Reunion (5) 05/15/13

The sunlight swept into the dumpster at a quarter to six and I freaked the fuck out.

I didn’t know what province I was in, I didn’t know why I was in a small confined space, and I didn’t know where the hell my friends were.

As the morning haziness abated from my perceptions, I realized that I had just been having dreams of being with my travel mates. Awakening without them had been something of a shock to me, but I was glad to see that I was just in a dumpster and not some 5x5 basement at the mercy of some sadistic bastard’s whim.

I hopped out of the dumpster, hit up McDonald’s for a coffee, and headed back to the highway in preparation to hitchhike and further attempt to repair my battered brain.

The hitching spot was looking nice in the grace of a 6 AM sunset, and with the absence of the tormenting sand twisters that had beaten me down the night before. I’d been standing with my thumb out for about twenty minutes when the silhouette of a backpack emerged over the horizon, traunching towards me. As he stepped closer, his face became clear.

It was Frank! Of all people... Frank was a friend that I’d met in Victoria back home on the Island. We’d  spent a few nights drinking and shooting the shit there, and then the last time I’d seen him, he’d showed up in Nanaimo when I was staying at my mom’s.

This had been a couple months ago, when he had been traveling with his girlfriend. That fateful night, we had all drank too much whiskey, blacked out, and woken up scattered across the city. I hadn’t seen him since then.  It’d be nice to catch up.

We sat down next to the highway; two wayward travelers united by fate. Such is one of the best parts about the traveling community: you’ll end up running into the most random people at the perfect times. We decided that we’d travel to Regina together.

We spent 3 hours on the highway trying to catch a ride. After the first hour passed, we concluded that we weren’t going to get picked up, so we spent the next 2 hours not particularly waiting for a ride. Instead, we waited for the liquor store to open.

As soon as the clock struck 9, we headed to the boozery and grabbed ourselves a 6 pack. We sat down in a bush next to the highway. The ground was littered with beer cans, plastic jugs and food wrappers - clearly, this was a hobo camp spot. We drank and talked.

Odd - Frank had always seemed very quiet and withdrawn. Perhaps he was only like this in groups, but I could see now the reason for his frequent silences: he thought a lot. His words were well chosen and wise, uplifting, yet, repetitive... A wisdom that was intertwined with a grain of narcissism.

We finished the beer, hit the highway, and got picked up before we’d even thrown our bags down. Awesome. Our chauffeur said he’d be taking us to Swift Current, so, off we were.