Chapter Eleven - Homecoming

 

After having made the decision to return to Ontario, my attitude about Edmonton began to sour even more. This dead city full of nine-to-five zombies was having its toll on me, and it reflected in my writing and outlook. Where this place had once shown promise of new beginnings and opportunities, I had felt trapped in my situation. I should not complain, though, as it had given me the chance to save money and invest in my abilities and myself and, more importantly, discipline in living. As well, I also made up a small sum of money to get new equipment and to be able to afford my journey moving across the country again. I began to make plans for my departure with zeal, and make vague promises of a return at the end of summer.

            I was well aware that things might have changed dramatically for the tattooing scene back home, and I was also not entirely sure of my new surroundings I would be inhabiting at Sik Liquid, the tattoo shop I would be working at in St Catharines, Ontario. I sent many correspondences and made a few phone calls to be entirely sure of the situation where I would be working at with Draven, and he continued to assure me that all would be well and there should be no worries for the upcoming season. Eventually, I accepted this as truth, and felt that this obstacle was overcome. I began to slowly re-connect with old friends and clients through the Internet to inform them of my return, and they were happy to hear the news. I was glad to hear from them again, and looked forward to seeing them all in the near future.

            The plans to move my stuff were in place fairly quickly, as I had hired a man to drive my stuff back to Ontario in his trailer. I had accumulated quite a bit of stuff in the nearly two years I had spent in Edmonton, and had gone from arriving with only two crates and three suitcases and a cat, to returning with half a trailer of stuff and two cats, as I had adopted a new one a few months earlier. Again, I went through the liberating ceremony of cleansing: getting rid of some of the junk I had acquired, as I no longer had a need for it. I also planned to leave a lot of stuff behind, including furniture, as I had planned to return to the house I was living in, and sublet my basement suite out to some people I knew: one person was someone I had met fairly recently and was in dire straits and needing to move from where she was living, and the other person was an old friend of mine from Welland that had decided to make to trip out west, seeking a new life for themselves. Since my former roommate occupied the upstairs, and we had taken a year lease on the house, a smooth leave of absence for the summer was becoming a reality. Or so it seemed.

            A few weeks before my departure, I was going through a bout of depression. The Edmonton routine grew even more tiresome as the weeks dragged on before my return to Ontario, and I had also been in a very vicious argument with my upstairs roommates over stupid matters that I now greatly regret, as it led to a loss of a couple very good friends. This gave me an attitude where I did not care if I were to return to the house I lived in Edmonton after the summer, if at all. Did I really want to return to this big city where I knew no one, had few contacts and networks, and was working so much that I had no time to tattoo and further myself? Perhaps the return to Ontario would be a saving grace for me and set my life back upon the course it should have been taking. I could not wait to leave.

            Finally, my time to depart for home was upon me. I had received my final paycheque from work, and secretly hoped to not return to this job, though I promised them otherwise. The utility companies had been informed to shut off my services, and I changed my official address to an Ontario one. My stuff to be shipped was packed the day before the trailer arrived, and it did so promptly the very next morning, Within an hour, all the stuff I had planned to return with and not abandon, was packed away, and off down the dusty street, not to be seen again for a few days and a few thousand miles. All that was left were my bags, my cats, and myself.

            I left in a whirlwind the day of my flight. My good friend, Rick, had skipped a day off of work to take me to the airport. The cats and my luggage in tow, we quickly departed (behind schedule, as it always seems to be the case with Rick), and I quickly snapped a few picture of my house on the way out the door, to save for my memories. We also stopped by his house so I could get a few last pictures of him and his family. After this, swiftly drove to the airport, and within an hour and a half, I was on a plane, bound for Hamilton.

            I was picked up at the airport by my niece whom I had not seen in years, and we had arranged for her to meet me and bring me back to Welland. A quick stop at a restaurant and one stop at the grocery store (so that I might pick up a few necessities) and I was at the door of my mother’s house in Welland, on the all-too-familiar street that dead-ended at the Old Canal. Everything that I remembered came flooding back quickly to me in an instant; years of memories swam into my mind as the immensity of the environment I returned to hit me all at once. I stepped in the door, to be greeted by my mother, who I had missed most of all.

            “I’m home,” I said, and put down my bags.