By Lucy
Apologies for the length of this post; it covers more than a week of time!

I couldn’t sleep Friday night.

My luggage breaking the night before really threw me for a loop. There was a lot that could go wrong this time, and I was lacking the motivation that had driven me to New Zealand and England. By 6, Hanuman was up and I hauled myself out of bed and cooked breakfast and sat on the couch with him.

I gave Bearie to him. I don’t travel with Bearie in case he gets damaged or lost, but I also refuse to throw him in storage. Hanuman immediately tucked him in to the couch next to him, told him he couldn’t have any oatmeal because it’s too spicy for him, and then started pretending to teach him how to do sudoku.

At 7:30, I changed into my travelling clothes and packed up the last couple of things. I fussed over my shopping bag full of food I was bringing with me; until I got on the plane, there wasn’t a point in buying things twice. At the last moment, I decided against bringing my sport coat; it takes up a lot of room, and I can always buy a second hand one in Taiwan. At 8:30, me and Emily hopped in the car and she dropped me off at the depot.

We had a false start when the wrong bus showed up first. The bus driver for the correct bus was funny, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. He didn’t check anyone’s luggage tags, so my nerves about my bags were overblown. I chose a seat about halfway down the bus, on the lefthand side, and quickly regretted my choice because the bus’s windows were coated in slush from the road. I buckled myself in. The intercom voice told us to let our driver know if we needed anything, but then it also said we weren’t allowed to cross the yellow line when the bus is in motion, so I’m not sure how they envision us getting his attention.

The first hour, I just listened to music and watched the scenery blurrily go by. I started getting tired after that, so I put on some Youtube videos to keep myself awake. The bus has free wifi, but my data is faster and more reliable, and I never get close to approaching my data limit.

2 and a half hours into the drive, we arrived at Atikokan. We stopped at some little Italian deli run by a very grumpy man. I ran in to use the bathroom and debated buying some cannoli, but decided against it once I saw the state of the bathroom.

Once we were back on the bus, the driver came to the back and asked how the temperature was. Everyone looked at him blankly; they were all wrapped up in jackets and blankets.

“It’s a bit chilly.” I said with a smile.

“Alright, I’ll turn it up half a degree, just for you.” He replied, also smiling.

Another hour and a bit, I was back in Fort Frances. In the week and change that had passed, the lake was so frozen people were driving on it with pick-up trucks.

The bus technically stops at the depot, on the other side of town, but the bus driver offered to let people get off at the Macdonald’s, which is great ’cause that’s right by the AirBnb.

And then I was off the bus and walking.

I got tired too fast. I had to stop a few times and take my bags off. It doesn’t help that the freezing rain had just come through, and everything was coated in a half-inch layer of ice, so I was basically skating with my heavy bags on my shoulders.

There’s the tower, just as we left it. The Bell techs were clearly not done yet; the new dishes were up, but the old ones weren’t down yet. Hopefully they come back and finish it this week, or else they’ll be having problems.

Punched the code in to the door and I was home again.

Nothing had changed. The driveway unshovelled, the garbage bins left where the garbage man had tossed them. Everything strewn about the house and in the fridge, just as me and Kyle had left it.

I put my bags upstairs and put my food away. Made myself some noodles. Went down for a nap.

The town was alive with the sound of snowmobiles.

I was exhausted still, but I had miles to go today. The next few days, if not the entire week, would be below -20, and I hadn’t brought much in the way of cold weather gear with me, because it wouldn’t be any use to me once I got on the train. Today was above 0 and I should get my grocery shopping done today, while it was pleasant.

I called Kyle, “Should I shovel the driveway?”

“Only if you’re feeling ambitious. Don’t do it for me, the truck doesn’t care.”

I felt that, since I was functionally squatting here, I should do something to be considerate. I found a heavy metal shovel and was defeated by the weight of the ice and the fact the sun was quickly slipping below the horizon. I should go grocery shopping before it gets dark and colder.

I walked to Walmart. As before, they were missing a couple of things I really wanted, so I walked back to the house and dropped off my one bag of groceries, then walked to The Place to grab the couple things I was missing.

I had a can of soup for dinner, and frozen mango for dessert. I’d glanced at the price of fresh fruit, and decided frozen is fine.

It felt totally normal to be back here. I kept waiting for it to feel weird, but mostly I just felt relief. I was on the road again. It was happening.

The solitude was also nice. Besides Kyle, no one knows where I am. I noted the neighboring houses were also dark, and their driveways unshovelled; no one observed me arrive. I was a ghost.

The next day, I set up the Switch again and spent the morning playing Metroid 4.

I was wrong about Myles… and there’s more troopers in the game. Some of them are interesting, like the hermit sniper dude whom you can meet up with in the overworld and have philosophical conversations with. I also think he’s interesting because his name, Tokabi, is Choctaw for hunter. The sole female trooper is the same trope we always get whenever there’s a female trooper, namely, squealing fangirling over Samus, which is tired and boring.

Had a bagel for lunch. My left Joycon started to die, so I was forced to take a break around 2. The left Joycon became a problem child, always dying earlier than the right.

I boiled the potatoes Kyle left behind to make what the British call ‘bubble and squeak’, a perfect dish for using up leftover mashed potatoes after a feast. If you don’t have leftover mash, you do have to throw the newly-made mash into the fridge to chill before you can continue making it, but I just wanted a one-pot meal, which bubble and squeak is.

Whenever the sun came out, I went to sit in the dining room, which is floor to ceiling windows, trying to soak up some Vitamin D.

Now to book tickets.

Bus to Winnipeg. 2 nights in Winnipeg. I debated trying to find someplace closer to downtown, for walkability, then looked at the weather report and decided against it. I’d spent enough time sightseeing in Winnipeg in the summer. This would just be hunkering down at the same AirBnb I’d stayed at before, until the train left.

Actually, 3 nights in Winnipeg. The train doesn’t leave ’til 9:30pm, assuming it is on time and it never is, which means I need somewhere warm to hangout until I can head to the station. It’s annoying to spend all this extra money, but what would be more annoying would be trying to scrimp and missing the train entirely.

Hindsight really is something, isn’t it? It occurred to me that if I had known about Kyle earlier, I could have booked the train from Toronto, flown there and crashed at his place for free, but then, there was no possible way I could have known about this.

I booked a week at a hostel in downtown Van. This time I opted to spend slightly more on the one proper downtown; I’d been looking at the one at Jericho Beach, but they seem to be fully booked for January! It might be 50 bucks a night to be downtown, but I figured it was worth it when you factor in the cost of transportation. Even the bus is pricy in Vancouver. I’d rather be walking distance.

Decisions, decisions…

I went to sign up for the Rotary conference. My Rotary account was confused and this required a couple of emails to tech support, which weren’t answered until the next day.

I bought the ticket for Thailand, spending the extra hundred for a ticket I could rebook. Usually I wouldn’t bother, but this trip demanded the flexibility.

Phew. That’s enough for today.

Bought the new Just Dance for Switch. I miss the old Just Dances. This one is all, trying to make playlists and make you play with random people online and stuff. I just want to pick a song and dance! Half the setlist is new stuff, too. I miss the 80’s stuff from the OG games. Played a bit, did some working out with my kettlebell, finished making dinner.

The microfibre towels works as advertised – dries me off, dries quick, folds up small – but it still feels like I’m wiping myself down with a damp piece of tissue.

I’ve started staying up late. Vancouver is gaining a couple of hours for me, so it makes sense. Played Metroid until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore and went to bed.

Woke up. Played more Metroid.

I checked on the tower. The cable techs are back, which is good. I had half a mind to try and contact Bart if they hadn’t come back, to warn him.

Confirmed a housesit in Vancouver, so I have at least a week free to just collect EI, write, and walk the dog. It’s in Coquitlam, so I won’t be doing a lot of sightseeing unless I want to pay for an Uber back to Vancouver proper. The owner was extra thrilled that I grew up near Barrie because she did as well, although I realize I should stop saying I’m from Barrie because technically I grew up outside the city, and I end up having to walk it back when they ask what high school I went to.

She wanted to talk to me on video chat, and when she showed me the dog (Bailey, a Golden Retriever) lounging on the floor next to her, I exclaimed, “Hi Bailey!” with some genuine warmth and excitement that confused me. Bailey immediately jumped to her feet and wagged her tail, and even the owner looked a little confused by his enthusiasm.

Maybe I do miss having a dog.

The grey market of working for room and board is confusing sometimes. I definitely want to hit Japan, but Japan is expensive, even with hostels. I’m too old for the working holiday… I think. It says 30… does that mean I can get it if I apply when I am 30? Some of the workaway jobs don’t bother checking visa’s… Simo didn’t, after all. Do I risk it?

I was shopping around for tattoo shops in Van, but then it occurred to me that they have tattoo shops in Thailand that will be half the price or cheaper. Of course, it also means I’ll have to be extra, extra sure that they are a safe shop, and I don’t get Hep A or HIV.

Bought the international data package from my phone carrier. For 100$ for a year, I get to use my plan internationally; unlimited texts and calls back to Canada, and 10 gigs of data per month. What a steal!

Made some peanut butter cookies after dinner. I like peanut butter cookies because they are, well, higher protein than normal cookies, although they still have a lot of sugar.

Not gonna lie, the enforced isolation was starting to get to me. I really was stuck here; I couldn’t even leave the house for a walk, it was too cold.

---

I didn’t sleep well Monday night.

I lost Kyle.

Well, not really. He sent a grand total of 3 message on Monday, mentioning he was at his old company discussing working for them again. And then I didn’t hear back from him for the rest of the day. Or all day Tuesday.

Well, then.

Is it possible he’s just driving up here? Maybe trying to surprise me?

It’s not very surprising, then. It’d be better if he kept texting me back, pretending he wasn’t coming, or was coming later, or something.

Silence is deafening.

Spent the morning finishing Metroid Prime 4.

Pro tip; try to unlock at least half the green crystals as soon as you can, it upgrades the damage of the base power beam.

The end of the game is an long sequence where they pretend to kill all the Galactic Federation troopers not once, but twice, before actually killing them at the end! The story that I invented for Sylux in my head is a lot cooler than the one they ended up giving him, unfortunately. He’s basically mad at Samus because she is way cooler than him, which is too little when you consider we had to wait 19 years to find out!

It also annoys me that Sylux’s whole arc is being bitter over the death of the soldiers under his command, but he thinks nothing about killing the soldiers that Samus has rescued on Viewros. There was an opportunity there for some growth and connection – Sylux regretting or being unable to kill the troopers, or realizing he is the monster he made Samus in his head – but nope!

I was right when the first thing I said upon encountering the Grievers is that they look like the Reptilicus from Corruption, and the story basically follows all the same beats from there.

Still! An enjoyable game and a throwback to the classics. I’d say a good 30-40 hours of gameplay for the average person.

Despite being called Metroid Prime, there are almost no Metroids or Space Pirates in the game, which annoyed a lot of people. The problem is that the second game in the series technically killed both the Space Pirates (at the time, referred to as Zebesians) and the Metroids, and this is set after that. Which is a really stupid thing to do in the second game! I just want to play Samus and explore alien worlds while shooting things, so I’m ok with it.

Worth knowing, if you never played Hunters… Sylux is a playable character, and a fan favourite at the time because his weapon, Shock Coil, cannot miss. That being said, it does weak damage to compensate. No one played Noxus or Kanden. Quite a few people played Spire because his secondary form was a big spiky ball, and Trace because his sniper weapon could one shot KO. I usually played as Weavel, because his secondary form deployed an autonomous turret, which was great as a smokescreen if I was losing a skirmish. Most people would shoot at the turret without realizing it wasn’t me firing back at them, and I could get away and find some health.

And then I had nothing to do for the rest of the day.

Made lunch, wrote a bit. Cleaned everything that expired out of the fridge and put the garbage on the curb. Walked to the grocery store for a couple of things, since Tuesday was supposed to be the warmest day of the week. I do need enough Metamucil to last me until the train reaches Vancouver; can’t exactly hit up a Walmart when I’m stuck on a train.

Only minus 11 and not minus 30! Came home and had a nap. Played Just Dance, made carbonara for dinner. Put Kpop Demon Hunters on in the background as I worked on some word hunts. I like the songs, although I don’t find Soda Pop catchy. My favourite song is Your Idol.

You know, I actually really like Derpy Tiger, because he reminds me of the Majora. I’ve seen that kind of bug-eyed stare before in Asian media and it must be a trope there.

Texted Kyle, ‘are you alive’. No reply. Later on in the evening, I tried calling him, but after 3 rings I change my mind and hung up. If he wants to talk to me, he knows how to reach me.

He doesn’t want to talk to me.

I have no idea what to think. I’m not used to being ghosted, quite the opposite. And I don’t think he is ghosting me, because that doesn’t seem like him. I’d been getting insane pics of the snow in southern Ontario all day from my friends in Barrie. (In total, 200 cm of snow fell over about a week) Did he get in an accident? Paul voices the option that he might be off on a bender, and it’s also a possibility.

I have too much energy Wednesday. I spend an hour working out. I do the steps, from the upstairs to the basement, and whenever I feel out of breath I do laps of the ground floor. I wish I could go for a walk outside; it’s hard to reach ten thousand steps inside a house. I watch the dogwalkers jealously from the window; I know most of them from spending almost 2 months here.

Texted the boys from TO. “No shutdown at Tbay this year.” I also asked them about travelling to Thailand, because a couple of them have. Dean immediately starts talking himself up and lying about it (he says he learned Thai on Duolingo, but Duo has never had a Thai course). God I hate him. I get actually useful information from one of the other guys, including recommendations on a tattoo parlor.

Call Paul and talk to him for a bit. Everyone is busy for the holidays, there’s not many people to talk to. The Hallett is open for the evening, but only until 10. Is it worth the 20 dollar cab ride, plus the cost of drinks, for a few hours of socialization?

The hospital calls. Apparently I have an appointment at 6:30PM on Friday. For what? I really hate the doctors up here, they never call me to book appointments. They just book them and send a letter to what they think is my address. I never had this problem in Barrie.

I finally settle down to write around noon. I’m getting into a real good groove when my phone goes off.

It’s Kyle. Paul was right, he was off on a bender.

Ugh.

I wasn’t sure how to feel. My first emotion was amusement – of course he did – which quickly gave way to annoyance, and then anger. He couldn’t even give me a heads up that he was going to the party? He’d been sober since he left Thunder Bay, and proud of it, so I’m confused by the sudden intake of alcohol, but at least if he had told me he was going to a party that evening, I’d know what happened to him.

I can’t even reply to him, I’ll be too angry.

I couldn’t write now, I was too full of angry energy. I did several angry laps of the house before flopping on the couch. Not only did I waste 2 days being worried for no reason, now he was interfering with my writing!

Ugh! And now I know he’s still in TO, he won’t be here ’til Friday at the earliest, and he’ll probably immediately start whining at me to stay later than one night, and…

I need a distraction.

I wander upstairs and have a shower, then change into my party clothes; a slinky dress I got off Halara. Well, it’s only slinky because it fits me so well. I’m a master of taking cheap crap dresses and making them look amazing.

While I’m waiting for the time I might go to the Hallett, I notice the colour of the futon in the living room compliments my dress, and, egged on by Paul, start taking pics of myself. He’s having fun taking the GPU in my tower out for a spin, editing the photos and sending them back to me.

A wild thought enters my head. This 58 inch TV could be useful for a lot of shenanigans… I place it on the floor and put it on the fireplace channel, like a Bond villain. Why lounge on the couch when I can lounge on a tiger skin rug with a glass of wine?

And… post on social media, tag #thirsttrap, and wait for the likes.

They don’t take long.

This is kinda fun, a vanilla kind of naughty, the sort I don’t usually bother engaging in.

Whatever. Put on background noise on Youtube, make myself a hot chocolate. I can’t be bothered to go out. I haven’t had much of an urge to drink since I got here, but I pour a shot of the chocolate Crown that no one liked into it. Why not, it’s New Years. That means something, apparently. Curl up in a blanket with my book of word searches.

I go to bed around 10 and I’m awake around 5:30.

Too early.

Make breakfast, write, read, catchup on all the comments and messages I got about my sexy pics.

Around noon, I haven’t heard from Kyle again. I text him “Happy New Years” as an experiment.

“Hey, she’s alive.” He replies.

‘She’s alive.’

What?

Who are you? I get that this is new and we barely know each other, but I feel like the average person would be concerned and hurt if their ostensible partner disappeared for a bender for two whole days and then didn’t seem to care. And the flippant ‘she’s alive’, like he didn’t just pull a disappearing act.

I lose my mind and send him a long message about how pissed off I am, and screencap it and send it to Paul for a sanity check.

“That legitimately made me take a long breath before I read it, and I’m not even the target.” He replies.

I have nowhere to start on processing this. I’m used to the alcoholics being the one calling me, begging me for support and comfort. I’m confused by the idea of an alcoholic who withdraws when on a bender. It seems counterintuitive.

I don’t hear from him for the rest of the day. Not even a wimpy “I’m sorry”. I write and stew and try to process my feelings, when all I want to do is punch something until it breaks.

I am trapped in this house that is now a mausoleum to his existence, scattered with the detritus of the five months he spent here. The pair of boots he wore out, the soccer ball we tossed around the pool. The Connect 4 game and origami book sitting on the table where we left them, after that wonderful afternoon, when it started to feel like this could mean something.

Could you imagine if I had cancelled my train ticket to stay, for him? Trapped in this house and this job that reminds me of my broken heart. Enduring Bart teasing me about it.

The truth is, as much as I am broken, I am not as broken as I pretend to be. I call myself an alcoholic, but I have never been on a bender. All three times I’ve been blackout drunk were because that much alcohol was forced on me, not because it was something I wanted or enjoyed. I might be avoidant, but I have never refused to have a difficult conversation (and yes, not engaging with someone when they want to have a talk is refusing to have said talk, like a lie by omission). I hate physical touch, but I never hesitate to offer someone a hug or a cuddle if they need it.

I might say I don’t have feelings, but I do. I just don’t have the feelings everyone else has, and I get oh so very tired of explaining myself. I’ve seen this post on social media; I hope you find someone who speaks your language, so you don’t spend the rest of your life translating your heart. I feel that. And that is what cuts me so very deeply. A relationship is purely pragmatic; cooking dinner, doing the dishes, sleeping together at night. Love is feeling understood. And I am so tired of feeling alone and misunderstood.

I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Kyle was right, I suppose. Hallelujah is my version of a love song; a plaintive piano track, all alone, lyrics wailed instead of sung. Every moment I spend in love feels like holding on to a knife by the blade. And in a lot of ways, Kyle was the perfect halfway point between my bloody, melancholy soul, and something healthy. Secret without being clandestine. Dark without being disturbing. Close without being cloying.

I was also right. Every time I find someone who seems close to understanding me, they break it. Because either he understands me enough to know he hurt my feelings and didn’t care, or he doesn’t understand me as well as he purported to.

I text Kevin about it. It feels kind of rude to ask my recent ex about my new beau, but I need to consult someone who knows alcoholism. “Was I wrong to be angry?”

“No, even when I was at my worst, I still let my partner know where I was and that I was alive.” He adds, “Focus on the fact he didn’t text you for 48 hours, not that he didn’t contact you because he was drinking.”

I mean, that’s true and I am. That he was off on a bender doesn’t really surprise or bother me… I knew what he was like. “Am I expecting him to contact me too much?”

“I think responding within 12 hours is reasonable.”

Ok… ok, ok.

Well… maybe the long, angry text was still the wrong option. I don’t know! I didn’t… I don’t know.

I call the hospital to cancel the appointment I didn’t make. The voicemail didn’t even say who made it or what for, so I have to call around to figure it out. When the clerk asks me about rescheduling it, I tell her not to bother.

“Well, we appreciate you opening up the slot for someone else.” She says with a laugh.

This is me being marked as non-compliant, for sure.

Now that I’m not seeing red, I parse his message more. He said the return to Fort Frances has been delayed, but the way he phrases it implies he has no intention of returning. I text Victoria; she confirms it has been delayed until January 12th – the Bell techs are taking too long. She also adds that Kyle is the only person who hasn’t confirmed his return.

He ain’t coming back.

Is that why he’s avoiding me? Because he thinks I’ll be annoyed he isn’t coming back? I mean, I am, mildly, but if I really wanted to see him that badly I would book a plane ticket to Toronto. I planned to be in Fort Frances because I wanted the house to myself, and to be closer to Winnipeg, not to await his return. I hate people who think they know how I feel. He was supposed to be better than this.

Well, he was better than this. He talked, he apologized, he cooked and cleaned and treated everyone around him with respect. He hit all the ‘green flags’ as the kids call it. I knew he was avoidant… but to just stop replying entirely when I demanded an apology? At least push back, tell me you think I’m wrong. Tell me I’m too much and you don’t want me anymore. Just… say something.

I do find it interesting that when I confess some of what has happened to Victoria, even she seems confused by the turn of events. And I trust her opinion, to a certain extent; BPD tends to act like a mirror, so they can pick up on red flags before normal people do. Even she says that doesn’t sound like Kyle, and offers that something else might be going on.

One of the random guys who liked my new pictures is in Fort Frances. He’s also from Barrie, what a weird coincidence. We bond a bit complaining about how shitty Barrie was, then we agree to meet up for drinks on Friday.

Even graves grow flowers.

Around 6, I’m curled up with dinner and a tea, and the emotions come creeping back again.

“What if I called him?” I ask Paul.

“Then he’d break up with you for sure.”

Is that a bad thing? I already had a lot of doubts about the viability of the relationship. I had half a mind to end it myself, if it wasn’t already dead.

Let me be, was all I wanted. Be what I am, no matter how I am.

Henry Miller

To distract myself, I put on Iron Giant. As a bonus, it was one of the few movies likely to make me cry.

I also have a special place in my heart for Dean, my first exposure to the Beatniks. And for the Giant… the clip of him losing his mind and becoming an unstoppable weapon was my favourite thing to send to people, back when breaking noses was my preferred method of ending an argument.

It does not succeed in making me cry. I pour myself a couple shots of tequila, in case the alcohol unlocks me, but nothing changes. I go to bed with a throbbing headache.

Dawn of the Final Day.

In the morning, I watched Good Time. One thought I kept to myself is that Kyle looks a lot like Robert Pattinson. Everyone just associates him with Twilight, which is really too bad, because he’s a fantastic actor, and Stephanie Meyer made him perform the character that way. I haven’t gotten around to watching the Batman, but I bet he’s legendary in it, I just get tired of superhero movies. He was good in The Lighthouse, Tenet, The Boy and the Heron… Just good, moody indie movies. Seriously, go watch the trailer for the Boy and the Heron, and tell me if you can tell which character Robert voices. You can’t. He’s a great actor!

He’s also a huge dork, which is funny when he plays such mopey, broody characters all the time. Watch any interview with him and he’s constantly laughing at his own dumb jokes.

Anyway, Good Time is about this absolute psychopathic hoodlum, who has a severely mentally disabled brother that is his morality pet. It’s a pretty dark, depressing movie, not gonna lie. But it reminds me of Kyle, or how I imagine Kyle to be, so I find it mildly therapeutic. Something to take the edge off.

Me and Paul get in an argument about how autistic I am. For clarity, he’s arguing I am, and I’m arguing I’m not. He sends me some test called the RAADS-R, and right away I can say I’m not because I hit no to all the questions about sensory things and stimming.

While looking for papers to explain myself to Paul, I find this on Reddit;
NPD: fear of being unloved/forgotten
BPD: fear of being abandoned
HPD: fear of being unwanted/ignored
ASPD: fear of being controlled

“Do you fear being controlled?” He asks.

“Fear is the wrong word.” Or maybe “being” is the wrong word. It’s not like I go to bed at night afraid someone might take control of me, but definitely, out of the list of 4, I have no real fear of being unloved, abandoned, or unwanted. I fear losing control. Being unable to control myself, because of emotions, or drugs. That’s a large part of the reason why I don’t binge drink, I just imbibe enough to take the edge off. Even my drug use is tailored towards removing emotions and sensations I view as inhibiting my control over myself.

Work out a bit, hop in the shower, play around on my phone. This will be my last day to work out, because I doubt I will be able to exercise at the AirBnb or on the train. I’m really looking forward to being in Van and being able to just go for a walk.

I call Duff. He’s off work entirely; he was supposed to be on light duties, but Duff does not do light duties. He destroyed himself again and he’s in a bad way, physically and financially. He’s not even sure he’ll be able to drive to Winnipeg to hangout.

“See, that’s why being on this job would have been great for you. The foreman was the only one with a telehandler ticket (Duff has a telehandler ticket), but he hated staying on the ground and kept coming up the scaffold with us. You could have stayed on the ground and he could have come up with us and then everyone would have been happy.”

I ask him about staging gear at the top of the scaffold. He gives a few suggestions; he could have taught even the Toronto boys a thing or two. I wish Bart had hired Duff.

As I wait for the time to head to the bar, I open the origami book. Origami is one of those things I should be in to but never did. I fold a piece of red paper into an iris and leave it on the book. If Kyle comes back, he’ll know I did it. Not sure what kind of message I want it to send… just a reminder that I was here?

At 5:30, I lock up and walk down to the Copper. There is a single guy sitting at the bar, wearing snow pants, long sleeves rolled up to show off sleeves of tattooes.

“Hey, Steve? I’m Lucy.” I offer him my hand.

“Oh, hey, Lucy! Take a seat, order whatever, my treat.” He nods at the bartender, the same bartender who was here when we stayed at this hotel. Presumably the only bartender the hotel employs during the off-season.

I smile at him, “It’s just me tonight, the boys are gone.” He smiles back. I order a Long Island.

“So what brings you to town?”

“Work!”

Turns out Steve works construction too, although he’s been off for two months because he broke his collar bone… ‘lawn-surfing’. We talk about the scaffolding job, he enjoys all the stories and photos.

Like me, he was born in Brampton and moved to Barrie in the 90’s. For those who aren’t familiar, Barrie existed as a city before the 90’s, but when they widened and extended Highway 400, there was this big construction boom in Barrie, based on the idea that you were “just down the road from Toronto.” And true, on a good day you can get from Barrie to Vaughn in 40 minutes… but not in rush hour, and getting to downtown TO is an entirely different story. There was a period of about 10-15 years where Barrie was big because there was all this money flowing to it, and then the housing bubble burst in 2008 and everyone gave up and moved back to TO. And the city has rotted, ever since.

Steve moved to Fort Frances about 18 months ago, when his girlfriend of five years took their kid and bailed on him. His brother already lived up here, and offered him a fresh start.

“Oh yeah, what about this boyfriend of yours?” He asks, leaning closer and running the tips of his fingers across my shoulders.

Hello, sailor. “Funny you mention that. I haven’t heard from him since Monday… he went off on a bender and didn’t talk to me for two days!” Internally, I roll my eyes at his blatant attempt at flirting… so obvious.

“Holy f*ck, really? If you were my girlfriend, I text you every day, first thing in the morning.” He smiles. “Even if I was on a bender!”

“Aww, I appreciate that.” I smile back. “Yeah, and then when I told him I wanted an apology, he stopped texting me again.”

“Girl, you don’t have a boyfriend, you have an asshole.” He gets the bartender’s attention, “Another round, please.” He calls the bartender some name I’ve never heard before, sounds like ‘Casore’. “Wanna play some pool?”

We basically have the bar to ourselves, except for the one drunk who was also there when me and Kyle were. We play a couple rounds of pool. Lady Gaga’s “The Dead Dance” comes on, and I sing along under my breath…

This goodbye won’t make me cry…

Not under my breath enough. He stops in the middle of lining up a shot and turns to me in astonishment. “Wow, could your voice sound any more like hers? That was amazing!”

I blush. He’s lying, or lovebombing, or something. I know I’m not a terrible singer, but I’m also not that great. If anything, my greatest skill is matching the voice of whoever is singing. When I was in high school, my group of friends were really in to Rockband; we had 3 guitars and the drum set, but the only person they deemed capable of singing was me. Although I occasionally made Maddie swap out with me so I could do something else, and everyone noted that… well, if you haven’t played Rockband, unlike karaoke it layers the original vocalists voice over your own. But I was so good at matching that everyone commented they had no idea what my singing voice sounded like, because the original layer would be more noticeable.

Just a ghost, a mask, a hollow puppet… No voice of my own.

I am starting to dig Steve. Lovebombing aside, he’s hot and the conversation with him is fun. Or maybe the flattery is the draw; when you’ve just been ghosted, such intense interest is intoxicating.

“Do you think I’ll hear from Kyle again?” I ask Paul.

“I think you could have a tumble with Steve and not suffer for it.”

As the evening approaches 9, I say, “Feel like coming back to my place?”

“Yeah, sure.” He notices my conflicted side and says, “It’s not cheating. He has basically left you at this point.”

He has, and yet, it still feels like cheating. I don’t believe that Kyle has stopped loving me, and I haven’t stopped loving him, and I don’t believe in rebound. I’d find Steve hot regardless… hell, I wish I had run into him before I had jumped into bed with Kyle, so I wouldn’t feel this guilty. Because there isn’t a way I can tell Kyle this happened without me sounding like a slutty bitch who moved on way too quick. But I only have the one night here, and I doubt I’ll hear from Kyle again…

There’s also a degree of transference here. A nice guy, scaffolder build, a little reckless, but smart and kind. Also from southern Ontario, except he’s here to stay…

We go back to my place, but I can’t go through with it.

Now he, he’s laying in the sheets
The ones you bought for me
All tangled in a mess
It should be you, instead.

“I’m sorry.” You’re not Kyle. This was stupid.

“It’s fine. But, you’re looking to the past. This is the present.”

Is Kyle not the present? The wound is still bleeding, not even starting to close. But he agrees to stay the night and hold me. I lay on Kyle’s pillow, the smell of Irish spring and cigarettes and masculine musk…

Nope, sleep cannot find me. I get out of bed. I don’t want to tell Steve to leave, but I also don’t want him to stay. I’ve been alone all week and the attention he offers is comforting.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Can any of us? You know how it is.” I take two tylenol and a melatonin. Taking a handful of pills to feel something, or feel nothing, depending on the person, or the day… chase it with a bottle…

“I can’t sleep, either.” He rubs the broken shoulder.

I go downstairs and watch Youtube for a bit. I manage to go back to bed and get some sleep, but around 4:30 I’m woken up… Steve is shaking.

He’s got DT’s.

Ok, if ever I needed a reason to bail, this is it. I’m not wasting my time on someone with DT’s. I tell him he should go home and take care of himself, and he agrees and leaves without a fight. I throw a pillow across the room. I don’t want this random guy with the shakes. I want Kyle. I fall back asleep.

I feel kinda shitty about bringing Steve into it. He’s in love already; I wake up to a bunch of texts from him about how amazing I am and how he wants to support me. Of course, he’s obviously co-dependent, or something unhealthy like that. I’m a little worried he’ll come back to the Airbnb if I say anything, so I wait until I’m safely on the bus, then text him that I’m sorry but I’m not in the headspace for this, and block his number.

See, at least I have the decency to say it won’t work out, and say goodbye.

My stomach is trashed from anxiety. I make myself eat something, throw laundry in, pack up. I pick through the stuff Kyle left behind, since he’s obviously not coming back. I take his bottle of Kirkland honey with me, as I’m all out of mine.

I wonder about strange things. How does Kyle ignore someone, as a practical matter. Does he read the messages and decide not to reply? Put them on mute? Block them entirely? Does he feel guilty?

Of course he does.

Repentance is a funny thing. One of the things I wondered about for Hazbin Hotel, actually. Even in the Bible, it says all you need to do to be accepted into Heaven is to feel bad for what you did, really bad, really guilty, and that’s true for most people who are hurting, I think. All I want from him is a real apology, and that’s probably what is paralyzing him. Ironically, Kyle is a good man, and he wouldn’t fake an apology, so he can’t do it at all. The weight of it is crushing to him.

Like in Harry Potter, the only way to undo a Horcrux is to regret it, really regret it, and Hermione notes the strength of the emotion is enough to kill a man.

By 11:30, I am all packed up. I wipe down the counter, throw a couple of dishes in the dishwasher, sweep the floor. At noon, I head out, never to return. This one does hurt me; it started to feel like home.

I go to KFC and order something, but I can’t eat. I just wanted something to eat on the bus ride, if my appetite ever comes back. Somewhere warm to sit and watch for the bus.

The tower looks so short now, almost half the height it used to be. It’s almost hard to believe I did that.

The bus shows up on time, although the driver won’t check us in until after his lunch, so we stand in the snow, shivering. The people getting on at Fort Frances include a couple visiting from New Zealand, and a lady who immediately starts trying to mother me. She’s brought a book about riding the train across Canada, so we talk about my imminent train trip.

This bus driver is kind of humorless.

The drive is nice when you’re not the one driving. Stopping in Nestor Falls hurts a bit. I find it interesting that everyone has swapped boating around on the lake for driving on the lake, in pick-ups or snowmobiles, to the point of literally parking them at the docks.

On the bus, as the sun slips below the horizon, I start crying.

I was talking to someone on a forum about why my last break-up was damaging, and I realized part of the problem with me… I always need to be in control. I could admit that my last relationship was painful and hurt me, to a certain logical extent, but to another extent I was emotionally trapped because I didn’t want to admit I didn’t have control of the situation.

This was much the same. I had no control, or little control, over my ability to fall in love with Kyle, and then my ability to make him stick around. And that was tearing me apart.

All the hurt and sadness of the past few weeks pours out of me. Did I not spend 4 week resisting falling in love with him, lamenting how deeply it would cut when he left? All his assurances are now lies, and I’m shattered. I’m glad no one can see my tears in the darkened interior of the bus, as I try to muffle my sobs with my hands.

The sun was long gone by the time we pulled into the depot in Winnipeg. If it were summer, I’d walk to the Airbnb, but it wasn’t, so I ordered an Uber. The lady asked me where my gloves were and commended me on packing eggs in my grocery bag.

I was in the same room as before. Unpacked, made myself some instant noodles, tucked myself into bed. I started watching the Robert Pattinson Batman… why not?

Well, because it is three hours long, to start! Jeez.

It’s a pretty good movie, although not as a Batman movie. I like what they’ve done to the character, actually. The idea is less “Batman is a rich man who beats up the underprivileged” and more “he was a shell-shocked kid raised by a veteran, who only knew how to bond with him by teaching him to fight”. He has less gadgets in this one, to further underline that he’s not a rich jerk this time, it’s just his suit and his brains. It’s really more of a Sin City-inspired noir crime thriller, except with the bat costume instead of a chain-smoking man in a long coat, although the cape often resembles the long coat. Batman broods moodily in the rain about the rot of the city while Nirvana plays along in the background, and he does more actual detective work than beating up bad guys.

I like the one part when he stops Catwoman from going on a rampage by giving her a cool-down hug, and says, “You’ve paid enough.” That went right to my soul.

There’s some good social commentary in there. At one point, she’s given an eye-cam, and the POV shots really sell how none of the men around her actually look her in the eye. There’s also a part, not to spoil, when someone tries to kill her, and you just know if she was a man they wouldn’t have tried, but women are disposable.

Why did no one comment on the fact that Andy Serkis is playing Alfred, in one of his rare roles where he’s not in a mo-cap suit?

I also enjoy the Riddler. I’m not big into comics and I didn’t watch the Batman stuff from the 80’s, so I’m not familiar with Riddler and the Penguin. I’m not a fan of the mask; I get that they didn’t want his identity to be revealed, but couldn’t they have come up with a more stylish mask? Especially since keen eyes will notice his glasses are expensive designer frames.

As a bonus for a carpenter, I noticed right away (and this isn’t a spoiler, it happens within the first 5 minutes of the movie) that the Riddler is killing people with a carpet tucker. Which becomes a critical plot point and a twist! Except if you are a tradie and you know what a tucker is!

The Riddler’s rant at the end also struck a cord with me. Unlike most villains, Riddler actually doesn’t care about who Batman is under the mask because he knows the Batman is his ‘real’ identity, in the same way his own masked identity is who he really is. In the same vein that I know both me and Kyle view our personas are both as a mask, and who we really are, because we are hollow inside.

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable… I simply am not there.

American Psycho

Anyway, I recommend the movie, but only if you can block out an entire afternoon because this is not a background watch. This is an experience.

I sleep alright… not enough to make up for the lost sleep the night before. Lay in bed for another two hours, chasing sleep. This is the last time I’ll have a bedroom to myself for a while, although I suppose hotel rooms are cheap in Thailand and I can probably book a couple nights if I’m really feeling it.

I spend the morning listening to Nirvana’s “Something in the Way” on repeat, and writing. Duff is theoretically supposed to come pick me up and hang out at some point, but apparently he pounded 4 drinks with breakfast and spends the day trying to hassle one of his friends into giving him a ride.

Around lunch, I stick my head out of my room. One of the owners is in the living room, waiting for the sheets to be done to turn over the other room. I spooked him, apparently, because he takes off shortly. I hop in the shower, and make myself some mac and cheese.

There’s a live tracker for the train, which I follow. The train quickly falls 45 minutes behind schedule, but then it is stuck in traffic. It’ll probably make up some of the lost time as it heads across northern Ontario, with nothing to obstruct it.

I hung out in the living room for a bit – it’s not good to spend all your time in your room, you’ll have a hard time sleeping – and another guest shows up around 3. She boots the door in and yells “Hello?” Like she’s expecting a porter to come grab her luggage. I go hide in my room for a bit, and then go back to the living room.

The living room is super chilly. Eventually I give up and go back to my room for the rest of the day. I spend the evening watching The King Tide, a small indie Canadian film. It’s about a village on a small island off the coast of Newfoundland, where a baby washes ashore that can heal any wound or illness simply by being around her, and summon fish to her vicinity.

Pictures were starting to roll in, lots of snow around the Thunder Bay area. I was glad I had made the choice to get to Winnipeg early, lest I be stuck in bad weather.

I’m nervous the next morning, not gonna lie. The train has caught up to its schedule, although it might lose some time as it comes in to Winnipeg. Do I check my bag, or bring both of them aboard? Should I pack some things into my backpack for ease of access? I manage to find a vlog of someone who booked my ticket – Sleeper Plus, with the bunk – so that helps me prepare more.

For the second time, I wondered what would have happened if I had gone back to Toronto with Kyle. There had been some discussion of that, when he was in Thunder Bay, and he was open to the idea of me coming back to Toronto with him. I decided changing my plans so late was making things too complicated, but now I kind of wish I had. Maybe we would still be together if I had.

It was an email from Chris that provided me closure, really.

He had ended an email with “Say hi to Kyle for me”, so I had to correct him on that. He sent me the “Not all who wander are lost” quote in response, and he meant that to embolden me on my journey, but I realized that it applies to Kyle, too. And I was suddenly overwhelmed with pity and empathy for a man who is 8 years old than me, and still struggling with things I had dealt with years ago. A man who can lift 100 pounds easily, but can’t shoulder the burden of saying goodbye, because he already carries so much pain on his shoulders.

I was mad at Kyle. Now I’m not. I still wish he’d come back, but more than anything, I wish him the best, and that he eventually reaches a place where he won’t have to find solace at the bottom of a bottle. I really believe he was sincere and that the last week hurt him deeply as well (not as deeply as me, mind you). So I hope all my readers wish him the best as well.

Shortly after 1, Duff texted me; he’s here!

I hurried to change into layers so I would be warm, although fortunately it was only -8 today. Then I ran outside and threw my arms around him.

“Duff!”

“Sis!”

For a moment, everything was right with the world.

The next thing Duff said, “Where is your winter jacket?”

“It’s 8 degrees in Vancouver, what do I need a winter jacket for?” I stuttered, through my chattering teeth.

“But you’re in Winnipeg!”

“Yeah, for a day!”

He rolled his eyes.

We walked down to the truck. He brought his ’83 Ford Ranger, and there was a hole in the sleeve around the stick so it was venting exhaust into the cab. We drove with the windows rolled down, drifting around the unplowed streets of Winnipeg.

We first stopped at some hunting shop. He had to grab fletching glue.

“Where are we going? Are you hungry?” He asked.

“No, I ate lunch ’cause I didn’t know when you would show up. We can stop wherever and I’ll get something small.”

Thirst by City and Colour came on the radio and we both started singing to it.

“I low-key have a man crush on Dallas Green.” Duff says.

“Oh, hey, you know My Darkest Days, right?”

“Yeah, they’re good.”

“One of the guys from the Fort Frances job played with them.” My heart twists. Why do I do this to myself?

We stop at BarBurrito and he orders a burrito, I order a small order of fries. I tell him about the Fort Frances job and he is enraged when he hears [REDACTED}. He tells me about a job he had like that in the middle of nowhere, Saskatchewan, with some Peri Up scaffolding around a form.

After that, it’s on to Princess Auto to try and fix the exhaust leak. It’s a new carb and he clearly hasn’t hooked it up properly because it’s leaking gas on the rad.

Then we head back down Portage and stop at Flea Whisky’s for a drink and a game of pool.

Here, he finally admits he was off work because he was in a car accident and broke his leg. So it’s not even just his back acting up that had him on light duty. He also confesses that being housebound had forced him to admit he probably has PTSD and should go to therapy.

“No shit!” I yell across the table. He chuckles.

Shortly after 5, we head out. He wants to hit NoFrills, and then drop me off.

The truck starts acting up again. He’s got the intake tuned for -30, and the mixture is running too rich for -8 and city driving. It keeps sputtering and dying when we stop at lights.

I check the live tracker for the train and my heart leaps out of my chest. The train is arriving in half an hour.

So, here I was dumb. Boarding isn’t ’til 9 and the train doesn’t leave ’til 9:30, but I misread the time and thought I was supposed to arrive at 9:30. Learning that made me think I was way off on what the time was, and I panicked and had him rush me home. Threw all my stuff in my bags in a hurry, ate my last bit of leftovers, tidied up and left.

Going to the train station was a trip down memory lane for him. His dad was a conductor for the Canadian, so Duff’s ridden this train dozens of times in both directions. His fondest memory is his first glimpse of the Rockies; the first time he’d seen something that wasn’t Prairies.

One last hug at the train station. “Stay safe and have fun, sis.”

“Will do.” Hopefully when I get back, you’ll be in a better place.

I ran into the station. Almost free from the cold and the snow!

Now to wait to board the train.

One thing I have learned from this whole debacle is that I do still want a home. I still dream of settling down. But the nomad is also a part of me, and I can’t deny one for the other. I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself once I’m on the road, as I did with New Zealand, but I am also equally looking forward to returning to Thunder Bay and building a life there.

Maybe one year is enough.

Only know you’ve been high when you’re feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
… And you let her go…