Friday night I arranged to pick up J. at work and take her for her first motorcycle ride on the back of my new toy, as I had just last week obtained the next graduation in the motorcycle licensing scheme in my province, allowing me to ferry passengers (as well as ride after dark and on the highway, restrictions I had all but ignored). She was very excited about riding with me and had made a lot of noise about wanting to be the first passenger on "Jennifer" -- which she had Christened my bike, and I excitedly collected her at her workplace, helmeted and seated her, and drove off to our mutual delight.
Disaster struck when we arrived at her apartment and I realised that somewhere en route the ignition key, along with the keychain consisting of all my current keys, had in defiance of what many would have thought possible, fallen out of the ignition and become lost, with neither discernable effect on the running engine nor warning to the rider. I had a busy schedule for the rest of the weekend and this setback threatened to jeopardize part of it, as I realized that I had to be at my sister's very early the following two mornings, with my truck, and the only now remaining key to my truck was already at her house, in her town, without the truck, which was at my house, in my town, keyless.
So we made the night into an unplanned sleepover at J. and her husband's new place. We had a nice dinner at the pub downstairs and then went upstairs to their apartment and hung out and then when her husband D. came home we hung out some more and went to bed. I slept on the futon folded out in the living room, feeling oddly but appreciatively like the youthful party guest overstaying his welcome but instead of being the unwilling or unwitting host, I was the one "crashing" at my beloved daughter's house.
I called my sister and when I explained the whole debâcle, she marshalled her forces and the next thing I knew, not only was I talking to my nephew who was digging through my boxes looking for my spare key, but having found it, he was arranging to drive it out to me at my house first thing in the morning. Which he did, including picking me up at the subway station and taking me back to my place.
So thanks to my nephew D.'s selflessness, I made it to my sister's place Saturday afternoon, in time to help her with organising and setting up the crucial stuff for the charity run which would take place Sunday morning.
In the meantime, I was still feeling pretty much empty and zero and all those other lovely euphemisms for nothingness, and that night was LD's wedding, and despite my almost impenetrably depressed mood, I forced myself returned to my old street to attend. In fact I spent a lot of time trying to talk myself out of going and second guessing my plan for getting there and getting home, as complicated as it was considering where I suddenly found myself living and the still unresolved debâcle with my keys, misplaced motorcycle, et caetera. Nonetheless I went out the door, got on a local bus to the city line, another bus which I had thought would be a streetcar but there was reconstruction on the rails, another bus which was actually a change in plans, and then a subway train, to meet with J. near the centre of town, and took another bus because that section of the subway was closed up to collect my motorcycle, and with the spare key finally fired up my motorcycle and peeled/trundled off to LD's wedding -- on my old street. Every step of the way I wanted to die and hoped for a hole to open up in the earth into which I could safely crawl. But it was not to happen. I arrived, strolled in, saw a beautiful party, in celebration of a perfect couple, and all I wanted to do was weep.
I was greeted and very kindly acknowledged by LD and her new husband Ph, and I did my best to congratulate and thank but I was already practically trembling and fled the otherwise loving and celebratory event in a fit of anguish.
I did not know anyone at the party other than the blessed bride and groom, and as I drove away from the scene on my motorcycle I felt the tears running down my face before I even passed my old house, before I even got to the end of the street, before I realised how far I had to go to get home, to my so-called new home in a neighbouring town.
And I bawled my eyes out the whole way home. I remember pointing out to myself how incredibly isolated from the world I felt and from everyone. And I remember wanting to die. I remember just crying, uncontrollably, crying.