Sunday June 10. 12am-8am.

I don't know how long we sat there.. I kind of wished we could just sleep there; the cement thing was sloped so we could recline a bit as we sat. But, the others were determined to get some sleep that night, so we had to start walking back to Queen's Park.
The walk back was the most painful thing I've ever done. I'm not sure why we couldn't just sleep somewhere along the way. Pain was shooting up both legs, in every possible place. My calf and hamstrings were taut, my quadriceps were throbbing... even my adductors were tight. Soleus, gastrocnemius... all the anatomy I'd learned last term raced through my head, as if knowing the names of what was hurting would make it the pain bearable. Steve, Deb, and Tanaya led the way, while Hanna, Mika, and I trailed behind, prisoners of our own bodies. Deep inside, there was a rage that I didn't anticipate I'd experience. I was mad at my body for being so weak, mad at my group for being so insensitive, mad at the city for being so big. In my childhood days I might have plopped down on the ground stubbornly, refusing to go any further, possibly bursting into tears so my parents would carry me the rest of the way. But I wasn't a child anymore. But I wasn't really an adult either. Adults don't depend on other people for food and money and shelter... What are homeless or street people, then, if neither child nor adult?
We stopped frequently to rest. It was a tremendously long walk. When we got to Queen's Park, it wasn't even over... we back to Yonge Street, to go to McDonald's for food and bathroom privileges. Even at that hour, it was quite busy. There were other people in there too; a couple other homeless individuals eating or sleeping, and groups of young people grabbing a bite before they ended (or continued?) the night's activities. The bathroom was absolutely disgusting; I think there are regulations against how dirty it was in there. Aren't restaurant bathrooms supposed to be inspected and cleaned every so often? But there was dirty water all over the floor, and tissue strewn about. Ugh.
Finally, we were back in Queen's Park, with newspapers laid out. The night was much warmer than the previous one. I was taking the first guard shift, mostly because nobody else volunteered to and I felt like I hadn't been contributing much to the group. As everyone else dozed off, I tried to mentally do the crossword puzzle in the paper (I didn't have a pen). I laid back after I got stuck, and tried to stay alert. I'd open my eyes and peer about between periods of closing them to rest.
Eventually I think I sort of dozed off, waking when I heard shuffling of newspapers. At that point, Deb was still awake. We found out the time from Tanaya, and my shift was done, so Deb took over and I was allowed to properly sleep. It didn't last for long though, because a little later we heard Deb hiss that there were cops coming. We all woke up and frantically started gathering up our newspaper - in retrospect, I don't know why we did this instead of just running for it. The cops approached us though (they may actually have been security guards; we could not tell and did not want to find out), and said that we couldn't sleep there. Deb handled the situation with courtesy and ease, making me so glad that I wasn't in charge. She replied quickly that we were out of there, and very sorry. Saying sorry for anything was becoming an impossible task for me this weekend. Especially in this situation... why did we have to be sorry? For sleeping in a public area? For existing? If anything, the cops should be sorry, or the city. They should apologize that there's so much open space, so much opportunity in the city, and a homeless youth still can't get a break. Apologizing is such an easy way to diffuse any situation, to stay out of trouble... but I was too proud for that.
So we got kicked out of the park. We walked back to the Tim Hortons at Charles and Bay, and pulled the same thing as last night - bought an XL-hot chocolate to share. This time we spread out and put our heads down to nap for longer as well. I thank God for that Tim Hortons - the manager, the employees, whoever - for letting us sleep there. We were so used to being kicked out of anywhere we were, that just being allowed to be somewhere was a nice gesture.
Around 5:30, the sun was starting to come up, so we spent the last bit of time before breakfast at Nathan Phillip’s Square. I laid down on a bench by the pond and fell asleep, waking up again later when my body temperature had fallen too much. Everyone else had passed out on their own benches too. I got up and found a patch of sunlight between the tall buildings and squatted there. Another youth, presumably also street-involved, made a nonchalant comment as she walked by, something like “It’s nice with the sun out, eh?” I looked at Mika and Hanna, who took turns sleeping on each other’s laps, and was glad that at least they had each other during this experience in a foreign city. Deb, Tanaya and Steve had woken up too and were sitting on a bench chatting. This nightmarish weekend would be over soon. It felt so surreal… In just over an hour, we’d all fill our stomachs with hot breakfast prepared by Carolyn. We’d go to our homes, see our parents, bathe. We'd get to change our clothes, eat, and rest. But there might not be an end in sight for some of the people we'd met. Their whole lives might be a cycle of pennypinching and charity, being unsure of how they would eat or where they'd sleep, but knowing that they would and must manage somehow. The only uncertainty for me now was how I'd live in light of all this.