We arrived back in town, late last evening, from the weekend excursion to Minnedosa.

It is a small town wonder, hidden in a valley with 1970s antiquity and train track veins. Quiet, peaceful. My tension eased and I felt at home as soon as we turned from the highway and onto Main Street. Keith drowsy and throat-infected, I maintained stalwart responsibility behind the wheel for the 2 1/2 hour highway ride. Upon arrival; bowled over by the ever-affectionate canine sentinel. Mother fawned over her ill son, and I, the girlfriend, Keith's mother-in-training, fawned and nuzzled and entertained. Father, normally quiet and aloof, asked my help in building a WWII Japanese plane out of plywood and a discarded motor while our hero napped. Photo album onslaught of baby pictures - and even further back, when Bonnie and Garth first got together, all those aeons ago. Wedding photos with Firebirds, inauthentic flowers and streamers. All beautiful in equality. Puns were used freely as verbal currency. Memories and anecdotes over homemade vegetable soup, eggs, cheese and syrup, potatoes and love. Love. In the quiet of the hills and the rainy woods, we were offered peace.

We hug, say our goodbyes, intend on near-future-visits. Well fed and rested, I drive us home to U2 into the further rain and intermitten sunlight. We stop in Neepawa, at Margaret Laurence's house, and I dream of future writing success. Keith and I played Where Did Laurence Get This From verbal tennis and tried to search the cemetary for the authentic Stone Angel. No dice - an excursion saved for much less damp adventures.

Back in Winnipeg. I have savoured every moment in that automobile capsule of liminality, as on Monday we will face something difficult - prolonged separation. A source of my anxiety for some time now. Keith's new work, thankfully in GIS, is sending him out to the field for 3 weeks. Granted, its only 200 km away, back in Neepawa, but its enough of a distance. Our maximum time apart? Four days. Both of us are raw about it, as the call to leave came suddenly (last Friday). Our chief concern on the return, pack up his things, get in as many promises to maintain contact for the ensuing 19 days, to allow the experience to strengthen us. To vow the fragile kind of love we've both sought for the duration of our young lives.

I love you more than anything I have ever known, he said after tucking me in for the night. One AM, he had his things already packed. We woke up early this morning, despite shared bronchitus and exhaustion, to simply be together, to play together. Laugh and love together before his three week departure.

He is gone now. After several months of officially living with him, blissfully aware we were building, slowly, a routine life together. He, a 9-5 office job. Me, a 10 - 3 school schedule. Bed shopping. My lacklustre but vital flower arrangement on the mantle. Comfort.

Over now, temporarily. His hurt was palpable but realistic when I, too, had to pack up my own things to be taken to my former house, where I'll have to return to staying for the oncoming 3 weeks. It will be the hardest thing to do, being that my tyrannical father has returned and I have MUCH schoolwork to complete. Must maintain patience. Must not murder him. For my mother's sake.

Life is easing up and down, but I'm 20 now. Must take it all in stride. Art is on hold, but still at the gallery! Hopefully will make a sale once this ill-begotten weather keeps up. Writing...something new has entered my head. Perhaps it will bode well. Publishing - on the horizon.

Help, I'm alive.

A year after feeling so used up and dead, I didnt think it would be possible to have such feelings of inner euphoria. Ever.