This Peacock’s Gotta Fly!

THIS PEACOCK’S GOTTA FLY

I slammed the tailgate of the truck shut.

“All packed!” I yelled. Not that I expected anyone to answer me. This was a road trip for one.

*****

“Where are you going?” my son, Calum had asked—demanded—to know, when I announced my trip two weeks ago. “Do you have an itinerary?” he’d also demanded. And of course, “Why are you doing this?”

I love Callum. I really do. He’s a wonderful man, with a wonderful life. He just … What’s the best way to describe his mixture of self-appointed patriarchal and role-reversal parental concern? Ah, yes, he oversteps. A lot.

Since his dad Marty and I divorced, Callum has taken it upon himself to run my life. He insinuates himself into all aspects of my life, demands to know what I am doing, why I’m doing it, and then criticizes. It’s a bit much being treated like a senior citizen toddler.

Marty and I divorced four months ago. Now because I am a single woman, Callum thinks that he is the boss of me. He is not. I am the boss of me. All of a sudden because I am a single woman, I am also in need of his care, oversight, and direction? Again, I am not. He thinks that I need him to make my decisions for me. I do not.

He’d come over to check on me—even though I had told him numerous times, I didn’t need checking on. I had promised that I would call if I needed anything. But he apparently didn’t believe me. He needed to see for himself. All of a sudden I was the child and he was the parent.

We were sitting down on the front porch, drinking sweet tea, enjoying a beautiful spring day when I told him about my upcoming adventure.

I’d explained to him that I was just jumping in the pickup, and taking off. I had no idea where I was going, and I did not have an itinerary. I was just going.

He immediately got angry. ”You can’t be galavanting all over hell’s half acre! Alone!” he’d declared.

I’d looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Yes, I can. If I want to galavant, I will galavant.”

”Mom, you're old …”

“Pardon me?”

“I mean senior …”

Stink eye.

”I mean, solo traveller. You’re vulnerable. It’s not safe for you to travel by yourself.”

”I’d looked at him directly, “Why?”

“Why what?” he’d asked confused.

‘“Why is it not safe for me to by myself?”

He was a little thrown off by the question. He took a moment, looked out at the front yard, made a “thinking” face where his hand bracketed his mouth, and said . “Uh, I don’t know. You could get in an accident. Or your vehicle could break down. Or you could get robbed and murdered!” He threw up his hands in frustration.

”You really think I can’t do this by myself? That I’m too vulnerable? Honestly?”

He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I’m just worried that you’re going to find yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere and I’m going to have to come and rescue you.”

I started to laugh, “You’re serious? You’re afraid that my road trip will be an inconvenience to you? Trust me Callum, I have never needed rescuing.”

He shook his had. “That’s not what I meant. You’re going to be by yourself. When you and Dad travelled, there were the two of you in case something went wrong.. Now it’s just you. I’m not sure you know what could happen to you on the road.”

I’m not going to lie. I was a bit pissed off at that point. “Callum, who do you think planned all of the trips we ever went on? Every single one of them? Me. I’m the one who chose the locale, made the reservations, found the best places to stop, best sites, best restaurants—everything. I did that for four people, then for your dad and I, and now I’m doing it for myself. I know what I’m doing.”

”Anything could happen when you’re on the road.” He was starting to get a bit whiny.

”Anything could happen right here at home, as well.” I countered.

I looked at him, wondering when he’d lost his faith in my ability to cope in the modern world. Without his Dad, I seemed to have some how diminished.

He held his ground. ”I can’t just let you drive away without any plans, or destination in mind.”

I stood up and faced my son. “Yes you can. Because there’s nothing that you can do to stop me.” I turned on my heel, went into the house, and shut the door.

Callum tried to recruit Marcus, my other son, Callum’s older brother.

He called me later that evening.

”Hey. Mom” he said. “So, I spoke to Callum today, and he’s losing his bananas about you going on your road trip. He wants me to talk you out of it.

”Okay,” I said wondering where this was going.

”But I’m not. You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. I told him that you’re not reckless or careless or vulnerable. You’re experienced, you’ve done this a hundred times before, every time successful. I told him to settle down. That you’d call if you needed us. And I promised him that you’d check in on the regular.”

“Thank you Marcus,” I said. “It’s good to know that one of my sons trusts me not to get lost in the wilderness.”

*****

The truck was fully loaded and I was ready to hit the road. I pulled the packing list out of my pocket and gave it one last look. Everything had been taken care of and packed. Truck tuned up and ready to go. Kid down the street had the key to bring in the mail. I had all my chargers and my road trip playlist was queued up. Paper map and the Rand McNally road atlas riding shotgun. Snacks in the cooler. I opened the door and jumped in. I was ready to go.

*****

Eight months ago, two things happened. First, Marty retired, then his Great Aunt Seraphina died. I had no idea how those two events would completely upend my life.

When Marty retired he plopped himself down in a chair and decided he didn’t want to do anything. He declared that he’d worked for the last forty-six years, and he was done doing anything. But not just done working, no, he meant doing anything at all.

I was surprised … and disappointed. Before he’d retired we’d made tentative plans—like our post-retirement bucket list. We’d planned to travel, go camping, visit friends, explore our country, visit world cities. Take some general interest classes—cooking, woodworking, yoga, tai chi. Join a walking group. Volunteer at the animal shelter. Help kids learn to read. We had plans—adventures that we had talked about and had chosen together.

Apparently, our plans were now my plans, alone. Marty decided that the only plans he had involved his Barcalounger and the television remote. He retreated, became non-communicative, withdrew from our life.

Then Serafina died. She’d been Marty’s de facto parent after Marty’s mom died, and his dad bailed. And she was rich—not richer-than-God rich, but there would be no coupon clipping for us in our senior years. Marty got everything—he was her only heir. She’d set up trusts for the boys and their children, and their children’s children. She’d also made sure that I would never have to worry about finances again, bequeathing me my own money. But the bulk of her estate went to Marty.

So, we were rich, and Marty was depressed, and our marriage was on the outs. I suggested marriage counselling. Marty reluctantly agreed. Our therapist suggested that Marty’s identity was so closely aligned to his job that retirement had caused him to feel “less than.” The solution to rebuilding his sense of self was to start one-on-one therapy. Marty instead decided that divorce was the answer to all his problems.

He gave me the house, took half his money, and headed down to Mexico to live his most authentic life. We’d signed the divorce papers four months ago.

All of a sudden, at sixty-five years of age, I was alone for the first time since I was twenty-two, when I’d met Marty. We’d been married over forty years and now, poof, I was alone.

I can’t say that I wasn’t sad—I was no longer someone’s spouse, I no longer had my career, and I no longer had anyone to talk to at home. I was alone.

*****

I started the truck and drove to the end of the driveway. Left was west, right was east. I took out a coin, flipped it, and looked. West it was.

*****

Callum and Marcus were angry with their dad and how he’d ended the marriage. I was angry with their dad, too. While the anger the boys felt more abstract—they didn’t live with us, so they wouldn’t miss him daily. My anger was more acute. The empty house was a daily reminder that he had pulled away and shut me out.

The boys still called him, like they always had. And Mexico was only a five hour flight. But Marcus confided in me that the calls between him and his father were becoming less frequent, more awkward, and more often than not, they ended up talking about the weather. He also admitted he really had no desire to visit Mexico. Nor had his father invited him.

I wasn’t sure about how Callum’s relationship with Marty was progressing—or regressing. I knew Callum was extremely angry with his father for deserting us. Things had been said on both sides that couldn’t be unsaid. I knew he had not been to Mexico, either.

I had not spoken with Marty since he’d left for Mexico. His lawyer had handled all the paper work, the final decree papers had been couriered down to his hacienda on the beach for signature. I knew nothing about his life there, and, as the weeks and months past, my interest waned. I was building a new, solo life for myself right here at home. I was still alone, but no longer lonely.

*****

I turned left at the end of the driveway, and headed out.

*****

I was gone sixty-three days. It was an amazing adventure. I explored places I had always wanted to see. I saw a lot of the World’s Largest tourist sites—largest Pysanka (decorated egg) in Vergrevlle, Mac the Moose in Moose Jaw, a twenty-five metre tall T Rex in Drumheller, the world’s largest perogy in Glandon, the giant nickel in Sudbury, the goose in Wawa. My trip was littered with roadside attractions. I asked strangers to take my photo beside each, to remind me that they exist. That I exist.

I travelled on the backroads and explored small towns. I spent two days at Laird Hot Springs, luxuriating in natural thermal pools, always on the lookout for grizzly bears. I added my own sign to the Sign Post Forest in Watson Lake. I discovered the ancient forest—Chun Toh Whudujut—and walked in awe, dwarfed by thousand year old ancient cedars in the world’s only inland temperate rainforest. I visited the coastal temperate rain forest on the Haida Gwaii Islands—for comparison purposes. Both were awe-inspiring. I drove The Top of the World Highway—who wouldn’t want to be at the top of the world? I found dunes in the middle of the boreal forest at the Carcross Desert.

I saw all kinds of magnificent animals, including a moose who stepped out in front of me while I was driving the north shore of Lake Superior. I stopped in time, and we both just stared at each other, until he sauntered across the road and back into the forest. Moose are much larger in person than I realized!

I saw bears—both grizzly and black. Bison meandering along the side of the road. And mountain sheep and goats clinging to the sides of mountains. I saw only the prints of what my field guide identified as cougar tracks—thankfully not the whole cat!

The trip wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns. There were glitches. The truck broke down, and I was able to call roadside assistance all by myself and get the problem taken care of—are you listening Callum?” There were some pretty intense spring storms on the Prairies, one that forced me into an abandoned barn for shelter. I ended up staying longer in Whistler because of a landslide that closed the Sea to Sky highway, but I couldn’t think of a more scenic locale to be stranded at.

And I have a new partner. His name is Charlie. I was in Yellowknife exploring, camping at the territorial park just outside the city. On my first night, I was making dinner on my camp stove when he wandered in. I asked him if he wanted some of my food and he accepted. He stayed that evening, the two of us watching the stars. I had no illusions. I went to bed, expecting him to be gone in the morning. But he was still there in the morning, laying at the back of the truck when I got up to make a cup of tea. He looked at me and wagged his tail.

I went to the office, my new friend at my side, and asked the park rangers if they knew who he belonged to. They told me his owner, who had stayed at the park for almost a month, had abandoned him when he was heading home a couple of weeks ago.

”Do you know what his name is?” Head shake.

”Does he have a new owner?” Another head shake.

The ranger told me that as far as she knew he was a stray. And he was becoming a bit of a nuisance at the park, begging and stealing food— she was afraid they were going to have to call animal control. She told me I could have him if I wanted. I did want him. But did he want me?

I named him Charlie. He just looked like a Charlie. He was a dog of many dogs—a large fellow, with a mixed coat of browns and blondes, fluffy with a magnificent fan tail, He weighed about seventy pounds, and smiled all the time.

I found a vet in town, had him checked out, shots were given. There was no micro chip. The vet figured he was about a year old, and in pretty good shape. He was a bit underweight, but that was probably because he’d been on his own for food for the last couple of weeks.

I hung around Yellowknife for a week, just to make sure that he really wanted me as his person. Apparently he did. We finished the trip together.

*****

My trip was just what I needed. I let myself do whatever I wanted. I had ice cream for dinner. I slept under the stars. I stayed at five star hotels. I stopped at a store because they claimed to have the world’s best apple fritters—how could I not stop?

I let myself cry. I let myself laugh. I swam in the Arctic Ocean. I sat on a lonely beach and watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. I watched, I learned, I listened. I let things go—into the wind, the sea, the sky.

This peacock’s gotta fly.