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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At the Moncton airport, Gwen and I are in a line to return the truck. A surprising number of vehicles are ahead of us, and we keep inching forward. Instead of peppering me with amusing stories or being excited to fly to Newfoundland for the final leg of the trip, she's subdued. Not herself. Neither of us are.
I don't know what I was expecting to feel as the trip came to a close—maybe bittersweet, like when my Doctors International postings change—sad to go but happy to move onto something else. Whatever this chest caving in sensation is, there's nothing sweet about it.
At least today isn't goodbye. Initially, I resisted having Gwen seep into the complicated aspects of my life. No one needs to be confronted with the sort of dysfunction that exists in my family, especially when Gwen is so close with her parents and sister. Angela asked me several times over the last few months if I wanted to bring Gwen to the wedding, and until last week, my no was firm.
But with the end of our trip looming, I couldn't imagine getting off the plane in St. John's and never seeing her again. Soon, that'll be the reality whether I like it or not, but for now, I'm happy to stick my head in the sand and pretend we're not a week away from snapping in two.
As soon as we're at the front of the line, we open our doors, and we're swept up in a flurry of gathering our bags, double checking we haven't left anything in the vehicle, and then being dismissed by the man and woman who gave the truck a cursory check before releasing us.
Gwen hitches her heavy backpack onto her back and the other onto her front, the same way I've seen her do countless times, the same way she looked on the highway all those months ago. But nothing feels the same.
She sniffs, and I sling my arm around her shoulders before drawing her against my side and kissing the top of her head. "I know," I murmur.
"Do you?" She glances up at me, wiping tears from her cheeks. "You're so together, and I'm falling apart more and more each day. I have never wanted time to slow down so badly in my life."
"It's hard for anything good to come to an end." My voice is gruff. "But I'm not spending the next week being morose. Doesn't change the outcome."
She lets out a deep sigh, and she doesn't say anything else as we head to the check in desk.
We've had several conversations lately that I've tried to tiptoe around. Any admission might set us off course. We both know our lives aren't headed in the same direction.
Although, she hasn't accepted the scholarship to Florida, which should tell her everything she needs to know about whether that's the direction for her. Doesn't seem to have, though. She keeps telling me she might go. Maybe. She's not sure.
In my experience, when Gwen wants something, there's no hesitation. Fundamentally, she embraces life and new experiences. If Florida isn't speaking to her now, it's unlikely to suddenly feel right.
