Gus didn’t want to move to the country. He loved Toronto, and let his mothers know every chance he got. He could walk to his friends’ houses in Toronto; he could play on his computer without waiting for someone to hook up the internet. The country sucked. Fed up with his complaining as they tried to unpack, they sent him to explore the woods behind the house.
Gus hated the woods. They were hot and buggy and too quiet. Then he discovered the small waterfall at the edge of their property, and it became his favorite place in the world.
He ran there to escape from JR, the pest, or when his moms drove him crazy. He could yell all he wanted or play his music too loud or just sit and listen to the quiet spill of the water, sharing his frustrations, his secrets, his dreams.
Gus had his first kiss, first drink, first cigarette next to the waterfall, and he lost his virginity on a blanket spread along the bank.
It was the first place he brought his son, tearing up as he cradled him in his arms and told him how it would be their special place.