By Lucy

Concussions are fun! Got two catch ups here, a photo I missed from last week, and a video I meant to include with the Pictured Rocks pictures.

After we got inside and unpacked, the exhaustion hit me. Or maybe it was the hangover. Or the possible concussion.

“Go have a nap, I’ll cook dinner when you get up.” He said, kissing my forehead.

Part of me wondered if my boyfriend should be insisting I go to the hospital. But I hadn’t thrown up or lost consciousness, and concussions are normal in the trades, as in sports. We’d been joking on the ride that I should have had a concussion at work for paid time off, not on vacation. Possibly I should have asked him to take me, but everything was spinny and it was hard to focus. I was still kinda hoping it was just a hangover.

I slept for 3 hours. When I got up, he made pasta – not keto, but I was too hungry and banged up to argue. After dinner I crashed and slept for another ten-ish hours.

I finally hauled myself out of bed at 11 AM. The Vagabond was still sawing logs, so I drove myself to the store and grabbed some eggs for my breakfast and apples for him.

I wasn’t sure what to do now. We seemed to be in limbo again. I should ask, but I was definitely foggy beyond the scope of a concussion now. I made myself breakfast. An email came in from the Soroptimists – we had a member visiting from BC. Who was available for a tea party?

After breakfast, I said, “I’m gonna go home and do some things. I’m gonna stay at my place tonight…” I trailed off, trying to judge his neutral expression. “Want me back tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.” He said.

The two worst words in the human language (or, three?). I felt like I was doing us a favour by gracefully ducking out and giving us some space to think, but I could never tell if he felt the same. Worst, it gave me no planning ability – if you don’t want me back tomorrow night, just say so!

I went home with every intention of immediately hopping in the shower. Unfortunately, the shower was broken. There’d been a problem the entire time I’d lived here where, occasionally, the water pipes shake and belch instead of producing hot water. Usually, you just turn the hot water off and wait a minute, and it’ll be back. Today, nothing was working.

Maybe there was an email about work on the water heater I missed. I made myself some food, wished I had a bottle of dry shampoo, unpacked and changed into something more tea-party ish.

The get-together was nice. They had lots of non-keto food, but with pasta last night I was definitely out of ketosis anyway, so I had a little bit of cake. I’d buckle down and get back into it tomorrow. The member’s daughter is moving to Thunder Bay to work at the university, and she’s in her early 30’s, so naturally everyone turned to me and asked what the kids do for fun in Thunder Bay.

What? I only have the skin of a 28-year-old, I spend my days riding motorcycles, hiking, and playing video games! Although apparently she likes water polo and some other appropriately middle-class sports, so maybe she can be my new hiking buddy.

After I got back to my place and made myself a keto dinner, I was starting to bubble up with righteous anger. The next big thing in my life is the New Zealand trip. I wanted to be back before the end of March, for the shutdowns, which meant I had to leave before the end of September. I had been planning to leave closer to the end of September so I could spend some more time with the Vagabond, but if he was gonna be a jerk, what was I waiting for? All wound up, I applied for the working holiday visa that night.

The visa is good for a year once you get it anyway.

I perused some job sites. There are several places offering room and board, with carpentry work.

I’m on the fence about that. On one hand, I think the best I can hope for with carpentry is under-the-table cash to do residential framing, because I’m not a journeyman or particularly good at anything. I’d like a job that pays money, because I do have some bills to pay despite my best attempts. About 300 a month, or 2 grand over the course of the six months. That being said, my credit card is clean and I’ll get another fat check in February when I file my income tax, so I could just run up my credit card. Hotels and food are the most expensive part of living, after all. And I did want to get in some actual carpentry experience before I ended up doing scaffolding again. I was starting to run ahead of my hours compared to my actual experience, and I didn’t want to end up a journeyman who just knew how to scaffold.

Admittedly, the biggest expense is my car insurance. I had half a plan to let Emily borrow my car. It made sense – she gets a car for six months, maintenance taken care of, insurance is paid, and letting someone drive the car is usually better than letting it rot in the snow. Because if I had anywhere to park it, it would be the Vagabond’s yard. And even that wasn’t a guarantee, unfortunately.

I poured myself a cold glass of water. My mouth lit up with pain the minute I tried to have a drink. I flew to the mirror to check – my teeth and gums all looked normal, but they were still numb and I was lost on what kind of damage my faceplant might have done. Could I have damaged something between the surface? Chewing was still hard.

My Factor box was supposed to come today, but the hours trickled by. It says between 8 AM and 8 PM, so when the clock hit 7:59PM I checked one last time, made myself a bowl of soup, and called customer support for a refund.

I slept in Wednesday. Had a lazy breakfast, went to shower again. Still no hot water! I emailed my landlord, but I was confused. I don’t keep track of everyone’s shower habits, but I know Wayne showers immediately after breakfast every day because we often eat breakfast together, so he had to have noticed this.

The other tradesman moved out, my old room is empty again. Guess the landlord finally got fed up with him carousing in the kitchen.

Grabbed my laundry and got it done. My landlord was outside when I got back, and we went upstairs to take a look at the shower. He fiddled with it a bit and eventually persuaded it to produce hot water if you crank it all the way.

Another loose end. I had to tell him I was moving out soon, but I should decide on a day before I do that.

My new buddy Paul added me to a fairly active local Discord, which I immensely appreciate him for! I felt bad wanting to go hiking without Hanuman, but he’s out of commission and I do still want to keep hiking, so I started asking around the server and had a few expressions of interest. Some plans were made to go for a walk that evening. I threw some cauliflower and salmon in the oven for dinner.

Then the Vagabond texted me. “Wanna come over for dinner?”

What a meaningless question. He says dinner, but I’m probably staying the night. Or am I? Maybe he’s just inviting me over to dump me.

Decisions, decisions.

I decided to cancel my plans and packed a bag for the night, just in case he wasn’t breaking up with me. I hate cancelling on people, but I’d rather get this over and done with. When the oven was done cooking, I packed up my food and put in back in the fridge.

He asked me to grab a bottle of wine on the way. Maybe he isn’t breaking up with me?

My landlord was in the driveway, on the phone with his son, when I came down to leave. He had guessed correctly that I had put together the birthday card for him, so he thanked me for that. He put me on the phone with his son, also a carpenter with the Winnipeg hall, and he praised my gumption and gave me some advice for moving forward with my career, which was nice!

When I got there, the Vagabond pointed to the sink. “You forgot your chore!”

What, you can’t wash the dishes yourself? I laughed. I suppose fair’s fair, he cooks, I wash the dishes, but it was sort of absurd.

Another problem; the guy he goes to Geraldton with was hospitalized. It was a little disconcerting because he has the same first name as my father, so when the Vagabond says “so-and-so is in the hospital” my heart seizes up. But if he’s still hospitalized by Sunday, the Vagabond isn’t going back to Geraldton.

It’s telling about how bad things have gotten that I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of the Vagabond not leaving again. To be entirely honest, I was sort of looking forward to having two weeks to myself again. That’s not a good sign.

Dinner was chicken breasts stuffed with blue cheese, and cauliflower he coated in eggs and fried in oil. I was glad that he was making an effort to conform to my keto diet!

I set an alarm and we went to bed early. The next morning I put on my blue Soroptimist hat and walked down to the CLE – the Soroptimists were volunteering to help with Special Needs Day.

I ended up with my partner-in-crime, Faith, and Shirley, waiting by a set of doors to take tickets and put wristbands on people. Right at opening, we had like 100 members of the Boy and Girls club to check in. 100 tiny little wrists! I seemed to be the one most willing to negotiate with children, so I got down on my knees and put the wristbands on while Shirley accepted the tickets. I tried to offer something to each nervous child – a smile, a compliment on their outfit, asking them which part of the fair they were most looking forward to. It took the better part of an hour before the opening rush was mostly cleared and I could stand on my feet again.

They had a full security compliment, including searching bags and waving people down with metal detectors. It made me nervous – Barrie is a bigger city and driving distance to Toronto, and even they don’t bother with this kind of stuff. What were they expecting?

Special Needs Day was over at 3:30. Everyone was aflutter at the idea of me walking around in dangerous Westfort, but I’m not afraid.

The Vagabond had nothing planned for dinner that night. After staring into the fridge for a while, he said; “I could make a quiche?”

I smiled. “There’s an Italian word for quiche, isn’t there?”

He grinned back. “You know what it is! Say it.”

I blushed. He hates my Italian. Still… “Frittata, no?”

He grinned wider and ruffled my hair. “See, you got it! Yes, let’s make a frittata!”

The frittata was good, cheesy and soft on my teeth, which were still both numb and painful.

Slept another twelve hours. He went out shopping and I spent most of the morning dozing and in a fog.

“The walkers were out last night. My tailgate was open, but I had nothing in the back.” He says when he got back. He waves me down when I rise from the couch and throws himself on the loveseat.

“Walkers?”

“People less fortunate than ourselves. They start around June and go ’til September.”

Ah, he just means homeless people roaming the streets. Calling them walkers reminds me of zombies – but I suppose that’s what they are, dead inside.

“Corner’s all roped off. Probably one of them jumped another.”

He was right – a couple hours later, the news posted that someone got stabbed on the corner at 4 o’clock in the morning. Bum fight, someone settling a score. I smiled wryly at the idea of the Soroptimists being scandalized that I was walking around near where someone got knifed, but the truth is it would never be me. They always know who they are stabbing, not going around stabbing random people.

Still, it made me shiver. I was tucked in bed, and someone was screaming and bleeding just far enough away that I didn’t hear it.

He said once, “Being an addict makes you an addict, it doesn’t make you a thief.”

I wanted to argue, but he was right in a way. At various points in our lives, we’d both been so broke we went to the soup kitchen, but that’s just it – neither of us turned to stealing to survive. We begged for charity, sold what little we had. Neither of us had ever descended that far into addiction, but maybe that too was a choice, in a way. Pride can be a terrible thing, but it was a hateful, spiteful thing that kept both of us from sinking too low. We wouldn’t allow ourselves to get so far into our vices as to be homeless.

I called Telehealth and was directed to the hospital, but it’s CLE weekend and a Friday night. It’ll be packed with drunks. I decided I’d wake up early and go first thing Saturday morning.

I was conflicted about the Vagabond. In between foggy points, I felt like he should have insisted I go to the hospital. He kept expressing concern for how listless and unfocused I was, so he wasn’t blind to the effects.

So I went back to my place for the night. Went for a walk with K around Boulevard in the evening, just to get some fresh air and exercise.

Got up early, went to the hospital around 8. The ER was basically empty and I was in a room and seen by a doctor within the hour. They said it sounded like I probably had a mild concussion, not severe enough to warrant a CT scan. He put a tongue depressor between my teeth and had me bite down to check if any were knocked loose. Then he ordered a face Xray just to make sure I didn’t fracture anything.

The Xray tech was funny. Apparently she doesn’t get to do a lot of face scans, so she was excited to teach her rookie how to do it. She asked him to list off facial bones and he asked her if the mandible was a face bone.

Fortunately, no bones broken. Go home and take it easy. He offered to write me off work, but of course I’m already off.

I went grocery shopping. With a couple weeks break, I grabbed another spaghetti squash. I had an idea to make a few thick, creamy sauces, and use the squash as a vehicle for them. I was also pleased to find a low-sugar yogurt option – was it there before, and I didn’t notice, or was it new? I also discovered the store does have low-carb bread – it’s in the freezer section. Which makes sense, I suppose, they don’t sell a lot so keep it frozen. Right into the freezer is where I will throw it anyway!

I really wanted to go to the CLE as a guest and not a volunteer, but I couldn’t find anyone to go with me. K was busy, as was Hanuman. I tried convincing the Vagabond by telling him there was a palm reader there – he loves that stuff – but he still wouldn’t budge.

Around 4, the Vagabond texted me. He had dropped the bike off at the shop, couldn’t get a taxi back and had walked the better part of an hour and hurt his ankle. Did I want to come over for dinner? He bought a steak and a nice bottle of wine, since it was his last night before he’s gone for two weeks again. Buddy had gotten out of the hospital so Sunday was a go.

Ye gods.

This was it, really and truly. The hard talk had to be done – I was leaving within the month.

I packed a bag and went over. He was on the couch with his ankle on ice. I checked his feet over – I know he’s only pre-diabetic, but I’ve heard too many horror stories about people losing toes or entire feet to diabetic neuropathy.

“Probably my gout flaring up.” He says.

“It’s not red or swollen though.” I poked his joints. “Does ice help gout? You should really have a towel between your skin and the ice pack…”

I looked up. He was smiling at me. “Yes, ice can help. Have you ever thought about being a nurse?”

“Is that a sincere question?”

“Yes. You’re good at it.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I’m too much of a bitch.”

He laughs at that.

He didn’t grab a side, so I drive us to the grocery store. We wanted portobellos, but they don’t have any, so we get cremini instead. He stops by the freezer section – no sugar-free ice cream, mores’ the pity. He grabs a cheesecake I definitely can’t eat, but dessert is more for him anyway. As we walk out with the groceries, I giggle and skip.

“Why are you all smiley?” He asks.

“Cuz this… just going to the store with you, like it’s normal!” Thrills me to bits!

When the steak is on the BBQ and the mushrooms are sizzling away on the stove, I decide to pull off the wax. “So, I’m planning to leave some time in September.”

“September? When are you coming back?”

“End of March. I was going to do 6 months.”

Something flickers over his face. He wrenches open the freezer and pours himself a couple of shots of whisky, downing them quickly.

“I was hoping we could have this conversation sober.” I say, with a measured amount of annoyance.

“Sober or not, it won’t change my thinking.” He snaps back.

No, but you might be less of a dick about it.

There’s also something to be said, that the minute he felt emotional pain, he cracked a bottle to drown it. Or for liquid courage to be a jackass.

I tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t hearing it. I offered to shorten it to four or even two months, but he was gone. He accuses me of lots of things – being selfish, being a slut who’s gonna be running around sleeping with random guys in New Zealand, etc. Nothing that sounds anything like me.

By the time dinner is ready, he’s wrung out. “Let’s talk about something else.”

The steak was really good, even the fat wasn’t that bad on it. The mushrooms were delicious to the point of moping up the sauce with my last bite of steak.

The night was nice otherwise. He drank a lot, but true to his promise, there was no repeat of the rage when I left for Regina. We stayed up ’til 2 AM.

The sun was just crawling around the curtains when he woke me up. What time was it, 6:30, 7?

“Do you have anything to say?” He asks.

My heart stops and my blood freezes in my veins. My brain races for something, anything, to say, to stop this, but I come up empty. I freeze – I can’t even cry.

“It’s over. I’ve decided.”

Where is my voice? It’s gone.

He gets up and goes to lay down on the couch. He’s not so kind as to give me space, I know – he’s giving himself space.

How cruel the last week had been, and now… was it worth it? Is he being unreasonable, or am I? Was I right to go? Was he right to break up with me for it? I grab my phone and text Hanuman. I cry silently into the pillow, shocked and upset.

Hanuman is working ’til 10, so I wait ’til 9. Pack up all my stuff, wash the dishes one last time. Fair is fair, and I don’t want to burn this bridge. The Vagabond’s name is still the most useful tool I have in Thunder Bay, so I want to hold onto my ability to use it.

He comes into the kitchen, tells me to take the leftovers. He won’t eat them before he leaves.

“It didn’t have to be like this. You-“

He cuts me off. “Don’t put this on me.”

“I’m not. It takes two to tango. But that’s just it, two. I was fine just coming over on the weekend and spending the night. You started this when I left for Regina. Don’t pretend you didn’t.” I kissed his cheek, grabbed my bag, and left.