En route to & at home

"Did you know we cleared customs here in Toronto?" I asked Taller when he sat next to me in a long hallway in the airport many hours after I'd arrived. "I have a short layover between this flight and the next and was worried I wouldn't make it. But I'm already done."

"Yeah," he sighed. "We're technically in America now." I nodded a bit sadly, aware that being in "America" had kept me a glass wall away from some maple donuts I very much wanted to consume. I could see them, but was not allowed to cross through the doors that separated that side of terminal from the one I was on. Instead, I spent five hours in a small area at the airport. (Look, I had to check out of my hotel, didn't want to leave my bags somewhere to sightsee and was hoping to catch an earlier flight home. But it didn't work out so I did some writing and reading while sitting in chairs or on the floor in "America" there in Toronto. It was unpleasant. No maple donuts. No Lush. Just a paperback I'm pretty sure I'd read before and some revisions and one other document I drafted for fun.)

Taller moved through the doors and nodded at me with some surprise before moving to take the chair to my right just as people were congregating at the gate to board my first flight.

"So what's up when you get back?" I asked since I felt like we should talk about something for these last few minutes. He shrugged and said something about the same old stuff. Papers, grants, work, dealing with his post-doc and student. Then he looked at me expectantly and I ducked my head to look at the ground while I lifted one shoulder.

"I should hear about jobs soon," I said softly, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "I'm tired, Taller," I whispered. "And sad."

"Oh," he said, shifting a little in his seat and glancing around. "Well, um, you could do another post-doc. In a better lab. Or something. Uh, don't worry."

"You're terrible at offering comfort," I said a moment later, wiping at the single tear that escaped and smiling at him. He nodded, looking profoundly relieved that I had controlled messy emotions and spared him having to think of other platitudes. I thought of how I'd asked him how he'd reacted when he fired a student and she cried in response. "I handed her a tissue!" he said defensively. "Then I just repeated my points and sort of waited for her to leave. I don't know what to do."

"I'm ready to go home," I sighed, thinking this conference had been hard and I wanted to escape. It wasn't that Toronto was the problem, but I always have to deal with being me. So barring a change of personality, perhaps a change of scenery - and a return to Friend and her more effective attempts at comfort - would be positive.

"Me too," he agreed and he shook his head when I asked if his girlfriend was meeting him at the airport.

"I'll take a cab or something," he finally replied. "I don't think she's my girlfriend anymore anyway."

"Oh," I said. "I'm sorry. But maybe it will work out."

"No," he stated firmly. "I think it's over."

"Maybe not," I offered again. "You could talk to her."

"I've tried. She wants to leave when her rotation is over. So it's pretty much over."

"It sucks when people don't pick you," I whispered, thinking of these upcoming job decisions and the pain that rejections would bring. Or of relationships when job choices or other people take priority over what you want or need from that person. Moments when you realize you're just not enough - not good or pretty or smart or interesting at a level that makes someone take notice and nod decisively and offer what you want.

"It's weird being here, huh?" I asked Prettiest Cat today while I rested on the floor of my closet today. Friend picked me up at the airport after I'd made a very good friend on the plane (I never talk to my seatmates but I couldn't get this one to leave me alone. But once we started to talk, I found I rather enjoyed him.) and I slept in the office while she and Prettiest Cat took the master bedroom. The latter was placed back in the large attached bathroom and I decided to visit with her after my shower.

"The land of many shoes," I noted with a smile as she rubbed her cheek against the strap of a flip flop and her chin on the high heel of a black pump before wandering back to let me smooth her silky coat again. "But you get to go home soon," I told her. "I wonder if you know that. This is just temporary. I'm home now so Friend will take you home to your friends soon. It'll all be OK. But it's hard when the decisions are out of your control, isn't it?"

I spared a moment to think that she seemed fairly content. She had beds of clothes and towels in addition to the actual bed Friend brought with her. There were rings and toys scattered about near the bowls of wet and dry food and water. She had Friend all to herself last night while my animals were locked out of the bedroom. (Oh, how Chienne missed her favorite friend. There was much whining and sighing that she was left with only me.) "It will be OK," I told her again, rubbing the top of her head before sliding my hand down her spine. She pranced and rolled and cuddled with me for a little while before I pulled myself up from the floor and returned to the living room.

I napped, Friend and I shopped and came home to unload copious Target bags. We had dinner while out and I remain too full for dessert.

"What am I going to do?" I asked her after I said that I didn't want to be alone, though I understood she needed to go home.

"Now?" she asked and I shook my head. "Well," she offered, "I think I'm going to take a post-doc studying something that doesn't interest me because they're the only ones hiring. Then I'll whine a lot."

"I'm sure I'll whine too," I smiled. "It's just a matter of degree, I think. I should send email this week or make phone calls to see where things stand." She nodded in reply. "I'm scared," I told her and she nodded again.

Scared and sad. But home. And it is good to be here. As for the rest, it will somehow be OK. Maybe.