Writing Exercise: A Memory


INI311 – Exercise 1
Logan Bright – September 21, 2016


I don’t know why I remember eating Doritos at the SkyDome; I know I was surprised to learn that outside food was allowed inside at all. I don’t remember what flavour they were, but I can clearly see the silvery inside of the bag with broken edges of black hiding in the shadows. This was back when I was still eating any flavour of Dorito, except for Cool Ranch, which was never cool with me. I was with friends at the SkyDome – the marketing materials don’t call it that anymore, but my friends do – and we were way up in the 500s, what people would probably call the nosebleeds, with the game and the whole stadium laid out before us like some abstract and living map.

The players, the score, the tens of thousands of cheering people were irrelevant, a colourful backdrop for socialising with the friends I was there with. Heather, Mark with his girlfriend Liz, others. It was Mark’s idea to go to the game, and he was clad in authentic blue and white, while I had opted only for my weathered green army-style cap to keep the sun from my eyes while the Dome was open. This was mid-summer and it probably wasn’t called the SkyDome even then, but for myself and others of my generation, that handle dies hard.

We laughed and joked and tried not to be bored with the game itself, so distant, each humanoid speck on that impossibly green field of pretend grass moving about as though on rails, according to complex and arcane prescriptions given by men long dead.

The game progressed and the home team won long after we’d finished our Doritos and my friends had had a few eleven dollar domestic tallboys. Leaving our seats, we became yet more human debris flowing down the cavernous grey ramps, each enormous slab of concrete perfectly planed, calculated for safety and efficient disbursal of persons through some magic of mathematics that I’ve never understood. We crept down each switchback ramp at the gelatinous pace of the crowd through the dim grey until we were disgorged into the painful sun once more, now outside the Dome in a sea of jazzed-up fans in blue and white. We held each other’s hands so as not to lose ourselves as we threaded our way home.

One thought on “Writing Exercise: A Memory

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