Retrospect: Chris

Self-tutoring about people and events from the past: the tutor mentions one from his childhood.

I’ve reported, in other posts, on people who’ve entered my orbit periodically during specific intervals of my life. Often they were connected to a place I associated with, or else some specific situation that would recur. In most such cases I didn’t know the person’s name, although they likely would’ve told me if I’d asked. Yet, each, from the very first time they approached me, talked to me like someone they already knew. None of them did small talk, but rather went straight to what was on their mind. Without trying, I can recall four such people. Likely, Chris was the very first.

Her name wasn’t Chris, of course. I encountered her on the base near Summerside, PEI. The first time I saw her was likely late summer 1976.

Chris was always alone and would turn up out of the blue. I can’t recall seeing her coming or leaving. When I first encountered her, I was with a couple of new friends, having arrived at the base that summer. My friends had lived there longer, and were familiar with Chris.

Chris was probably around three years older than I, but seemed much older still. Interestingly, she wasn’t much bigger than I was. However, she carried herself like an adult, and talked about “grown-up” ideas. She looked directly in our eyes as she talked to us. Had she been bigger, her visits would have been menacing, because she was an intense communicator, and always very serious. You never knew if she was happy or angry. She never laid a hand on anyone I knew, but her presence was gripping.

One time Chris came upon us as we were exploring a construction site. It was dusk, clear, and a little chilly, just like so many nights in spring or fall in the Maritimes. She started explaining the various types of board that you could see in the structure, then told us about the tools that lay around: “That’s a claw hammer; that’s an 8 pound sledge. That hammer’s got a fibreglass handle,” and so on. She pointed to an empty tube of polyfill. “That’s a new kind,” she explained. “Everyone uses it, now.”

Even at age 7, I could tell that Chris had surprising knowledge about construction, and wondered how she’d come upon it, since nothing she was saying was familiar to me.

Chris never talked about herself. On a rare occasion she would talk about someone else: “My cousin lived in that house three doors down. He just joined the Army: he’s in New Brunswick now.” Mainly she talked about things: “You can change a three-speed to a five-speed by changing out the rear wheel. I’ll show you next time: I’m going to do it to this bike.”

Chris often showed up on her bike, which indeed began as a three speed. Interestingly, it wasn’t the more common (back then) kind with “hidden gears”; rather, its rear hub had three different sprockets on its outside, in a way similar to a 10-speed (which of course would have five sprockets on the rear hub, not three). Chris liked her bike, you could tell. Converting it to a five-speed was a big deal for her.

I’d estimate Chris approached me 4 to 6 times per year during ’76, ’77, and ’78. Obviously she’d arrived at the base earlier, so left before I did as well: I was there until 1980.

Because I didn’t know Chris beyond her visits to me, I never knew when she moved away, only that she stopped appearing. I seem to recall, however, that the base had a more upbeat feeling in ’76, ’77, and ’78 than in ’79 and ’80. I think Chris, like numerous others, left while the base morale was still elevated. Perhaps her departure pushed it lower.

Chris almost always showed up in the afternoon or at dusk. Her bike riding, and senior age to mine, suggested she had a long range – all the more so because I never had an idea where she lived. However, I was usually in a specific 1 1/2 blocks when she’d show up. Usually, when Chris approached, I was with other people.

I never saw Chris at school. Yet, theoretically, she must have gone to my same one. I never saw Chris play any kids’ games.

I thought Chris was a boy the first time she approached: my friends told me afterwards she was a girl. She wore her hair like a boy, carried a wallet in her back pocket, and wore leather or suede jackets, as I recall. I think she may’ve even carried a comb.

Why Chris was ever interested in seeking us out to talk to, I’ll likely never know. I’m glad she did, though — I wonder if anyone else remembers those visits:)