3 0
five
JACK
“So,
mon gars
, when are you coming back to civilization
for a visit?”
It was a common refrain with my friends from
Montreal. Or things like,
How are you surviving in Tim
Hortonsland?
and
How’s your mullet coming along?
It was nearly the end of September, and I was
Skyping with my friend, Michel. I found myself saying,
“Thanksgiving, I hope. Can’t wait to see you guys. But
really, Michel, it’s not bad here.”
My reaction to Michel’s snotty little crack made me
realize I was already starting to feel comfortable here.
I mean, Kershaw was definitely small, but I was discov-
ering there were nice things about that—like how easy
it was to find your friends downtown. The fact I already
had some to meet was the nicest surprise. I’d always
gotten along easily with people, but I wasn’t sure I’d
