Gondolas & Coasters. Trolleys & Trains
There’s something very cathartic, to me, about taking a trip. Some people might see it as running away, but I prefer to look at it as an excursion that provides perspective to a certain situation. Oftentimes it punctuates the end of a period of my life; the end of a schoolyear, the end of a working ‘season’, or (in recent years) the end of a relationship.
In October 2003, I convinced my best girlfriend, Jen, to take a roadtrip with me from Calgary to Vegas. It was a less-than-random destination, as it coincided with my favorite-travel-couple-of-all-time’s wedding, but seemed sortof appropriate as Jen was suffering deeply from the still-bleeding wound of breakup, and desperately needed to get the fuck outta dodge. She needed to see that there was more to the world than the little playground that she’d built with ‘him’. And I needed a roadtrip…
She spent the first few days bitching, and I spent the first few days listening. As the green Montana ranches turned red into Utah painted backdrops, the physical distance between them manifested itself in her demeanour. By the time we hit Vegas (baby, vegas), I had her on the path to recovery, figuratively holding her hand and walking her away from the past and into the gaudy neon flashing lights of the future. And on our last night, she walked alone:
“Are you gonna come on the rollercoaster with me ?” she asks.
“Not a chance,” I reply, steadfast in my hatred of any ride of any sort.
“C’moooon… please ? I really wanna go.”
“So go.”
“But everyone else has someone to sit with”
“So don’t go.”
In the end, she went. And I watched her take her first steps…
So here I am, on the train to Montreal: a trip to punctuate the end of something that never really even got started. Sad, really... Friendship or love –who’s to say—in its infancy, needlessly smothered either by my devotion to the idea of something better than ourselves, or his apparent lack thereof.
Last night, over solo beers at bluegrass night, I was reminded of it all… and I smiled.
In October 2003, I convinced my best girlfriend, Jen, to take a roadtrip with me from Calgary to Vegas. It was a less-than-random destination, as it coincided with my favorite-travel-couple-of-all-time’s wedding, but seemed sortof appropriate as Jen was suffering deeply from the still-bleeding wound of breakup, and desperately needed to get the fuck outta dodge. She needed to see that there was more to the world than the little playground that she’d built with ‘him’. And I needed a roadtrip…
She spent the first few days bitching, and I spent the first few days listening. As the green Montana ranches turned red into Utah painted backdrops, the physical distance between them manifested itself in her demeanour. By the time we hit Vegas (baby, vegas), I had her on the path to recovery, figuratively holding her hand and walking her away from the past and into the gaudy neon flashing lights of the future. And on our last night, she walked alone:
“Are you gonna come on the rollercoaster with me ?” she asks.
“Not a chance,” I reply, steadfast in my hatred of any ride of any sort.
“C’moooon… please ? I really wanna go.”
“So go.”
“But everyone else has someone to sit with”
“So don’t go.”
In the end, she went. And I watched her take her first steps…
So here I am, on the train to Montreal: a trip to punctuate the end of something that never really even got started. Sad, really... Friendship or love –who’s to say—in its infancy, needlessly smothered either by my devotion to the idea of something better than ourselves, or his apparent lack thereof.
Last night, over solo beers at bluegrass night, I was reminded of it all… and I smiled.
posted by walkinvisible at 10:56 PM
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