Clairvoyance
Things my spirit can't unsee
Summer unfolds in slow, heavy waves. Reluctant to get AC for environmental reasons, I have adapted to the best of my capacity. I taped car sunshades to my windows, protecting my kitchen from a relentless afternoon sun. A few hours after the sunset, I open my doors to the night breeze. It offers little comfort.
For the first time in the past three years, I am staying here instead of escaping to The Maggies.
It has been almost a year since I’ve last seen the islands.
I had planned on going in February. An acquaintance there had expressed interest for a month long house swap. She would have stayed in my little Montreal flat while I took care of her island house and her cats. My intention for that trip was to use it as a writing residency. I had been drafting a novel about absence and its overwhelming loudness but day to day hustle and social life was getting in my way.
I loved the idea of spending a quiet and lonely winter month there. I saw myself petting cats, writing, inviting neighbors over for tea. Walking up the hill. Listening to the ocean winds. I was hoping to see the fox and perhaps capture a little photo of its orange fur on a white and desolate background.
Last summer, the nurse had told me about the endless work of clearing the roads of powdery snow on windy days. Only one islander had a snowblower, he worked again and again like a northern Sisyphus. I wanted to witness that. I wanted the dull, the cold, the emptiness.
And yet, I chose another path.
I followed a man, my man, to his birth country. I traded the cold and the quiet for South American effervescence. Loud streets, tall trees, unripe mangoes seasoned with lemon, salt and pepper, rose tea, and family stories reminding me of Cien años de soledad, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s famous novel. Colombia is the kind of country that does not forgive absent-mindedness. Real life and its chaos command a full presence. Lack of attention can be very costly in such a place. Showers are cold, gas-fueled stoves must be lit with a match; a second of hesitation, and fingers will burn. Traffic rules are meant to be broken, in cars without belts and boats without life jackets. When a cousin went to the convenience store for empanadas after sunset, the whole family tagged along: safety comes in numbers. Everything is done together and after mere days, my independent self felt like a feral cat in a cage.
I yearned for the isolation my island retreat would have granted me. Perhaps the silence would have crushed me. Imagination can only go so far, when it comes to exploring unlived lives. They haunt me, nonetheless.
Months before our travels, love presented itself to me as a fork in the road. I deeply cherished the freedom and quiet of my single life. My friendships are raw and intimate. Loneliness seldom visited me. However, romance holds a peculiar magic in the fact that it has tremendous potential to expand the life of those who share it.
I chose to let it in.
A door opens, another closes. In a parallel dimension, I work on the ferry from P.E.I to The Maggies. 14 days on the ship, 7 days off. On my days off I get up early to grab a coffee and a chocolate croissant before hitting the road. My 2010 Mazda makes weird noises. Fingers crossed she will last until the end of the season. So far so good. I named her Lucy. Lucy and I always go to the most remote beach to avoid tourists. I prefer the voices of seals and seagulls. It is better not to swim where the seals dwell, as they are hunted by great white sharks. It would be exciting to see one.
My neighbors doorbell brings me back to reality.
Sitting on my bed, between the thin walls of my urban home, I hear whispers. Words not written, souls not met, roads not travelled.
