the long journey home

I don't really have any reason to tell this story: no great moral lesson or spiritual meaning. It isn't even exciting or that funny. The only reason I'm telling it is that it seems to be a common theme in my life. Irony.
I got a cheap airplane ticket and went up to Kelowna for four days. The plane ticket was $10.00 and I had a fantastic time. I was refreshed, rested and ready for anything. Anything except the journey home, it turns out.
I arrived at the bus depot in Kelowna a few minutes early only to be told the bus was late. I sat there for about an hour and a half, having a good chat with my future sister-in-law Yvonne. When the bus finally rolled in I got on and settled myself in a comfortable seat. The bus was only 1/4 full, so I was looking forward to stretching out a bit.
A middle-aged man who looked a little crazy sat down next to me. His face was slender, but his jacket was bulging out over his stomach as if he was hiding something under it. (An oversized fanny-pack? A gun?) I stared out the window and turned on my sister's ipod.
We hadn't even left Kelowna when the ipod died. Oh great. Nothing to do. I had some new motion-sickness medicine my doctor had given me, so I took it, and tried to lean against the filthy window and review some flashcards for school.
My eyes started to swim. I suddenly realized my jaw was hanging open and I snapped it closed. What was wrong with me? I decided I was sleepy. I put away the cards and tried to curl up enough to fall asleep. I drifted in and out. The bus lurched down the highway.
The man next to me tried to talk to me.
"Yeah, I'm a tree-planter. Tree-planting isn't just a job. It's peace work. All the people into tree-planting are part of this movement. They have their own culture, their own style. They're all athletes and wilderness people. We work like marathoners everyday. I was also part of the rave scene when it first started. Yeah, I used to go to these huge raves and everyone was having a good time."
Man, I was starting to feel sick. So much mud had sprayed up on the windows that I could hardly see out them.
"I used to have this house in kitsilano. There were always people staying there. We had these volkswagon buses in the backyard, and tents in the front yard. It was peaceful. We were all tree-planters."
I could feel my arms and legs going numb. Was I hallucinating? In and out of his strange rantings about raves, I swam in a sea of motion sickness. What was that stupid medicine, anyway? I breathed in, and out. I tried to eat a mandarin orange. I sipped water from my water bottle, but it tasted strangely sweet. I talked to my neighbor for a bit, and fell asleep, then woke up. God, I think I'm going to throw up....
There was too much snow on the road and we inched along. On Chilliwack we were late and some people missed their connection and had to keep on. When the bus started again they were arguing in loud voices with the bus driver. Everything was a blur to me. Three or four people were talking on their cell-phones at the same time in loud angry voices. The man next to me started talking on his.
"Yeah, then we got stuck on this mountain." I heard him saying. "We had this epic hike back out, through this epic river and we finally got rescued."
Maybe I'm dreaming? No, dreams don't smell like organic garlic and old pot like the guy sitting next to me.
The bus pulled into the station in Coquitlam after 7 torturous hours. I stood up as fast as I could.
"Nice to meet you." I said to my neighbor.
I ran outside. Someone had taken my bag out already for me. I grabbed the handle and staggered away from the bus. Something weird about that medication, everything was spinning. I dragged my suitcase into the building and ran into the bathroom. In the stall I knelt down in front of the porcelain goddess and paid homage for several long moments. And then several more long moments. And several more.
When I emerged from the bathroom I realized it was dark outside and I had better find the skytrain before it was too late. I wandered outside of the station and it was pouring rain. No, not rain, sleet. I knew where the skytrain station was, but there was no direct road. I pulled my suitcase behind me and staggered the 2 kilometers through the seediest area of Coquitlam that I could possibly have imagined, and prayed that God would keep me safe.
By the time I reached the station my fingers and my face were numb with cold. I sat on the skytrain and felt sick again. I concentrated on breathing deeply and tried to close my eyes and block out the noise around me.
I got off near my parent's house and walked the kilometer in the rain. I didn't have a quarter to call them to pick me up.... there were no stores close by to get change...
I walked in the house finally, put down my bag, hugged my sister.
"How was your trip?" My mom asked.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
The good thing, I thought during my journey, was that every unpleasant experience I go through gives me that much more empathy and grace for others. And it could have been worse. That lump under my bus neighbor's coat could have been a gun after all.
Ahhhhh, life. Ironic. Tragic. But still so worth living.