I've been having urges to write. To express. To share the faults and strengths of people and their lives; I'd say humanity, but that's already been said.
I think I want to write another book. Something different this time. Prose rather than poetry.
Life has been strange lately. I'm sure this is the catalyst of this urge. When I say strange, I mean just that. Out of the ordinary and unusual.
Now, in saying strange I am not trying to imply bad. There have just been things that have happened. There have been people that I have run into.
For example:
Two nights ago, a regular night, or so it seemed.
Well, maybe this needs more background. I am a country boy who loves city life. I tend to be friendly to everyone I meet and I have yet to develop the ability to just ignore people when they say “hi” or “excuse me”.
I had worked late. It was dark outside when I left. I decided I didn't want to talk my usual shortcut through a back alley, into a construction site and then over the train tracks to the close subway station. So I decided to go the other way under the nice bright street lights to the station that was an extra 5-10 minutes walk away.
Just as I arrive outside the doors to the station this woman walks up to me and says excuse me in french. I speak a little french, and I understand quite a lot of it. Now, at this point, if I were a regular city person I would have kept walking and ignored her. However, I am not one of those people yet, nor do I ever really want to be.
I stopped and looked her over. She wasn't all together unattractive. Her eyes and face were weary, but she was well dressed and didn't wear the aura of someone who lived on the streets.
I opened my side of the conversation like I always do. “I don't speak french” I said.
She continued on in french. I believe she asked me where the other entrance to the subway was. I tried to tell her. She blinked at me in disbelief as I continued on in english trying to explain. She said a few more things, not pleasant things, as anger crept into her features. I don't know how she thought that getting upset at me would make me speak french or understand her any better.
As she appeared to be just about to get physically violent with her anger I quickly stepped away. Not 20 paces away and now inside the station I ran into a man who stopped me.
I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see that the woman hadn't followed me. This man also started out in french. I just looked at him and said “English” in a questioning tone. He threw out another couple of sentences in french and the gist of it was “Can I follow you through the security doors to get into where the subway is?”
This particular station is fully automated. So you swipe your card, the doors slide open just long enough for you to get in and then the close. I just looked at the guy and said “I don't know. Can you?” I paused for a moment. “Maybe.”
I started through and the guy hurried behind me. He got caught in the closing doors for a second before they safety settings on them forced them to open again rather than crush someone. He smiled a strange smile at me and almost ran down the steps to get away from him.
Staring at a spot on the wall across the tracks from me I pondered the night so far. I dangerously thought to myself “Well, at least it can't get any stranger.” I'm pretty sure that something out there took that as a challenge.
I live in a fairly upscale neighbourhood. Nice buildings, nice streets, nice parks, nice people. It's a great place to live. It's a place that little old ladies can go out walking by themselves in the dark of night and feel safe. It's also a mostly english neighbourhood which works well for me being among the linguistically challenged when it comes to the art of multiple languages.
So I get off at my stop and step out into my nice safe and respectable neighbourhood. These two guys behind me start talking to each other.
“So what are you going to do tomorrow?”
“I'm going to get a haircut. I think that's a definite requirement. I need to get cleaned up for this interview. Then I'm going to have some crack.”
“No you're not. You can't do that.”
“How about a crack whore?”
“No, just relax and prepare.”
“I'm sorry about the mess I left at your apartment. I was going to clean it up. I got frustrated though.”
“That's okay. That's no problem. Most of that mess is my
roommates fault.”
“Yeah. I just can't stand that kind of mess. Cocaine, paraphernalia and drug baggies lying all over the place. It made me feel really bad. I hate that and I hate littering.”
“Like I said. Don't worry about it. I was going to throw all of that stuff out anyway.”
At this point with a giant WTF taking over most of my brain and a small part thinking “Wow, big word. Wonder if either of them can spell that?” I veered away and went in the back door of my building.
It felt really good to step inside my apartment that night. Especially after locking the door.
So last night I worked late. It was dark outside when I left. I decided that after the night before, I'd just take my chances with my shortcut.
It wasn't as dark as I had thought it would be. It wasn't as strange as I had thought it would be. I avoided the area where there is new graffiti for me to see each morning on the walk to work.
It wasn't nearly as strange as the night before. I was happy about that.
) my friend at I were headed to LA for E3. During that year the Calgary Flames made a cinderella run to the cup finals.