I, Death

Saturday October 13, 2012 - 9:41 PM

I was in Sudbury yesterday, like I've been almost every day for the past week. I'd hitch-hike in, go shoot pool with Harley and a bunch of the Sudbury guys that he would hang out with, drink, smoke a bit of pot, then head back home. I've found it much easier to spend my days like that than to try to figure out what happened to Sarah.

I mean, I went so far as to actually log onto this Toronto website where they have these cameras you can control for up to a minute, zoom in, pan across, up and down. I spent over twelve hours one day going from camera to camera trying to see if I could spot Sarah. How fucking pathetic is that? I want to believe that she's still alive somewhere, that she's still okay, but what the hell are the chances she'd be anywhere near where these cameras can look? Fuck.

Anyway, after a full day of doing that I'd started to hang out with Harley and some of his pals. They're pretty fuckin' creepy, some of them a lot more strange than Harley is, but it was a useful distraction for me.

So we'd sometimes hitch-hike in to Sudbury in the morning together, particularly if we couldn't catch a lift with someone we knew, and we'd hitch-hike back. When I say together, I didn't mean we actually went at the same time in a group. No, it's easier to catch a ride when there's only one of you, so we'd split up then connect once we got there.

Anyway, Friday, yesterday, I got picked up while hitching by this older chick. She was pretty friendly and had an interesting sense of humour, really dry, and I can't believe the things that happened in our short drive. But I'm getting ahead of myself now.

So she picks me up, not even a few minutes outside of Sudbury, and we exchange names and start chatting. Her name is Gwen, she tells me, and she works for the company that runs Chapters, but not the store in Sudbury, at their head office in Toronto. It’s called Indigo. She's some sort of corporate sales rep and is in town working on a deal with Falconbridge or Inco, I can't remember which one, but that's why she's heading up Highway 144. So we're chatting, and actually exchanging jokes about city people (she grew up in North Bay, so she's a Northerner like me, which is pretty cool) and she's telling me stories about these dumb ass people that she has met or worked with in Toronto, and we're laughing through all these hilarious stories. It's one of the best rides I'd had in a long time, because usually we just sit there in silence, make a bit of small talk about the weather and a half an hour ride seems like fucking eternity. But this chick is pretty cool.

Then, somewhere in the laughter, it hits me. She's from Toronto. That's where Sarah was last seen. I then start to turn the conversation into questions about where she lives, what neighbourhoods she visits. And, I guess I didn't realize it, but she must have been getting a bit creeped-out by me. But I kept pushing.

Then I start asking if I can ride back with her when she returns to Toronto, and she gets this horrified look on her face. She starts acting all freaky, or at least I begin to notice, and I realize that she's freaked out, maybe thinking I'm some sort of perv, or one of those dumb asses she was telling me stories about.

"Look," I say. "I just want a ride down south. And maybe someone to show me around. I'll give you money for the gas. I need to find my girl."

But she's not listening, she starts talking about not knowing how long this business trip is going to take, how long she'll be staying in Sudbury, and the fact that she's a new driver, not all that used to highway driving, and is uncomfortable with a stranger in her car. As she's saying this, I'm starting to get really angry. Angry with myself for ruining a fun conversation and spoiling an opportunity so easily, angry with her for her reaction in thinking I'm some sort of freaky pervert.

She tells me she's going to let me out now, and I unbuckle my seat-belt, the fury slowly building inside of me.

The anger barely begins to build when suddenly the car goes out of control. She was pulling over near the side of the highway near the cut-off from Highway 144 to Regional Road 8 that leads to Onaping and Levack. She must have slipped and her foot presses down on the accelerator and the wheel hits the ditch and the car starts moving, fast, off the road and toward the lake. It bumps down across the wild grass, over a few rocks and is airborne, pitching down. The front of the car slams into the lake, keeling on the passenger's side. I get tossed out the open passenger window and dive headfirst into the lake. I don't even hear her scream as the car splashes down in the water. I swim over to the shore and watch the car slowly sink, upside down, to the bottom of the lake. She never surfaces, never appears.

There's not another car or soul around besides me, to witness this woman's watery grave. After a few minutes of sitting there, completely chilled to the bone, watching the fresh flakes of snow land on the lake, I get up and start walking home. It's only a twenty minute walk from there, but it's fucking cold, and I'm worried about catching my death of cold.

I laugh at that thought. At least I think that's where the uncontrollable laughter that rumbles up from my gut has come from.