Bienvenue a Montreal!
Since I’m on a roll … I’m sorry for what happened that summer; I’m sorry for jumping on a plane and flying to Chicago without telling a single soul. Don’t take it personally, I just run sometimes. Book a flight. Book a room. And exit.
“Well, when you were running … I ran. But then you got on a plane and I just can’t run that fast.”
But if it makes you feel any better–when I got to O’Hare International, I wished I was home. And when I stepped off the plane into Montreal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International, I even started missing home a little. I’m sorry I ultimately forgot about our friendship; I got so caught up living la vie quotidienne with the kids in Quebec (and then senior year, summer, and college) . New friendships (and the 18-year-old drinking age in Montreal as well, but that’s a different story) temporarily erase the painful memories of broken old ones.
I’m glad we’re good now. It’s like old times, all over again. But alas, c’est la vie.