The Real "Strange Friend"

[Friends,

There was a post up a few days ago that discussed the difference between fb and cs and why i like the one more than the other.

It may or may not have made sense to you. It shouldn't have because it was a work in progress that was posted by accident. If it did make a little sense, it appears that I was on the right track.

This time I've posted the real one, the one I meant to publish a few days ago. It was saved on my desktop as blah blah blah, I'll stop blathering on and let you get to the story.

Perhaps on another occasion I'll share an edited version of why cs is different to fb. Until then, enjoy.

--b]

There was a woman, she pulled up next to us. Driving a Saab or something. Chatty, early forties and driving by herself. We had pulled in to the gas station only five minutes earlier and were topping off our tank. It was taking a long time because we had run the tank nearly to empty.

“Were you worried?” Kate asked, politely, knowing full well that I was.

“Not worried per say,” I replied “mostly I would rather have had take in scenery be more important than find fuel now.”

She smiled because she knew the truth, because the truth had be painted on my irritated face for the last 80 clicks. The truth was I really would have liked to have stopped at any of the beaches along the way, or even glanced out the windows and admired the quaint houses and picturesque horizons, not curse every small town for their lack of fossil fuel. Each time the car made a ding, sounding off another twenty km less in the tank, my face had turned a new shade of white.

I also would have liked to stop at the cute little beach we came across soon after the gas station, but that didn’t happen because I forgot to pack the sunscreen and there were no stores near us for thirty minutes in either direction. (One of those stores was the gas station we were currently at, though at this time we don’t know we were out of sunscreen.)

The woman who had pulled up next to us got out of her Saab and asked if we were nearly done.

“I’d rather not pay for the premium you see I don’t think it’s worth it.”

I hadn’t noticed there was a difference, I had just lucked upon the cheaper side of the pump.

She spoke quickly and smoothly and mostly to herself and it took me a good l o n g moment to realized that she hadn’t said diesel.

“But oh look at that I parked the car on the wrong side and my tank is on the other side I’ll just quick turn it around and be out of your hair.” She said in the same breath as the one she used to confidently climb into the driver’s side back seat of her Saab.

We looked at each other in a fashion that bewildered doesn’t quite cover because neither of us could quite piece together what had happened. Luckily the back window was down or I wouldn’t have heard her say “it must be one of those days.”

She smirked a smirk that said it must be one of those days, and Kate smirked a smirk that she knew we would share again later during the retelling of this moment.

Unabashed, the woman climbed out of the back and into the front and in between said “I think you might want to pull out of the way because I know you know that neither of us know were I’ll put this car if I start driving”.

Kate asked if there was anything I needed from inside the shop. I might have asked for sunscreen, but we didn’t know any better.

I pulled the car up, Kate paid for the fuel and we left our strange little friend to go about her adventures.

Encore a sud-ouest l'ontario

Salut maman,

I am back in the (home farm) area. Extremely tired. I'll write more tomorrow.

Good night,

--b

the illusion of 2x4's

My Dear Town,

A town is empty the first time I move through it. I might argue that it is empty long after the first time I move through it and doesn't become not-empty until the last time I move through it. The buildings are all propped up like a village out of an old western movie; each supported by a couple of 2x4's and wooded stakes. They create the illusion of a town in the middle of a province that up until six weeks ago had little significance in the small universe that I occupy.

I am the most important part of that universe. Since I don't see myself in the stores they remain a one dimensional illusion.

Days turn into weeks, as they tend to do on their own accord with no guidance from anyone else. Quite often we miss this happening, try to stop it or slow it or effect it's progress by drawing attention to the speed at which they are progressing, first the days then the weeks and eventually we surrender and, under the influence of hugs and tears, we move once more through the not-so-empty town and the no-longer-empty buildings.

Nameless intersections transform into meeting places. Campers who had left campus found other campers who had left campus for what was, until this place, an unknown reason. Dark side-streets become the homes of small micro brew pubs, farmer's markets and remarkably delicious vegetarian restaurants.

Cold concrete structures are for shouting <<'parkour'>> and jumping over, sandwich shops are where I watch Poo-Bears eat mc-franken-burgers with gusto and that red brick building is a place where Allstars throw up. Twice.

It has been wonderful Exploring you, Moncton and I am happy to be part of your universe. Take care of your not-so-empty self, I will see you again soon.

--b

a Car and a Coast

Salut Maman,

Here is a picture of Kate and I before we head out into the world and explore Moncton, NB, and it's surrounding friends.

One of those friends is Hopewell Rocks. I was at his place a few weeks ago but his basement flooded and we had to leave rather abruptly. We hope the timing is better this time around.

The other friend is a coffee shop who's name we don't know yet. Nor do we know where she lives. We'll let you know when we find it.

We are on our way to pick up the car, then to find the coast. Wish us well.

Sainté,

--b & K

(I am in red)