Reunion at Pearson
The Green Man and the White Murano
The colossal Boeing, a testament to man’s ambition, descended upon Toronto’s Pearson Airport with a muffled roar. DJ, a lone figure amidst the throng of disembarking passengers, clutched his baggage, a silent companion from his life in Sydney, some 15,500 kilometres away.
The sterile glare of the airport’s corridors assaulted him. Endless stretches of glass and chrome evoked a sense of disorientation, a stark contrast to the familiar streets of his youth in Sri Lanka. Each footfall echoed with anticipation, the passage of time etched onto the landscape.
Emerging into the open, a blast of frigid Canadian air greeted him, a sharp reminder of his displacement. With fingers numbed by the cold, DJ fumbled for his phone; each ring an agonising wait for Nimal’s voice — a lifeline in this unfamiliar sea.
“Here I am, my friend,” DJ spoke, his accent a curious blend of Sri Lanka’s lilt and Australian twang. “Green hoodie, orange cap.” The words felt foreign, a self-description for a stranger in a strange land.
A symphony of vehicles swirled before him, similar yet alien in its orderly efficiency, similar to the organised dance of traffic back home. DJ’s eyes darted, searching for the promised white Nissan, its license plate — “Malla” — a whisper of a shared past.
“I see you, brother,” Nimal’s voice crackled through the phone. “Hold tight. I’m coming.”
DJ waited on an island adrift in a concrete jungle, on the precipice of a reunion forged in the fires of fifty years. The white Nissan materialised, gliding to a stop under the imposing presence of pillar four, a testament to the vast distance it had bridged.
From the car emerged Nimal, his face a canvas etched with time, yet his eyes still held the warmth of their shared youth. Beside him stood Kanthi, Nimal’s wife, a woman known only through anecdotes. Her presence, a bridge across the chasm of unfamiliarity, held a quiet understanding.
Sensing the weight of decades, Kanthi offered a gentle smile and gestured towards the passenger seat. “Please,” she said, soft yet resolute, “sit with Nimal. There is much to catch up for you two.” Her presence, both expected and essential, acknowledged the silent story waiting to be retold.
As DJ settled in, the years peeled away like old paint. The overwhelming airport faded into insignificance. In this confined space, a fragment of his past collided with his present, and the future stretched before them, pregnant with the promise of rediscovery. The airport, once a daunting new world, now served merely as a backdrop to the profound drama unfolding within the car.
