Chapter 2: Albatross

There’s a sweet spot of the year for living in Windsor. You don’t realize it when you live elsewhere for part of the year.

The summer days in Windsor are hot and sticky, and the winter is a collective of wind and slush soaked streets. You’re either begging the air conditioning to cool the old houses just a little more, or cranking on the ever expensive electric heat, watching as it leaks out of craggy window sills. Even worse is the wind. It makes the cold colder and icicles form on any stray wet hair it can find. In te summer it pushes the hot, dirty air into your face, marking up the thermometer, leaving no shade to be found.

There’s a reason they call it Wind-sore.

Fall is better than summer in every way. Windsor comes alive with youth and vitality. The throngs of birds are singing or leaving for the south, rather than just staring, judging you en masse, and blocking out the sun in large hordes. The trees almost sigh with relief, their leaves coloured in a myriad of beautiful colours. A gentle breeze cools the city to a proper temperature.

It’s the right type of day to work outside. A blue arc lights up my face, just in time for me to cover it with a metallic glass frame, reflecting back the bright electricity. The frame also blocks out the general degradation of my co-workers’ conversation about female students  moving in. I finish encircling a bent piece of metal with heat, take off my gloves and helmet, and smile at my work.

As I stand, a six-foot, short haired, muscular titan surveying the two dirty cities far below me, enjoying the view from the top of the bridge. A blast of stewed grain from the distillery slips up my nose, and I grimace a bit. Can’t ruin my mood now though; nothing can ruin being done work.

“Hey, Ez!”

I stop my staring contest with the sky and look over at the guys. A gaggle of orange man-children are surrounding the edge of the bridge platform closest to the nearest university campus building. Even though we are quite far away, they still took the time to comment on the bodies of young ladies far below on the campus. They were waiting for me to finish my job so they could start painting, and as such, this was the perfect moment to fuck the dog (get paid for doing nothing for those of you who haven’t worked construction).

Ricky stood tall as the leader of the band, pointing out where to look and how to pick up far off points of light that slightly resembled females. As he juts out his arm to point at another girl, his gut giggles with delight, and pieces of green paint peel from his shirt. “There, see the tits on that one!” He yells, his paint stained, tribal/lizard tattooed arm bouncing out, and the other men, like dogs following tennis balls, follow his pointing.

“What, did one of them forget to close their drapes and I have to give you the talk again, Ricky?”

Chuckles surround me as they point out a far off building. I force a smile. I do have to work with these people, and it’s better to fire the first volley then wait for whatever foolishness that was going to come next.

“Nah, just saw some girls who may need you later,” he retorts, allowing some time for the others to stop giggling. “They were over there, by that… what’d you call it?”

“Women don’t need me when they’ve got the Green Monster of Little Mexico on this side of the border.” Ricky’s face sours, and he shoots daggers at me for my comment. I’m getting more laughs on him today. “Come on Ricky, lighten up! Once you finally lose your virginity, it’ll be a big celebration on campus. Best two minutes of every froshes life for a week.”

“Fuck you Ez, just because I don’t get as much pussy as you don’t mean I’m a virgin. Compared to you, my litto would be a virgin.” He smirks, letting the laughter from the others die out before continuing.

He points out on the campus and looks back at me. “What’s that building called though? Serious, can’t remember it Ez.”

I sigh, and look over to see where he is pointing. “How many times do I have to explain what the buildings are? Man, if it ain’t about pussy or paint you can’t remember shit.” He nods, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Alright Romeo, one more time from Ez, and you better listen this time: The big ole boring one is the Engineering building, and across from it is the Science building.”

“Yeah, the Engineering building. That’s where I saw that lady last year.”

“Why were you over there?” I crinkled my eyebrows.

“My cousin… he met me there to wingman for him. He is going there for Civil or something. You ever run into a guy named Eduardo?”

“Nah, sorry Ricky. It’s been three years since I was there, and… well, I went to the Engineering building sometimes, but I stayed away from the Engineers. Couldn’t keep up with my drinking!”

The others laugh, and I get one high five. As it dies down, a heavy voice starts up from some young buck. His hair is all over the place, the orange vest is too big for him, and he’s wearing clothes and shoes that are much too nice and way too dangerous for someone up here - you know, baggy, getting caught on things, probably ripping. The kind of clothing you wear once to a site and, if you’re lucky, don’t die in. He’s lucky they even let him in the tube.

“Man, fuck you, how do you know? I got a buddy who goes there and he never says shit about those buildings, just the chapel.” I look to see where the sharp new voice I didn’t recognize was coming from.

The new kid had decided to speak up, deciding that since I was the only woman around he may as well assert dominance. Must be feeling kinda small or worried. Granted it was almost a relief compared to the others just assuming I’m the Queen of the Windsor Lesbians.

“Listen to this one, his boyfriend talks about all the buildings. Different pillow talk gets people all riled up.”

A series of guffaws ripples over the air, and if you were as high up as us, you may laugh too. I smirk, painfully, hiding my disgust for the low blow on the young kid. He’s crawling back into his shell, taking off his hat, patting down spikey, greasy hair with dirty hands.

To be fair I hadn’t helped much with giving Ricky shit before. I hate dipping to their level, but I’m lucky to have a job, and part of that is because the others say I’m good to work with. Otherwise I’d be either making donuts at Timmies or joining iron at a factory, and they wouldn’t just assume I’m gay and I’d be getting a worse kind of harassment.

“Hey, look kid, maybe it’s changed. But three years ago, they were my classes. I took aero with the engineers in that one, and meteorology with the sci-geeks in that one.“ I smile as I say it, and his chest is only slightly deflated.

“You study meteors Ez? And aeroplanes? I thought you were learning about the weather...”

I turn around to see the commentator, George. He is one of the few guys bigger than me. Everytime I see him he has an armload of supplies for us, and every time someone speaks, he wears a quizzical, naive look on his slanted, large face. The gigantic man wore a red diesel stained jumpsuit which jumped out against his sunburnt skin.

For the fifth time this week I jump as he stumbles up to us, He is silent and sneaky, for reasons we could never figure out. He is nice and all, and did a great job of ensuring we have what we need, but scared the living daylights out of us on a daily basis.

Oddly enough George’s comments weren’t being laughed at. Maybe the others felt bad for him, or honestly thought he was right - most of these guys weren’t going to be attending University any time soon. Maybe they were filled with white guilt (even the non-caucasians) at the Metis giant.

“No, I studied the weather… and… well, yeah, aeroplanes. Or rather how to design aeroplanes. I did both. Had to challenge myself, right?”

“Oh. Wow. Why you up here then? Seeing if it’s going to be cloudy?”

George had accidently ripped me, and for the first time today, I smile without forcing myself to. George was yet another one of the reasons I liked working here.

“Yeah, just getting closer to the clouds, maybe figure a way to fly you up and down instead of using that rickety elevators of yours.” He smiles with the rest of us, setting down the supplies. “Anyway, that’s all past me. I’m a welder now George. And even better, I’m a welder who’s done her shift. By the way, the tank is low George. Need you to haul up a fresh tank for the next guy. Oh, and the boss is coming soon, so get a list of things from Ricky. That way he can be working when the big man comes up.”

The others ignore me, so I up the volume on my comments to George. “Probably would be better for the boss to catch Ricky working instead of using his amazing eyesight to gawk at women so far away he can’t tell if he’s checking out dudes or not.”

George nods, looking up at the sky as he meandered towards the tube. Today is a scary day for George.  The elevator is down, so George’s normal safety net is gone. Not to mention the tube isn’t made for us giant folk. As such, each time he leaves, my normally calm heartbeat speeds up. I stand around, letting the others get ready to take over on painting or other welds or checks. I stare at the red light for 20 minutes, signaling that George was still in the tunnel, and as it finally went out, I sigh with relief.

George made it.

He is one of the few people who has trouble in the tube. While we are both wide enough to be able to hang on the sides, our height gives us a blind spot for most of the trip down. I can handle it, as I had decades of climbing experience, and rungs are easier than trees. George grew up in Windsor: Less Trees, and his general clumsy, dour nature meant that he isn’t given many chances to climb.

I nod over to Ricky, who is showing the new kid the ropes. Or rather the hoses, as I’ve been corrected a few times. The kid is listening intently to everything Ricky said, finding out about how to avoid the line wrapping around your ankles and how to control the rate of spray.

The light in the tube is partially natural for the first few feet, and then nothing but burning hot lamp lights. It constantly creaks as you climb down, the metal on metal echoing as you descend. Eventually that is overtaken by the loud sounds of trucks and brakes honking and humming.

As I exit outside, I take in a brief breath to get some quality exhaust fumes in my lungs as I walk past the toll booths, waving to the unknown people, smiling at them. They smile quickly, and then go back to their icy stares on unknown travelers, be they terrorists or tourists. I turn to walk through the small outcropping of work materials we have set up, depositing my safety gear.

The work site along the shore is nice, a good breeze wakes me up as I stare out at the ‘river’. Detroit stands defiant as usual, and the ground beneath my feet feels nice, though it shakes from the constant traffic. Mostly I’m just glad not to be 30 stories up in the air anymore. I empty my pockets of plastic bags (can’t throw lunch bags off the top), turning to see the man in charge waddling up to me.

“Heading home Ez? How’s she holding up there?”

The Boss, as he’s known, is a rotund man, his gut framed by a back brace, his old square glasses framing a wide eye expression. He’s shorter than me, his black, thinning hair sealed under an old Detroit Lions trucker hat. If I wasn’t worried about being fired, I would just squeeze his cheeks every chance I get. A cigarette, unlit, hangs on his lips, seemingly pulled by his own mastery of gravity, slapping against his nose with each word. His patchy face is always in a smile.

This was my last hurdle until the weekend. Dave likes to chat, and having a quick back and forth is part of paying the toll to go home.

“Looking good up there Dave, your baby bridge is holding up. Except I had one problem today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that then? Break a nail? Cause I hear it’s easier to work as a Timmie’s waitress, less breaking nails out there. Though you don’t make as much.” I laugh at that remark. Other women may have been insulted, however I know Dave isn’t ripping on me, he’s ripping the other jobs in Windsor. Had too many people quit for “land jobs” too many times.

“Nah… just… well, this light keeps bouncing up into my eyes. Did you take off your hat today in the sun? Or have you been waxing that bald spot? Could cause some accidents there Dave. Heck, planes were reporting having trouble landing out at the airport.”

A guffaw is the only retort, with the cigarette bouncing around at each chortle like a bull rider hanging on for dear life.

“Nah Ez, you know me, I was staring out at the new young’ens, checking out the park. ”

“A married man like you, checking out the ladies? You know the guys have a group upstairs that’s dedicated to that. Better views this time of year.”

“HA! Yeah, I bet they are. Those boys up there don’t know what they are looking at, probably checking out more dudes than girls. And the ole’lady says I can peruse the menu, I just can’t order off of it, if you getch my meaning.” He laughs at the obvious joke, and I laugh along. Then he wipes some sweat from his eyes, looking over at the campus filled with women. “I gotta hire more women, you tend to stare less and work more.”

“Yeah, but then the guys would just stare at the closer ones!”

He laughs again, and then, with a tap on the shoulder and a giggle, I receive my cues that I can go home.

I walk home past the student ghetto, watching new kids moving into old homes. They had to be second year, as the light is gone from their eyes, replaced by determined looks usually reserved for surviving a year of tough work. Now for the next challenges: Roommates, second year courses made to knock you out (or so I’ve heard), and learning to cook. Or pretending to do all of those things and seeing if you can deprive the local area of alcohol. Either way, they didn’t know the shit they were getting into.