Day 108
Yesterday (more on that later) I almost killed my brother. I didn't kill him but when I saw that he returned the only car I could drive 5 hours late and without gas it took everything I had not to turn around and fly up the snow-covered hill to at minimum kick his shins. Some day I will come through on my physical threats. The only problem right now is if I get arrested they won't let me back into Canada and I miss Canada.
The only thing I don't miss about Canada is the not driving part (and how everyone says bean instead of been). I was so excited to be driving again that today I called everyone I know around here and let them aware that I was indeed on the road. I exclaimed, "I am driving in a car." No one was impressed and I sometimes forgot to look at the road during my frenzied dialing. What's worse is that I remembered I had a camera in my purse. I pulled it out and while flying down the highway at 65 mph took photos of the countryside and myself. If that wasn't bad enough I remembered my camera has a video function so I took videos exhibiting how I drive my car. Luckily, or by some miracle/freak occurrence, I did not video me driving into a head-on collision or me diving directly into a ditch. I am so American sometimes it terrifies me.
Two days ago I asked my father if he wished he ever lived outside of my hometown and he told me he didn't and of course he added, "And, let me tell you why..." He went on to explain that when he was young boy him and his father went into the local cafe and everyone who came through the door not only greeted his father but stopped and had conversations with him. He told me that this was special to him and this was the sort of life that he wanted to live and that is why he never left his hometown.
Fast forward to this evening we went out to the local (only) cafe for supper. And, wouldn't you know it, everyone who walked in greeted my father. First, a fella and his family came in and stopped by the table. My father had words with all of them ending with the patriarch who agreed to come by and plow out my dad's driveway. The next couple were both extremely short and extremely old. My dad greeted the man by name and exchanged pleasantries with him and his tiny wife (eye level to my short and sitting dad while she was standing) lingered until her husband called, "Come on now, hurry it up." The last guy who came by perched himself next to my father's table and announced, "I quit using public bathrooms altogether. Yup, you'll never see me go into another one of those, I tell you." "Why's that?" Dad asked. "They got them signs in there right up next to the sink that say, 'Wash hands before returning to work.' And, I never want to return to work." I let my father chat with this fellow about how his mother died and who is going to chemo and which days of the week they are going while I ran to the grocery store to purchase pudding pops for my dad. On my way out his friend called, "It was nice to see yah." I said, "Oh, I'll be coming back." "Oh, that's a shame." He grinned. I wonder what they talked about in my stead or what other creatures ambled up to my father.
I guess he got what he always wanted; to be recognized in the local cafe. I did feel a tad guilty though for not really wanting the same thing enough to stay in my hometown forever. Don't tell him. But, I am good at retrieving grocery items and driving him around town to look at the Christmas lights. We drove around a horse and buggy and back through town to see what my father described as, "the best lighted nativity scene in town." It was four plastic figurines from the 1970's. I guess my inspiration extends beyond the cafe, I think my dad is special period. Well, I think that in the few moments of the day when I can overcome him being a bossy old bastard.
Yesterday I finally got to break out of my parent's house and drive to the big city to see my friends. The weird thing about going back was not that I felt out of place but that everyone asked me, "So, how's your life going?" And when I answered, "Fine." They all looked at me like I jabbed them with a spork in the spleen. How are you supposed to answer that? When I asked them that they looked at me like I was a fruitcake from 1987. Am I being a witch? Why don't they just ask me what Canada is like? But, after our first awkward exchange nearly everyone told me that I looked like I lost weight. So, either I have lost weight or they remember me as some blobby fat ass.
More Yesterday: First we went out for coffee at the usual coffeeshop there was a loony looking dude there whose, I am assuming, doctor came in and had a pack of papers in front of him that read, "The Emily Program." Later we ate at the Turkish restaurant that had an overly friendly waiter who kept saying, "How is everything, Emily?" Finally, while paying I asked him, "How do you know my name?" thinking that he was some sort of old acquaintance or drunken make out session person to me. He said, "I heard your friend say it." "Oh," I said, trying to not sound too creeped out while shoveling all sorts of candies from the candy dish into my purse. He said, "Are you paying the whole bill?" I nodded. "You are a nice friend." I said, "Well, she bought the liquor." And he said, "Nicer friend." Then he tried to make me learn his unpronounceable name and said that next time I came in he would quiz me. Guess I can't eat Turkish anymore.
Back to Today: So, after a few friends and I went out for breakfast me and my pregnant friend went on to the thriftstore. While at the thriftstore we looked at clothes for her. Apparently, buttons bursting of her tight clothes are a common occurrence for her lately. I pulled out coats and shirts for her to consider, both were a size too small for me. She looked at them and said, "They are too big." I am bigger than a woman who is about six months pregnant, time for starvation. Or, maybe I should try bulimia but that Reeses I just ate was so good going down I don't want to see it come up.
Anyway, it's late more tomorrow.
-Canadian (U.S.) Castaway
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