Tracks (Part II)
"In a few minutes we will be arriving at the Albany station." When the intercom wakes me, I'm surprised to find I'd dozed off. This morning's cold (which I attributed to nerves and lack of sleep) is aspiring to be a flu. I've packed everything from eye drops to chewing gum, but not a single Tylenol. As I disembark, the conductor tells me to listen for the reboarding announcement - the train will depart in twenty minutes, with or without me. After fiftenn minutes on line for the ladies' room, I return to my seat. My neighbor has stirred a few times, but his eyes remain closed. I envy him his window seat, not because I'd like to take in the view, but because I'd like to rest my head against the window. As we bid farewell to Albany, a passenger who has just boarded is jamming his suitcase into the overhead across the aisle, endangering the contents of the same luggage I violated earlier. The owner jumps into action, resuing his baggage and offering the same solution he tried with me. He manages to lie the newcomer's bag flat and slide his own gently atop. Whew...another close call! I find this rather amusing and smile to myself. A passing glimpse of the pay phone that stands on the platform makes me wonder if I should have called Jean-Marc. I'm sure he is home, he doesn't have to meet me in Montreal for another eight hours. I wonder if he's even awake yet - or if he has slept at all. It was late and he was going to bed when last we spoke. He knew my itinerary, he promised to be there upon my arrival. I have no reason to call from that phone. Still, I long to hear his voice, to reaffirm the reason I'm making this crazy journey, for him to tell me just once more, "Everything is going to be all right."
Jean-Marc always made everything all right. Actually, he taught me to make everything all right. He rescued me from the dungeons of self doubt I'd wallowed in for most of my life. He didn't simply swoop in and carry me into the light; instead, he dared me to climb the stairs on my own. Jean-Marc knew the only imprisoner I had to conquer was myself, and he gently nudged me into the same realization. The process was a long one. His patience was astounding, his love unrelenting. I loved himmore with each day, yet still allowed my insecurities to prevent us from meeting in person. Jean-Marc was willing to wait for me to love myself as much as he did. We continued our relationship on the net and on the phone, and, in many ways, we reached each other in places deeper and more personal than any in-person contact may have achieved.
Latest Articles