Product of The Brickworks

Product of the Brickworks

I first travelled down there on a sunny day when I was nine. It was underdeveloped then, a space filled with rubble and weeds settled in the shade of an emaciated cliff, the factory asleep like an old dog in the shadow of a great tree.
I remember walking out of the cavern of maples that tents the gravel walkway of the Rosedale ravine, the stillness disorienting. The site, previously a quarry bustling with life, seemed, in its silence, to be reminiscing.
My brother and I crossed the patchy land to the great wall of loose earth. Grass reached out of the hillside, only it’s roots prevented it from fleeing to meet the rays of sunlight gracing each blade.
We began to climb. Slowly at first, testing the land, learning the weight it could take before it trickled away beneath our small feet. Once satisfied, we reached and lifted, reached and lifted, scurrying every so often when the draw of excitement became more powerful than the bonds of caution. A steady breeze was breaking the heat of the sun, cooling the nape of my neck and tickling the back of my knees, slipping under the sleeves of my t-shirt.
All at once Paul was atop the cliff, tucked behind a slim tree, his eyes bright waiting for me to join him in celebration. I looked out behind me, across the brick works to the hill of Chorley Park, the distant steady humm of traffic on the DVP, then down. Down to the base of the escarpment. I saw the baked brown dirt, crumbly and fragile, the blades of grass sighing in the wind and I noticed just how very high up we were. I looked up, meeting my brothers eyes. He saw the fear as it squirmed behind my pupils. I was convinced, for a short second, I would never make it up or down. I was sure I was trapped between the ground and the summit. I searched for a way out, then back up to Paul. I reached up, my feet heavy and unsure, grasping at the weary clumps of vegetation. Then I saw a brown hand. Paul had grasped the tree and my little brother was pulling me to safety.
Once atop the great cliff I looked out to the city. Buildings poked up beyond the tree line. Their mirrored windows glinting in the summer light, like eyes winking at any who cared to notice. The sky, completely uniform in hue, stretched out around the scene. And I noticed, the city itself is built around one large crack in the earth. My brother and I were standing in the chiselled path of a formerly great force now dwindled. I stretched my arms and shut my eyes, then opened them wide to take in one last gulp of my surroundings. Then we turned, laughing and smiling and ran through the trees. Light sprinkled my cheeks between green leaves, the dirt and humus suddenly luminescent. Breathing heavy, we, brother and sister, reached the hearth of the dozing valley and fell to the ground, our bellies heaving, mouths wide and smiling, looking up into the endless blue and the birds that skimmed so sweetly across it’s surface.
By laura stavro beauchamp
May 20 2005.