ruth's house

Her house was medium sized and wooden red. It sat close to the city center, remnants of old crashed into new on her street. The snow made creaking sounds under my shoes as I walked to her gate, part of fencing in a tiny front yard with a single naked apple tree. The air filled with ice fog escaping my lips when I paused for a moment. The house looked like a fire in the cold night, all the windows downstairs were dimly lit and slightly flickering from what I imagined were candle lights and a fireplace within.

I walked up to the door and couldn’t find a doorbell, only a large door knocker on the middle of the door. That felt quaint. I gently knocked, waited for a moment, then knocked again with more force too quickly. When she opened, I was nearly still hanging onto the hoop, pulled in with it.

She looked brilliant. It seemed like she was tall and she usually dressed in all black, tonight was no exception. Except a loose knitted cardigan that looked effortless. She wore a pantsuit, which I felt was unusual, but I loved them. Grey streaks shimmered through her short dark curls, and her lips were bright red. Her face broke into a smile, and she gestured for me to come inside.

Of course I was right, inside was fuzzy and warm. All the walls were painted in colours, one wall was even black. I had never seen anyone have a black wall before. Past the first small hallway was another larger one covered in books from wall to wall. From the floor, all the way to the ceiling. She led me into her kitchen, which looked old-fashioned. The thing I really took note of was the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling above a kitchen island in the middle of the room. It made me feel like I was in a movie, which was oddly suitable and made complete sense to me. She asked me if I wanted some hot chocolate. I glanced over to the half-filled pot of coffee and she smirked. I felt like she knew exactly who I was.

We sat in large chairs next to a small table, drank black coffee and discussed an upcoming event at the movie theatre where I volunteered, and where she was the boss. As we spoke, I let my eyes wander across her walls. This room was dark green, and picture frames filled most of it. Small ones, large ones, black ones and golden ones. Photos of her family. Her children, whom she had acquired in a former marriage. Pictures of her wife. Pictures of all of them together. And I realised it wasn’t until this very moment that I had let myself believe my life could be just like that. Like everyone else’s.

wayne gretzky

Our elementary school teacher had followed us from our very first day of school. She was, in my eyes, an old lady. Short gray hair, and a round face that looked kinder than what she was. She was quite stern and serious, and though I think she liked me she was never impressed with my lack of academic interest. I was bored, and she told me to try harder. But she was a good teacher.

When we started our fifth year, we were told that our teacher had undergone knee surgery that summer. And so, an array of substitute teachers were introduced. One of them went on to host Jeopardy in Norway. I remember him as a really fun guy. Another would spend all our classes drawing stories from his childhood on the blackboard. He was definitely one of my favourites.

But then one day, a young woman showed up to class. She had long dark hair, wavy and wild. Her voice was husky, and she didn’t dress like a teacher. It was the first “young” teacher I had met. She didn’t behave like other women I knew. She was loud and funny, she made jokes and chased us around when we refused to sit at our desks. She spent lunch in the middle of the classroom with us, talking about sports and video games. She was the coolest person I had ever met.

I was one of the only kids in school who had moved across the river to the city, and that meant a long bus ride to and from school. If I missed that bus, I’d have to wait an hour for the next one to show up. So one day, when I had missed my bus and started walking up the hill to the official bus stop, my new teacher drove by in her tiny rusty car. She rolled down the window and asked me if I wanted a ride home. I was stoked.

Instead of listening to the radio like my mom always did, she listened to rock music on cassettes. Her car was really messy. She sang along to the music and asked me what music I liked and if I collected anything cool. I told her about my Boney M cassettes (uncool) and my pog collection (supercool). And then at some point, I must have told her that my sister would take me to hockey games. She asked me if I knew who Wayne Gretzky was, and I told her I had collectors cards with him on them. She told me she used to date him. I thought she couldn’t possibly be any cooler, but she proved me wrong.

After that, I tried missing my bus home more often than not. And she would drive me home whenever I did. She was probably only there for a few months, but I still remember those drives as some of my favourite moments from elementary school. It took a few years for me to realise why.

bonne nuit

You were exactly what I needed then, in my absolute darkest hour. I was crawled up in my bed 24/7, waking only for short periods of time weeping silent tears or eating ice cream with a fork straight out of the container waiting to fall back asleep.

My partner left to pick you up out in nowhere land from the animal protection centre, meanwhile I was still curled up in my sheets trying to breathe. Then the bell rang and for no particular reason I decided to open the door. There you were, in a crate held by a stranger telling me he was tasked to deliver you here. He opened the crate and let you out into our apartment. I didn’t feel anything at all, as I hadn’t for a while. I paid him the due fee, and closed the door behind him, trotting back into bed. I knew cats usually needed to get familiar with everything, so I said: “You just check things out, and I’ll be here, okay?” and crept back underneath my duvet. My back had only just hit the mattress when I felt your tiny paws against my tummy, and you curled up on top of me into a tiny ball and closed your eyes, vibrating quietly. Some emotion stirred deep inside me, and I felt less alone suddenly. We fell asleep together.

That was 16 years ago. And since then, you’ve been with me almost every day, you’ve moved with me to two different countries and back home, you’ve comforted me when I fell apart and you have annoyed me like none other. You’ve raised me to be neat and never leave anything on the floor, under the threat of peeing on it. You’ve never shown me anything but unconditional love. I’ve had long 4 a.m. conversations with you about everything that has happened in my life. You’ve tolerated my desperate chain smoking and sleepless nights, and you’ve curled up in my arms through all of them.

Today, you took your very last breath because of me. And I’m so sorry that you had to leave. I hope that wherever you are, you are safe and happy and healthy, and you have all the love you deserve. And I love you so very much, my beautiful Nuit. Good night.

nanoseconds

I had just started off my flight from Montreal to Vancouver, final destination Bali with a very long stopover in Incheon, and I was in for a long trip. I made my way onto the airplane and settled in my seat, pulling out my headphones. I mean, I had already suffered through a very long conversation in the taxi to the airport with a woman who told me all about her porcelain figurine collection and while it was quite fascinating I decided that I would really try hard to avoid airplane small talk. Isn’t it strange how those work, how somehow sitting this close to someone with no immediate escape warrants forced conversations about your life somehow?

Given the long flight ahead, I was kind of hoping that the seat next to me would miraculously be left empty but I knew it was a lot to ask for. I sat in my usual isle seat, because there really is nothing worse than having to climb people to use the bathroom, and lo and behold, shortly after getting seated a man in a very fitted suit appeared next to me indicating his desire to get to his designated spot. I shot him a polite “yes, I have understood what it is you are gesturing” and got up to let him squeeze past me and down into his seat. At least he didn’t look like the kind of guy that would be extremely talkative. I sat back down and placed my headset on my head to indicate that I was ready to enjoy a quiet, yet noisy flight.

As the first song had just started getting its groove on, I felt his eyes resting on me in my poor peripheral vision. I tried to ignore it for a few seconds, but I could tell his lips were moving too. Sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that through these things” I said turning to him, removing my preferred sound off of my ears. He had a hopeful smile on his face, and repeated the question. “So where are you headed today?” My heart sank.
I told him I was going to Bali, and he told me I was going to have a long flight and I told him I know, he he. So I politely returned his question, and he told me he was attending a business meeting in Vancouver and he was a very busy and successful man, and he traveled a lot back and forth. Fascinating. “Oh, you must be used to this then, eh?” I said, smiling, He agreed to his expertise in traveling. Then he fell silent for a minute, so I moved to resume my well thought out playlist, when he continued moving his lips. He asked me what I was planning to do in Bali, and then why I was going there, and then out of concern asked whether or not I was traveling alone and I for some reason answered all of his questions.

But then he told me some interesting things about his work and business ventures, and then we started talking about psychology and next thing I knew we were actually having a conversation that I didn’t mind. These incidents are rare. People are generally very superficial, and as I have come to expect from anyone, I did expect him to ask about my parents line of work and my favourite color. And while we probably touched on those subjects somehow, this conversation became more of a profound dive into each others minds under the understanding that we would probably never meet again. At some point, we found ourselves talking about fate and serendipity. I told him about why I was traveling alone, and how I ended up in Canada, and how I ended up in my current job and it was all a series of coincidental decisions.

“I have a story about coincidental decisions.” he said. I listened. He told me that he used to carpool to work with his colleagues at a place he worked some years ago. This way they could travel in the carpool lane, and save the environment and generally just hang out on the way there, which he valued. They had become close friends over the years, and they lived a few minutes apart from each other. Generally, the guy who lived farthest away from work would always pick up the others in succession, so they ended up having fixed seats in the car. He would always ride shotgun. One morning, he woke up to find he had slept in, so he texted his friend that he would be a bit late and they could take off without him. He would just drive his own car to work.
As he was getting ready, he heard honking outside his house and found that the driver had gone to pick up number two first, then came back around to get him anyway. So he got in the back of the car, and they had some laughs about not sitting in their usual spots this morning, being all out of wack.

As they drove onto the highway, after picking up number three, the traffic was heavy as usual. They were creeping along, listening to rock music and talking about work as they always did. At one point, they were at a stand still under an overpass and traffic was not moving at all. They were going to be late for work, and they all jokingly blamed him for oversleeping. As they made quips back and forth, a sudden loud crack gave them a jolt and they scrambled to see what had happened. Had there been an accident? Seconds later, something crashed onto the front of the car and everything went black. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see anything. He was stuck in place, his legs pinned down underneath something large and realised that half the car was no longer there. The entire front had been crushed down by whatever hit them, and his two friends were nowhere to be seen. He had to be cut out by firemen, and all he could think about was his alarm clock and coincidental decisions.

When the plane landed, he gave me his business card. I never got in touch with him, but I still think about him from time to time.

blood sisters

“Don’t be so mean!” she exclaimed suddenly, as if I’d just done something incredibly offensive. I laughed at her, confused. What was she saying, was I mean right now? My mind flashed back to that time I punched my brother in the face in a drunken daze on the roof of our van, and I didn’t realise that I had. He made me take a picture of his swollen lip and as I went through my photos the next morning I said “Wait, what happened to you?” when I discovered the picture of his bleeding lip on my camera. He laughed at me then, as I laughed at her now. “You did.” he said. I stopped drinking rum after that.

“She’s not being mean.” Caroline’s bubbly laughter pulled me out of my mind and back to our dusty, crummy couch. I stared mindlessly as they started arguing over whether or not I had been, Lily’s voice growing angry with frustration. “Wait wait wait,” I said, “what if tomorrow I get high and you don’t, and then if I’m mean, you’re right?”

It took her a while to process my proposition, but she agreed after a few minutes of consideration. This finally settled our dispute, and we went back to incoherent ramblings again.

A few weeks later, Lily suddenly remembered our deal. “Remember how you’re always really mean when you get high?” she started. I laughed again. I couldn’t reconcile how I felt with what she described, try as I might. I felt filled with love. I imagined her accusations stemmed from her belief that I would lie to her whenever she got paranoid about peeing her pants when she got high. She would always silently gesture to her crotch in panic, and I would know what she was asking. I’d shake my head and smile. Five minutes later, she’d point again, convinced I was trying to embarrass her. I’d laugh. She would sulk.

“Listen, let’s do the thing.” I said. Kings of Convenience filled the air of our tiny apartment, as did fluffy clouds of smoke as I tried blowing rings with my mouth. I never did learn how to do that. I was getting silly, giggling at everything Lily told me about her day. She examined my face and my words carefully, but an hour into our experiment she cracked into a smile. “You’re not mean at all, you’re like a kitten with a ball of yarn!” she laughed. I laughed too, although I didn’t quite get it. “Let me have some.” Lily grabbed the lighter and finally we were on the same level. The music filled the room like magic as we leaned back into the soft cushions.

The weight of my words
You can't feel it anymore...

”Let’s be blood sisters!” Lily exclaimed happily. I thought it was the best idea I had ever heard in my life, because that’s what I was like when I was high. I still have that scar across the palm of my hand, and I trust it to remind me of what it’s like to trust someone.

2020 is like falling down a flight of stairs

In case you want to know what it feels like falling down a flight of stairs while holding your son, or maybe just how 2020 feels like; here it is.

I woke up late this morning. My son woke me up around 6am and I walked into his bedroom and lay down on the sofa bed because there’s just no way we’re getting up at that hour. We both luckily fell asleep, but I forgot to set my alarm, so when I woke up at 8am, him stirring slightly in his bed, I was quite stressed at the notion of getting him to kindergarten by 8:30. We got up, and he walked over to his indoor swing to play. I said I was going downstairs, and he said he wanted to play.
Fine then. I picked up his water bottle, my water glass and my phone as I do every morning and walked down the stairs locking the baby gate first, telling him to come down when he’s ready.

Obviously he never said he was ready, so I walked back upstairs and he ran to the gate. “Open the gate!” he said. Quickly evaluating the situation, I knew he would take about 4 minutes walking down the stairs on his own due to his creative mind. So I decided that it would save us some time if I just carried him instead. Knowing I’d have to pretend this would be fun in order for him to comply, I said: “No, you should jump into my arms! Jump!” He did jump, and I caught him in my arms and lifted him over the gate smiling. Then I turned around and apparently this is when it all went downstairs.

Our stairs are very steep. As I turned, my foot must have slipped. It’s absolutely amazing how many thoughts can travel through your mind in baffling speed. So I found myself quite literally on my ass, sliding down the staircase. I looked down at my son, my face probably struck by panic and his face mimicking this as a mirror. He had flipped upside down, and I had my arm tucked underneath his body as we slid swiftly down the stairs. My elbow hitting every step on the way down, I was luckily holding his head up with my hand and half his body was resting on my arm. My only focus was to try to lift him up, but this proved to be an impossible task. We were closing the turn, and I was wondering whether or not it would be possible to stop our descent there, but we were going too fast.

As my body turned into the curve of the stairs, I looked at the bowls of cat food and the bowl of water sitting at the bottom of the stairs and I remember belting out a panicked “Nooooo” in a voice I couldn’t recognise because I realised I couldn’t stop this from happening. My foot crashed into the water bowl after miraculously skipping the kibbles, and I felt the splashes of water all over us before my toes stubbed into the wall at the bottom. All I could think of was to check if my son was hurt, and as I tried to lift him into my lap I realised my arm wouldn’t move. His little face was bewildered for a second before crying fiercly. My first instinct was to try to not show him that I was really scared and hurting, so I just looked at him, trying to see if he was hurt. My girlfriend came running from the downstairs bedroom (thank goodness) while screaming, and yanked our son from my arms.

I tried to sit up, but I suddenly noticed that everything hurt and I was blacking out. I put my hand to my forehead and leaned against the railing, feeling the cold sweat on my skin. Her voice felt far away as she called out asking if I was okay. I wanted to say yes, but I was not, so I had to say no. I asked if he was okay. She said she thought he was. I heard him calling out for his favourite blankie, so I got up and stumbled to his bag to get the extra one from kindergarten. She said to go lie down on the bed, and I was like “Pfff I’m fine, it’s okay.” She said “You’re green”. I said “Does my voice sound funny?” She said “No.”
I felt like I was drunk, and I had to sit down.

My rear seems to have taken the whole entirety of the fall, as it is now 50 shades of black. My son escaped with a couple of scratches and bruises on the side I wasn’t able to hold up during our joyride. I am so grateful that things didn’t end up worse.

I think this is a good analogy of how 2020 is going so far. We’ll be okay, guys. Even if it hurts like heck and we’re terrified. It’ll get better.

cap ou pas cap

After a night in, watching a movie I loved, we were both inspired by the recklessness of it all. Cap ou pas cap? Why wouldn’t we play games, no?

We decided this was our new thing, and to seal the deal I dug out an old ring I had with runes decorating its surface, mystery seemingly suitable for the setting. We hadn’t specified the rules yet, but we both agreed to be game should the occasion arise. “Who’s going first?” you asked, with playful fire in your eyes. “Cap ou pas cap?” I said with a smirk.

You lingered by the door, peeking out at the busy street around the corner. I laughed by the absurdity of my dare, and this seemed to encourage you for some reason. So I picked up my camera and pressed play as you opened the door and walked out. I had to laugh again at the sight of you as you turned around and gave me a deadly stare. The walk down to 7/11 was short, but seemed so very long as people started to notice you. I followed close behind, making sure to document this idiocy.

When we both walked into the store, high as kites, I felt a weird sense of pride. There you were, in nothing but a thong, asking the clerk if she had chocolate milk She looked at you in disbelief. “I think that maybe you should go put some clothes on.” she said and you played the part of shocked citizen perfectly, disregarding her advise entirely as you marched to the fridge to retrieve the carton of milk.

I don’t know whatever happened to that clip, but it was the beginning of a short series of dumb ideas that I’ll always appreciate.

dick move

Do you remember the time we went to McDonalds in that large square of the beginning of the street we called home? It was one of the only luxuries we could afford, except that posh burrito-place that accepted offline payments, placing our young credit cards in the strange contraption that would copy its details and finish it off with a wobbly signature.

Anyway, there we were, our Big Mac menus carefully presented before us as we decided this was a great venue for our game of dares. On our left was a table of three, one of the guests speaking loudly in a shrill voice and to our right a father with his young boy filled with joy as he opened his Happy Meal and discovered the crappy plastic surprise within. As ever, you were annoyed by the loudness of the table to our left and pulled the ring from your finger. “You have to go over there and tell her that your cancer is scraping your brain.” you said. I looked at you in disbelief. It was such a dick move, and it didn’t even make any sense. But this was the nature of our game. I took the ring and placed it on my finger. “Well shit.” I said and womanned up.

I got up a few minutes later and walked over to the table next to us. “Excuse me, but would you please try to keep it down? You see, my cancer is scraping and it’s hurting my brain.” I say apologetically. The woman with the shrill voice looks up at me with such concern I immediately feel horrendous. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” she says, with her hands against her cheeks. Only now do I notice that she’s clearly disabled. She takes my statement incredibly serious and looks horrified by what she has done to me. “Uhm, it’s alright, I’ll be fine, I just need some quiet.” I say and trot back to my table. As I sit down, I can see the woman, now whispering to her friends, still horrified. They shoot me a look of absolute disgust. I look over to my right, and the father and son are equally shook by my actions. Jesus.

As wrong as it is, you still look at me like you’ve never been this amused in your life, and as wrong as it is I can’t help but laugh. I’ve never been more embarrassed by my own self.

human

I walked slowly up the driveway, taking in the mild summer breeze. The sky was light blue with veils of grey clouds scattered across it, even though it was way past midnight. I had this eerie feeling in my bones, like something strange was about to happen so I hesitated slightly before I opened the back door by our terrace. The lights were still on in the living room, and I could see my mother’s silhouette under a blanket on the couch as I walked in.

She seemed to be sleeping, and I gently tiptoed across the living room toward the hallway when I heard a soft sniffle. I froze and felt my body tense up. I considered for a moment if I could continue unnoticed, I knew I didn’t want to deal with whatever was going on. But after a brief pause, I heard my own voice break the silence. “Is everything okay?” She didn’t say anything. I waited, turned slightly. She made me feel so small, like I was five years old again and didn’t know anything about anything. Least of all how to help her.

I noticed the blanket was shaking in a steady rhythm, and suddenly she broke the silence again, sobbing loudly. “Oh…” I said as I walked over to her, sitting down on the edge of the couch. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she grabbed it and squeezed way too hard. “Don’t cry…” I tried squeezing back, but she was holding tightly and I don’t think she could even feel it. She kept sobbing uncontrollably, trying to say something, gasping for air as if she was choking. I didn’t know what to do.

“What’s wrong?” I finally asked. She sat up half way and I moved down beside her to let her head rest in my lap. “I don’t know. Everything. I’m sorry…” she cried, still shaking in my arms. She looked up at me and had this look of utter despair, as if nothing would ever be good again. Maybe that was true for her. The contrast of the lightness of my evening made me feel uneasy, as if I had no right to be happy when she wasn’t. But I had never known her happy, and I didn’t know how to fix her. I had tried to find out how for such a long time. Maybe if I was better, nicer, spent more time at home. Maybe if I paid some bills. Maybe if we went on trips together or maybe just talked for a while. Maybe if I asked her difficult questions. But I knew that the answers would only reflect the truth she wanted to live in.

“I’m sorry.” she said again. I told her it was okay, I told her not to cry and patted her back helplessly because I didn’t know of any other ways to comfort someone. It made me uncomfortable that I wasn’t one of those people, the ones that can make you feel better just by being there. The ones who are warm and loving, and can find the right words and hold you tightly until your whole body feels warm with their positive energy. I was cold, and frozen in place while my mother was falling apart. She sat back up again, and covered her face with her hands as tears kept falling down her cheeks. I’d never seen her cry like this. I don’t think I’d seen her cry much at all, except out of anger. She seemed so vulnerable and as if she needed me, and I didn’t know how to be there for her. But still, here I was.

“I know I haven’t always done everything right.” she started, and I wanted to leave. I wasn’t ready for this, and I suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired. She told me she regretted many things, and she wanted me to know she was sorry. It was a strange feeling, because I’d always wanted her to say that but now that she was, I didn’t want to listen. The words coming out of my mouth felt flat and insincere, just things you learn to say from seeing similar things on TV or through conversations with your friends as they cry over a broken heart. I knew this was more serious than that. I felt like she was pulling rocks from her heart and placing them on my shoulders, trying to release some of the pain she kept from us throughout her life. But this was a part of her heritage that wasn’t mine to keep, and her secrecy had ensured that I couldn’t understand it. She kept speaking, making more or less sense.

When I ran out of words, I embraced her and held her tightly, every fiber of my being in protest. We never hugged each other. Even when I was little, there were no hugs goodnight or goodbye. I remember feeling so jealous at sleepovers, parents would come tuck us in, hugging their children goodnight. I wanted to ask for one too, only I didn’t want them to love me. Or pity me. “I love you” she said quietly. I felt like she had just punched me in the gut, and I knew that was the wrong feeling. Would I ever be able to love? How would I know?

“I know.” I said, lying. “I love you too.” I said to make her feel better. But I did love her. I just didn’t want to tell her that. Maybe I didn’t want her to know, so she could use it against me. But I knew she knew. I was her daughter, and she was my mother. I got up, and went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. When I returned, she was already sleeping. I hadn’t noticed the empty bottle of wine on the table until now.

She used to be a super hero. But I think that it’s a good thing when we learn that our parents are only human too. It makes it easier to forgive their shortcomings.

GTA

I scrambled around the apartment, trying to find some clean clothes. It had been a while since laundry day, and there were boxes upon boxes in the bedroom filled with folded dirty laundry in an attempt to make the negligence seem a bit less daunting.

“Hey, have you seen…anything I could wear?” I called out to my roommate in desperation. A rattling laugh filled the living room, and when I turned the corner my best friend was looking up from her book with an amused expression on her face. “Are you nervous?” Lily asked. I nodded reluctantly.

“I haven’t slept in ages, and I’m so weirded out, man.” I said, diving back into the piles of clothing on the bed. Lily got up and walked into the bedroom, her hands busy rolling a joint. She had this look she’d get when we both knew we were in trouble, and held her hand out offering her shoddy piece of art. “Dude, I can’t, it’s the fucking first date.” I shook my head, but somehow felt like I was simultaneously nodding, accepting the joint. I walked back into the living room, crashing down on the couch “I’m not even wearing clothes yet.”

Half an hour later everything seemed less important, as I pulled my coat on and left the apartment. I stumbled my way to the cinema, and arrived slightly late as my date had already picked up tickets and a box of popcorn. All I could think about was to keep it together just enough to get through the first hour without talking too much, and hopefully no one would be wiser. We sat in the back and didn’t really have time to say much before the previews were over and the movie started. I found it hard to focus on the plot, and kept laughing loudly in all the wrong places, feeling self conscious suddenly. Bridget Jones stumbled around on the beach, having ingested a handful of mushrooms, and it was the most hilarious thing that could happen on this particular night. With a mouth full of popcorn I asked if my date was having fun, but couldn’t really make out the answer.

The cold air felt amazing as we walked toward the subway station, and I felt lightheaded still. This night has clearly gone awry, so I wanted to make up for it somehow. Earlier that night I’d made plans to meet another girl I had been casually seeing, so that I could call things off before it went any further. This thing seemed right, and I wanted my date to know I would be making it exclusive. “Hey, you know what, this was fun. I’m gonna have to go now, I’m meeting Cat.” I said, and my words clearly didn’t come across as the meaningful statement I had meant them to be, my date seemingly disappointed. Still, I couldn’t quite find another way to explain at the moment, so I settled with a hug goodbye and walked off toward the bar.

It was still early in the night as far as bars go, and the room was quite empty except for a few regulars. I found an empty table by the window and sat down with my newly acquired beer, waiting for Cat to arrive. My eyes shifted around the room looking for the bathrooms, forgetting they were hidden behind a bookshelf in the very back. I felt extremely distracted, trying to make sense of my own train of thought when a familiar face appeared by the entrance. As usual, I couldn’t help cracking up into a giant smile and got up to hug Cat as she approached the table.

“Hey you! How was your night?” she asked and I blurted out the events of my recent parting with my date at the movies. Cat looked confused, her eyebrows slightly furled as she listened to a nonstop stream of incoherent words. “Oookay. I’m going to go get a drink.” she finally said and walked over to the bar. I suddenly realised my plan may have been slightly terrible and tried to get myself together. When Cat returned, I wasted no time explaining the motive behind the invitation. “Oh…” Cat stared at the candle holder on the small table, and took another sip of her drink. I felt like I had confidently gone into a game of Jenga, swiftly yanking a piece out from the middle and now watching the tower topple over in slow motion. I couldn’t quite figure out where everything went wrong, but I had a hunch. We exchanged a few pleasantries as Cat finished her drink, and I followed her outside when she announced she should get back home.

I lit a cigarette. watching Cat walk away, and sat down at an outside table shaking my head to myself. I picked up my phone to message Lily, found it unresponsive and cursed under my breath. “Rough night?” A tall and handsome stranger appeared to my right. “I don’t even know where to begin…” I laughed, my head just now starting to clear up. We sat there for a while, sharing stories, drinks and cigarettes and he eventually asked if I wanted to come back to his to see his piranhas. How could I say no?

We arrived at his place minutes later, only a short walk from the bar. He lived above a well renowned Italian restaurant, and explained that he owned it. I was quite impressed. “So, you don’t actually have piranhas though?” I asked. He smirked and guided me into his narrow living room, lit up by a giant aquarium. There they were, their pointy tiny teeth sticking out from the bottom of their jaws. I was in awe. “Wow, that’s amazing.” I muttered, as he lit a joint and passed it to me. He mixed an awful drink and I sat down in his black leather sofa. He walked over to a cheesy IKEA bookshelf and when he returned, he held out an empty box of matches. “Wanna share?” I stared into the box. “What is it?” I asked, picking up the tiny white pill from the box. “Extacy.” he announced. He plucked it out from between my thumb and index finger, and set it down on a mirror, splitting it in half with a knife. Well, how could this night get any weirder, I thought and washed my half down with the bitter drink.

“Wanna play GTA?” he said.

GTA did not work the same way Tekken did, I concluded after profusely mashing buttons for a good while. My avatar looked like he was having some kind of indecisive seizure in the middle of the road next to a beaten up car, and I broke out in hysterical laughter at the absurdity of it all. “I think I have to go.” I told him. He smiled at me, and I was surprised that he didn’t seem remotely angry or annoyed. My experiences in this city had taught me to expect that much. He walked me to the door and kissed both my cheeks as he bid me goodnight. His soft lips felt like fireworks against my skin, or against my mind. I searched my bag for the mp3 player and pulled my headset over my head as I made pirouettes down the stairs of his apartment building. Walking into the starlit night, I could feel the full effect of magic overtake my entire being. Every single thing was full of love. The music, the night sky, the taxis passing by as I danced down the street back home. I’d never felt such pure bliss, like an explosion that just kept happening.

As I carefully jiggled the keys into the lock, the apartment door flew open and Lily was stood on the inside in her underwear. “Where the FUCK have you been?!”

the bus

The lights in the back of the bus are dimmed as the night creeps over us and I’ve just gotten myself comfortable in the very back, my blanket tightly wrapped around me and my legs curled up in the seat. I pull my hoodie over my wild hair and lean my head against the window, feeling the engine roar below me as we drive toward to the border. I’m driving home for Christmas.

I’ve just dozed off when the express bus suddenly slows down and comes to a halt. The driver announces something I can’t quite make out as I’m pulled back out from dreamland, and the bright lights from the ceiling sting my eyes as they try to adjust. A man and woman walk onto the bus through the front door and briefly exchange a few words with the driver, then part ways, dividing the bus front to back speaking to everyone on board. I lean back into my seat and sigh, annoyed by this inconvenient interruption of slumber.

Eventually, the woman arrives in front of my seat and asks what I’m doing on the bus. I thought my intentions would be fairly evident, but I humour her by answering her questions in my raspy morning voice. “I’m going home for Christmas. What I packed? Yeah, I did pack my own bags. Just clothes, and some presents I guess. Cash? Not much, let me see…” I dive into my tote, my hands feeling around for my wallet. As I reach into it, and grab the few bills I have in there to show her, my heart skips a beat very quietly as I realise I’ve forgotten something. I can feel the beats escalating now that it’s caught up and my breathing suddenly changing pace while I try to keep my voice steady answering her follow ups. “Yeah, just two weeks. I …have …a return ticket. It’s on my laptop.”

Suddenly she seems very suspicious, and I’m finding it hard to look her in the eyes but I do my best. She locks eyes with me and we silently stare at each other while she decides. “Alright, have a good night.” she says and hands me my cash. I grab the bills and tuck them back into my wallet quickly, not taking my eyes off her back as she walks back to the front of the bus. I sigh, this time with relief. They exchange words with the driver again, and walk off the bus, doors closing behind them. I realise I’ve shifted to the edge of my seat, my leg slightly trembling. Okay good. The engine murmurs as the driver starts the bus once again. We’re driving and…taking a u-turn?

A small garage-looking building in front of us, the door slowly rolling up to reveal the bright lit space behind it. I try to make out what’s happening from the backseat of the bus, silently cursing myself for choosing to be a cool kid just now. I see silhouettes appearing inside the room, all in black uniforms and hats. Then I see dogs on leashes, eagerly anticipating the events to follow. Fudge, goshdarnitalltohell, sorry. Fuck.

My back is pushing against my seat, I’m trying to find some way to disappear and never be seen again, but as the bus pulls into the warehouse I can both see and hear the rattling door closing behind us. I’m trying to think. What am I going to do? Is there some way to get out of this? It feels like hours have passed while I try to make sense of my scrambling thoughts when the driver announces that all passengers are to leave the bus with all their belongs in hand. I frantically start collecting my things from the floor, and as I grab my tote bag I quickly open my hemp wallet (what irony) again, fishing out the small lump wrapped in cellophane and squeezing it tightly in my hand. I get up, and start making my way to the front. Midway I’m stuck behind a portly little man, still trying to gather his things, and my eyes drift down to the small trash bins on the side of each seat section. I dip down every so slightly and make the drop. I immediately regret it, but the crowd has started moving again so I move with them in silent panic.

As I step off the bus, my knees close to giving out, I read the giant sign ahead. TULL / TOLL. “Yeah, this is tull (bullshit)!” I hear from somewhere in the sleepy crowd, and I can’t help but smile a very tiny smile as we’re shuffled along to a separate room inside the warehouse. Eager dogs pulling their handlers pass me, and I stuff my hand into my pockets nervously. We’re told to sit on the floor to await our turns having people search through our belongings, and I trot over to the wall and slide down with my back against it. Shit, I mutter under my breath. “I know, right?” says a woman in her 40’s with a giant pink suitcase.

I try to think of things to say. But I can’t think of anything that would be plausible despite it being true. “I simply forgot it was there!” “I’m pretty sure you can tell it’s really old.” “Aaaactually, I brought this over the border once before, I just didn’t know. That should count for something, right?” “Isn’t it like… below the limit or whatever?”

Then we wait. We wait for what seems like hours, though I’m sure it wasn’t. I’m finally called, and I bring my flimsy bag and tote over to a uniform who has no questions for me, he only wants to look through my undies. That’s fine with me. Eventually it seems we’ve all been searched and they tell us to gather up and get in line. We start moving back into the bus and I try to look at any person I can to figure out when they’ll stop messing around and pull me back out from the crowd. But they don’t. I’m back on the bus, and this time I sit in a double seat closer to the middle, right about where I made my drop. Another daring choice, I guess.

As the final few are boarded, the keys turn once again and the engine rumbles below us. The door slowly creeps back up to reveal early dawn as we back out of the warehouse and turn back onto route. I hear a couple of friends a few seats over talk about how we’re missing a passenger now, apparently someone had reported him to the border patrol before we were pulled over.

Well, aren’t I in luck, I thought, before drifting back off to sleep.

pancakes

I just remembered one of my absolute favorite things when I was younger. 
We'd have pancakes quite often in our house. Pancakes aren't exactly the fanciest of dinners, nor most expensive one.
It catered well to our family, I think. We'd also have pea soup as a starter, which I always loved. 
I quite enjoyed pancakes. I remember having pancakes at my friends houses and they would be stacked on a plate all ready, hidden underneath a piece of tin foil or a kitchen towel so they would stay warm. 
But not in our house, no. 
One of my favorite things about dad is that he'd always make one pancake for each of us at a time, so they would be completely fresh off the pan. 
He would run back and forth during the entire meal making sure our pancakes were as warm as they could get.
And we would always eat a truck load of them.