By Lucy

I lost interest in my gentleman caller already.

I hadn’t really decided what my interest was in him… there was some chemistry there, but I’m sure I don’t want to engage in another relationship. And there was something about him that set off red flags in my mind. I’m sure I recall someone complaining about him, perhaps it was Heidi? I had some intention to let him down gently; I didn’t want him thinking I lost interest simply because he was late for our only meeting. But I couldn’t really make myself continue to talk to him. I’m too sleep-deprived.

I feel like the people in the blog might be of the opinion that I like bad boys, which is why you’ll be surprised to know that this is a recent development. Hell, my first boyfriend in high school was so nerdy we met because he was holding auditions to create something like Red Vs Blue, and he won an award in his last year of high school for attaining the highest mark in any math class at the school. My ex-husband was also known as a huge nerd in high school and fixed computers for a pawn shop as a side hustle, and wouldn’t even smoke pot cuz “drugs are bad”. Even James was a nerd, as much as he was a goth; he loved trains, everything about trains, and we were constantly fighting about how much money he wanted to spend on model trains. The last gift I bought him was an actual conductors hat. Or Winter, who disappeared on benders for days, but we only ever shared video games and space ships.

I was put off the Vagabond for a long time because he was a “bad boy”, actually. I even told him that, because he admitted to being used to women pursuing him for the bad boy factor. “No, that’s why I didn’t want you”. And he became a bit nerdy around me, admitting to things he doesn’t usually share with people because he’s too occupied with being a bad boy biker. Like painting.

I remember that. Looking out the window; “Like a group of Seven painting”. Staying up late into the night discussing it over a bottle of wine.

It has been a year, hasn’t it?

There’s a concept in fiction called the Manic Pixie Dream Girl; a character who is funny and vivacious, who drags the staid and uninteresting male protagonist out of his boring life and into a fun new one. I suppose in a sense, the Vagabond, and Josh before him, were my Manic Pixie Dream boys, unlocking my wild side. Or, really, what wild side I have, considering how often an evening for me is playing Rimworld while listening to Cinematherapy.

I guess the difference is gendered expectations. The Girl is usually stable and emotionally supportive, while the Boy isn’t.

Make it new, but stay in the lines
Just let go, but keep it inside

Me and Jeremy had a long conversation that started Friday of the previous week and wove itself into Sunday, but I didn’t think I had enough of it to include in the previous post.

(Sorry not sorry for quoting you, Jeremy.)

this is why i still often find you difficult to read…you’re elusive when you probably don’t want to be.
never fully committed to giving people a chance to accept you.

That sat with me all night. Out of a silly little conversation about travelling to New Zealand came some incisive comment.

“Hey!” Burt yelled at me out of nowhere. “Where are you?”

“Home depot?” I replied sarcastically, automatically.

“No, no you’re not.” He tapped on the side of his head. “You’re somewhere else.”

I flipped him off, as expected, but he was right. I was doing the job correctly, answering when my name was called, but my thoughts were elsewhere and I was wearing a thousand-yard stare. Again.

Automatic.

I eventually replied to Jeremy that I’m used to people calling me clingy, but that’s not quite it. I’m used to people rejecting me when I voice my needs, so I’ve learned not to want anything from anyone. If it’s not a transaction, I don’t understand it.

On Saturday I came across a quote in a Guardian article;

“One of the things I have learned since his death is that I can be a cynic as a defense mechanism: I am afraid to appear humorless, or to look like someone who believes good things will happen to them, because I will feel like an idiot when they ultimately do not.”

Scratch out “can be”. I just am. I have a reputation for anxiety even when I’m not, strictly speaking, anxious. I’m literally afraid to let people know I believe good things will happen to me, that I deserve to have them or that I made them happen in some way, instead of them being an accident of luck. Only bad things happen to Lucy and you’d be a fool to think otherwise.

“How are you going to unlearn that?”

They gave you the end, but not where to start
Not how to build, how to tear it apart

Christ, I have no idea. That’s the age old question; how to learn to hope. Learned helplessness in a nutshell.

I shouldn’t have called it a silly little conversation. It’s a very serious conversation, asking someone to spend several hundred dollars to travel somewhere very far away. But I have to make it silly and little and light in my mind, to make it hurt less when they inevitably say no.

I think Jeremy was very startled by his unexpected success in commenting on my psyche, which was sort of funny and helped ease the cut.

Janessa showed up with her new cherry red ’68 Mustang, spitting out steam. We all immediately went over and checked it out. Barely a speck of rust on the rockers. Someone babied the shit out of this car. It does appear the coolant pump got blocked/ failed.

A spectacular thunderstorm rolled in Sunday night. We all breaked to go outside and watch the flashes; we could hear the thunder inside the building. We speculate what to do if there’s a tornado or if the power goes out. Curiously, the lightning was mostly over the lake, which lead to some spectacular pictures and videos.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vanessa Rose (@staywildtbay)

It was not great at work. We’re working in the aisle they use to access receiving, which means forklifts and pallet jacks coming and going to offload trucks, constantly getting in our way. There should be some co-ordination between Zack and the store for us to work on this aisle on a night where there is less orders being received or something.

Ernie is annoying all of us, a slow burn cuz he was fun at first but it’s wearing off. He’s such an attention whore, wandering around talking loudly, listening to his music at full volume. He’s got “Jaxon” tattooed on his arm, the name of his kid, and when we talk about motorcycles he proudly proclaims he named his kid after Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy.

You… what? Why? That’s like naming your kid after Walter White. Arguably Jax is a more tragic villain-protagonist than Walter because Jax was born into a criminal family with a mother determined to stamp out his moral core, and he tries to leave multiple times. But he’s still a violent man who never actually succeeds at leaving behind the criminal lifestyle.

It also doesn’t help that Ernie is clearly not a real biker, unlike Bert. Me and Bert sit and talk about trips we’ve taken and bikes we have or want to have (he’s jealous of Duff’s KTM). Ernie talks about how much he likes Sons of Anarchy. Spot the difference.

The storms didn’t break the heat and it was still too hot to sleep Monday. They continued into Monday morning, producing something that looked like a funnel cloud but never touched down.

I refused to buy more alcohol; I’d just stay up until I was so exhausted I crashed. Monday was the one day I had no plans.

Tuesday night was the Rotary “Past President’s” party. I got there fairly early and recognized almost no one. I made a beeline for the refreshments table and grabbed a coffee; I told the serving lady that I was on night shift and she promised to keep an eye on my cup. I mulled around and found a couple people to make small talk with before settling at an empty table by myself.

I did not have to wait long. Andrei quickly joined me. He just started a new job at NAN, so we talked about that for a bit. He knows Kev cuz Kev also works at NAN, so he agreed to help me recruit him. We were soon joined by a few other members, including a past president who always makes me laugh because he doesn’t seem real, like Henry Cavil. He’s got blue eyes and windswept hair, is always wearing Polo shirts and drives an electric blue motorcycle, like some walking cliche of middle aged business men. He also kept buying rounds for the table and was put-out when I wouldn’t accept. Ignore my deprecating description of him; he’s a nice guy, just on paper it sounds funny.

Brian came over and asked me to take pictures of the event, since the photographer cancelled last minute. When Andrei came back to the table, I told him what had happened, and we had a bit of a giggle, cuz Andrei is technically the club’s “social media expert”. Why not ask him?

I was being tested again.

The event was nice; they had some good free refreshments, a cake, and a glass of wine on the house. Brian gave a speech about how this is the only celebration Rotarians allow themselves because service isn’t about patting itself on the back, although I’m cynical and that’s not quite true. But he made some good points about not being gaudy. We had a few presentations and other speeches. They cut the cake shortly before 8, and I had a slice and snuck out to go to work.

Wednesday I had tried to organize a picnic with the Soroptimist ladies during the live music at the waterfront. Unfortunately, only Cindy and Linda showed up, and Linda was in a mood. She has lots of thoughts about the housing crisis – thoughts I agree with, mind you – which she was sharing at full volume during an event intended to be a light-hearted catch up.

They had lots of booths around the park, including a set of bananas wired to act as piano keys. Also a Francophone organization, which made me think about the Great Upheaval anew.

They recently found the remains of the HMS Hind. The article casually mentions it participated in the siege of Louisburg – just glossing over the murder and future genocide of my people. It spent some time as a whaling ship before wrecking, with all hands lost, and apparently washed up near Orkney at some point.

Researching into the history of the Acadians is a bit lot of a mind screw, cuz it’s so divorced from anything mentioned in the history books. Even the Francophone guy didn’t know about the colony in Acadia. And my family doesn’t really act like it matters; I’m the only one cursing the British for taking our land. But I do wonder; what if we hadn’t lost the war, or there hadn’t been one at all? Would I have grown up speaking French as a first language in a French Nova Scotia? On a villa that had been in my family for hundreds of year, surrounded by gardens tended by my ancestors, attending Micmac events? Would my grandfather not have been an outrageous drunk, my grandmother not such a troubled soul? My father raised by birth parents who loved and cherished him?

Instead, I just stew, and make Rappie pie from my friends and debate designs for Acadian tattoos. I’m thinking of getting the flag inside the outline of a scallop shell.

“The Italian festival is this weekend.” Cindy mentions.

A cold knife to my heart. I forgot about that. It has been a year.

It’s still so smokey. The constantly hazy horizon is normal at this point. The world is burning to the ground and it’s hard to find a reason to care.

I hurt my knee Wednesday night, just a repetitive use injury. I barely noticed it at first, but eventually I realized there was a stabbing, burning pain in the front of my knee whenever I knelt down. I kept swiping the front of my pant leg, expecting that I had knelt on a screw or piece of wood, and eventually realized the pain was from within. Tendonitis.

Yay.

Something else concerning happened.

See, James in receiving has made me slightly uncomfortable, since we exchanged numbers. He seems to expect an instant reply to anything he sends, even though most of what he texts is banal and he hasn’t earned that level of friendship from me. But I just ignored it. Texts are easy to ignore.

On Tuesday I ended up talking to one of the other regulars who I’ve chatted with a bit, but he finally noticed my Majora’s Mask tattoo and we struck up a real conversation. I was adding him on Discord when James walked by.

“Watch out! He’s a real toublemaker!”

Oookay then….

What really set the alarm bells ringing was the next night. John (that’s his name) wasn’t there; when I asked, he said he hurt his leg the night before lifting something heavy and called in. But James made a big song and dance, claiming John was a no-call no-show and is regularly a no-call, no-show, on top of being some Casanova; at odds with the man I’d spoken to, who was placidly stocking the paint cans while discussing the merits of Dark Souls with me. And, not to toot my own horn, but he had made no attempt to flirt with me, so I doubted the Casanova bit.

The alarms bells really started ringing when James told me not to mention it to John. I’m inherently suspicious of people who tell me to keep secrets when they haven’t earned it and especially when it doesn’t seem like something that should be a secret. It seems like he’s just jealous of John and that is very concerning.

I was excited for the weekend because it’s supposed to be a three day weekend. Unfortunately, we’re so far behind Zack negotiated with the hall for us to work Sunday night anyway. I was annoyed, and my knee hurts and I’m hot and tired and I want a break.

Also, I’d been planning for a couple of weeks to go with Jeremy to Dryden. He’s housesitting for his parents while they’re away for a wedding, and a weekend in Dryden seemed like the perfect opportunity to rest and relax.

But the Italian festival…

I wanted to go for my own interest. There’s no pretending that I’m not some kind of Italophile at this point. But there’s also not a zero part of me that was hoping to see the Vagabond.

Not even cuz I’m hoping we’d get back together, just to indulge in the fantasy.

It occurs to me that part of my pain is gendered expectations. In rom coms and the like, it’s the man chasing. A man can chase as long as he likes, and when he inevitably wins it’s portrayed as the right and normal thing. But if a woman chases, she usually loses and is portrayed as mentally ill. A lot of people try to console me with the “other fish in the sea”, but if I were a man in a rom com I’d be encouraged to keep trying, and it’s confusing for me.

You know, I don’t think I credit Kevin enough for the direction my life has gone in. I can’t say for sure, of course, but he guided me to Chris, and by extension the Rotary club. He was a gentle, helping hand when I needed softness. I can’t remember a lot of meeting him because of the concussion, but I do remember a moment when I apologized for being slow because of the concussion, and this light flashed in his eyes cuz to be honest, I was probably operating at a higher level even working thru brain damage. And then when I got to the boat… and everything Chris has said since then implies he knew I was special because of how Kevin brought me around.

It’s just so hard, you know, they say one door closes another opens, but you spend so long staring at the closed door you don’t notice.

I woke up around 1, had breakfast, and went to the storage locker to cancel my lease. I expected her to argue with me, but she just asked for my name and informed me I had until the end of August to vacate, and then my security deposit would be refunded. I spent a couple of hours organizing, and went to Home Depot to grab some more bins. I’d found a store credit voucher under a shelf, and turns out it was still worth more than a hundred dollars. Sweet! It felt slightly like stealing, but I have no way to track down whoever lost it under the shelf.

Called in to work. Let’s play hooky, why not.

Me and Paul went to a sauna for an hour. You can split the cost between two people and both of us work physically demanding jobs and wanted to relax. Paul made some comment about sweating out my lymph node that I laughed off.

Then we loaded up his trailer with another load of boxes. It could have been the last load, but there were some things I was unsure about how I wanted them packed and I am cognizant that I still have to pack up what’s in my truck and in my room.

Then I hopped in the car and left for Dryden.

I got there around 11 PM. His parents were in bed already – they both worked the next day – so we went downstairs and watched Breaking Bad late into the night. Our Sakuraco box had arrived and we tried the various little weird snacks. Jeremy discovered he loves Konjac jelly.

I brought a box of Mike’s with me, to share with Janessa and Dylan, opened the box to have one, and to my surprise Jeremy grabbed one as well. Not that’s he a teetotaler, but he’s not like me in cracking a cold one at the end of the day.

I had the best sleep I’ve had in a month there. The house is either AC’d or very good at keeping cool. It was quiet and the curtains do a good job of keeping the sun out. It also helps that I’d had only 4 hours sleep the night before, and I could reset my internal clock to closer to 5AM from 8.

I also noticed… my lymph node shrunk. Wait, did the sauna really drain it? That still doesn’t answer what happened. Is it infected? Why won’t it drain from a warm compress?

Woke up, made breakfast, took stock of the kitchen. There was a bunch of bananas begging to be made into banana bread on the counter. A hilarious number of eggs in the fridge. Some potatoes Kathy had harvested from the garden.

I wanted burgers. My opportunities for a flame grilled burger are limited right now. But of course, Kathy and Jeremy aspire to veganism, so I was gonna make them black beans burgers. My recipe for them does use eggs so they aren’t vegan, but you could alter it.

Jeremy was awake before me, so once I was done breakfast we hopped in the car and went to Walmart, which was surprisingly empty for the Friday before a long weekend. His mother was buying his groceries since he was catsitting in the middle of nowhere, so we loaded up a cart.

I made quite a spread; black bean burgers, regular burgers, a tomato salad, banana bread with a ribbon of cream cheese running thru it, some lemonade. Jeremy and Kathy helped me in bits and pieces.

“Hey, you look like the woman who used to live in my basement.” Scott says when he sees me.

Not for the first time, I wonder what these people think of me, and me and Jeremy hanging out all the time. We talk all the time, we sort of made plans to travel together, I visit with him and his family independently of one another… I’m surprised no one asks if we are dating, although Jeremy has confided in me about why his parents don’t think that’s the case.

(Oh, and of course after all the effort I put in for dinner, Scott still sat there with a bag of chips like a five year old)

After dinner, we hop back in the car to go swimming in the lake. The lake was shallow, but despite the summer sun was still a little too cold. We swam for about half an hour before our teeth were chattering and we got out.

Texted Janessa to see if she’s actually coming to Dryden. My phone beeps half an hour later.

“Janessa…!” I exclaim.

She’s not coming to Dryden.

She had a concussion.

A serious one, too, they wrote her off work for 2 weeks, so she’s not coming back.

My stomach twists into knots. She gets injured the night I’m not there? I know it isn’t my fault, but it feels like my fault; like I’m being punished for playing hooky.

Like when Dumbledore is drinking the Emerald potion. Don’t hurt them, hurt me instead.

Another night of watching Breaking Bad ’til we pass out. The latter half of season 3 is hard to watch. Hank recovering from his injury might be more relatable than Walter struggling with his tumor because it’s presented more realistically, although I do think part of that is intended as cringe humor. Yes, if you are bedbound you’ll probably end up using a bedpan in front of your loved ones. There’s no dignity to be found in a hospital.

I had some general idea of relaxing Saturday, since it was obviously just going to be me and Jeremy now (Dylan also ducked out). Jeremy wanted to go out and do something, however, and his mother pointed out that it was Eagle Lake pow wow today, not far down 502. I haven’t been to a pow wow yet this year, why not?

“Do you know how to get there?” Jeremy asked incredulously.

Yes, I remember. It’s down the same highway as Gold Rock.

Memories flood my mind, unbidden.

Jeremy was confused by everything. Pow wows have no admission fee and they usually have free food as well. But of course; they come from a society and a time that had no need or want of money. Prestige was the name of the game, and socialization. People think of before cars as an isolating time, ignoring that the various tribes always had representatives who would travel for pow wows, to keep them all connected.

We got some food (he really wanted a bannock burger) and did a loop of the vendors. There was Thai and Filipino booths as well, which was cool. Some guy from Winnipeg offering a chance at a trip to Vegas to pump up his car dealership. A lady who was doing a draw for some painted moose antlers, which actually were very pretty, but she wanted me to be here for the draw on Sunday and I have work. The usual; t-shirts and hat booths. A booth renting regalia, which is a good idea.

We came around to one table selling books. Childrens’ books, but they were written by and about indigenous culture, so why not? The author was manning the booth and jumped up when he saw me. Elders always see right thru me.

We chatted for a bit before his attention abruptly turned to Jeremy. He opened a book to a page about beavers – creative, industrious – and said “are you like a beaver?”

After I purchased the book – he signed it – we went to the dance circle to grab a seat.

“You got a teaching!” I yelped.

“What?”

I flipped open the book to the page about beavers. “This. He was telling you you are a beaver spirit! Oh no!” I lamented. “I don’t have any sema on me!” Sema, sama… I’ve seen it spelled lots of ways.

“What??”

“Tobacco. You should offer tobacco as thanks.” I have some tobacco ties at my apartment… why don’t I keep them in my car? Curses!

I had a vague hope of staying for the second Grand Entry, which was supposed to be at 7, but as laying out the feast drifted past 6:30, I knew that wasn’t happening. Sure enough, they pushed it back to 8, but I wasn’t staying out ’til 8. We had our plates from the feast – the walleye was exceptionally good – and went to head out.

I detoured back to the book seller. “I realized we should offer you some tobacco, but I forgot it! I’m sorry.”

He smiles. “No worries. The fact that you realized what you did wrong -” He stops. “No, mistakes are part of learning. After all, we can’t be mad at children when they don’t know better, right?”

That comment was incisive. I wonder if he knew how close to the bone he got. I felt tears spring to my eyes.

“That you know what you should have done, and came back to apologize, means as much to me as if you had tobacco. Chi mi’igwitch.”

We thanked him again and went about our way, me trying not to cry.

Kathy and Scott had ordered takeout for themselves, and me and Jeremy were full from the feast, so we went to the fire pit to start a fire. We talked for a bit over the fire, but it was buggy, and Kathy and Scott retired for bed early, so we put the fire out and went back inside.

Season 4 of Breaking Bad starts slow. So many half-whispered conversations, urgent discussions about nothing. Where’s the shoot outs and explosions? That Walter is his own worst enemy on top of being a huge dick doesn’t help. From late Season 3 onward almost all of the conflicts are caused by his need for control and nothing else. I was losing interest and sat there half-focused on Rimworld. Me and Jeremy both agree we like Gale as a character.

“I’m going to miss this when you leave.” Jeremy says.

“They say there are no wrong times, only wrong people.” I say out of nowhere.

“What?”

“When you want to date someone and they say it’s a bad time for them cuz they’re focused on something else. No wrong times, only wrong people. They’d chose to make it work if they wanted to.”

“What is this about? Jeremy asks, confused.

“I dunno… I’m leaving. It feels… like people need me here, and I’m being selfish.”

“I don’t want you not to leave cuz you think you need to be here for me. I’ll be fine.” He says, pausing the show and fully rotating on the couch to look at me. “It’s not selfish. Er… you’re allowed to want things?”

It’s not just him. It’s Paul, Kevin, the jogging club, Soroptimists, Rotary, the hall…

I spent so much time in Barrie feeling unwanted, like there was no space for me. Now I had so many people who want me around, and I’m leaving.

“I’ve never had a friend like you.” I say.

“Me neither.” He replies.

“Besties?”

“Besties.”