Marystown

The lady at the DMV traded my Hawaii drivers license for a Newfie drivers license in about 2 minutes, with a wistful sigh at the rainbow on my old card. “Well, I guess every place has its downside. Welcome home, my love.”

I wanted a truck, but decided that shoveling snow out of a truck bed didn’t look fun. Then I wanted an SUV, but driving them around the lot didn’t feel right. I ended up with a hatchback exactly the same size as my Jetta, because I’m the only adult keeping this kid safe right now and it’s better to handle something I’m familiar with. A Subaru is sturdy enough to survive getting plowed into a snow bank or pirouetting down an icy highway, and that is the main goal. If a cabbie could fit all our bags into a little sedan, we could shove them all into a Subaru.

My savings are gone now, but it’s better not to have monthly car payments as we head into poverty.

While I was in the dealership waiting room for about the 6th hour, waiting on insurance/registration/inspection things to get worked out, my phone buzzed. The sales manager looked up and asked if everything was okay when I accidentally snorted and swore. “Sorry,” I said, “It’s just that I have been gone ONE DAY, and I just got a message from a boy from high school asking, ‘SO YOU’RE SINGLE NOW?’” He laughed, “Ah, settle down, b’y, give a girl some time!”

By evening I had another message from a college classmate. For fuck’s sake, the scene must be grim at our age. Look, I meant to leave all the men in my past in another country and close the door on them forever, but then when I was packing I found myself getting into the Boyfriend Box and slapping a stack of old photos into my journal and throwing it in my suitcase. I’m dumb as shit and there’s no cure for it. Sorry fellas.

The drive from St John’s to Burin was 3 hours through craggy black rocks covered in snow, with fog rolling over ponds frozen in swirling circles of ice. It was really beautiful. I did not see a moose, except for the fiberglass one at Goobies. The radio stations crapped out around the halfway point, so this trip back in time is going to need a folder full of cds in the glove box for drives to town.

We made it to our cabin loft at nightfall. I’ve been ticking errands off the to-do list - bank account, PO Box, school registration, grocery shopping - and we slept through the New Year without the world exploding around us. I’m happier than I’ve been in years, just baking biscuits for two in a tiny oven in a studio apartment. We met our realtor and walked through the potential house (my mother is coming to the rescue to lock in financing, fingers crossed that it goes through in time), and it was perfect.

Everything is going well, and I can sleep again at night. The peace of mind set in immediately, the minute I got off that plane and didn’t have to go back. The internal quiet is such a relief.  

View from our kitchen

The floor of my maybe-studio that would need sanding and repainting 

My maybe-bedroom that I get to mentally furnish for the next month

The view from my maybe-back porch (yes, it goes straight down to the ocean, right out of a thriller novel about a single artist who moves to the seaside, but guess who always falls to their doom? The bad guy, so there.)

(Unless it’s the first chapter of a gritty detective novel, in which case it’s me, but hey, “do it for the plot”)