Chapter Ten � Homesick

The second summer I had spent living in Edmonton was now over, and the daily drudgery began to get to me. Although life was prosperous for me, I felt as though I was missing something. The daily routine of work, errands, and day-to-day activities became blurred, with each day running into the next. My life was no longer a matter of days, but of weeks, and the desire to hide in my home. I now occupied the basement suite alone, with my roommate now living in the upstairs part of the house. I still utilized the tattoo room I had put together, and was quite proud of, but still not nearly enough. As well, since my regular day job continued to eat up insane amounts of my time, I often would not do tattoos for weeks, as I desired the time to myself. Yet I still found myself home alone and craving something to do with the spare moments I had, and grew bored with my existence, both at work and outside of work.   

            I started to view my surroundings with some disdain as well. I began to philosophize on the new city I had now made my home for almost a year and a half. I realized that, where I had once lived in my hometown of broken-down dreams, I had now traded it for an empty fortune of opportunity, yet still felt as though I were going nowhere. How often I would ride the buses each morning and afternoon on my regular commute to work to be seated amongst a thronging mass of other labourers with other lives, all together separated from each other and themselves. I lived in a city of a million people with nothing to do. And daily we would embark from our homes to whatever places of employment we would regularly attend to, iPods in our ears, our noses in books, saying nothing to each other for brief, fleeting moments regularly, yet not knowing each other. I was in a city of lost souls, and felt like a zombie: unfeeling, unchanging, and alone. And, as I had felt most times in my life no matter where I am, I felt as though I were on its fringes.

            It was at this insightful and gloomy period that I began to write. I have often been accused of having a very negative outlook on the world and life, and I make no apologies for it. From such emptiness and bleakness, I found solace within myself, and used it creatively, and continue to do so to this day. As well, since I had begun to fall in love with the written word, I began to correspond with many of my old friends back home, thanks to the power of the internet. It was then only a matter of time before I began to long for the familiarity of my hometown. Though I had deserted it in disgust, I now began to wax poetically of the small things and places that had once been so familiar to me. I longed to sit casually by the old canal that bisected our town, and the short grey pillars of our city reflected in its rippled surface. I missed those secret places I found during my long walks alone long after midnight, stumbling home from somewhere and racing against the dawn to find my bed. I wished to again see those faces that I knew so well, and had shared the best and worst times with. Suddenly, home was a romantic ideal that I needed to pursue.

            I made plans to take a flight home for a week, to spend my birthday and Halloween with a few close friends back in Welland. The trip was uneventful, and quick. It seemed as soon as I had arrived, I was leaving again, and found very little time to see the people I wished to see the most, and there were many more that I did not get the opportunity to see this time around. I also had made vague plans with some for their arrival to Edmonton, as some envied my new-found stability in the west that they seen as the Land of Promise. And, while there, I found that my hometown had remained virtually unchanged, except for the feeling it had gotten bleaker and meaner. Some friends I did not see that trip, nor ever again, and are lost to time. I went back to Edmonton feeling more unsettled than I had before.

            As winter set in, so did the blues. I was working too much at my day job, tattooing was at a virtual standstill since I had little time for it, and my personal life was non-existent. I grew lonelier and withdrew from the few friends I had, and spent more and more time home alone on the internet, chatting with friends and doing some writing poems. I was ready for a long, cold winter full of deep snow dark days with little light.

            Not long before Christmas, I received an email from someone I did not know. Little did I know how my entire life would change after replying to it. This person had sent me a message commenting on my tattooing ability, as he had seen some pictures of my work I had posted online. He was impressed with my work, and, in a few words, offered me a position to tattoo in his studio. He included his phone number and I called him a few days later.

            His name was Draven, and we had a brief phone conversation about his email. He owned and operated a tattoo studio in St. Catharines, Ontario, just down the highway from my hometown, and had been open for almost a year. He had had another tattooist working for him, but that tattooist was now leaving the shop to go work at another studio, and their parting was on good terms. This would leave Draven short-handed for the upcoming spring and summer, so he required another tattooist, and was seeking one now ahead of the busy season. He did not realize that I was located half a country away from him, and he had made this assumption after seeing that many of my online friends and acquaintances were from the area, and assumed I was still located in Welland. Still, I was very interested in his offer, and had been thinking of perhaps returning again to Niagara for the upcoming Christmas holidays, so I assured him I would fly down and visit him while there and discuss his offer.

            My flight arrived shortly before Christmas Eve, and I planned to leave again the day of New Year’s Eve. The winters were less harsh than Edmonton, and I arrived to a sloppy, slushy mess of weather that lasted the whole week I was there. It was to be a theme for my week. There were a few people I tried in vain to contact, but to no avail. More friends lost to time it seemed. As well, the holidays are not my favourite time of year, so this trip did not bode with me well entirely. But there would be one high note to the entire excursion, and that would be my meeting with Draven.

            I arrived at Draven’s studio, and with much trepidation and anticipation, introduced myself. The studio was spacious and bright, and was located to a busy downtown core. It appeared reputable and I was comfortable to be there from the first moment I stepped in the door. Draven himself was an impressive figure as well. He was a stocky man, with shaved head and goatee, with large fists. To some, he might appear slightly menacing, but within a few minutes of speaking with him, the true character is betrayed. He was intelligent, expressive and good-natured. This was not an interview, as one who applies for a regular job, but a meeting of two people to see how they click together. Again, he re-iterated his offer to tattoo there, if I were willing to relocate. I told him I was happy to receive the offer, and would give it some serious consideration.

            I flew home to Edmonton a few days later. During the flight, I spent a few hours thinking long and hard about my circumstances, and where I wanted to go from this point. I had a good job and nice place in Edmonton, but few friends and little time for creative outlets, which, I realized, I was missing. In Welland, there were few opportunities for me, and even less to do in my spare time, which I could foresee myself having much of. As well, I felt I would need to find a second job to support myself, just in case things went sour, and realized I would not make barely enough money, or have as many work opportunities as in Edmonton. I longed to do more and be more. But which place would make me happier? By the end of my flight, my decision had been made up in my mind.

            My friends arrived to meet me and pick me up from the airport. The flight arrived New Year’s Eve, les than three hours before midnight. They were happy to see me and urged me to come and celebrate the coming of the New Year with them, but I was tired and wish to go home and unpack and relax. They asked me how my trip was, and as they were aware that I was to meet Draven during this trip, they asked me about how his meeting had gone.

            “F**k this, I’m going back to Ontario!” was my response.

Reviews

[LisetteCanWrite!]

Hi James... seen this out here and had to read and review.. your writing again is honest showing the travelled life of a tattoo-artist and doing what needs to be done to survive and well what is there to say of Welland the dying city of call-centres once home to the mighty steel industry??? I know I am not going back except maybe to visit (even though my avator picture is of me by the Welland Canal my new one will be by the Niagara River this summer - I love living so close to the parkway)... you are right people back home have become meaner/colder there with things the way they are and I too relate with many friends leaving.. no trail or anything! I wish everyone in Welland the best and hope things reverse for everyone's sakes. As for people who have moved I can only hope they are doing well and the most important I have contact with some ...but yes they are far away and I am happy for them! I really hope you find happiness where ever you go.. you are so versatile! I hope to go out west to vacation again one day. Sorry, this is long.. I wish you the best and look forward to your future writings and adventures! Love to see some scenery pics if you take any out there! I have lots but just can't get enough of BC or Alberta.. Take care! =)