I arrived in Montreal after a long, sleepless night. I'd had every intention of getting on a flight early and sleeping through most of it. I'd stayed out the night before, saying some goodbye's that were very important to me to have said. There were just a few people too many and my attention was divided. I wanted my night to be like any other night, but I knew better.
I said the goodbye's that other people needed to hear or the occasional "I'll be back one day" that some people wanted. I had at least a small moment with everyone, but I'd have liked to have had more, to have the moment I had in mind for each of them, said the goodbye I'd imagined and sent them away with the hope and love I had for them.
I knew better though, so I took what I could. A hug that lingered, a kiss on the forehead, a handshake with the bartender, a wave from across the bar, passing words as I headed out the door, walked down the street for the last time that I'd really belong to New Orleans (at least for a while). I said "I love you" as often a I could and meant it each time.
Eleanor could have stayed. She could have kept playing her game and let me go back to finish my packing, have my last few moments alone. She didn't though; she followed me home. She cracked jokes between telling me that I wasn't allowed to really be leaving for good and threatened to cry while insulting me for deserting.
I got home to find that my flight had been canceled and they'd booked me on a slightly later one. I knew it wasn't enough time to really go back out, so I said I'd stay, told Eleanor go, but she didn't. We sat on the couch and I put a pillow in her lap and laid my head on her as she warned me it was my own fault if her bony hips cut me. I dozed on and off while we watched television together and talked about the many possibilities of the future. She fell asleep, perfectly still, sitting upright.
I woke to my alarm, showered, packed my bags and went into the early morning light. I called her name softly and she woke. I said I was leaving and I slid my arms around her, beneath her, lifting her just a little before kissing her on the forehead and telling her I'd miss her.
I called a cab and got up to leave and she came and gave me another hug. I looked around the house at things I'd have to do when I returned and it seemed a little overwhelming, but that's part of the excitement of a new adventure, isn't it? Feeling a little overwhelmed. I don't know about you, but if I don't have that little moment of doubt, I'd feel more like it was travel and not like adventure...
I stood outside in the balmy morning, waiting for my cab. My bags stacked on the curb and the lack of sleep making everything even more surreal than it already was. I sent a message to the one person I'd felt like I'd said less of a goodbye to than I should have (I held back a little for her own good). I climbed into the cab when it arrived and tried to listen to the cab driver talk about the state of affairs of New Orleans, but I couldn't concentrate or contribute past a polite mumble because my mind was elsewhere, many other places and that's where it wanted to be.
It was a long day of traveling, but I finally made it to Montreal at just after dusk. It was cold and so I grinned stupidly as I opened my suitcase and took out something a little warmer to wear. Frederic was there to meet me just after and he pointed out landmarks to me which I stared at through glassy eyes. He listened to the hockey game being broadcast in French as we rode to the studio to watch the rest of it with friends.
We went out to eat when the game was over we went out for a while and it was good to have friends welcoming me to this new city. It seemed more colorful, less cold and filled with adventure thanks to them. Having them welcome me to Montreal made saying goodbye to New Orleans just a little less heartbreaking and I was grateful for that, grateful for them.
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