I read over yesterday’s post before posting it and realized that it doesn’t make much sense, does it? The title is very misleading…I say nothing about “almost becoming an American”…just that I really like American grocery stores and my American Boy and even though the US is a lot more liberal than Canada when it comes to immigration, I’m still pretty sure that loving American grocery stores and one American Boy isn’t enough to get you in. Can you imagine it? Janetk in her “Princess Slut” tank top, dreads sticking out all over the place, trying to condense the story of Janet and Don into a nice little anecdote for the immigration officers and then throwing in a declaration of my love for American grocery stores and their endless variety of flavoured crackers and breakfast cereal for good measure…

Come to think of it, that would at least get me some kind of private flight back to Canada!

No, the story of how this Canadian girl almost unwittingly became an American citizen isn’t even that exciting and now this morning, sitting in a grey hoodie that smells a lot like an American bathroom I know because it hung to dry there over a month ago and was then stuffed into a Target bag to preserve the smell because I’m weird like that (and couldn’t take it today and needed that smell and it’s cold outside so at least I don’t look like a freak in a sweater in August even if the weather itself is pretty freaky), my mind is whirling with thoughts and sentence fragments and ideas and conclusions and openings and the story of janetk stuck in a airport in Manchester, New Hampshire doesn’t seem all that interesting.

Plus, I’ve already re-told it about two hundred times since I got home on Wednesday.

The flight for Tuesday was cancelled. Flat out cancelled. And I was stuck.

Except that I wasn’t that disappointed. And I felt guilty because while I knew I was disappointing my girls who were missing their Mommy and fed up with the trip and the Daddy and the baby sitters, I was also pretty thrilled to be stuck in America for another day. A free day, we called it, because that’s what it was. A day with no agenda. A bonus chunk of time together. And a chance to put off good byes.

We filled it with nothing in particular which is how Don and I have the most fun. Coffee and muffins and donuts from Dunkin’ Donuts on the way home. Chattering, chattering , chattering about the Universe and the scary way that thoughts turn into things and how my mind is more powerful than I realized. And oh how I wish I was back in that car, on that day all over again.

A stop into the drugstore for a lottery ticket. And junk food. Because it was a free day. And free days mean that what you eat doesn’t count. At least in our little nation of two.

And home. To eat and watch TV and say, “this is weird” about three thousand and two times.

And then the nest.

And then the meltdown that Don already described. His anger surprising me somewhat. And his determination taking me by surprise further once the tears had dried and his breathing had slowed down, his face against my breasts, his facial hair scratching slightly at my skin, his nose too stuffed to actually nurse, settling for his open mouth against me, gentle suckling every now and then until the urge to breathe overwhelmed him. Stroking his hair and head and face and quietly asking him if we could keep his legs for just a little while longer.

They might come in handy at some point.

And then learning to stop thinking. Not easy for a boy like him and a girl like me. But when we do finally stop thinking, fireworks explode above us and the bed seems to rattle with the explosion and my legs contort in ways I never imagined possible, giving competition to his own.

But aren’t I supposed to be talking about how I got (almost) stuck in the US?

Right.

I was.

But then I got distracted.

Ahem.

And then ice cream eaten by the side of the ocean in his parked car. And it was beautiful. And I’m slightly lactose intolerant, so we had to make tracks. And then more junk and talk of the almost something with a woman from his office and wishing against it all that the night didn’t have to end. The morning didn’t have to arrive. If I just willed it hard enough, I could stay like that.

Forever.

Going to bed. More leg contortions. And falling asleep with my cheek against the body pillow that I hear still smells like me, my love curled up against me, arms encircling me, safe and warm and loved.

If I had known then what the next day held in store for me, I might have had nightmares. So I guess it’s good that I didn’t.

Waking up. The flight is delayed. Screaming at an Air Canada representative as she screamed back (and I swear she started it and now I’ve learned what every other Canadian already knew…no more Air Canada). And then crying. A lot.

And then driving to the airport. A ride from Hell. With a terrible accident holding up traffic. And torrential downpours blurring the roads and almost being sideswiped by another car (and remembering that my medical insurance had expired).

And then getting to the airport. And talking to the guy about what to do next. And get booked onto another flight that connected to Ottawa from Toronto. And having something like two hours to spare before boarding.

Crying.

Don coming through security with me to come to the gate with me because that’s how hard I was crying, the guy from the airline felt sorry for us. Getting a random security screening. Lots of fun. The knee brace on my left leg was what really threw them for a loop. But I must say that after they unpacked my bags to search through them, they re-packed it better than I had. Strange that, eh?

Hearing Don reassure me that he wouldn’t leave me to wait until…

Work called. Or he called them. And I heard him say, “SHIT!” and I knew I would be alone.

And then…

Saying good bye, putting him on a elevator and crying to myself.

And then…

The flight is delayed further. Two and a half hours further because of the weather. And I thought, “I’m never going to make it. I’ll be here another day.”

I’ll tell you about the people I met in the airport on another day, when my fingers aren’t already tired.

Just when I thought there was no way. Just when I was starting to laugh that I might as well immigrate to the US because getting back to Canada was harder than it looked because if I didn’t laugh I would lose my fucking mind. Just when I was actually hoping the damn flight would be cancelled because there was NO way I would make the connection in Toronto anyway, we boarded. And flew. And were delayed in air because of the weather. And I prayed. Hard.

I’m here, aren’t I? So you know I made it. A little worse for wear, sure, but I made it. Customs was empty. And so was security. And I long ago stopped believing in coincidence. So I offered a prayer of thanks.

And then I was in Ottawa. Back in Canada. And for as much as I wanted to get home in one piece, I wished to be back in the city behind.

I still do.