since you've been gone

Today I walked past three deaf gay men on Church Street. One spoke flamboyantly through his gestures, his arms laden with shopping bags, while the other two smiled and gestured in return.

A few minutes later, out of the village, I passed a bald man on roller blades, smoking a joint and holding a pineapple.

But even earlier today, Morgan, my room mate, walked out of residence for the last time. And now I have no one to share my stupid daily stories with. No one to giggle or roll their eyes in response.

Alberta, Alberta, she's coming home. That Eric Clapton song will always evoke memories of this small town beauty.

Morgan is winter, and I am summer. She loves the cold, the snow, sports, simple outdoor clothing and politics. I love the heat, dressing half naked in summer, avoiding sports in general and reading fashion magazines.

We often wondered if we'd ever be friends had we not been placed together. And yet it couldn't have gone better.

When we wanted to shut out the world, we would let the other in. One of us would often crawl into the other's room in a state of despair, and bitch until it all went away. Her words and listening saved me more than once. And she always had chocolate at the right time.

I think we were good for each other. We made each other question ourselves, our motives, our habits and ways. I've travelled a lot, but she's much more down to earth; together we found a balance.

Morgan, good luck with whatever you choose to do. Remember that you're bigger than a small town. The city hasn't jaded you, it's only strengthened you, made you more aware. Thank you for being open minded with me. For loving my craziness, and eventually joining in.

It's been good. Now go get drunk and listen to some country for me.