How to Find Yourself in North Bay (Or Lose Yourself in Montreal)

The fucking beast is still there! After all these kilometers, he is posted up, as comfortable as ever, some how still goddamn freaking THERE. I cannot even grasp how he’s managing; he’s certainly not over exerting himself, there are no signs of strain or stress-

Actually… that’s not entirely true. He’s been thoroughly dynamic all evening. In fact, the little bugger was kind of fun an hour out of Ottawa, laughing along with me and smiling his toothly, charming, befriending smile, with all the soothing comfort of a desert mirage. He was chatting away on his cell phone, and as I watched him in the mirror, I listened to his banter:

“-listen buddy, I think I may be into something over my head here! Call me if you got a chance.” Minutes later, his phone rang. A voice sounded on the other end.

“What’s happening brah? I got your message.”

“My main man! Boy, am I glad to hear you! How’s your evening treating you? Especially this evening, a fine one by any kind of scale of evening fine-ness, wouldn’t you say?” The monster smiled at his own formalities. I smiled along, I find I always smile when someone else smiles. He was charming and he knew it, but it still tickled him when he put on his displays of showmanship. The voice on the other end responded…

“Fine man, so what’s up? Where are you?”

“Ahhh, just the topic of my request! You see, I don’t entirely know!” and I found myself laughing in perfect harmony with the creature. We glanced at each other with concern, but then both looked away and regained composure. He continued, “Friend, would you happen to have a map? I think I may be slightly off course”.

“Nah man, why? Where you at? We’re just pulling into Kingston, there are some problems with the trailers, have you passed through yet?”

“No! That’s my problem buddy, I’m not really sure where I am at all. I just passed Pembroke?” The wily demon, he knew where he was, just not where anything else was in relation. While he could easily pull this van and I over and figure it all out, he did what any true monster would do. Hustle. “You think you could tell me if Pembroke is along any correct route?”

“Pembroke? Nah man, Pembroke is like Ottawa area. You should turn around before you drive too far. But sorry brah, I have no map. Phone Gardner, he’s probably got one.” Shit, he pulled it. The monster saw it, as he has seen it many times before. It was the re-hustle, the only method of defense against a hustle. The monster and I chuckled together, again, suddenly becoming aware of each other for a swift instant. Both of us knew this call was clearly going nowhere, and he ended it in a kind of silent agreement with me.

“Alright, well- thanks anyways man, I’ll check in with you later.” And that was the first time I noticed anything. The monster looked alone. I suddenly noticed I was lost.

......

That felt like days ago, at least five hundred or so kilometers back. Like I said, he stayed composed and calm most of the time. I still can’t figure how he got in the van, but he’s been a passenger since Montreal. Now that’s a vile place. I mean, the city is beautiful and all, but all the sexiest people and beautiful architecture in the world cannot disguise a city’s medieval warrior problem. We drove into the city for the afternoon, many hours ago now, pre-monster, and went to a park for a joint and to soak in the glorious sunshine.

Sarah was our guide. She is a natural anthropologist, because she wears silk and cultured stuff. At this point in time, she was leading Thom and I through a park.

“You guys want here?” she inquired, “This looks like a nice place”.

“No way, too sunny, let’s go up to that hill in that enchanted forest over there.” I responded, and Thom agreed, and in unanimous accord we trekked up the hillside. This was the start of everything. A series of unexplained and incredibly significant events occurred in rapid succession that brought the monster to me.

Through the trees we could see a clearing of dirt, which hosted a spectacle more impressive than any mentioned so far. There, on a Sunday afternoon on this day, or maybe now yesterday, in this year 2007, in the still new millennia, were twenty or so armor clad warriors. Before this afternoon I had not even known of any advancement in time travel, but somehow these archers and swordsman and axe-bearers had arrived in present-day Montreal. The three of us watched in awe and wonder as the warriors jousted and lunged, but I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was being watched. We left the park, and all the freakish spectacles it hosted, shortly after, and headed back to the van’s parking spot, and were followed the entire time. He was swift and smooth, with cunning precision and flawless accuracy. We piled into the van and hit the open road, but with one more passenger on departure than on arrival. The monster was now a fellow traveler on our journey, sitting comfortably behind me and staring back at me as I stared at him. We are both incredibly stubborn, and neither looked away until the other did first. Naturally, we did a lot of staring.

......

It had been a couple of hours since the phone conversation I overheard from the stranger behind me. I was getting used to him by now. He smokes when I smoke, drinks when I drink, even agrees with all my music choices. He apparently has nowhere to go or be and is in no rush to get anywhere because hours have past and we were still heading in the wrong direction. As the hours went by the music got louder and louder. A permanent ringing began sounding in my ears, but it drowned out the sound of real life, so I turned the music up some more. We were in one of our engagements, the monster and I, staring at each other with keen intent and curiosity. Two silhouettes entered the mirror, and a union was made between the monster and I, we pulled over and picked up two hitchhikers. Now, the stranger and I had parted ways with Thom and Sarah hours ago, so there was no doubt that some new company was welcome, but I didn’t even speak to our new guests. I was too enthralled with the show just behind me. I watched in the mirror as the stranger performed, engaging the hitchhikers in precise, mechanical, flawless procedure. The monster was a professional. He could read people and immediately give them what they wanted. He pumped every last drop of energy out of the hitchhikers, and fed off it to increase the magnificence of his performance. Every joke had a purpose, and each question was expertly planned ages before it was asked, and chosen only because the monster knew it would receive a specific answer which would trigger the exact response he desired. After an hour or so they loved the beast. Two hours and they were exchanging contact information. Three hours and they had to seriously re-consider ever leaving his company. Those fools! Blinded by his display, trudging on like zombies in his fantasy! If they only knew his act, his rehearsed, finely tuned gig, then they would know what he was up to! Why, he is not special at all. He is no different than I, nor is he better. In fact, he is just like me.

Panic, with urgent terror, we caught each other’s eyes in the mirror. The hitchhikers thanked him as they left the van, and he forced the most sincere goodbye he has ever forced. Finally, he stared back. At that moment, we came to a more horrific realization than being miles away from anything, completely lost. We were miles away from anything, completely lost; with none other than the person we hated most to share the ride.

......

The stars were beautiful in Algonquin Park. Now, I know, Algonquin Park? That should have been enough indication that we were off course, but I could not turn around anymore, not even if I wanted to. The stars contributed to that. I had been looking at life so intently lately I never really looked up. As I stared at the galaxies above, I felt incredibly alone. Buddy Backseat felt the same as well. Now, stars and space have a tendency to make you feel useless and insignificant in the scheme of things, but never had I felt this despair. I didn’t think anyone in the world could feel this alone until I checked my mirror. He felt it too. He, the man I hated most, was the only person on the planet that I could relate to at this time. We felt exactly the same. Guilt hit me fast, with a sharp and penetrating assault. It was a feeling I was used to. After writing my finals, managing A-‘s and B+’s, despite never attending class, should I be trying harder? Or before that, clowning around on stage, should I be acting this silly? Even now, telling this tale, should I say anything? Does anyone really need to hear this? And as I resumed my stare with that beast behind me, I noticed, for the first time, his vulnerability and confusion. He was exactly like me, he felt the same things I felt, and thought the same things I thought. He was exactly like me in everyway. He even began to look like me. And I hated the monster more than ever before.

......

We’re back where we started. He is still here, staring at me through the same eyes I use to stare at him. The tension has become so great that it now drowns out the permanent ringing from the music. A shrill, anxious, nervous hum is actually all I can hear anymore. My hands tighten on the wheel. The night is dead. I have never felt hatred like this before. I hate him and he hates me back. I hate that he knows me. I hate that he’s like me. I hate how he looks, how he thinks and how he behaves. I even hate that I hate him. This is it. This is where shit hits the fan. I am going to look that fucking creature right in the eye and I am going to tell him exactly how I feel. The hum has increased to a roar. My knuckles are white around the wheel. Finally, I look up to the mirror.

Nothing. There is no monster. There is no one in the van other than me. The only eyes staring back are my own.

I am alone in the mirror.

A sign is illuminated ahead of me on the side of the highway.

WELCOME TO NORTH BAY