Alia arrived back in the city earlier tonight. Bryan and I met her at Union Station, after taking a more or less direct route from Maine to Montreal to Toronto that took, I would guess, 12 hours of straight travel. We hauled her bags back to our place, as she asked we put her up for the night after her trip, and I can see why she wouldn't want to be alone (her apartment is essentially an attic.)
I didn't know what to make of this. I mean, I know what I hoped would happen. She'd see me, fall into my arms, we'd have a big tearful reunion and cement our long-delayed reconciliation by humping. On the flipside, I considered it equally likely that we'd solidify this thing by staying up all night talking out our issues in a way-past-due moment of catharsis for the both of us. This would also be acceptable, but also less fun.
This did not happen. When we saw her at the station, she was bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived. She looked like she thought she was hallucinating when she saw us. She did wrap her arms around me and just stayed quiet the whole way home, like a trauma victim. I wondered whether this was the same verbose woman I'd known all these years, the one who'd spent practically her whole stay in Maine blogging. Briefly, I entertained the notion that Alia was an impostor, so I asked her, quickly, to say something only the real Alia would say. In response, she reminded me of the time I convinced her to have sex in the ladies' room at her parents' anniversary party.
It was my statement on matrimony, at the time.
When we got back home, she flopped down on the couch and zonked out. And there she lies fast asleep. I mean, I don't want to force the issue, but it's feeling slightly anticlimactic. No big dramatic reveals, no stunning confessions, no passionate copulation. Just "I'm tired, mind if I crash?"
I've just been sitting here at the kitchen table watching her, thinking about how she inhabits the same space a different woman recently did -- same face, same voice, same clothes -- but with an entirely different aura about her. I spent a long time adjusting to the idea of Crystal in Alia's body, and now I have to switch back... I can only imagine what it was like for her realizing the Todd she'd known for a year was a faker. I haven't brought it up even in our online conversations. Well, I've mentioned it, but I don't push the issue. If she ever wants to delve into it, that's her choice.
In the weeks since Crystal left, Bry's been picking up his guitar more and more. I've hardly seen him so much as tinker with it -- I mean, he's barely even played Rock Band -- since we got back to Toronto last year. Could be maybe residual bitterness from his American musician ex-lesbian girlfriend, or maybe something about Crystal or just not having the energy for it. But lately I've been hearing it through my walls a lot more. And last week, he caught me in the living room to play me something he'd written recently. And it was good.
"Look," he says to me, "I know it hasn't always worked out in the past, but I was thinking about getting a band together. You, me... whoever else. It won't be like the past, we won't take it too seriously, we'll just gig around and have some fun, then get on with our lives other than that. Just to do something, you know?"
I told him I'd think about it. Now that Alia's back, I'm feeling more into it. Maybe to get back in touch with the last time of my life where things made sense. Bry and I played music, Alia and I dated, I was still in school... none of us had ever been anyone else. Maybe you can't go back, and there was enough craziness back then that I wouldn't totally want to... but there's something to be said for trying to recapture a special time in your life.
I want to do it. I can't let it interfere with my school this fall, but I could use the release. I don't know if things can be the same as they were 3 years ago, but I know they can't stay like this.
I think I'll get some sleep. Later, all