In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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I discover my first mistake almost immediately. When I arrive at the hostel the night before my bus tour is due to depart, it's heaving with late teens and early twenty-somethings who don't appear to give a fuck about anything. For someone who has consistently lived her life with that attitude, the discovery that I don't, in fact, enjoy that sentiment anymore, feels like progress.
Despite my reservations about my tour mates, I've got a solid twelve hours before the bus leaves, and I wander into the common room to see whether I can find common ground with anyone. Can't be that hard. Wasn't too long ago I was a member of this group. Carefree. Wild. No responsibilities. That's what I'm trying to do on this trip. Get the last of that out of my system. These people are my people.
Everyone is talking and drinking, and I quickly do a search for the legal drinking age in Canada since most of these people don't look like they're twenty-one. Eighteen or nineteen, depending on the province. It's been a long time since I've had to care about whether anyone is old enough to do something.
"Want a hit?" A blond guy who is clearly already stoned turns a joint toward me. He looks like he's sixteen but is probably not quite that young.
"Can you smoke that in here?" I sound so much like Paige it makes me cringe inside, but it's out before I can reconsider.
"The window's open," he says, gesturing to the open window beside him. "Besides, who's going to rat on me?" He scans me. "Maybe you, actually. You look like my mom. Do you work here?"
I snatch the joint out of his hand, and I take a deep drag. When I blow smoke rings out, his skepticism changes to respect.
There's a commotion behind me, and five or six guys have another one of their friends in a handstand while he shotguns a beer. It feels like all forty-eight seats on the bus are crammed into this common room. In theory, it's possible. We leave bright and early in the morning. I hadn't intended to start my trip with a hangover, but maybe I should. If the goal is to get out the wildness, maybe I should just go for it.
"Are all these people on the bus tour?" I ask.
"Far as I can tell." He chuckles and takes another drag. "Unless the tour gets cancelled."
"Seems like the tour would be full. Why would the tour get—"
An airhorn goes off, and I realize it's actually the smoke alarm. Everyone starts laughing, and no one makes a move to leave. Smoke is swirling around the room, and I realize my friend near the window is the least of my worries.
Rushing to my room, I grab my backpack. Not what you're supposed to do in a fire, but when your whole life is literally in a bag, you have to make some tough choices. When I hustle back to the common room, the smoke is thick, and very few of them seem to have realized they should be leaving.
"Everyone out!" I yell. "That's the fire alarm."
"Oh, my God," a girl whines. "Who invited my mom? Chill, lady."
