What life gets in the way of...

There's an old Steven Wright joke that goes: The other day, I was walking through the woods, and a tree fell right in front of me... And I didn't hear it.. If you've ever heard the man speak, you know why this is funny. Even funnier, I outdid him.

Yesterday, I was walking in downtown Montreal, and a plane landed in the middle of the street, just half a block behind me... And I didn't hear it. No shit.

The day kicked off not unlike any other of my Sundays: Late breakfast, coffee. Meagan and I had walked down to what's referred to as Tam Tam; a weekly drum circle of sorts. The weather was having a bit of trouble making up its mind. After a few hours of throwing my hoodie back on every time the sun ducked behind a cloud, I suggested we make our way back east on Mont-Royal, offering to cook dinner and give her time to catch up on schoolwork. It was a quick affair: Tomato-basil penne with mock chicken. About the time I was finishing up eating, my phone began buzzing and sliding around the table. It was a 202 number.

The body of Jeff Mendez was moved from George Washington University Hospital less than twenty-four hours ago. Roughly a week prior, his Leukemia reappeared, and his doctors had him undergo chemotherapy immediately; compromising his immune system, allowing an infection to rip through his body like a flash flood. By the time I'd picked up the phone, he'd been unconscious for three days, and his family had gathered with friends to remove his life support. I had no idea he'd ever been sick. I spent the final hour of his life overcome by the urge to call him, buttressed by the knowledge he'd never hear it. Ever.

I've been on a train from Montreal for the last eleven hours, with another four to go. Around 1:30am, I'll make my way out of Union Station, walk the three blocks east to Stanton Park, then another four south to a client's house where Seager is dogsitting. I'll (hopefully) sleep a few hours, walk to Murky, find my way home, say hi to the cats, shower, and head out with Lance to the five hour memorial at the Palestine Center.

Later in the week, I'll borrow money from a friend to cover the train, and slip back across the border as though it were all just a bad dream, until I can make sense of a world in which Jeff Mendez is not alive.