"Last time I was on tour, Sean was in jail. I guess it's my turn."
I awoke with a start this morning, courtesy of my phone jangling in my ear to tell me that my airport shuttle was going to be 15 minutes early. I peeled myself off the couch after a mere hour and a half sleep - thanks, brain, for shutting up and letting me rest - and rushed into the shower, fumbled into some clothes, and fell into a daze. I arrived nearly four hours early for my flight to Toronto, so I didn't have much choice but to sleep in the waiting area. Not that I didn't sleep on the plane, too. It's been eight years since I've been here, but I have to admit it - I swooned when I saw the Toronto skyline.
And then I got off the plane and thought, "Oh man, what have I done? Maybe I shouldn't have come here."
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It started with customs. I carry a Canadian passport and am still considered a Canadian citizen (for now...), but I have a Green Card that allows me to live and work in the States. It wouldn't strike me that this would be cause for an international incident, but the customs dude I got saw it differently.
Him: Why are you here?
Me: To visit friends. (I don't bother saying it's for work because that just causes a whole host of issues.)
Him: (Thumbing through my over-stamped passport) Who are these friends?
Me: I'm sorry?
Him: You said you were visiting friends. How did you meet these friends?
Me: Uhh... well, I lived and worked here for three years, so I guess I met them the way anyone else would meet friends when they live and work somewhere.
Him: Are they work friends? Family friends? Friends you met through other people?
Me: (Fighting the urge to roll my eyes.) All of the above.
Him: All of the above.
Me: Yes.
Him: Did you bring gifts?
Me: No.
Him: What do you do?
Me: I'm a writer.
Him: For who? Yourself?
Me: Freelance.
Him: Uh huh. Here you go.
What happened to the old belief of Canadians being so friendly? Sheesh. I thought that was it, but then after I got my bag I was sent into secondary, where the customs agent took a cell call and left me standing there for 10 minutes.
Him: (After hanging up.) Okay, sorry about that.
Me: No problem. (LIE!)
Him: So what do you have in here?
Me: Clothing, toiletries and shoes. (Truth!)
Him: How does this open?
At this point I unzipped the case to reveal piles of dirty laundry... and I happened to have the underwear on top. He slammed the case shut as soon as he opened it.
Him: You're fine! Have a nice day.
Ha.
I got on the ferry to go to the main terminal, and found that I didn't have a dime on me. When I inquired how long it would take me to walk to my friend Nick's place - roughly an hour, with my laptop and 30-pound suitcase in tow - a perfect stranger gave me a token for the Toronto Subway... also known as the TTC or - my favorite - the Vomit Comet courtesy of drunken uni students who take it home after a long night of drinking. I was in the shuttle heading to Union Station when I got a call from Toronto Tourism asking why I hadn't taken the car they'd sent to pick me up.
Car? Things were starting to look up.
Ten minutes later I was in a town car heading up University to College, and I found myself getting really nostalgic. Toronto both feels foreign and familiar to me now, but in such comforting ways. I've never felt like Calgary or Edmonton were home quite like here is, because this is where I came to really start my life. It was a source of such growth and such amazing experiences that no matter how jet set I've become, my heart is always here.
I pulled up to Nick's place and dragged my suitcase up his stairs, and walked into his apartment... only to be greeted with a big hug and the sight of Madonna's "SEX" book stuck to the wall (which I gamely informed him would be going missing before I left, naturally.) I alternated between hopping online and sorting my laundry so I could once again wear clothes that didn't have the ability to walk by themselves, and checked my mail to find this from one of my oldest and dearest friends:
Yay! Today's the day. You're probably already en route.
I can't wait to see you.
I think the best thing will be to pick you up and take you 'home'. Let you relax, unpack, start laundry if you want. There's a Madonna cabaret thingy at the gay theatre, which you'd probably enjoy... but it starts at 8, which might be tight for dinner. Anyway, we'll discuss.
My friends know me so well.
Goddamn, it's good to be home.
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