What you don’t know is that I slept in those clothes the night before

The Roncy QBC #8 was on June 2, 2026!

There hadn’t been one in two weeks (its first break in history), and I had missed it quite a bit. I was returning in a weird funk because it was my first time going back after my future in the neighborhood had been threatened. I was returning with a broken heart and a lump in my throat.

First Roncy QBC since the bad news

I wasn’t in the mood for writing. I was already writing tons of cover letters every day and not landing a single job interview, and I had just written a 3,000-word report on QBC #7 and cut my welcome speech in half. My birthday was coming up in two days and, two weeks earlier, during QBC #7, I had finished writing the first scene of my play. Now was not the time to start a new one and potentially open fresh wounds.

No, now was the time to read something both tragic and beautiful to keep me afloat, because I had been drowning for two weeks already—or trying my best not to drown. I had been witnessing my own demise while breathlessly swimming to my own rescue. I counted on BROKEN FICTION to be my lifebuoy, my broken door frame in the Titanic waters.

BROKEN FICTION is a collection of autofictional essays and poetry by Marlene Kadar, giving the reader the perspective of someone living with a life-threatening disease. I needed the lightness of someone carrying a burden heavier than mine to remind myself that I, too, was strong.

I left my notebook in the QBC Box anyway (the notebook where I write my play by hand every Tuesday). Just in case. Besides, that’s where it belonged, I had decided.

When I left for SAVA Crepes & Coffee that morning, I expected about two people to show up, since only two people had signed up. I wondered whether it was the one-week break or the nice weather that had discouraged attendees. I remembered an email I had received from the owner of SAVA congratulating me on the one participant who had shown up on purpose even when the event was cancelled. He said that such loyalty spoke volumes about the community I had built.

I remembered that I hadn’t thanked him for his kind and encouraging words (still haven’t, by the way). But I also remembered that I might be on my own that morning.

My neighbor and friend Colleen had warned me that she would arrive around 9:30 AM (the start of quiet time). And the other person who had booked a spot on Eventbrite was a new name I didn’t recognize. Buffy was still in the UK. Rosalind had warned me she wouldn’t make it this time.

I didn’t need to pretend that the low turnout wouldn’t affect me. It stung a little, but only because my choir Ensemble vocal Les voix du coeur was on summer break, I was back on the waiting list for a therapist, the final chapter of my favorite BL manhwa (JINX by Mingwa) had dropped that very day, and the Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club had become my last source of joy and peace of mind.

Looks like it’s just me today

I arrived pretty late at SAVA that morning. It was a bit chilly yet sunny outside. I was wearing a flowery blue shirt, a pair of jeans, and blue sneakers. The QBC handwoven box was heavier than ever, since I hadn’t taken the notebook out when I added BROKEN FICTION.

When I got there, most tables were already taken, including the one next to mine, where I usually lay out the contents of the QBC box: the earplugs donated by the Roncesvalles Welcome Guardian Pharmacy, the sign-up sheet on its clipboard (also donations), the QVCs (quote and vocabulary cards), the visual timer, the giveaways... All of that now had to fit on my own little table.

Next to me, a Black person had just finished their breakfast. They complimented me on my braids the second I walked in. Without making eye contact, I replied a speedy "Thank you!" and took my usual seat at the table beside them, blaming myself for being so late. So late I couldn’t save my own table. So late that the person sitting at it had had enough time to order food and finish it. So late that most of the seats in the unofficial "QBC area" of the café were already taken, when there are usually very few customers at that time of day.

Oh, I was too afraid to look at the time. Too afraid to be disappointed in myself. I tried my best not to feel guilty. Being diagnosed with autism and ADHD had one main benefit: taking away the guilt. Would someone in a wheelchair feel guilty for arriving late at the top of the stairs? Probably. But they shouldn't.

I put my blanket on a table in front of me (i.e. outside the "QBC area") and the QBC box on the one behind me (that was miraculously free), just to save some seats for Colleen and anyone else who might show up for QBC. I took a few things out of the box and laid them on my table. Then I wondered whether I should wait or just start reading on my own.

I was actually tempted to write.

I realized I hadn’t filled out the sign-up sheet, so I did, and that’s where the final decision had to be made. I committed on the sheet that I was there to read. I almost added "maybe write too," but I didn’t. Seventy-five minutes weren’t enough (for me, at least) to focus on both.

When I looked up again, Alex (a regular) had just arrived.

I was so glad.

She took her usual spot, where I had put the QBC box, so I moved it off her table. She looked around, noticed the crowd around me, and asked if everyone was already there.

I replied, "You’re actually the first!" That’s when all those new faces sitting quietly in the "QBC area" started speaking up one by one, including the person at my table:

"Actually, I’m here for the book club!"
"Me too!"
"Me five!"
"I just assumed it would start later!"

I immediately handed the sign-up sheet to the person at my table, and they thanked me in French, but I didn’t say anything because I was speechless. Mortified. Suddenly producing gallons of sweat under my armpits (and I was wearing a buttoned-up shirt)! Who were all those people?

Feels like back-to-school season with new students and a sweaty teacher

I felt so embarrassed I could have hidden under a table. But I didn’t, because I had something more practical: a blanket to disappear under very soon for seventy-five minutes.

"I’m so sorry, I don’t make eye contact with people I’ve never seen before!"

Some giggles.

"Oh, Alex, if you hadn’t said something, I never would have known. Sometimes you need an extrovert to break the ice."

More giggles.

I wonder what I prefer: giggles when I’m not joking or giggles when I am? The sign-up sheet was being passed around. I told everyone that they would do exactly what they wrote on it, and that they didn't have to tell me what it was, they could write in a code language only they understood. It was more for themselves than for me. After all, this was a get-shit-done book club! (I credited the nickname to an employee of Damsel, whose name I had forgotten again. But in my defence, I remember many facts about her!)

I handed out the quote and vocabulary cards to everyone who was there to read, except for one person who told me they were reading a confidential manuscript. I assumed it was theirs and didn’t insist.

I put the Roncesvalles Writer’s Mantra on the table of the one person who had come to write (a new face I am still convinced I’ve seen before). I put one on my table as well, force of habit.

I welcomed everyone and told them that I had written a shorter version of my welcome speech after delivering an embarrassingly long seven-minute speech two weeks earlier.

Alex reassured me that it hadn’t been embarrassing at all. I’m not even sure it was seven minutes long, or that Alex had been there that day. But what I was sure of was that her encouragement felt sincere, and it worked its magic.

I thanked her, a bit timidly.

Then I started reading the welcome speech, which was this time meant to last less than three minutes.

A Toronto land acknowledgement ends the speech, and as I was reading it, the cook (who was working the front counter that day, which means he was also the server) started talking to Alex about her order. He was pretty loud, and I wondered whether it was even legal (to talk during a land acknowledgement, I mean. Not to talk while I was talking).

I thought about repeating that segment, but then I remembered my goal to keep the speech under three minutes, so I just moved on.

When I was done, Alex started clapping and was quickly joined by the rest of the club.

I get super shy when people applaud me anywhere other than an actual stage.

Colleen and Ann arrived around that time, say 9:28 AM. Colleen sat with one of the new clubbers, and I think Ann sat with Alex.

I apologized again for not realizing they were all there for The Roncy QBC, and I thanked Alex for saving me from myself.

It’s quiet time, baby! But should it be quiet-quiet?

I launched quiet time, wished everyone a good reading and/or writing and realized I hadn’t taken any photos.

The server turned off the music completely.

That was a first.

It was how I had originally imagined the Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club would be spent—in perfect silence—but when I pitched the idea to SAVA, they had assumed there would be music, just something slow and played at a low volume. I didn’t correct them and decided to try it their way. I’d have earplugs anyway.

So this time, when the server turned off the music for quiet time, I decided to ask the clubbers how they felt about it, whether they preferred some chill music or complete silence.

"Some music would be good!" I heard from the new faces.

I went over and asked the server to play something smooth, like a jazz playlist. He did.

On my way back to my table, with my iPad, I took a picture of this fine group, feeling both grateful and melancholic.

Same place, new faces. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude!

Then I took a seat as well, put in my earplugs, set up the timer, hid under my blanket, and opened BROKEN FICTION by Marlene Kadar.

I loved what I read.

I wanted to read it out loud even though it didn’t look like poetry.

I bet this post, too, is better read out loud.

I forced myself to stay quiet, but I did giggle when I had to.

Marlene Kadar was not special. She was not better than me. No stronger than me. Shit was happening to her and she was still standing.

And I liked that she was not optimistic or some positivity guru. That’s not what I needed in the middle of my drowning.

She was rational, and she intellectualized her experience of pain, of impending death, of dealing with loved ones and managing THEIR worries. She would never complain (I wish she had, though), but she would never have hope either.

She hated hope.

Or being told how she should feel.

I was writing down a lot of quotes and vocabulary words, so many that I had to turn my QVC over and use the back.

I wondered how those clubbers who returned blank QVCs managed. I’m always distracted by new words and incredible sentences.

Writing down a quote is like taking a picture of something you find beautiful: refusing to leave your brain solely responsible for preserving it, refusing to forget it and let it disappear forever, not the quote itself, but your memory of it.

I can’t fight the urge to save a copy.

That day, I saved copies of a lot of quotes.

BROKEN MUSIC

Twenty minutes before the end of quiet time, the music in the café switched to upbeat pop. I could tell even through my earplugs.

It was distracting.

I wondered whether twenty minutes was worth standing up and asking the SAVA employee to change the playlist again. He already looked so busy.

Then I remembered that twenty minutes is an eternity.

So I went to the front counter and waited for him to come back inside. He was serving someone out on the sidewalk.

"Could you fix the music, please?"

And he did.

I returned to BROKEN FICTION and my blackened quote-and-vocabulary card.

The soft alarm on my iPhone rang at 10:45 AM.

I stood up, put away my blanket, and glanced around the room, where everybody looked engrossed in their reading.

I don’t like being the one who interrupts them, but that’s my job, and I did it.

"I hope you all had a nice quiet session. The reason I was extra shy today is..."

And I explained everything.

If you can’t fill in the blanks, sucks for you.

It’s show time!

In the management of my social energy, I prioritize the Roncy QBC (and the Scrabble game right after). On Wednesdays, choir rehearsals. I pretty much shut down the rest of the week.

I grabbed the sign-up sheet.

"Let me see who’s here."

And I started introducing everyone in the order they appeared on the sheet, from top to bottom.

Chantal

"Today we have Chantal..."

The Black person at my table, who had thanked me in French earlier, raised their hand. Chantal is a French name.

"Oh, Chantal! Are you a Francophone?"

Chantal doesn’t speak French, but they have Francophone roots on their mother’s side.

"Chantal came to read YEAR OF THE MER by L.D. Lewis" There was a Black mermaid on the cover.
"Wait, does the 'mer' in 'mermaid' mean 'sea,' like la mer in French?" I asked.

No one knew.

Chantal was visiting from another neighborhood (which one, I forgot to ask) and enjoys Black speculative fantasy.

I took their quote-and-vocabulary card, and they had copied down this quote:

"I keep waiting for the moment where something clicks."

Mouthwatering.

I thanked them for sharing it and moved on to the next name on my sheet.

Alba

"Alba is here with us today too."

When I looked at Alba, I hesitated and corrected myself.

"Alban?"
"Alba," they said.
"Are you Italian?"

(I know an Italian Rosalba.)

"It's a Spanish name. I'm from the Philippines."

Clearly, I was getting everybody's cultural heritage wrong that day.

"Alba came here to read THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone."

They said it was science-fiction fantasy, which is basically my least favorite genre. Then they uttered the words "gay enemies-to-lovers romance," and I was like, "Say no more."

I had to read it.

"As an audiobook, though."

They insisted:

"You don't have to read it!"

I explained:

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm a sucker for gay romance, and my favorite trope is enemies-to-lovers, rivals-to-lovers... But because you said it was fantasy, I'll just borrow the audiobook from the public library. Do you have any new vocabulary entries or quotes to share?"

They said they had retired two words but hadn't looked up the definitions yet.

I told them,

"Perfect! We don't look up definitions here. We find out who in the room already knows what those words mean, and then I share the official Merriam-Webster definitions later on Facebook in a post about what happened that day. For instance, that post will begin with me being embarrassed af after realizing that all of you were there for the book club!"

Giggles.

Alba's vocabulary entries were pretty transparent to a French speaker. Here are the definitions from Merriam-Webster:

INIMICAL (adj.): 1) being adverse often by reason of hostility or malevolence 2) having the disposition of an enemy : HOSTILE 3) reflecting or indicating hostility : UNFRIENDLY
OSSIFY (v.): 1) to change into bone 2) to become hardened or conventional and opposed to change

Olivia

Next on my list was Olivia (who put a smiley face next to their name—awww, I'm only noticing that now), a neighbor who had come to write their own play. They had also put an exclamation mark next to both "WRITE" and "my own play."

I appreciate the emphasis.

Olivia's face and name felt familiar.

"Have we met before? Maybe on Facebook Marketplace?" I asked.

People started laughing, as if that weren't where I met most people.

Olivia denied it and said,

"It's kismet."

Now I wonder whether I've seen them onstage at Theatre Passe Muraille or at The Toronto Fringe festival—one of those faces that doesn't recognize yours because you were in the audience. You watched them for quite some time, but they never saw you.

Olivia lives in Liberty Village but identifies as a neighbor, which is why they wrote "neighbor" on the sign-up sheet.

I asked how the writing had gone. They said they were very critical of their own work but tended to appreciate it years later.

Relatable.

Gemma

After Olivia, there was Gemma, another neighbor, who had come to read the queries in their inbox because THEY ARE A LITERARY AGENT! That's the person I had assumed was reading a confidential manuscript.

And I'm pretty sure they mentioned from the get-go that they were a literary agent reading queries, but my brain (which loves denial) immediately dismissed that information, since I was still sweating gallons and coping with the recent realization that my introverted self had ignored all those strangers, assuming they weren't there for the book club.

Gemma's face and name looked familiar too.

It's possible I've seen them on Manuscript Wish List dot com before (after all, I'm supposed to be looking for an agent for the manuscript I finished last summer).

Gemma is a sucker for queer literature.

"I have to start writing, then!" I said.

I asked whether the manuscript they had read was any good.

"SO GOOD!"

And I secretly got jealous of that anonymous writer for pleasing Gemma before I got a chance.

Alex

Then I introduced Alex to the group.

Once again, she had brought two books.

"Alex doesn't read books. She drinks them."

Alex showed us her books: INFINITE JEST by David Foster Wallace (thickest book I had ever seen) and FATES AND FURIES by Lauren Groff.

She presented INFINITE JEST as her challenge and showed us the dozens of colorful bookmarks sticking out of the text block.

After Googling INFINITE JEST, I've seen photos of those colorful bookmarks and genuinely wondered whether they came printed with the book.

Alex presented FATES AND FURIES as a romance.

"Queer romance?" I inquired, hope in my eyes.

"Straight."

She lost me there.

Giggles, as my face failed to conceal my disinterest.

Then she mentioned that the man was depressed, and suddenly I was interested again.

"Oh, you had me at depressed. I love living other people's emotions."

Alex replied,

"Me too. That's why we read, isn't it?"

(I've just had a panic attack thinking I'd lost Alex's QVC. Phew. Found it! Note to self: these cards are more important to me than I thought.)

Alex retired two new vocabulary words from one of those books:

QUIESCENT (adj.): 1) marked by inactivity or repose : tranquilly at rest 2) causing no trouble or symptoms

(pronounced kwa yes aunt, accent on the yes)

EQUANIMITY (n.): 1) evenness of mind especially under stress 2) right disposition : BALANCE

And I forgot which books she took the following quotes from, but although I declared that the reason why I like collecting quotes was so I could pretend I had read the books, Alex somehow knew that I genuinely liked the quotes because they were my way of seeing into the souls of the people who retired them. This is a glance at Alex’s soul, snapshot she took with her pen on a QVC:

"(…) a willow so old it no longer wept, just sort of bore its fate with thickened equanimity"
"He leaned forward and closed his eyes and felt the mildew that had grown itself over his being these weeks slowly wiped away by the sound [of the music]"

I like those snapshots, Alex.

Those quotes show me Alex, not the authors who wrote them. Because I'm pretty sure the nine or ten participants there that day would have picked nine or ten completely different quotes.

Carianne

"Next on my list is Carianne."

Carianne corrected my French pronunciation of their name and gave me the English version.

"So you're not French," I said.

I heard some giggles, probably because it was the third time that morning I had wrongly assumed someone's origins.

"Carianne is a first-timer too. Welcome! I'm supposed to do a welcome dance for first-timers," I remembered.

So I did a quick silly dance.

Then I resumed my presentation of Carianne:

"Carianne is a neighbor who came to read LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED by Jenny Lawson."

There was a mouse on the cover, and I managed to ignore it and not to scream. Look at me becoming a grown woman. The new vocabulary entry was:

BOLL (n.): the usually roundish pod or capsule of some plants (such as cotton or flax)

And Carianne read their favorite quote from the session out loud:

"I didn’t want anyone else to take credit for my discovery that Smurfs were actually peaceful bisexual communists."

The quote was met with well-deserved cheers and laughter.

Colleen

Then it was time for me to introduce Colleen.

"You've met Olivia the playwright and Gemma the literary agent. Now meet Colleen the publisher! Colleen came here to read WOMEN TALKING by... Miriam... Toews?"

"Toews," said Colleen before presenting the e-book she was reading on her Kobo (the Canadian competitor to Amazon's Kindle e-reader).

She read her favorite quote aloud:

"…the window… is filthy and crawling with flies and looks out at the miles and miles of fields and skies and galaxies beyond that, and then infinity"

And that was a glimpse at Colleen’s soul alright. I recognized my friend.

Ann? Where’s Ann? Well, my turn then

According to the signup sheet, Ann had come with the goal to do some journaling and some work. She left us to join a Zoom meeting from another table in the café while I was collecting the QVCs.

So I read mine. For once, I was a reader.

I said that, for someone who didn't like the letter p, Marlene Kadar had mostly taught me words that started with p.

"I mean, she literally wrote: 'Multiple relapsed/refractory non-Hodgkin's lymphoma' is such a mouthful: I would prefer something easier to pronounce, something with fewer syllables and no p's.'
And yet my new words were platelet, percale, paltry, and petechia, which she defines herself:
'Such a beautiful word, petechia. It could be the name of a flower, but it's only the name of a stigmata, a red patch on the skin.'"

I also rapid-fired the other words I had learned that didn't start with p: credence, trite, blustery, innocuous, abrade, burnish, shimmy, bodice, quisling, and lilt.

This is the quote I shared with the group:

"Yes, I paused on Bloor Street in a beautiful sunshine, near a city trash bin in case my left foot and leg were on a break and could not withstand the sight or the news or maybe the weight of a heart that was screaming: I am ill."

I commented, amused:

"Who stops near a trash bin? Normally, you make sure you're well past the trash bin. It stinks, non?"

I also said that every mention of a street in Toronto catches my attention and reminds me that there are writers here too.

For some reason, I felt that reading all the quotes that had stood out to me would take too long, so I negotiated with the boss (myself) to read one last quote, the one that had made me laugh out loud.

The boss said yes. So here I was:

"If you get one lymphoma, you get one doctor. If you get two lymphomas, you sill get just one doctor."

Reading it to the group made me laugh even harder.

I won't tell you which other quotes I put on my QVC. You'll have to find them in the national archives of the Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club.

I'll leave you with these definitions of words beginning with p:

PERCALE (n.): a fine closely woven cotton cloth variously finished for clothing, sheeting, and industrial uses
PALTRY (adj.): 1) INFERIOR, TRASHY 2) MEAN, DESPICABLE 3) TRIVIAL 4) MEAGER, MEASLY

Here’s a fun fact from Merriam-Webster: "Did you know? Before paltry was an adjective, it was a noun meaning trash."

PLATELET (n.): a minute flattened body (as of ice or a mineral)

especially : a minute colorless disklike body of mammalian blood that assists in blood clotting by adhering to other platelets and to damaged epithelium

And that’s how I also learned that only mammals had platelets in their blood.

Look up the other words on your own, will you?

THAT’S A WRAP!

I declared a wrap on The Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club #8, and Alex started a round of applause again. My melanin hid my blush, but not my embarrassed smile.

I took pictures of the books and their QVCs, the framed poster fell backwards on the floor and didn't break! Many people came over to take that same picture, I was quite surprised. And pleased, I think. We've never had that many books on one pic. I wonder what was their reason.

Haul of the week (manuscripts not included)

Thanks for following my #FunnyBrainyRoncy adventures. I hope to see you tomorrow morning (June 9) for the Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club #9! It’s at SAVA Crepes & Coffee (221 Roncy Ave), doors open at 9:00 AM, silence starts at 9:30. Book your free spot on Eventbrite to avoid last week’s debacle. Your donations are more than welcome. Registration link in the comment.

#roncesvalles #roncesvallesvillage

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This post was first published on Facebook on June 8, 2026.

All the books mentioned here can be ordered on anotherstory.ca or borrowed from the Toronto Public Library.

Book your free spot at the next Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club here (donations are welcome): https://www.eventbrite.ca/manage/events/1986008762671/

The Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club #8