: some first year boys teach me a hand game with the schoolyard potential of being obscene. They gather in a pack by the window, “I’m going home now,” one boy says. “I will run very fast,” as he jogs in place. Teaches me the hand game; “Akina. Yukina. Akina.” The gesture’s meaning could be anything. “It’s TV… TV…” and he asks a teacher for help. “英語で何人？” “Person,” he says. The boy turns back to us and says, “TV Person,” in a perfect if not exaggerated imitation. This inflection maintains the status of private joke even as I watch and hear them pass the teachers’ room window. “Wednesday! Seven!” Crossroad white lines waxed with ice. A cooking room; green painted floor, stations of tables, sinks, gas stoves. We wear aprons and scarves. Canadian cuisine; a hamburger pie with carrots, celery, garlic, potatoes, cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, and bay leaf. Working together; washing dishes after each use; drying them with towels, throwing packages away; it was all assembled, cooked and eaten by 9 PM. Kept the lights low, the dim is comforting. Two episodes of United States of Tara.
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