Notes on Route 90.

I sit down for coffee with a friend whom has been up in northern Manitoba, working for Hydro.
We slide into the burgundy and cream-coloured chairs at a Tim Hortons. We watch and laugh as a battered, old car stalls in the intersection outside, and a teenage boy jumps out and pushes it through.
Miguel and I catch up on what's been going on in our lives. He tells me about his new job and having a place to himself on the island he's living on up north. He tells me about a pretty girl that lives on the island. He's bought a new reel that doesn't work, so he has to return it because he goes pickerel fishing every day. We laugh about memories of drinking at the cabin, we share stories of our summer heartaches and being hurt, we talk about what we hope for. We laugh, we bitch. We laugh a lot.
We say goodbye. He's going back up north for the rest of the summer, and I leave before he comes home. He's off to an old friend's place to watch game 5 of the playoffs and he needs to go pick up some wings. This is my first official, in-person goodbye. It doesn't seems real. And I think I develop a french accent when I'm around him.
I get into my car and call the guys. Jess is out with her mom. Bryan's out in the tractor, helping some guy seed his field. Rob tells me he'll come over after work. Friday nights have resigned to watching sitcoms with the group.
The sun is shedding an evening light as people rush into the liquor mart. Guys pick up last minute cases of beer for the game; one is looking at the selection of New Zealand wines. I talk to the Molson promo girl and try a sample of the new beer. I drop cases of Canadian and local brewed beer on the counter as the girl in front of me tells the cashier (it's also his birthday, they know each other) that's she's going up to so-and-so's cabin for the weekend with her box of toxically-pink coolers for the bachelorette party. They talk about the social. I wonder about the idea of socials to foreigners. I hear Ontario calls them "shags". Amusing.
I drive down Route 90 and I'm listening to the Weakerthans. A plane takes off from the airport. There are cracks in the road and cars in front of me are going to the lake, back windows packed with groceries. One red truck pulls a red Lund boat.
As I pass Stony Mountain, I think about the odd transition space I'm stuck in. It's between listening to The Kooks and The Weakerthans. It's the prairie I'm driving on, rolling up into a suitcase. Somewhere between Stanley Cup playoff games and trying to figure out Cricket. Between Friday nights in Robert's basement and Friday nights in a new country. Past loves abroad and past loves here. How do I fit my life into two suitcases? What do I take, and what do I leave behind?
My car is covered in gravel dust. I briefly consider washing it before I open a beer and open the door to let the temperate summer air settle in the dining room. I think about driving to the lake tomorrow. About things left undone and when am I going to organize this? About my anxiety on things that are in Manitoba and not even abroad yet. About saying goodbye to the people that I'll miss the most.
And starting new.

I open another beer and turn on the game.

Playlist: Left and Leaving/ Tournament of Hearts/ Anchorless - The Weakerthans.