said they would accept a conditional offer, as long as we were committed to buy. In the fall of 1985, two years after we moved to Markham, we listed our first house for $125,000 and sold it for $121, 000, a month later, which wasn’t bad for a house we had bought for $67,000! It is hard to believe how many changes have happened in our lives within the 37 years since we moved to Markham. My two kids went to school, graduated, and pursued their own goals. My daughter decided, even before finishing high school, that she wanted to go to a university far away from home. She went to McGill University in Montreal. My son decided that university was not for him, and he wanted to pursue his own career path. Over the past 37 years living in Markham, I have witnessed the transformation of this sleepy little farming town into the high-tech capital of Canada, earning the nick name Silicon Valley of the north. However, what impresses me most is how Markham has transformed itself in to one of the most vibrant, cosmopolitan and multicultural cities in Canada, enriching the lives of thousands who chose Markham as their home. What I appreciate most is town’s public resources such as parks, recreation centers, and especially the public library system which is second to none, in my opinion. As a teenage bookworm who spent most of his time in the local library in Sri Lanka, it brings back happy memories every time I visit the library nearby in Markham! The progress of this town into a major city centre is phenomenal. However, I also wonder how this urban sprawl will shape the future of this remarkable city. We are already seeing the results, and some aren’t great. Rich and fertile farmlands are disappearing to make way for more suburban housing, which increases dependence on vehicles. This has resulted in increased air pollution, and is damaging an already fractured environment. Of course, these issues are not unique to Markham, but are shared by every municipality in the GTA that has seen an explosion of population over the past several years. I do hope Markham will rise up to these critical challenges effectively with innovative solutions, as it has in the past. My journey started 50 years ago from a tiny island in the Indian Ocean 12,000 miles away from Canada - halfway across the world. I have seen how Canada has changed over the decades. The country has grown from quiet Anglo and Francophone communities into vibrant multicultural cities like Montreal, Toronto, and Vancouver. It is a remarkable transformation of a country that is home to millions of immigrants, who came from all over the world. I am sure they all have their unique stories to tell, just like me. We had our share of successes, failures, and frustrations, our heartbreaks and joy along the way. We all are travelling this elusive highway called life, searching for happiness, success, love, peace, and chasing dreams and goals along the way, not realising life is what’s happening right at this moment. That may be the reason why they say life is a journey, not a destination. My journey continues! Don J. Wick Markham

Say Something - Meilun Yu

Say Something Poem by: Meilun Yu dedicated to Mrs. Toszegi When a seed gets planted, The soil it is in, provides for it, nurtures it But when the land becomes infertile, and the garden full of weeds The plant can’t grow So we moved The day was as hazy as a dream Blindfolded by the memories of a child not full grown The decision was not mine, but I went along with it What could I say? My ignorance as a child clouded my mind But as I grew in this new soil, So did my mind The blindfold of ignorance and youth was just replaced by another one A tongue that my tongue could not curve around The language was mountains and rivers and fields My mouth could not go over the peaks of those mountains The river ran too fast for my lips Those field too flat for my throat to pronounce But what could I say? Then came kindergarten When I tried to speak, my tongue was lead To heavy to lift, just like my eyes Because my ears were blocked Nothing went through Just like my mind Then came first grade The girls who sat behind me sang a song The melody familiar but the lyrics strange I thought that if we all added something to the song It would sound so much better But mute I sat, Like a caged canary The bars made of their ignorance and mockery And the only way to find the key is to find their key To sing the tune of their song To march to the beat of their drums But what could I say? Then came fifth grade Now that I have grown, from a seed to a sapling The language of my past forgotten That page torn from my book I have learned to be clay To twist, and turn and shift into the shape of this mold And I thought that it was natural Like how plants grow to accommodate their changing habitats and seasons Like how their roots find different routes And how their leaves change colours, like how I changed my colours Still, there is something unearthly about this earth To have the ability to change somoene like that And make it feel natural But what could I say? Then came eight grade, A new girl arrived today She sat behind me, as quiet as the night and maybe the night sky is the only thing she sees Does that blindfold also block her view? That blindfold that was actually eyes And I wonder if her heart marches to her own beat still and if she’s listening to our song and trying to join, trapped because she can’t find our key But, what can she say? What can I say? Markham, what can we say? Artists Statement: Writing has always been a way for me to speak. It has always been a platform on which I can deliver my feelings, my opinions, and my view on the world in an artistic way. Because as a young teen about to enter high school, my voice and opinions are not normally heard, as I am young and seem ignorant. Poetry is a way for me to get my thoughts across, and hopefully, people would listen. It is also a way for me to inspire other teens like me to share their thoughts, or to inspire others to not be held back by their age. I want my pieces to convey the creativity of youth, and to show people that we are the future.

A Year in Markham - Sherry Shu

Artist’s Statement: I wanted to reflect on my experiences growing up in Markham through a coming-of-age journey, showing the passage of time and personal growth through four different seasons. I centered all of my experiences around Toogood Pond, as it was one of the most important places of my childhood, containing so many fond memories. I write to capture unique human experiences, and depict deeper emotions and themes through simple examples. It was difficult for me to make all of these pieces connect, and make them as relatable to the reader as possible, since they were deeply personal experiences. Enjoy! A Year in Markham i. Spring “Toogood Pond? That’s a funny name!” I screeched in the middle of the walking trail, making my sister burst into laughter. The nature sign glinted off the summer light, and on the very top, the stretching string of ‘Os’ dashed across my vision as I stood on my tippy-toes, lifting up my pink hat to take a closer look. “Why is it Toogood? Too-good. Tooooo. Goooood.” I rounded my lips around the new, strange syllable, stretching it out and making my pitchy voice vibrate around the tone. The old ladies that sat on the nearby bench are staring at the strange, bulgy-eyed child with a quizzical smile. The family walking in front looked behind with exasperation as they deleted their fifth attempt at a baby geese video. Even the birds on the trees have stopped their dewy calls and turned to gaze in awe, wondering how such a little creature had the capacity for such a major commotion. “Toooouooouououou-” “Shhh, Sherry, xiaoshengyidian! ” (1) Mom muttered sternly, blushing with bright embarrassment. Dad giggled with pride, while Sister simply shook her head at the antics of her tiny partner-in-crime. After a bit more searching, we found a geese-poop-free section of the grass right at the waterfront and rushed to claim it before another family eyes the limited real estate. I saw onlookers staring, and I gave them my proudest grin. For the longest time, I thought they were looking at my hat - my favourite watermelon hat. Tinted pick, with little black dots and green fringe around the edges; the first cool thing I’d gotten ever since we’d come to this brand new place Dad had called Canada. I didn’t know that they were really staring at Mom and Dad because they looked new to the area. They’d brought the essentials for this new phenomenon locals call a picnic - the checkered blanket, cooler, paper plates and towels, and two bright blue Home Depot fold-up chairs that would soon become browned and faded. But instead of sandwiches, sliced veggies, and salami strips flying out of the cooler; there were ‘tea-eggs’, smoked pork slices, soup baos (2), and spring rolls. I didn’t see the few scary faces that Mom, Dad, and Sister were focusing on - the frustration at this batch of newcomers. I didn’t understand that the others didn’t speak the Mandarin my parents mumbled as they struggled to unfold the chairs. I simply waddled around the site with a fistful of dandelions, a bright pink spot in the clearing. I let out a blow after collecting as many as I can carry, and watched the little ‘fluffs’ set off on their sky-bound journeys. While my parents were still setting up the delicious feast, I wandered away from the main setup, looking for more pretty dandelions to pluck. Before I could blow, the big beast of wind came down from the sky, setting the fluffs free. “Hello, Mr. Wind!” I call. But the beast is so strong, it throws my precious watermelon hat into the sky, drifting gently towards the steady ripples. “No! My hat!” I pounced, a tiny cheetah chasing its prey, towards the bright pink blur in the sky. The yells of my parents to ‘come back this instant!’ faded out as I rushed further and further away, and closer to the pond’s open gullet. Just before I was about to dash into the rapids, a great big hand stretched out of the sky, snatching the hat right before it floated out of reach. I stood on my tippy-toes, looking up to see a man with glasses and a funny handlebar mustache, with one hand clutching a fishing rod, the other grasping the precious pink fabric. “Thank you!” I cried, as the man put the hat back on my head with a gentle pat. Mom, Dad, and Sister aren’t far behind, gasping for air. “Thank you so much for getting her hat back… she can really be a bit of a klutz at times!” “No problem!” The man smiled. “I’ve got a daughter her age as well, and I know how often things just fly out of her hands without her control.” Mom and Dad start chatting up a storm with the kind stranger - the first new conversation they’d had since they’d gotten to Markham. With my hat squarely back on my head, I’m ready to go back to our picnic area -- before I notice a girl next to the stranger, also picking dandelions, clad in a small purple hat. “Hi, my name is Sherry - what’s yours?” “I’m Catherine. Nice to meet you!” We were new to the neighborhood, but we’d already made our first few friends. ii. Summer I stepped out of the car with cheese-string legs, barely dodging the trail of a bright yellow car. The Crosby parking lot is packed beyond capacity, honks and lights flashing at every turn. Some of the parkers were heading across the street to the pond walking trails, while others were parents and coaches, eager to see their kids play. I double, then triple-checked my floppy pockets for the “free hot dog” and “free drink” coupons we’d gotten the previous game. The pink-black leather mitt was slipping off my sweat-coated fingers -- I didn’t know if it was the sweltering mid-June heat, or the fact that my heart was pounding at sonic speed. I hated this day every year. I hated the anxiety, the suffocating crowds, the blasting music, the hubbub of never-ending noise, and all of the coaches, parents, and players watching from every corner- “Hey Sher, how’s it goin’?” Catherine grinned, throwing a hand around my shoulder when I stepped up to the food line, sporting an identical long yellow jersey and purple cap. “I’m not ready to let everyone down, Cat.” I moaned. “I’ve been practicing throwing and catching with my dad every day, but I’m still not getting it…” “You’ll be fine, Sher! You played an awesome second base today during the third inning. And remember, the skills challenge doesn’t matter as much as the actual games. It’s all just for fun!” But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. The skills challenge determined who rose up or plummeted to the bottom in the invisible player rankings list. Why did they have to choose me this year, when there were so many better players? Every year, I’d make a mistake during the challenge under the competitive pressure. I’d always been the “new girl” on the team; the teammate whose pop flies bounced out of her glove because they were just out of reach; who’d strike out at bat because she’d forgotten to swing, praying it was a ball. As nice as the other girls were to me, chatting at the dugout or encouraging me in training drills, I knew they saw me as a handicap. Ten-year-old me had to defend my dignity. I refused to give them another reason to look down. We finally got to the front of the line, and I asked for a hot dog and blue Kool-aid -- keeping with tradition. The normally delicious bites are hard pills to swallow as my stomach twisted and turned, watching the boys’ division finish their tournament. “Now… it’s time for our Mite Girls! Can all our mighty Mite Girls teams report to the field?” We stepped into the rose-coloured sand, most of the girls giggling with excitement. I tried my best to mimic and smile and put on the same performance. “The first challenge we have today is the throwing relay! Can the chosen teams from each of the teams please step up?” With a gulp, I turn to Cadence, Sally, and Jackie -- my team for the event. We strode to the grass and arranged ourselves into a line, evenly spaced apart, the same way we’d done every week prior. The pink team to our right gave us a set of sneers as they looked down at their much shorter competition. “Whichever team is the first to throw the ball within their team back and forth, twice, will be the champion! Remember, the whole team has to be seated at the end of the relay. Andddd… GO!” Toss. The ball went at the right height, in Cadence’s direction, who was already turning around to Jackie before it landed safely in her glove. Cadence then aimed it to Jackie, and the rest of the line continued. Every second was a passing heartbeat, where I could do nothing in response but sit and continue to stare, praying that the ball wouldn’t betray us by choosing to blast off to another universe. As it reached the end of our line and began making its way back, I snuck a quick glance at the other teams. Orange Number Three was still fumbling. The Purples had also made it to their last player - but the Pinks were just the tiniest bit ahead. I gritted my teeth, hoping we’d be able to pull ahead for the second round. As it continued to saunter through the air, it finally came right back up at me, and I reached out my glove in hope. Plop. I fumbled to get it out of my glove before passing it forward for the second cycle. “And our girls are finishing their final round -- time is counting down! Who will be the team to finish it first?” Sally. Down. Then Jackie. Then Cadence. Then Me. It’s coming towards me. I reached out my trembling glove. The arc was high and smooth -- high -- too high. I watched it flutter to the cloudtops, above Cadence’s horrified stare. I knew it would easily soar far above my outstretched arm, costing us the tiny lead we’d been able to build up. So I lept. My ten-year-old self summoned up all the strength she had, from the tips of her toesies to the bits of her fingers, and attempted a great big jump. I watched as my left arm moved up, seemingly autonomous of my control, scraping the edge of the round surface before free-falling back down. I heard a startling cry of frustration exit my body, before crashing butt-first into the ground I sobbed - I knew I’d lost it for the Yellows. I looked up with tears streaming down my face to apologize to my teammates, who were also crying in agony. Shrieking. Wait, were they cheering? I looked down. The ball had been knocked perfectly into my lap. It hadn’t been a real game. The first place metals we’d been awarded were made of neon yellow plastic instead of genuine metal. But in my own little way, I’d still proven myself. And the hugs and shrieks I’d gotten from Cat and my other cheerful teammates? Those had all been real. iii. Fall Sasha begged for me to keep holding her hand. Even though I knew I had to pay close attention to all the kids in the line, I still wrapped my fingers tightly around hers. After all, I was her favourite volunteer, and she was my favourite student. “We’re almost there!” The teacher at the very front yelled. “Be very careful and quiet when you’re crossing the road. Stay in a nice straight line, and look both ways first!” After the grueling task of blocking the crosswalk for five minutes, frustrating the long line of drivers that’d piled up on either side, we’d finally gotten all thirty students safely across the street from the Varley Art Gallery. We headed down the hill, across the bridge that made the kids squeal, and finally to the fountain -- spraying forth cooling mist, reflecting the reddish hues of the changing leaves. Each one then held up their sketchpads and pencils, sitting down on a rock or a log, and scribbling at their heart’s content. “I don’t know what to draw! The fountain’s too hard!” I heard a little boy moan. “Me neither!” A girl sighed, twiddling her thumbs and fidgeting with the flowers in the grass. “Can you come help me think of an idea for my picture?” A third one asked. It was so weird to see all these kids standing in front of me, asking for me to lead and offer help, when I had been in their very spot only a few years ago. I smiled, mustered up all the confidence I had, and gathered all the muttering kids in a circle. “Everyone: don’t worry too much about exactly what to draw! Drawing isn’t about creating something perfect, or making something look exactly the way it’s supposed to look. All you have to do is create a story with your drawing. Show people what makes you special with the doodles you do! For example: Michael! What in this park means the most to you?” Michael paused in thought. “Maybe… the big tree over there, beside the water. It looks a little bit like the tree I have in my backyard. My brother and I have a treehouse on the very top, and we go inside to tell each other scary stories!” “Perfect!” I smiled. “You can draw a sketch of your treehouse on top of this new tree! Now, Ashley… what about you?” She pointed to the daffodils, growing in a little patch near the fountain’s base. “Those flowers! They look like the ones growing in my mommy’s garden, that I picked for her on her birthday!” One by one, all of the kids picked out something special to capture on in their sketchbooks. Stroke by stroke, I watched as the drawings began to take shape and burst off the pages. “A little bit more shading there would look great, Eric! Nice use of perspective, Marcus! Wonderful details on that chipmunk, Sasha!” At the end of the day, there were thirty different masterpieces hanging on the walls. Each one had a slightly different angle, perspective, or subject; but all of the kids were super proud of the work they had done. And as the kids came up to hug or high-five me before they walked out the door, I was the most proud of them all. iv. Winter A frosty wind danced past the signs of stores and buildings, gently rousing the bells and store signs who murmured sleepy cries. Little white fairies drifted down from the dappled sky and buried themselves in folds of grass. Although the flocks of geese had long migrated to warmer shores, and the pond had become slightly too chilly for weekly walks, Main Street Unionville was still crowded and lively. It somehow looked even more welcoming in December. Mom and I were taking a stroll, or sanbu (3); the first one in months. We’d both recently thrown for a loop with new jobs and projects. I’d just embarked on a whole new chapter of my life -- high school -- and the transition hadn’t been as easy as I’d expected. It had been months since we’d had the chance to have a one-on-one chat, or even taken the time to sanbu. We’d been able to stop by Uncle Tetsu’s on the path, and picked up a warm box of sweet, cheesy delights that I kept safe under my mitts. The tantalizing wafts were making it hard for us to not eat it on the spot. “Honestly, I miss elementary,” I’d lament, not recognizing the sliver of pressure I’d faced in comparison to adult life. “We used to have fun projects and so many more field trips, and we were all so close together! If I could go back, I totally would.” Mom laughed. “You’re going to get used to your new school. There’s so many more exciting things you get to look forward to in the next four years - clubs to join, new material to learn, new classmates and teachers to meet. Enjoy all of it when you can. Because before you know it - you’ll be whisked off to University.” “University.” “Crazy, isn’t it?” We passed by the open balconies and bars on our second lap, playing loud music and brimming with conversation. Even though many of them were closing down, families were still gathered around the balcony tables, determined to stretch their discussions long into the night. “Mom - real question here. When you first moved to Markham, what made you decide to stay? With the whole English thing, having to get a whole new job, lacking close friends and family, and the fact that winters can feel like negative-one-million degrees. What prevented you from freaking out, turning your one-way ticket into a two-way, and going back to Nanjing where everything was familiar?” She was silent for a few moments. “I’m not sure. It was mostly your dad that wanted to move here in the first place. He insisted it would be better for us, better for jiejie, better for you. He had a lot of hope, and I trusted him even through the tough parts. So we worked together, made friends, joined communities, found new jobs. And we looked for beautiful parks and neighborhoods like Toogood pond to take our weekly walks, the same way we did back in China. “But most of all - when I saw your sister finally enjoy school after being bullied so often back home, when you were so happy after your first day of kindergarten with all your new friends. That’s what made it worth it.” Feisty salsa guitar music had begun to strum out from the Bandstand, as the night’s last song began to play. The lead sang his heart and soul into the mic, vocals ringing across the pavilion and sparking the hearts and lips of passersby. Even though our family had never been one to act emotional, an urge bubbled up to wrap my mother in a warm, wooly hug. “Even though it’s been hard, Markham’s been a pretty great place for us to stay.” As I looked around, I saw the tables surrounded by so many different colours. I watched the children and elderly alike dance in the snow, the bitter frost and impending darkness repelled by the warmth and light of smiles at every turn. “Yeah. It really has.” … It all floods back to me when I get to the park. The place I grew up, made so many friends and precious memories; deserted and empty. Now completely lifeless. “Dad, look…” I step off my bike to gesture at the shocking scene before me. The shops on Main Street barred, the Crosby parking lot emptied, the trails free of screaming children or carefree couples. “Don’t worry, Sherry. Markham’s simply taking a rest at the moment. Everything will go back to normal -- eventually.” I thought about his words, and about the memories I’d conjured up. If there’s one thing I’d learned over the years from my life in Markham… It’s that there’s always hope. There’s always life, laughter, and love in the community and its people. We’re always going to be there for each other, even in the darkest moments. With the passing of seasons and time, Toogood Pond would come back to life. And so would the rest of Markham.

Markham, My Home - Carlota Claveron-Wilkins

Markham, My Home Six years had passed, since I first came: a different country, a different culture. Four of these years, I am in Markham. Far from home, yet is like home. Markham is a mixing bowl of culture and race. We all get along, we all act as one. Markham is quiet and nice, no chaos, just peace. Markham is my city, Markham is my home. by Carlota Claveron-Wilkins written on June 09, 2020 Writer’s Statement: I love writing poems, essays and short stories. My style is simple and usually unorthodox. I write about my feelings. So, I rarely edit my work. The original draft is the final draft, like the poem above. I feel my composition is more heartfelt when it is done the first time. With the poem about Markham, it is easy to write since I have always considered Markham as my home away from my birth country. I hope other immigrants, like me, will be able to relate to making Markham their home.

Libby Li The Toogood Monster

Artist’s Statement: I wanted to write this story to connect with others who have grown up in Markham recently. I tried to capture the small-town feel of Unionville while adding an element of mystery. The Toogood Monster There was nothing in the world I hated more than being called a slow-poke. Especially as a healthy young twelve-year-old. The moniker had been carried around heavily on my shoulders ever since my first Terry Fox Run at my elementary school when I had arrived triumphantly at the finish line, only to see that the whole school had been waiting for me. Ever since then, I’ve dreaded the annual race, where even my best friend Ilyssa would eventually leave me behind in the dust. But this year was different; I was in grade eight. And there was no way I would give up my last chance for redemption. Well, until my stomach started cramping. “Hurry up, you slow-poke!” I glared at Ilyssa, whose black ponytail was swinging energetically behind her as she raced ahead of me. “What lap are you on?” I called out. “Five! And let me guess, you’re on your second?” Frowning, I let my silence speak for me. She turned around, laughing, but stopped when she saw my face. “Are you ok? Do you want me to walk with you for a while?” I nodded. She settled in by my side and we inched our way around the geese dotted Toogood pond path. With every step that we took, the leaves could be heard crunching beneath our feet. I looked up to see the trees covered in beautiful red and orange leaves, as if someone had painted a sunset and it had oozed down from the blue sky. We were on the bridge now, and the long white cattails blew toward us in the fierce wind, one of them catching gently onto my sleeve like a friend who was happy to see you. “Are you ready to run again?” Ilyssa asked. I smiled devilishly before taking off like a rocket. The wooden boards creaked out loudly in protest underneath my heavy boots. I slowed down as I rounded the corner, which unfortunately gave Ilyssa ample time to overtake me. “Slow-poke!” She yelled before sprinting in the direction of the wooden lookout pier. Anger ignited in the pit of my stomach and I picked up my speed, pumping my arms faster like I’d seen Ilyssa do. Within seconds, I was at her heels. On the pier, there were people enjoying the view of the scenic pond as usual. Suddenly, I cried out in alarm as I slammed into someone, causing me to fall to the ground. My elbows scraped the wood as my legs gave out. I heard a high-pitched scream, followed by a splash of water. Ilyssa called my name. When I looked up, stars were flashing in the corners of my vision. I shut my eyes and when I opened them, a woman wearing a maroon trench-coat accented with a colourful silk scarf was scowling down at me. “Next time, watch where you’re going. You knocked my brand-new phone into the water. I expect payment in return.” “But we can just get the phone for you. I can swim.” Ilyssa stated confidently. I looked at her as if she had grown another head. Ilyssa turned and walked swiftly down the steps of the pier. I caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “Are you actually going to do this?” I asked incredulously. “It’s my fault that she lost her phone. You shouldn’t get hurt because of that.” She looked at me as if I were a teacher who was scolding her for climbing on top of the monkey bars. “Relax. It’s not like the pond’s deep.” She waded unreservedly into the water as if it were her own backyard pool. I followed her to the shore-line, the water lapping at my sneakers. Knee-deep, she turned around and flashed me a thumbs-up before plugging her nose and diving into the water. After about thirty seconds, she still hadn’t come up. “Ilyssa?” There was no response. I glanced back at the woman on the bridge who was staring at me with newfound concern in her eyes. Swallowing down my fear, I took a few more steps forward, and then plunged myself into the cold water. My eyes flashed open and I looked frantically around for any signs of movement. A massive black shape floated towards me. It looked like a fish, but I had never seen a fish that big. As it got closer, I realized Ilyssa was squirming underneath it. We made eye contact and she glided away from it, a shiny cellphone clutched tightly in her hand. Right when she was about to reach me, the monster lunged, opening its big black mouth wide right behind Ilyssa’s feet. I grabbed her hands and yanked her towards me. The monster’s mouth closed, taking in nothing but water. We scrambled backwards, keeping a watchful eye on the monster that had started retreating back into the center of the pond. Once we felt solid ground beneath our feet, we broke through the surface of the water. Gasping for breath, we looked at each other fearfully. Before we could say anything, we heard the wailing call of sirens. I looked at the shore to see the woman standing there with our gym teacher Mr. C who was tightly gripping his phone. “Thank god! They’re safe!’ I heard Mr. C shout as we walked out of the water. A few of our classmates stared at us from the gravel pathway with their eyes bugging out of their heads. Mr. C glared daggers at us and opened his mouth to launch into a lecture when something caused a commotion in the crowd. “Make way, make way!” A man’s voice could be heard. The crowd parted to allow a police-man through. He sauntered up to us, holding two white towels. He smiled broadly. “Hello everyone, I’m constable Howie Yip. What’s the problem here?” He asked, handing both me and Ilyssa a white towel. Shivering, we dried ourselves off as best as we could. “There was a monster underneath the water.” I said. Seeing his obvious amusement, I faltered and glanced at Ilyssa. “It’s true. I saw it too.” She assented. Howie chuckled lightly. So did the woman. Mr. C was scowling at us. “Really…how big was this…monster?” “Huge. 5 meters at least. It was so big that when I was under it, it blotted out the sun and I couldn’t see anything. Thankfully, I saw Lilly near the shore and managed to swim towards her.” Ilyssa finished with a shudder, her face stark white. The police-man stared at Ilyssa, eyebrows furrowed together. After a pause, he took a deep breath and looked at me. “Well, it seems the two of you have discovered Markham’s very own Loch Ness monster.” ________________________________________ The news spread like wildfire amongst the curious on-lookers. Our walk back to the school was peppered with questions from our friends, and even some teachers. The principal explained the whole situation very calmly to our parents, and we were given leave for the rest of the day since the police-man had asked us to be back on scene at three pm. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing the whole afternoon. I was in the middle of attempting to focus on my math homework when I got my fifth call. “Are you at Toogood?” Came the excited voice of my friend, Tori. “No. I’m at home. Why?” “The Old Firehall put up a sign that says it’s offering free ice cream for a year to anyone who can get a picture of the monster!” My jaw dropped as I envisioned myself gouging on moose tracks ice cream every single day after school. “No way!” “You better get a picture!” She warned. On the bike ride back to Main Street with Ilyssa, I told her about the deal. She almost crashed her bike into a pole. “You’re kidding me. We have to go see for ourselves.” We parked our bikes next to Old Firehall. Sure enough, a sign outside advertised the deal along with an illustration of a green, bug-eyed snake. “That’s not what it looks like.” I crossed my arms. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s ask to make sure.” Inside, the smell of chocolatey goodness hit me like a wave. I inhaled deeply, pausing to look at the delectable macarons, while Ilyssa stormed ahead. “Hi, how do we claim the free ice cream?” She asked the cashier. “You have to show us a photograph of the monster.” She said and went back to wiping down the counter. Ilyssa huffed and walked out of the store. “This is so unfair! Nobody would be getting free ice cream if it wasn’t for us.” “It’s ok. If we did it once, we can do it again. Now hurry up, it’s already three!” We jogged down to the parking lot beside Toogood Pond, which was filled with cars, as usual. What was unusual was the large cluster of reporters resting near the silver metal bridge. A pair of police cars were parked haphazardly near the front and I recognized the policeman from earlier today standing with a woman wearing a different uniform. He waved us over. “Hello, girls!” Howie greeted us. “This is my colleague Emma. She’s an animal control officer.” We looked nervously at the blonde woman whose eyes were covered by her black sunglasses. She didn’t smile. “Are you guys searching the pond yet? Is there a submarine?” Ilyssa asked, eyes wide with wonder. “Can we ride it?” I piped up. Emma and Howie laughed loudly. “We’d be glad to give you a ride if we had one. But unfortunately, no submarines here.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “And apparently, no monster either.” “What are you talking about?” Ilyssa stammered. “I’ve been here since noon. Set up traps, used bait, even enlisted the help of some local fishermen.” She wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead. “There’s no sign of any big creature in this pond, let alone a monster.” “But we saw it! With our very own eyes!” I insisted. “It definitely exists!” Ilyssa placed her hands on her hips. Emma ignored us and turned to Howie. “I’m going to go ahead and give the media a statement.” “Of course.” He smiled at her. Ilyssa and I watched in horror as Emma walked over to the reporters. “I’m sorry, girls.” Howie shrugged his shoulders, before getting into his police car and driving away. I faced Ilyssa, feeling less disappointed than I expected. “I guess it’s over, then.” I patted her on the back. There was a familiar mischievous spark in her eyes as she shook her head vehemently. “No. It’s just started.” ________________________________________ At eight thirty, just as the moon had begun to shine in the darkening sky, I crept silently out of my house with a camera bag slung over my shoulder. I hopped onto my bike and rode all the way to Toogood pond. I tied my bike to a pole and walked over to the entrance of the silver metal bridge. The roar of the waterfall behind me was deafening amidst the eerie silence, broken randomly by crickets chirping. “Psst! Lilly!” I whirled around to see Ilyssa standing in the shadows of a tree. I dashed over to her. “Are you ready?” She asked me. I nodded, hoping the darkness masked the huge sweat stains I could feel underneath my armpits. We walked around the pond until we reached the place where we had seen the monster. Ilyssa opened up the bag of worms and took one out. It recoiled its body, twisting itself into a tight knot. I tried not to gag. She tossed it into the water, followed by a second one. We waited for a full five minutes before something moved in the water. “What’s that?” I squinted in the darkness. Ilyssa put a finger to her lips and took out her phone from her pocket. A beam of light shone into the murky water. I crouched down, my heart racing. “Wait…I think that’s a frog.” I said. Sure enough, the little green frog hopped out of the water and away from us into the trees. I groaned. Ilyssa pulled another worm from her bag and flung it far into the pond, where it landed with a small splash. “I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to catch a monster.” A female voice called out from behind us. We whirled around, screaming. A teenager, holding a camera in her hands stood on the pier, watching us. Ilyssa shone the flashlight on her face, and we saw a glimpse of jet-black hair, dyed purple at the ends before she threw up her arms. “Ah! Don’t shine that on my face! Are you crazy?” She backed away. Ilyssa kept the flashlight trained steadily on her. “Not until you tell us who you are.” “I’m a photographer. My name’s Saffron.” Ilyssa moved the flashlight down to her chin. “And what are you doing here?” Saffron uncovered her face to look at us with a devilish glint in her eyes. “Same thing as you, I believe. Trying to get a photo of the elusive Toogood Monster.” After a pause, Ilyssa let her flashlight drop to her side. Saffron moved closer to the edge of the pier, until she was out of the shadow of the trees. The moonlight illuminated her, and I examined her outfit, a white t-shirt and black jeans, covered in splotches of paint. I narrowed my eyes as I realized that what was in her hands wasn’t a camera at all, but a palette. “Listen, guys, do you actually believe that the Toogood Monster is real?” Saffron raised her eyebrows. “Yes. We found it.” Ilyssa stated. Saffron rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t. And newsflash, nobody does anymore. If I get this painting done, people will believe in it again. You’ll be famous.” She smiled. “And I will get all the ice-cream I’ve ever wanted for free.” I looked nervously at Ilyssa, who was staring hard at Saffron. “Give us fifty percent of all the ice cream, then.” Saffron crossed her arms. “And why would I do that?” “Fifty percent or we rat you out.” Saffron grimaced. “Fine! I’ll meet you at the Old Firehall on Saturday at five pm. Now get out of the way so I can finish this in peace!” As we walked back to our bikes, a sick feeling rose steadily in my stomach. Ilyssa was in high spirits, practically leaping onto her bike, but I stood there, rooted to the ground. “What’s wrong, Lilly?” “We can’t do this.” “Why not?” She pouted. “We don’t even know if the monster exists. If it doesn’t, we’ll be committing fraud.” “And if it does?” “And if it does…I don’t want anything to do with it, anyways.” Ilyssa sighed exasperatedly. “Lilly, you’ve spent your whole life living in the shadows. Don’t you think it's time to let yourself be seen?” I looked at her and swallowed hard. “Fine,” I muttered, getting on my bike behind her. “You lead the way.” ________________________________________ On Saturday, I woke up feeling nauseous. My mind wouldn’t stop wandering back to the way Saffron grinned after we made our deal, and worse, how Ilyssa had smiled too. As if she had no moral conscience. Even a year of free ice cream couldn’t be worth telling such a despicable lie. At four thirty pm, I got on my bike and raced down to the Old Firehall. Inside, the store was packed with chocolate lovers. I saw Ilyssa and Saffron at the back of the line, both wearing pretty dresses. I began to trudge toward them when Saffron pushed her way to the front. “These girls and I managed to take a picture of the Toogood Monster.” Saffron announced loudly. She handed the painting, which had been printed onto thick glossy paper over to the cashier. He gingerly held it up to the light as if it were a diamond. The crowd erupted in murmurs. My face went up in flames. “Is this real?” He asked in disbelief. “The news said it was a hoax-” “The news was wrong. I think you owe us ice cream in return. A year’s worth, was it?” Saffron’s voice was sweeter than the aroma of chocolate that filled the store. “But we already erased that from the board a few days ago-” “A deal’s a deal.” Saffron flashed him another cloying smile. I set my hand on the counter to steady myself. The cashier shrugged his shoulders. “Fine, I just need the three of you to sign this form, then.” He turned around and grabbed an official looking document from where it had been tucked behind some equipment on the counter. Saffron signed her signature on the paper and handed the pen over to Ilyssa. Before she could move her hand, I grabbed her shoulder. “What is it, Lilly?” She shrugged off my hand. I moved closer to her, looking her straight in the eye. “Please don’t do this.” I whispered. Ilyssa placed her hands on her hips. “Lilly, think of all that ice cream! And besides, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. The monster is real, we both saw it-” “I’m not doing it. Monster or no monster, I’m not going to be a fraud.” I stood taller. Ilyssa stared at me in surprise. “What are you guys doing?” Saffron hissed. To my pleasant surprise, Ilyssa dropped the pen on the counter. “Are you signing it or not?” The cashier snapped at her. “You’re holding up the line.” “We’re sorry for wasting your time.” I raised my voice over the murmurs of the crowd. “This photo is forged. It’s a painting.” The store fell as silent as a library. Saffron moved her face very close to mine. “We had a deal.” She cautioned. I ignored her and started to walk out of the store, Ilyssa by my side. “No! Come back here! Do you know what happens to people who break deals?” She bellowed. Ilyssa wheeled to face her. “Do you know what happens to people who continually commit fraud? I can’t imagine that this is the only ‘photograph’ you’ve painted.” Saffron was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Let’s go, Ilyssa.” I said, and we stepped out into the sunlight. I practically skipped down the sidewalk, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulder. “What do you want to do now? Get a frappe at Starbucks? Bubble tea at Real Fruit? Ooh, what about skating at Crosby?” “No, I know where we should go.” She started to walk faster. “You lead the way.” I smiled at her. ________________________________________ It was a warm Sunday evening, which meant Toogood Pond was bustling with people. Couples holding hands, families out on bike rides, and seniors enjoying the view. “Why are we here?” I lamented. “You better not still want to search for this monster, because I’m done with it.” I stamped my foot on the asphalt. “We’re here, Lilly, because we never got to properly finish that race.” She said, a competitive gleam in her eyes. “No, Ilyssa, there’s too many people-” “Look, they’re all either on the main bridge taking pictures, or at the Mother Goose café! Trust me, we’ll find a place where it’s empty.” “Fine.” We walked calmly among the throngs of people until suddenly we were alone on the wooden bridge. “See! Nobody here?” She spread her arms out. The cattails waved at me as if I were a long-lost friend. I beamed at them, and then started sprinting down the bridge. “Hey!” This time, I let her eagerly take the lead, and when we got off the bridge, I rounded the corner much faster than her. “No!” She yelled as I passed her. Adrenaline filled my veins, and I pumped my arms faster than ever before, reaching forward with my fists as if I was pulling a rope. Right as the pier came into view, I heard a high-pitched scream. I ran faster and stopped next to a woman holding a baby wrapped in a pink towel. A young boy flailed around in the water not far from the pier. The woman turned to me with tears streaming down her face. “Please, save my son! He’s only six, he doesn’t know how to swim!” The baby she was cradling started to wail and she hugged her closer to her chest. “Please help us.” She begged. I squared my shoulders and waded into the water. The flailing boy had been encircled by a big black shape. My hearts skipped a beat. I looked around for Ilyssa, but she was nowhere to be seen. When I turned back around, the boy had disappeared. I took a deep breath and dove in. Underwater, I opened my eyes and saw the little boy thrashing around helplessly, the Toogood Monster holding him hostage. With all my strength and courage, I swam to him, but the monster suddenly unfurled one of its long arms toward me. Panic filled my body as it encircled my waist, and in a last-ditch effort, I clawed at its arm. Its skin ripped apart in my hands, surprising me. I grabbed some more of it in my hands and pulled it apart without any effort at all. It was almost as if it wasn’t a creature after all, but a plastic bag. The realization dawned on me, followed closely by a strong sensation of embarrassment, but I had to deal with the drowning boy first. I ripped apart more plastic until I could reach him. He grabbed my hand and I led him out of the water. When we walked up onto the shore, his mother and Ilyssa ran toward us. “Thank you! You saved his life!” His mother lightly patted my cheek. The boy wrapped his arms around his mother tightly and started crying. Ilyssa grabbed my arm. “Lilly! I can’t believe you did that!” She bent down to inspect my hands. “What’s all this black stuff?” “The Toogood Monster.” I said, and she looked at me with wide-eyes. Her viper-like grip slowly loosened on my arm. “You’re definitely kidding me. It’s just a plastic bag?” I nodded, smiling. She started laughing like a maniac. “I can’t believe it! The Toogood Monster is just a plastic bag!” She shook her head in disbelief. “And to think we almost got a year’s worth of ice cream over a plastic bag.” “I’m sorry. Looks like we can’t be famous now.” I said, genuinely apologetic. She beamed at me. “I’ve got something better than being famous. You won that race, fair and square. I’ll never call you a slow-poke again.” She said. A wide grin broke out on my face. “Really?” “Really.” And that, my friends, is why even though the Toogood Monster doesn’t really exist, I will always be grateful for it.