kagablog

Our next door neighbour is from Nova Scotia. I thought I could hear it when she talked, the way she said somewheres, as in, if you’ve got somewheres else to be, the way she said down home about her hometown. Where you from, I finally asked her this morning. Bridgewater, she said, you know, Lunenburg County. No shit, I said. Beautiful up there. She nodded.

My mom is crazy about the South Shore. She always wanted to get rich and have a cottage up on Mahone Bay. Gorgeous. Yeah, she said, it really is. Boring though, when you’re a teenager.

Yeah, I hear that, I said. I’m from the Valley, from Kentville, in King’s County. Oh I know Kentville, she said. I love the Apple Blossom Festival. You sound like a tourist, I teased her. What are you, a fan of the parade or something? I always hated that stuff growing up, so cheesy. She slapped my arm, but gently. Yeah, but it’s fun. The Valley is beautiful in the fall. Yeah, I guess so, I said.

Holy Shit, you know, I think you’re the first person I’ve met out here from home. She smiled. You too.

She had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. She kind of looked like she was from the country. She was curvy, with big blue eyes and blond hair. She had big breasts and wore a tight shirt and jean shirts that looked like cut offs, all ripped and worn. She kind of looked like a sexy farmer’s daughter or something, the kind of girl I never would’ve looked at twice growing up, who suddenly seemed so hot to me right then. I leaned in towards her. She had shiny lip glossy lips.

I gotta go soon, she said. My husband is picking me up soon.

Husband? My voice actually squeaked a little as I said the word.

Yeah. I met him when I was living out west, in Calgary. He’s from Ontario. He wanted to try our luck in an even bigger city. I hate it here.

I sighed. Me too, I find myself saying. I really hate it here sometimes too.

Is the girl you live with, the one with the flowing skirts, your wife?

I shuddered. No, God, no, I said, before I could stop myself.

She laughed. She touched the side of my face with her rough fingers. You’ll meet the right person someday, she said.

Yeah, I said to her, thanks. Nice talking to you.

The thing is, I do love Nicki. But can you really love someone you’re always fighting with, that’s always infuriating you, and driving you crazy?

I want to tell her about my past so badly, want to tell her what happened, how the beat the shit out of a guy I barely knew, how I broke his back and put him in a chair, and ruined his life. I want to tell her how I wake up sweating at night about it, ten years later. I want to tell her how badly I want it to be ok, how I want the guy to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t, how I want to forgive myself most of all.

I want to tell her how I can’t travel with her, like she wants. She talks about travel all the time, and I can’t leave the country. Sometimes, when things are good, I want to take her back home with me,

to see my town, and the other towns around it. I want to show her where I came from, how beautiful it is. I want to show her everything, and really tell her the stuff that matters about me.

I miss Nova Scotia really bad sometimes, the open spaces, the pines and spruces, the ocean.

I miss seeing apples in the fall, rows of trees with tiny flashes of red and yellow peeking through leaves. I miss the glacial beauty in winter- frozen streams and brooks with ice frozen in cracked ovals that looks like agate. Even the animals are in your face in Toronto- the raccoons are huge and aggressive, totally not afraid of you. They look you in the eye and hiss, like they know they’re the ones in control. It’s fucked up, I’ve never seen anything like it. The squirrels are big and black or grey, and mangy.

I miss camping and seeing water everywhere I look and knowing where I’m going all the time, when I drive.

There’s things I love about Toronto-the way everything is open twenty four hours, the way if there’s anything you want in the world, you can find it, the way you can just grab a cab or buy a cd or dvd or jewellery or clothes or anything off the street, from some vendor who’s always there, the way everything is cheaper here. In so many ways, life is easier and more exciting.

But if I’m honest, what I like the most about Toronto is the anonymity. I love the way people don’t know me here, I love the fact that I can walk down the street or into my building or onto the subway with no one hassling me, or thinking I’m being rude for not making eye contact or saying hi. I like that I do whatever I feel like doing here- that I can be whoever I want, and no one really cares.

That’s the hardest part about being with Nicki- she always wants to know what I think or feel about everything- she wants to know me, things about me that I don’t feel comfortable or just don’t feel like sharing. I want to be with her, but I want to be able to take my space when I feel like it. She doesn’t know it, but I’m doing it to protect her. I know her, and there’s no way she’d be able to deal with what I’d have to tell her. She doesn’t know it, but I’m doing it for her own good, for both of our good.

It’s better this way, trust me. In every way, it’s easier.