The trip home

[vaneramos]

From the Greyhound, riding home.

~~~~~~~~~~

This morning when Danny leaned over to kiss me goodbye, I could hardly move. I have had occasional back pain before, but rarely, perhaps never this bad. It seems that after almost 17 months of sharing his bed, my body has decided to dissent. I don't understand. I sleep on a futon at home, too, in fact it's less comfortable than Danny's. What tension has risen like a knot from deep inside the centre of my contentment? I spent an hour trying to find a comfortable position after he had left, then drifted off for a few more minutes.

Perhaps I've spent too much time at my keyboard lately. I'm out of shape. This is fresh incentive to adjust my sleep schedule so I can get out of bed early enough to go to the gym with 'Bruce.' It doesn't help that Danny and I spent a few hours this weekend strolling around Toronto. Walking on pavement makes my hips ache. But that, too, would change if I got back in shape.

I was happy to come home today. I have things to do. I thought the bus terminal would be relatively quiet at noon, no rush hour mobs, but I was wrong. I had to stand in line at the food court to grab some brunch. A Fillet-O-Fish from McDonalds. I can't understand what I like about them. The very idea rots my innards, but despite my distaste for fast food, I have a few buds leftover from childhood that call out for bland fish patty with tartar sauce once in a while. I picked up a blueberry croissant and large coffee for dessert, then passed through the tunnel under University Avenue and boarded the bus.

Now I remember: last night as I drifted off to sleep I had an inspiration to rewrite Tendril Through Cyberspace using images of the city's underground and subway system. There's an idea to store away in the filing cabinet of my brain until Pilgrim's Cross is finished. I need to thank avad, in part, for pointing me to An Atlas of Cyberspace. I promised Marian we would spend one Saturday roaming the underground system of walkways undermining Toronto's downtown. On weekends it is eerily deserted. Now I have a purpose of my own for taking us there. Thanks, avad, for the inspiration.

At least the bus wasn't crowded. I intended to read and write, but made the unusual choice of sitting on the left hand side of the bus so I could take pictures of the Niagara Escarpment when we passed. I usually sit on the outside where I can spy on truck drivers. The escarpment looked bland and nondescript from the Greyhound, but I shot a strange series of photos through the opposite side of the bus after all. Now I have this blurry record of a trip I've made so many times I couldn't guess. Now that the car is gone, I settle back into this bus schedule.

I wanted to diarize my feelings along the route. I was bright and optimistic when I left Bill and Danny's, and the sun was shining in a clear sky. Halfway home, a sheet of clouds gulped down the sun, and we pulled into a sombre Guelph. I stopped at the Nutty Chocolatier. I had to.

The York Road bus was quiet. The passengers here are different from Toronto. At least on this line, most of them are light-skinned. A lot of bleary-eyed young men heading to their shifts in small factories on the southeast corner of town.

One in a white fleece jacket had mesmerizing grey eyes and a day's worth of sandy scruff. I would have paid to photograph him if I had the money, but the fantasy stayed in my head.