Travelogue 1104 – 1 October
Bright Spots

The day after the violence, I was struggling through my schedule. I was struggling against a headache, persistent and aggressive; I was struggling against a streak of petty bad luck that was just as persistent, like a worm in my gut. I didn’t want to admit that I was also struggling against an emotion, an abiding despair left by the events of the day before, the violence.

Little Ren had hockey in the morning, and she was having her own struggles. I didn’t know it yet, but she was fighting against a resurgent flu bug. She was cranky and recalcitrant, and she cried over every obstruction to her cravings for sweets and comforts and every colourful distraction.

I had to step in as coach for the girls’ team, and, though we enjoyed our time on the pitch, getting off the hockey club property was arduous. Little Ren wouldn’t budge without chips from the concession inside, but the clubhouse was mad with crowds and my head was throbbing. I stood in line two different times, the unmoving line amid screaming kids and jostling parents, until I finally bailed and insisted that we go. Little Ren sulked and balked.

Once I had finally cajoled her onto the bike, once I had pedalled away from the club, up the long hill to the bridge across the highway, and pedalled halfway across the Erasmus University campus, I realized that, in the confusion, I had left behind my jacket and, in my jacket pocket, my wallet. It’s a good thing it was Saturday, and the campus was nearly empty, because I gave way to a fit of shouting into the winds that I am not proud of, particularly with my child as witness. “This is a terrible day!” Things to that effect.

Some time after that, having stopped for one more among a loathsome list of errands, we exited the store to find our bike blocked by a wheelchair. I was not gracious; I uttered some unkind observations. A man settled into that wheelchair just as I was trying to unlock my bike, squeezed into an uncomfortable corner. The man did not apologize. In fact, he asked for help putting on his jacket.

Surprisingly, my mood completely changed. I helped him. He was not the most charming man; he was brusque in his orders. This jacket, apparently gifted from a local delivery service, had two zippers, and both were difficult to line up and to pull. He was impatient and gruff, and I didn’t mind at all. I don’t know why, but this was one of the few bright moments of the day, perhaps because I was allowed to escape my own misery. 

The other brief moment of sunshine on that day came after a particularly painful cleaning at the hygienist. I gathered up Little Ren, who waited patiently for me through my suffering. We left the building and walked immediately to the closest chocolate shop, where we ordered cannoli’s, coffee, and sugary drinks. Was it a thought that I had earned some credits, or was it a guilty pleasure? Whatever the case, the day ended on a happy note. We sat at the window, watched the shoppers stroll by in the afternoon light, and did bad things to our teeth.