Think of all the things we once had; write them in a letter that says 'goodbye'..........

What happens on the mainland stays on the mainland, right?

I was going to leave early for work that morning (Friday 9th), but instead I sat and watched The Awful Truth with Chase and Janelle.
"Stick around, Michelle's going to call you this afternoon." And she did. With an offer I couldn't refuse: a spontaneous trip to the Mod Club in Vancouver, where I would stay up all night and return to Nanaimo in the morning in time for work. How could I say no? I bounced about the house and recruited Janelle to find me an outfit. I had no clue how to look 'cool'. I finally chose something fitting, and stuffed it all into my bag before riding to work in the pouring rain.
I walked around Sears for four hours, pretending to work and counting the seconds until I was free. When eight-o-clock rolled around, I ditched whatever I was doing, swiped out, and beelined for the front door. My stepmom was waiting outside to pick me up. I went to my parent's place, returned their hammer, and marveled at the array of produce in the fridge.
"Hey Dad! I love you too! I'm hungry..."
I stuffed myself and headed to the car to go to the ferry.
An hour and a half boat ride later, I met Michelle and her friend Chelsea in the Horseshoe Bay terminal. After the mandatory giggle/scream-fest that always punctuates our long-awaited reunions, we headed to the car and drove to the club.
The minute we walked in the door of the Mod Club, it felt like someone had hit 'fast-forward' and 'slo-mo' at the same time. The atmosphere was pleasantly suffocating. My heart raced. I fell in love. 60's and 70's music mixed with modern indie rock. People with trendy glasses and trendier clothing slid amongst the smoke and mohawked bartenders. The place was drowning in culture. Michelle and I threw back a few drinks before summing up the alcohol-induced courage to hit the dance floor. Everything after that became a sickly-sweet blur. Pulp, Franz Ferdinand, hot bodies, glass after glass of poison, old movies projected on the wall, laughter, dancing, ripping posters off the bathroom wall, smoking cigarettes, meeting strangers. It was all rolled into a huge orb of happiness. I was blissful. I was ecstatic. Comfortable.
"Is it wrong to say that I am fully honestly happy right now?"
I remember that everyone was like an old buddy from highschool. Shyness just dripped off of me and onto the floor. A guy started dancing closer to me, and leaned in to ask me my name.
"Oh, I'm not from here."
"Neither am I. The Island?"
I nodded to avoid screaming over the hum of bodies.
"I can tell. You have that island....aura about you."
I laughed, knowing it was the liqour that sweetened his words.
"Thanks, but I'm not really all that interesting. I have to come here to have fun. I come here to live."
I didn't even realize what I was saying.
"No. I'm sure you live over there, too. You have that...energy."
He told me he'd be right back, and crossed the club for another drink. Michelle and I reunited and almost fell over when The Cure came on.
"Hey, where'd that guy go?" She asked.
"Oh. He said he'd be right back. But he won't. Story of my life."
"Hahaha. Let's go have a smoke!"
So we did. Stumbling out into the street, I repeated it again;
"Story of my fucking life."
Franz Ferdinand played again before I decided it was time to go, thinking we'd look cooler if we left before the club closed. It was about this time that my memory cut to the span of about four and a half minutes. I remember swaying down the streets of Vancouver, looking for a Denny's. It was two-thirty in the morning. Alleyways became make-shift bathrooms as our bladders reverted back to potty-training days. We finally found the restaurant and ordered huge breakfasts. The music in there was worse. Loud and popular. I went to the bathroom and came back to find Michelle at another booth, across from a black guy in a business suit. Oblivious to the fact that I didn't even know his name, I yakked my mouth off at him for a good half-hour. The conversation eventually took a turn that I was smart enough to deem unwelcome.
"So what are you girls doing tomorrow? Or should I say, tonight?"
"Going home," we echoed.
"Abbotsford, right?" He nodded at Michelle, "I could drive you. Really. It's not out of my way."
The cheeriness fell from her voice and our eyes turned to our half-eaten breakfasts.
"No, I'll be fine."
He got the hint and took off, wishing us well. We left soon after and headed to English Bay. The sun was just beginning to fade the black of the sky into a denim blue. The sand sunk to welcome our tired feet, as we approached the waves and sat on a log. Words were spilled but not absorbed.
"I don't want this night to end. I don't want the sun to rise on another day. I don't want to have to 'wake up' and go back to reality, you know? I like pretending. Letting myself think that this is all a nice dream and I can stay here forever."
"Mhmm," Michelle answered in that tired, sighing way that meant she wasn't really listening. I couldn't blame her, I'd been waxing intellectual all night, posing theories on cement leaf-imprints and the throes of society. We left the beach and walked back to find the bus stop. On the way, we were distracted by flashing neon and a sign that read, 'Peep Show, 25 cents'.
"Hillary! Look!"
"Let's do it!"
We wandered into the shop, but were turned down.
"I'm sorry, but a while ago, some girl got attacked in one of the booths. The cops won't let us let girls in anymore."
The whole story made sense at the time, but I'm sure he just didn't want us in there because we were obviously very drunk.
We left and kept walking. Every step took me a little closer to sobriety and a little further from the carefree joy of the night. The two of us finally reached the bus stop outside Sears, and sat to watch Vancouver open its eyes.
"How come Nanaimo isn't like this? How come everything dies after eleven? No wonder I drink alone all the time."
Cars began to zop past in increasing numbers, and gradually the lull in street traffic was replaced by wandering bodies and a different kind of 'good morning':
"Hey, you gotta smoke?"
I looked at the skinny dark woman with short, uneven hair. She kept walking after asking the question, as if she didn't expect us to answer.
"Yeah, actually, I do." I pulled one from the pack and gave her a light. She must have wanted company, because she stuck around to rattle off one long sentence of strung-together thoughts.
"It's wierd to see girls, like, young girls like you, out on the streets like this....It scares me, ya know? Cuz guys...guys aren't like girls, guys'll get drunk and say horrible stuff to youand it makes you wonder how much of it is human nature and how much is just the liqour talking and girls don't do that, ya know? You hear about rape and murder and all that junk and it makes me sad cuz things aren't the way they used to be, but, you know, the one thing we've learned is that people are meant to be together, you know, they need to be together no matter how much it hurts or how hard it is, they just work through it....you know you hear about girls with abusive boyfriends...and....well I have a boyfriend and he's...well, he's ok I guess....but it's like you get so used to it that you can't let it go, ya know? It just gets me thinking, I guess....I see you girls out here..."
"There's Chelsea."
"....and it scares me."
I nodded. Michelle got up to cross the street and meet the car.
"Hey...well...thanks for talking....really," I called to the woman, and followed Michelle to get my stuff. I said my goodbyes then, and crossed back to the bench to watch Michelle and Chelsea drive off. Now I was alone and cold and hung over and I couldn't think of anything worse than maybe missing my bus. A woman began walking towards me. She was short, with crooked eyes and a boyish haircut. I could tell she was homeless. Every few steps, she would stop and pick a cigarette butt off the ground.
"Excuse me," I called. She turned slowly, almost apprehensively, "Do you want a smoke?"
She immediately smiled. I took one out and lit it for her. She turned to leave after giving a quick, but gracious thanks.
"Hey wait...you know what? Take the whole pack." She turned around.
"Wow. Thanks. That's really nice of you."
I shrugged, "I shouldn't be smoking anyway. It's the least I could do."
She nodded, then turned to leave again.
"Wait," I called. I wasn't sure what made me stop her, "Listen, uh, I have like twenty minutes to wait for my bus and I was wondering..."
Before I could even finish my sentence, she was sitting down beside me, seeming grateful for the offer. I didn't really know what to say.
"I, uh, don't know what to say. I guess I just like talking to people and seeing what I can learn."
"That's good," And she went on to tell me about her hometown in Winnipeg, and how she came here to try to check into the psych ward but got turned down. She talked about alcohol addictions and rehab and her perception of people. I shared her views on how it was hard to find people who give without expecting anything in return. Just then, a young-looking guy interrupted us to ask for a cigarette. The woman beside me reached into her coat and I grabbed my lighter. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd do the same thing had I not been there. The guy carried on and the woman went on to tell how she frequently thought of suicide.
"You know..sometimes I just don't see the point in trying."
I didn't know how to respond. What do you say to that? I was in no position to tell her that life was worth living. I wasn't even sure myself. I smiled weakly in response.
"Being on the streets...it's no good."
I nodded and listened and talked as if I had known her for years. I never got her name.
"Listen," She said after awhile, "I hate to interrupt this, but I'm really hungry."
I gave her all of my change and thanked her for talking. Then I shook her hand. It was warm. Unnaturally warm. Her I was, freezing my ass off at 5:30 in the morning, and this lady's hand was warm I was a friendly feeling; one that made me want to hold on longer. It was a motherly warmth.
I watched her walk away and wondered if she really was hungry, or if she just didn't want to talk anymore. I ran through my head the last thing I'd said to her: 'Godbless'. It had seemed almost blasphemous coming out from a stale-booze-and-cigarette-smell mouth, but it just seemed like the thing to say. Maybe she believed in God. Or maybe He believed in her. Either way, it seemed a little more heartfelt than a simple 'good luck'.


I have other stuff that I was going to put in here, but it seems old and out-of-date now. Just used emotions and thoughts that no longer have any meaning to me. Hopes that have since been dashed. Feelings that I figured something out....now gone. It's no use to put them in here, so I won't. They'll remain on paper, in a book that no one will ever read.

You're going to Arizona and I remember a time when you said you were taking me with you. And I saw you that day in the field with her and I thought, 'Finally. You have someone." And I could forget all the things you said to me because now you could say them to someone else and they wouldn't have to mean anything. I could rest because you were fixed. I could rest and stay broken.










"Everything here dies alone."
-Coheed and Cambria