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I sit inside and read or watch TV and wait for Scott to get home. He’s always running off to school for three, four hours at a time, and when he works his front-desk shifts at the motel, he’s gone even longer. I've never been alone so much in my life.
I think of all the things I could be doing, what I would be doing if I wasn't here. If I hadn’t moved here, I’d be going to the University of Victoria now. I wouldn’t just be waiting around. I wouldn't actually be looking forward to my daily walks down the hallway to our little mailbox in the lobby to see if my work permit has arrived.
But I am here, and all I can do, I guess, is look forward. I can sit and wait for us to move and for our lives to begin. And I can plan. I can pull out Scott’s road atlas and gaze at the different places along the northern border that might become our new home soon. Our new home. A new life, together. I pull out a sheet of blank paper and start making a list of the places we might be moving to. There’s several border crossings in Washington State. That’s my first choice, after Victoria. My next choice is Maine. Vermont would be cool, too. Minnesota and the Upper Peninsula of Michigan might be alright.
“When will we hear from Customs?” I ask in early December. It feels like we’ve been waiting forever.
“Probably not ‘til after Christmas.”
So I wait some more. Outside the wind blows snow against the building, and our windows ice up until we can't see outside. But I can still hear the cars passing by, the wind howling, and the train blowing its horn in the middle of the night.
Christmas break I'm alone even more because Scott has to cover shifts at the motel. Christmas morning, he’s gone when I wake up. I brew myself some coffee, watch Hallmark movies on TV, and wait for him to come home.
Early afternoon, in the middle of Home for the Holidays, the phone rings. It’s so unexpected that I actually jump, and my heart races as I run to pick it up.
“Hello?”
My mom’s voice comes in, faint and far away, “Merry Christmas!”
I smile and sit down at the table. “Hi Mom! Merry Christmas!”
“What are you up to?”
“Watching a movie on TV.”
“Where’s Scott?”
“At work.”
“What?” She sounds disappointed for me. “Why on earth is he working today?”
“He was scheduled.”
“Well that’s not right.”
“We’re living off his student loans and his part-time job, so he has to work when he’s scheduled.”
Silence. Then, "How do you like living in America?"
“I’m not sure, Mom,” I tell her. “I don’t know anybody and Scott has his life and I feel like I’m just standing on the sidelines of his plans, waiting for our lives together to begin. I’m alone all the time, and it’s too cold to go outside, and there’s nothing to do.” It all comes pouring out, and I can’t help complaining.
She’s quiet a moment. Then, “do you still want to stay there?”
“I don’t know.”
“You still have the bond, right?”
“Yes.” My grandma gave me a thousand dollar bond when I graduated from high school, and my mom told me to hold on to it so that I’d have resources to get out of a bind if I ever have to. I can withdraw it at any time, and I suppose now she’s thinking I could use it to move back to Canada if I want. “I’m not ready to cash it in quite yet, though,” I say.
“Well, we miss you here.” It’s a white Christmas in Victoria, she tells me, and everything else is good. She’s taking some Women’s Studies classes at the university and is enjoying them immensely. “Oh, and what do you want me to do with the boxes you left here?” she asks.
“Hang on to them a bit longer. We’ll be moving in a few months, and I’ll figure it out then.”
When I hang up, I turn the TV back on and turn it up to fill the emptiness of the apartment. I lay on the couch, grateful that the TV drowns out the howling wind.
Before the movie's over, Scott's home, and he's brought a rotisserie chicken for our Christmas dinner. I push my loneliness aside and give him a smile, reminding myself to enjoy this time. Scott brings out a bunch of presents and hands them to me one by one. A ceramic Christmas tree ornament, a framed picture of “I love you” written in the sand, and a new journal.
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