Ours to Discover

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Old man Withers was crazy. Everybody said so, everybody but that boy Eric. “Mr. Withers is an archeologist,” Eric would say—whatever an archeologist might be. Remember that funny blue-and-white sweater Withers found? He claimed he could look at the markings on it and hear the words “Toronto Maple Leafs” in his head. Toronto was the name of our steel-domed city, of course, so I believed that much, but I’d never heard of a maple leaf before. The same maple leaf symbol was in the centre of all those old flags people kept finding in the ruins. Some thought a maple leaf must have been a horrendous beast like a moose or a beaver or a trudeau. Others thought it was a kind of crystal. But crystals make people think of rocks and uranium and bombs and, well, those are hardly topics for polite conversation.

Eric wanted to know for sure. He came around to the museum and said, “Please, Mr. Curator, help me find out what a maple leaf is.”

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