The alarm went off at 8:00, and I staggered out of bed. Chris and I had made tentative plans to go for breakfast, but I needed to call him and find out. Chris couldn’t make it. The whole week had been like that — we’d been trying to get together, but one thing after another prevented our reunion.
I returned to bed.
I ran a few errands that morning, leaving Allison in Oakville. The errands took longer than I originally planned, putting me back on time. But I made sure to stop into Canadian Computer on Speers. I wanted to see Chris, even if for only five minutes.
Two years ago, Chris was a computer novice. He hated the things. (Especially the 286 he used for most of his work.) Now he frightens me. I’m amazed at all the things he’s learned in the PAST YEAR. Now he’s an expert. And that meant he was busy.
I got to talk with Chris for all of about 10 minutes. The rest of the time, he was help customers and answering phones. (One of the customers was a teacher from my high school, Suzi Beber, whom I hadn’t seen since I graduated.)
Then it was over. Realising I had to go home, I bade Chris farewell, and headed home. All the way, I felt fairly numb. I had a huge list of people I’d wanted to visit with. Most of them didn’t even get a phone call. (Some people think I have too many friends.) It was too late, though. I couldn’t do anything more. I saw a few people, chatted with a few more. But it was over too soon. Too fast.
We arrived at the airport about an hour ahead of time. I prefer half an hour for domestic flights, but Allison pointed out that we usually get rushed. I said goodbye to my dad, hugged my sister (my mom didn’t want to come — she hates goodbyes — so I hugged her before we left Oakville), and headed into Terminal 3.
We arrived in Vancouver around 7:30pm PDT following a rather eventless flight. (Not that I’m looking for an eventful flight.) We grabbed our bags, hopped the Park N’ Fly shuttle, and went to pick up the car.
The car’s battery was dead. I don’t know how the heck they got the car there, short of pushing it. You’d think they’d have noted that.
Morons.
As we drove home (after getting the car jumped), I remarked on something I hadn’t noticed before. I felt like I was home. For the first time since I moved here, I felt like I was at home. It was a strange feeling. For the longest time, I didn’t think I could ever feel at home here. But I do, to some degree at least.
Don’t get me wrong, I still miss my family and friends. I always will — you’re all a huge part of my life. I can’t forget you any more than I can sever an arm and not notice.
But I was home. I collapsed in our couch, and felt like I was at home. A strange feeling, indeed.
