The bus travels toward my intersecting path and a funny Asian man boards at a stop and travels to the back and to me. He looks at the seat to my right which has a discarded candy wrapper on it. I pick it up. He asks if it is mine and I tell him no. He takes it from me and sits down on my left. I ask him if he wants that seat and he says no and that he prefers the one he is in. I say okay. I turn to look out at the land as it passes away. I can feel her watching me and I won't look at her. I must look strange, out of time as I am. This is not our moment. Breath.
I reach as my stop arrives but see someone else reach for the ringer and so let them get it. Rising, I walk toward the door and exit to the same cool evening. Breath. I walk around the curve of the street and into the bus enclosure where a woman is standing looking cold. I can not help her. I turn to look at the street and watch for the bus. I see it crest the hill in the distance and disappear into the shadows of the night, and its lonely lights are all I can see. Breath.
The bus pulls up and I let the woman board first then board the bus behind her and show the driver my transfer paper. A beautiful girl is sitting looking out into the night. I walk past her and to the back, where I sit this time in the window seat on the right hand side. Breath. The air smells funny. The bus is passing gas through its engine and out into the same cool evening. I travel in a seated position, floating over concrete rivers. The scenes alongside are familiar, and I accept that. I have seen these buildings go by many times, but have not come this way in years for fear of the great emotional pain I new it would unleash. Two men from a church board and sit. I face one as he looks in my direction and smile. They both wear the same black pants and white shirts, and have tags on their breast pockets that state their names. They are curious, but not out of place. I rise and turn from them and wait for the bus to stop, then exit. Breath. It is my time to stop.
The day has darkened further, and I approach a large brown box that stands blocking from the view of the road a small patch of land and section of fence. I move behind the box and relieve myself. It feels good, and I ground myself in the slight pause it allows. I have walked this path many times, but have stopped walking it long ago and now must walk it again. Breath. My breathing changes. Everything else is the same. The houses are the same. The lawns are the same. The cars in the driveways are the same and the cars on the road are the same. Breath. I look up at a white car as it zooms across the road ahead of me, then another car zooms the other way as I cross. Breath. Something is different here now. I am here now. I am different. My body moves easily where I will it, instead of away, frightened, running. My mind can bear my conscience. My feet do not question where I direct them. My hands accept the pain I cause them as I pass from this world. Breath.
I look up at a sign that reads so familiar, but surreal. It is the name of their street. I see their house in the distance, and it looks so incredibly the same as I remember, but it is different. The lawn is new. The garage door is new. The van in the drive is new. I walk up to the door in a wholly unfamiliar way�I am not pulled to it as before; I am pushed. The door is new and it is white, with a new handle and very clean. I look up at it and wonder what is next and then I realize.
Exhale.
I remove my gloves and hat and put them in my father�s jacket pocket. My finger rises to the buzzer, and a slight touch causes the light inside to go off. A noise is issued, and I take a deep breath. The door opens a crack. I see him inside with his wife, only we are much older. The door opens. Dogs bark from inside. I wait for the outer door to open for me, which it does, and I enter without saying anything. My eyes are wet. I look up to see I have succeeded in catching my father off guard. I feel an intense collision and I cry.
My wife says something to me about putting the dogs away and I hear myself say that I'd like to speak with her through a veil of tears and I go down to put the dogs away. I breathe. My wife puts a rug out for my shoes and I remove them and place them on it. My traveling shoes are off. I remove my coats all together�my father's coat, my blue coat that was lost and re found, my sweaters, all off. I place them over top of my shoes on the rug and I stand up straight and breathe in the air. It smells like my house only different, like I haven�t been here in a while. I rise up the stairs and into the seating area that looks so incredibly the same, but different. My father enters from where he was downstairs with the dogs. My wife is uneasy and I sit down near my son to ease her and begin this confrontation. I've stopped breathing, so I remember and breathe. I look at myself suddenly opening up to try and understand better. We are all the same diamond being endlessly cut and re cut. Variables fly through us, becoming constants.
I go over to my father and kiss him on the cheek, touching the back of his neck with my hand. I have caught myself off guard and so accept this affection. My step mother watches me, but doesn't see; I am here and it is nowhere. I tell my son about my life and hers. We are from different times, and our lives have not been light or easy. It is long since we have been young with freedom. I tell my father about my thoughts on my future and its security, how hard it is to live with the weight of their utter abandonment of my sister and I, and how I blame that experience for my inability to sustain any meaningful relationships. I ask questions and am so happy to hear responses. It makes me cry, and the tears have real meaning�showing them openly like this makes me feel so strong.
I finally apologise to my step mother for swearing at her so viciously on the morning of that fight years ago. It is an honest apology. It has taken me so long to see her like this. Outside, the evening passes into night. I ask my son how he came here and he tells me that he took the bus. My father offers me a ride home and I accept. He goes down to get his coat and hat and keys, and I stand on the step getting my shoes on and my layers of cloth. I look up at my step mother and ask her about her new dog. My face is glistening and puffed red from emotion, but it is a face I offer without thought. She looks pained and I am aware of it. Our first dog, Racer died some time ago. She tells me about her new dog and asks if I'd like to see her. I say yes and she goes down to fetch her, and I have time to breathe again. She brings her up in her arms, barking. I kneel and touch faces. She is beautiful.
My father rises from the depths of the house with his keys and coat, and opens the door for me. I say goodbye to my step mother and she says goodbye to me, and I leave with him and walk down the steps to the drive and the van. The night is cool. I breathe it in like a drug. We get into the van and he starts it up and looks over at me, and I at him. I feel no confusion, only peace inside. We pull out and up the road, just the two of us in this moving body once again. We are together again where we have been separate for a long time. A first step has been taken toward reconciliation, and we rejoice in our ease of dialogue and acceptance of one another�s love�mine with the fierceness of youth and mine with the tenderness of age. I talk about my mother, his first love and wife. The radio is off so we can listen to what passes between us. He pulls into the driveway of my mother's house, but is reluctant to let me get out because for the first time in years we are actually enjoying our time together. I accept this and laugh.
I finally open the door and get out. I turn to look my father in the eye and tell him that I love him. He reaches over to fix the seat belt, then looks at me and tells me that he loves me. I say goodbye and walk inside and it is a new beginning.
I revisited this to clean it up and give it a proper draft edit. I liked some of the mechanics and movement of it, but it got wrapped up in the emotional cyclone I was undergoing shortly after writing it. I'm submitting it for something I have just only heard about. I'm psyched to go to Mexico next week. I return to Toronto tomorrow.
PEACE - Tristan
before || after
