Three: Burtchward Bound

    Weeks after feeling bleak on top of weak, strapped steadily to an emotionally purging roller coaster, likely illustrating the epilogue to the long drawn months of winter, I find myself homeward bound as we bring this extra peculiar Pisces season and zodiac year to a maniacal close. Such fluttering emotions and watery ways like little charlatans to the bullheaded brain of this Burtch. Overtired and still treading the murky flooding of my overactive and obsessive imagination, I sit two seats to myself directly behind the upper deck window of the big blue bouncy Megabus headed due east to my hometown of Kingston. My family awaits me, ready to greet me with arms always open and smiles beaming coast-to-coast. A welcome warmth massages my sleepy heart as I anticipate being once again surrounded by my people, my clan. In such distraction and chaos, I had forgotten how much I’ve missed their unconditional love. Deep into overtime I have pushed my earliest support system to the side, mistakenly so, as I foolheartedly went exploring the far off, unstable corners of my mind. All it took was the concern and dismay in my friends' eyes, recently vocalized to me, to realize that what I’ve really been needing is to recenter myself around the safety of my day ones - my bloodline.

Held up by my families both new and old, I set off on the three hour journey eastbound on the colourless and rainy 401. A foreboding crack in the oversized windshield stares back at me, reboiling the unease I’ve been trying to tame. Although it demands my attention being directly in line with my view, seeking further impact, I know this fracture symbolizes that I’m leaving such an engulfing chapter in the past. I’m encouraged to look beyond the cracks, the imperfections to what beauty and experience and comfort lies ahead as I venture home and in preparation of heading back to the big city a mended man. To reframe these constant worries that round my spine, to relearn how to inspire and excite myself by all of the positives and potentials still to come just around the corner and further down my timeline. 

I try writing, to capture the commotion by planting more poetic prose, though something beyond my exhaustion is saying keep it simple. There is nothing to accomplish or prove this weekend, the mission is to reset and be reminded of the love I am, who nurtured it and where it all began. The land I grew to dread now soothes me like a soak in a zero gravity float. A hellcat pulled home by way of an overdue bear hug. Coffee and conversation with my care team. A walk in the woods where the whining whispers are lost to the wind. A tranquilizing weighted blanket in the form of my nephew and his fantastically familiar face. And not to mention the food! Humbled by many a home cooked meal and the company behind it a feast for my soul. My stomach begins its extension in excitement.

The Bentley-mentality-by-way-of-bus-budget trip rolls on far quicker than I thought and thankfully so. Shoutout to Stephen King and his Bag of Bones for taking me out of my pining and into a world so elegantly authored. Rain cascades down the splintered windshield, longing for my susceptible vulnerability and fragile state. It continues as I make my descent down the steep and narrow stairs to gather my sub-stored brown leather travel bag and await my dad who draws near. His sweet smile is what I see first as he skirts up in sport mode and welcomes me shotgun, seat preheated. Our ride home and afternoon together with his partner and my sister was an enriching pre-game to further socialization, an appetizer to the familial full-course that is my immediate and extended family reunion hosted by my benevolent brother and his fiancé later that evening. Three extra-large pizzas, homemade from scratch vegan caesar salad, wine, 5-layer dip with corn chips and granny smith apple slices to accompany a sweet cream cheese Skor dip all dumbfoundingly delicious. My stomach reaches peak protrusion yet such a spread is nowhere near as filling as this blanketing of love by the most restorative company. I make my rounds catching up with long time pillars of my person and meeting new extensions of our ever growing family. The hours, almost forgotten, mosey on by into the early hours of the next day. 

In the morning I wake to a haunting image of myself sleeping with my eyes half-open (as I’ve been known to do with these big ol’ brown eyes of mine) in my family group chat - hilariously abashed as I start anew this day. I rise to the shine of the heightening sun, to smiles and silliness instead of my usual bombardment of thoughts and loneliness. To kickstart my first full day home, we head off to hike a new trail at Landon Bay so close to the sweet escape of my childhood that was our family cottage in the 1000 Islands. The sun playing peekaboo with the clouds mirroring the struggle flexing in my mind's muscle memory. A proper practice in acceptance and letting go of that which is out of one's control. As our exploration of new terrain comes to a close, the wash of a busy and bodacious snow squall sets in, wiping clean the newly niggling negativism I’ve been harboring.  

Drifting home, sweet daddio takes us on a detour across the La Salle Causeway, enthused by its completion and further extension to his journey by two pedaled tires. Upon arriving home, a mid afternoon nap takes us all without say. For my family, this is just another day in the life, for me however, a much needed respite from my long journey home, early mornings, social stimulation and overdrawn brainpower. I can see the allure now, though waking up all over again within the same 24-hour period is a bit of a chore. Coming back to my new reality an hour and a bit later, my sister and I prepare for our second evening of socialization. After a coffee and a cleanse we pop on over to our other sisters for a second round of pizza, this time deep dish, an oh so delectable dill salad and some more nephew cuddles slash dance party in his jumper. We enlighten him to our shared passion for pop culture and dance through an exploration of music video throwbacks including but not limited to: Work From Home by Fifth Harmony, Don’t Cha by Pussycat Dolls, Stronger by Britney Spears, Say My Name by Destiny’s Child and my absolutely essential recommendation, Bubble Butt by Major Lazor. If you have not yet seen this masterpiece, that should be first on the to-do list after reading. World class and woke this little boss baby will be. 

Shortly after his bedtime comes, it's my younger sister’s and my time to go out for a little catch up over a cocktail or craft beer, matching in fashion and fabulousness but of course. We met up with my long-time friends and, as always, it’s so heartwarming to see their precious faces again. I share some of what I’ve been going through and I’m grateful to be updated on what's new in their life. Quite a startling shift it was going from my rambunctious racoonery ways of Toronto to savouring only one drink so that I can drive home while the rest of downtown Kingston shivers at 9pm in the bitter wind to go get sloppy and sloshed. Enticed by food and sleep, we say our goodbyes, hit up the drive thru for a little greasy bedtime snack and head home for my favourite outfit change of the day - jammies. Before we drift off to sleep, I share the excellence that is X by Ti West with my sister - the ideal bedtime story… or not.

Next morning, we polished off the Red Lobster biscuits she oh-so saintly made the previous morning with some fried eggs alongside the recurring theme of the weekend: caffeinated warmth in a mug, adding to the warmth in my chest. We hop in her squealing car, Pixie, and continue east to Brockvegas to spend some time with mommy dearest and some other family members over a lunch of fajitas, a test drive of mom’s new massage chair, a sunny stroll through the woodland with the baby strapped to my chest, a pop by the sugar shack for some sweet treats and a mutually enriching heart-to-heart with mama bear to cap off the afternoon. A sunkissed Sunday like a cherry on top of a whip cream whirlwind.

After a blinding drive home into the sun, we are treated to another tasty dinner headlined by carbs, accompanied by another tasty salad and some farmboy cookies. Chef kissing my belly be. Post a trip down memory lane watching some new Family Guy on the couch with my dad, we have another early night to reinforce the lesson I am learning that the end of a day and beginning another is not something to mope over. 

Monday minus the madness comes round. Rise and shine my human alarm clocks sound to beckon me for french toast and un café a la condo, mainly so my sister can make moves on the news. While the lively ladies work from home, pops and I take Dinky Darla to Little Cat for some unfancy forest bathing, a nice unrushed trek through the trails, enjoying some one-on-one time to catch up with each other. What follows? Well more coffee obviously. I take a step into the routine of the retired, one my mind and manner is already so in line with, as we head to Starbucks to do some reflection and planning of our futures. Now buzzing with a full bladder, I drop my popparoni off and head downtown to do my 3-month routine of blood work so that I can stay a PrEPpy boy, not some cheap ass toy for someone's ploy. An hour to myself was a nice little break although more than enough after being surrounded by such tender support for the past few days. I reenter the halfway-to-heaven two bedroom paradise for some more quality time shared over arancini, asparagus, broccoli and obviously some leftover pasta from the night before. I’m just a growing baby beast boy with no off switch when it comes to good food. That night we decided on cozying up and watching the Boston Strangler to close off my last full day back in the limestone homeland. The sleep that followed was the best yet, laying to rest my long felt loneliness and sealing a promising foundation as I move forward and prepare to head back to Toronto the following day.

Before I set off, I am spoiled by another homemade breakfast and walk through a sunlit, mossy and snowy forest, reminiscing beside the rushing stream I’ve shared many memories with many loved ones. As the clock counts down to my departing train, my enchanting Kiwi soulmate picks me up for one last communal chowdown, wrapping up a unknowingly needed weekend home, realigning my head and my heart. With intentions pure and posh we try to hit up Toast and Jam, hoping to lose her virginity to the bulgiest of all brunch spots, but alas it’s closed and we end up at our long worshiped 24-hour sanctuary, Denny’s. We share, quite literally, our greasy food, our hearts both bright and blue, our smiles, our arms around each other in a corner booth meant for eight, though our love a plenty easily takes up that much room. 

Sunroof open, windows down, we feel like kids for the short cruise down Taylor Kidd. We arrive at the final destination, one not of a gory horror flick, but of a bittersweet goodbye. We hug each other, not for the last time, and part ways as I board train 53 to Union Station. Once I find my golden window seat 12D, I settle in and begin this remembrance, rumination, a moment of appreciation for such moving memories made. The symbolism sinks in and stirs me, how the start of this voyage home began, to now, my golden going away back to the hum of the big smoke. A trip beginning with relentless rain and a cracked, cautionary view atop a stuffy bus, to me now, comfortably seated on this sunny high-speed train, blessed by good vibes and a heart made whole again. I give tremendous thanks and share my love for my family, friends and this city sandwiched between two larger cities. The ferocity of my gratefulness goes millions of miles beyond my manners and customs. With love and thankfulness, long live the beating of the Burtch heart and may it spread its rhythm far and wide to help others as all you this weekend have helped me. As soon as I get back to my place in Toronto, I’ll relish in some nudey-nudey time and a bubble bath to keep the fire you lit in my heart burning. Until next time, Big Burtch out.