Hardcore Eddy

Here’s a little story my mom thinks would have made for a viral video. I’m with her on the bus carrying a heavy suitecase which I put above the wheel, but the surface is triangular like the roof of a house. I think to myself: maybe it was built like this to signal we should not just put our bags there so I ask the driver, a gorgeous black girl with beautiful wavy hair. She says no, pauses, and finally gives me permission to leave it there.

A lady sitting down from that convenient space simply asks me if we can put things there but I misunderstand and interpret it as though she’s telling me not to do that.

I just say that I have permission but she just asks me again: “are we allowed to put things there?”

Without yelling but being hella firm, I go: “listen, she’s the bus driver, she has a licence to drive the damn thing around and she just gave me permission to put my suitcase there so...”

My face was less than a foot from her by that point.

I turned to my mom and her eyes were round as marbles, I could tell she was in complete suspense of what was going to happen next. She hadn’t seen my claws come out with anyone else than a relative in a long long time.

The lady softly says: “I’m just asking because I would find it very useful to do it myself if we are allowed.” She was carrying a medium sized masterfully framed drawing.

My facial expression went from stern to a warm smile. “Oh my goodness, I thought you were telling me how to live my life, I completely misunderstood!”

“Well I must admit that I would have been scared if it wasn’t for being amid all those people”, she said, “I do know what you meant though.”

I guess the moral of the story is: (to myself) don’t just go and assume she heard your conversation with the driver!!

Both me and my mom who was sitting right across from the scene learned that her name is Margo Godin and that she is an artist. We thought the portrait she was carrying with her bore un uncanny resemblance to the artist herself which actually makes sense since she drew it from memory. Why this makes sense to me would be too long to explain but I believe all artist put themselves in their work one way or another. This just happen to be plain for the eye to see.

The suitcase was carrying most of my belongings on my way back to the West Coast from Montreal. We said goodbye and I lifted it off the helpful space, drove it down the metro elevators then onto the shuttle. I had one last meal with my mom at the Airport St-Hubert, a chain that specializes in rotisserie chicken.

In my amazing luck, I missed most of the wildfire smoke that converged in the bay.

I have another sweet anecdote to tell you from that day.

After leaving Michelle, my mom, behind to go through security, I am put in a special line to get all my belongings swabbed for traces of chemicals. I was told it would go faster but that was not the case. I ask the guard if they are testing for drugs, he says yes for cocaine and mdma so I tell him about my experience going through customs from Haiti and how I tested positive for cocaine. That my things were unknowingly contaminated during my travels, probably at the market. I guess I was trying to be edgy but mostly I wanted more details on the process.

I did not tell him how this market was marché en fer, the vodoo market in Port-Au-Prince. That upon further searching of my belongings, they pinpointed a vodoo doll from the marché which they cut open right in its little chest. I was completely shocked thinking, what if this doll had been linked to someone already? How do I describe the terror I felt? In it’s own hilarious way, it was quite traumatic, let’s just say that. Fortunately, they dindn’t find anything because traces of cocaine is most fortunately all I was carrying with me back to Canada.

It gets better. The security than tells me: “Just kidding, we’re not so much testing for drugs as much as explosives but you’re right to ask”. And I though I had a cutting sense of humour, I totally got schooled!

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