Toxic Positivity

Let me tell you a story, friends. Let me tell you a real life story, based on true events. Let me tell you a story that will leave you… well, probably mostly indifferent and phlegmatic. Which is the whole point of this rather lame story with a horribly dramatic opening.

Our story begins with a man. A flight attendant. In his late fourties, the man is neither the strapping youth of his past nor the decrepit troll of his imminent future. The man, short of stature, thickset and with a full head of mouse-coloured hair that used to be ginger, with kind, rather wan eyes and thin lips, the upper one hidden beneath a shockingly red moustache, has seen better days. Still, he likes to think of himself as a moderately attractive fellow albeit not a young one. Oh no, not young at all.

True to his profession, the man visits many ports. Early one morning, after a rather long absence, he found himself in Toronto during the waning last days of the notoriously short Canadian summer. The day promised to be sunny and clear, with a rather moderate heat of 21 degrees. Perfect for a day at the beach. He had always heard of Hanlan’s Point Beach in the Toronto Islands and decided he will finally visit the clothing-optional beach for a day of rest and relaxation.

True to the famous Canadian hospitality and joviality, the man virtually drifted from the exit of the plane, past a smiling immigration officer, a courteous bus driver and a smiling, accommodating reception clerk to his room and from there through a polite bus driver and a happily busy ferry handler and finally to a beach full of exquisitely diverse people, unclothed and carefree, soaking in the late summer sun on dark sand, the CN Tower and Toronto’s high-rises looking on impassively from across the lake waters.

The day progressed pleasingly well. The sun was just hot enough to offer a nice tan and the water just cold enough to raise goose bumps on his skin and cause the fine hairs on his body to rise, as well as his breath to catch upon first entering the sweet lake waters.

Towards sunset the man packed his few belongings and set pace back to catch the ferry back to the city. Surrounded by smiling locals and excited tourists, the waters of the lake riding the gently blowing breeze spraying his face with fine droplets, the man came to the conclusion that THIS WAS A FINE, FINE DAY.

The man alighted along with the others from the ferry and set pace towards his hotel. He failed to notice, walking away from the docks, the bicycle lane crossing his path. The lane was no more than three to five centimeters below the level of the sidewalk but the man was not paying attention. He stumbled. His ankle twisted savagely and sharp pain intruded upon his reverie. He fell, his arms protecting his face, his shin and forearm hitting the ground cruelly and an involuntary scream of pain and surprise escaping his lips to intrude upon the perfect devil-may-care weekend atmosphere.

The pain was excruciating. The man immediately rose to a sitting position, trying bravely to contain his pain and the embarrassment of the loud scream he had unleashed. Sitting there on the curb of the bicycle track, hugging his knees and resting his forehead on them he felt waves of nausea crash and the feeling of imminent unconsciousness loom. He waited for it to pass, meanwhile fumbling for his dropped sunglasses and phone, collecting them with shaking fingers and stuffing them into the simple cloth bag he had with him.

Around him all activity ceased, the surrounding crowd politely but with avid curiosity watching this nearly middle aged man shouting out, falling, weakly raising himself and remaining for a couple of minutes in a foetal position on the side of the bicycle track. None approached him for fear, surely, of embarrassing him further in this most embarrassing of circumstance. So they satisfied themselves by simply watching. Politely. Smiling their encouraging smiles.

The man felt by no means well, but well enough to rise and remove himself from the bicycle track in order not to hinder the racing riders and of course, to avoid further damage. He rose shakily to his feet, supported by his hands on the pavement, rising from foetus to four legged animal to hunched old man and back to, albeit limping, nearly middle aged upright man. He slowly limped to the side rail, the watchers watching silently, their dark eyes following his every fumbling, stumbling, jerky movements, their smiles never leaving their lips.

Standing supported by the side rail, the man watched the Toronto Islands from the city shore, slowly regaining his breath. Incredible, he thought, everyone around me is so polite. Giving me space amidst my crisis, not interfering in my distress. Allowing me time and leisure to compose myself appropriately. Thinking this, the man promptly fainted and dropped.

The bystanders watched politely on, their smiles never waning, their positive vibes not lessening by even one iota while this curious stranger ungainly dropped.

The man opened his eyes. He did not know why he was watching the sky and why he was lying on his back. He did not remember falling. Actually he did not remember anything past falling near the bicycle track. Craning his neck and raising his head he looked left and right. On the one side the lake waters and the Islands in the distance, and on the other people, watching silently, fixed smiles upon their faces, some already losing interest and turning to their counterparts, their flighty conversations, so rudely interrupted, resuming promptly.

He rose, this time feeling sturdy enough. He picked up his belongings and brushed himself of dirt. He stood erect and, seeing as he was feeling fine and his ankle was actually not the horribly twisted thing he imagined it to be, he gingerly put weight upon it and, seeing the pain was bearable, set his pace back towards his hotel.

The surrounding masses were happily continuing with their perfect day, the momentary danger of an unfortunate occurrence averted quickly – receding from their minds.

With fixed smiles everyone went back to their business.

With a fixed grimace the man kept limping on, slowly distancing himself from the festive indifference of a people unconcerned and towards a people, his people, that concern themselves all too much with the others’ misfortune.