Trying to find the house was a trial. First the bus was the wrong bus with the right number. Then the stop was the wrong stop with the right street name. Sixteenth masquerading as sixteenth. Tricky, painful, miles later, a dead end. Logic deciding direction, deciding course, turning back, scaling the blocks, my twisted ankle less reliable with every step. Hours of this, my shoes removed and put in my bag as a way to stop the blisters, an attempt to save my feet. The brace I wear snaps, broken. With a wry internal smile, I know I’m lucky. The day before this, there were not even buses.
Tony and I downtown, carried by the tides of the celebrating city during the Olympics Hockey win, were caught, Kafka-esque, as transit was shut down. For weeks the government had been shouting, leave behind your cars!, even going so far as to last-minute blockade two of the three major bridges going downtown, but at that final, critical moment, there was a failure somewhere and, though they told no one this, the buses could not get through. Unless you had a home on the skytrain route, (a four hour wait at some points), there was no way out but to walk.
If it wasn’t for the air cast Michelle gave me, there were several points where I would have quite simply collapsed, folded into an ungainly heap, an adult in the familiar shape of a tired child who cannot, not for the life of them, keep up even one more step. My heart goes out to everyone else who was stuck, I am not old, nor even terribly infirm, and our escape from downtown was crippling.
Yet, in the midst of my thanks, I am reminded of the rebound effect discussed in conservation technologies, as when new logging facilities become so much cleaner that the companies that own them can build six times as many yet stay within the pollution laws, thereby offsetting potential energy and environmental savings by chewing through more land while maintaining the same waste rate. In my case, like a more efficient car being driven twice as much, extra support meant extra time on my feet equaled further metaphorical trees being chewed through leaving me with clearcut purple bruises, only the barest ability to stand, and a hamstrung gait.
Truly, I an unable to be too sad that I have already walked through the bottom of it, wearing apart the linen with the venn diagram of persistence vs. gritted teeth vs. places to be. Having it for the last two weeks likely saved my ankle’s life, yet conversely, I did only seem to be saving it for slow suicide. With the Olympics exacerbating my desire to be out of the house, I was out every day, telling myself through the pain it would all be okay. I am flesh, I will heal, this too shall pass. Losing the air cast keeps me from that mantra, keeps myself safe.
Perhaps, I will now try to say, optimism to the fore, nights behind in my sleep, this will all be for the better, and I will remember to keep my walks tidy, tiny, and neat.