all my marbles

I craved solitude more when I was living on the East Coast in a town populated with more trees than people. There, I couldn’t hear myself thinking against the chorus of crickets and tree frogs. I couldn’t make my way through the grocery store without running into at least two people that I knew. Now, I dig around in my tote bag for cash at a bakery stall in St. Lawrence Market and marvel at how, despite the size and absolute abundance of this place, I likely don’t know a soul here. Many of the people around me are not even from Toronto – just travelors checking a box on their lists of sights to see. 

Living in a large city is lonelier than I thought it would be. Walking down King Street with a loaf of Russian Rye beneath my arm, I feel my loneliness slamming up against the brick wall of each stranger walking past. The isolation is almost spiritual. I am not really a spiritual person, but I would like to be. Part of the appeal of spirituality is the sense of community and global intimacy it suggests. A spiritual person seems, to me, to be so much less lonely than someone who succumbs to the nihilist void. Being tapped in to some big, universal energy – recognizing something essential of myself in someone else – this is how I would like to live my life. If only I could figure out how to believe it. 

At the crosswalk, the light blinks from red to white. I am listening to my “girl pop🧚‍♀️” playlist – trying to lift my low mood. A stranger waiting on the other side of the street starts waving to me. I make eye contact and then regret it, quickly shifting my gaze in a way I hope seems natural. It’s too late, though. The man’s waving escalates to enthusiastic pointing and soon I am guiltily pulling off my headphones to ask where he needs directions to. 

“Did you guys plan that?” 

“What?”

“Your outfits!” 

I look to my right and see, for the first time, the stranger who is crossing the street beside me. His sage green toque is the same shade as the hat my boyfriend’s mom knit me for Christmas. His scarf is the same shade of lilac as the one my mom bought for me – I’ve held on to it since high school. His dark green puffer coat is almost identical to mine, save for the shape of the pockets and the pattern of the stitching. We are both wearing blue jeans and black boots. By now we have reached the other side of the street.

“No! Total coincidence.” 

When I turn to see if the man has also noticed this unexpected link between us, he is already halfway down the block opposite the direction I am traveling in. I wonder if he is heading home too. If we folded the space between our homes in half, would there be two near identical apartments on top of one another? Would they be slightly different in shape, but coloured in with the same crayons?