By the time I returned to the hotel, I was exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep. I started to become very anxious about visiting P. We'd been in correspondence for over a year and speaking via Skype and webcams everyday during the few weeks leading up to my visit. There was a moment that passed between us a week or so before my visit when I looked into my cam and said "I'm trusting you." And I felt as though he knew me well enough to understand what I meant. Not only was I trusting in him to NOT be an axe murderer, but trusting him to take care of me. It's been a long standing fantasy of mine to take all of myself, the fears and joys and memories and neuroses and my heart and soul and just mush them up into a ball and throw them into someone's lap, saying "here, this is yours now, you take care of it". And I don't mean a professional. And not THAT kind of professional, either. I just kind of want to sit back and TRUST that the person with the lap will be gentle and do right by me. I came close once; I had me all bundled up, but I stopped short of tossing it to him. Turned out to be a wise choice, but it made me think about the other laps I passed on that maybe COULD/WOULD have handled me. (Oy, lap metaphor starting to sound dirty.) All of this is NOT what I was doing with P; he was just getting a small piece, and for a limited time, but it still required a leap of faith on my part and I wanted him to fully acknowledge and appreciate that. He did. Even if it did freak him out a bit.
My jokes about missing the boat in the morning (last one 'til Spring, remember!) having gotten old, P and I ended our final pre-visit chat and I attempted a few hours of sleep. I was up to see the sunrise, with plenty of time to have the hotel shuttle take me to the ferry terminal. The "Cat" ferry is a huge boat with 4 different screening areas showing movies and several rows of slot machines. As I walked on board, I asked one of the crew members to show me the quietest spot and was directed to a corner in the back (aft?). A dose of Dramamine and I was good to go. And I slept for a fair amount of the five and a half (!) hour ride. Occasionally, I was awakened by 3 older gentlemen discussing the 4th in their party and what they could do to get him to open up more. These were some course-looking and at times -sounding men and I was getting a kick out of hearing them psychoanalyze their friend. With Canadian accents. As we were disembarking in Yarmouth, the men asked me about my backpack and my plans. When I told them I was carrying everything I own on my back, they didn't quite believe me. No one ever does.
By the time I walked down the long ramp from the ferry and into the customs line in the terminal, most of my anxiety was gone. Whatever was about to happen was inevitable, no turning back. I could see the doors to the waiting area from my place in the slow-moving customs line and started a new worry: what if P thinks I missed the boat, after all? I was determined to be cool about the whole situation, so I started up a chat with the couple behind me and stopped thinking about "what-ifs".
When it was finally my turn to get my passport stamped, I learned Canadians are not all as friendly as they seem on TV. Since I didn't have a return trip booked, the customs agent held me in suspicion. She didn't like my answer of "just wingin' it, ma'am". The thought of staying in Canada forever and starting a whole new life HAD crossed my mind, but only briefly and there was no way SHE could have known that! My highly suspect self was then shown to the immigrations room, where I waited with a few other deadbeat border-crossers. No joke! The ferry was held and one of them was sent back on it! I only had to answer questions like, "so, you're visiting this guy you don't really know; you're staying with him?" and "how much money do you have access to right now?". In answer to the first I just blushed and had to cave and text P to ask his address. To the second, I lied, feeling too embarrassed to admit just how little money I have. Plus, I assumed they wanted to ensure I had plenty enough to not need to search for a job, robbing a decent Canadian of her employment. Eventually, I was allowed to leave the terminal, but that immigration officer now knows more about me than many of my relatives.
After a couple of awkward hugs and kisses, P mercifully offered to carry my backpack for the walk through town, to his home. I found it easy to talk to him and felt comfortable right away; I'm not sure he felt the same. He kept mentioning what a small town Yarmouth is, how there's not much to see. People do this. I'm not sure if it's because they know I'm used to Manhattan or because they think I'm being a judgmental ass. Honestly, I compare; no judgments involved anymore. This was (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend, so the town was quiet with very few people on the streets, causing even more of a sleepy town effect. P relayed an invitation from his father to join in a holiday dinner; I declined, thinking it too strange to meet his dad when I'd just met him 10 minutes earlier. In P's apartment, we sat on the sofa and chatted (in real life!) and started to feel not so awkward. And made out. And I ended up meeting his dad anyway, when he dropped off some turkey leftovers.
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