Grounded

High class, hot town, or dusty dive, it really doesn't matter where you go, you can't escape something that's inside you.

Monday I stood on a small patch of grass that I had not been on since I was thirteen. It was my grandfathers grave, and as I lowered my grandmothers urn of ashes into the black circular hole beside it, tears rolled down my face from underneath my dark sunglasses. This has been a difficult journey home.

Tuesday, I decided to cut loose a little bit, since the majority of the family had returned to their respective parts of the world without managing to engage me in any conversation that might bring up unpopular people. Sitting at Earl's apartment that evening, the phone ringing off the hook with the after work crowd looking for their nightly supply, I suggested that we go to Rae and Jerry's for dinner.

The Winnipeg steak house, unchanged since 1957. Although my experiences are limited at best, this dining room is unlike any I have seen before. The lighting is dark, matching the deep shade of wood paneling that covers the walls. The ceiling is low, and although the room is not very large, it projects a long sleekness that betrays the senses. All the chairs and booths are covered in the most lavish hue of red vinyl, accenting all that darkness. Although this is Manitoba, its still on the elegant side.

Back at Earl's, I started to get a little edgy when I realized that Cody was not planning on cleaning himself up from a day of vomiting and diarrhea induced from too many burgers the day before. Cody is skinny, but he can out eat anyone, but everyone has their limits, and earlier in the day Cody hit his, taking the day off work to be close to the toilet. On the way down to the restaurant, Cody decided it might be a good idea to order up a little coke for later on, which was fine by me until I heard Cody inviting the dealer in for dinner. This I had not planned on.

I announced my reservation to the host, who promptly gave us the once over, Cody, unshaven, ratty t-shirt, ripped up open toed sandals, myself, in some city slicker outfit that could be easily misinterpreted as too casual, and Earl, six two and somewhere around 280 pounds, in unassuming black slacks and printed golf shirt. Our impression on the host became clear once we were seated at the very back of the room, where no one else was dining. Expecting our fourth guest to arrive in god knows what I proceeded to drink black label scotch, on rocks, straight up.

Dante, big fish, little pond. Its all about location, and in Winnipeg's petty crime scene of bikers and the guys that run with them, Dante has a reputation. I knew what he was like, loud, crass, you name it, oh, and a coke dealer. We managed to make it through dinner without interruption, my compliments to the chef, the NY steak was perfect. Dante would finally make his arrival in the bar after dinner where we were waiting for him. He did not disappoint, after ordering a drink, Dante, pulled out a large bag of coke and started to cut out a line right on top of the table once the waitress had turned her back. My nerves were already bad, so when I decided that this would be an ideal time to visit the washroom for awhile, Dante was on me, loving the opportunity to make someone squirm. When I came back to sit down I noticed another line on the table, this time in front of my chair. "This ones yours," Dante announced. I refused, I was not going to be pressured to do coke off the bar table by some scumbag in a Canadian baseball hat. Dante didn't like the refusal, putting the pressure on me more by saying something about it having to sit there for the waitress, I said that was fine by me, I didn't want it. This went back and forth for awhile, until I just spun the table towards Earl, and he promptly put nose to table behind the cover of a appetizer menu. It would have been easy enough to appease Dante's wishes, but I don't like being told what to do. "Fucking guy still thinks he's in Vancouver at some chinese restaurant with a spinning table," Dante spit out towards the rest of the group, who sat idly watching the hockey game, they had obviously been through this on a regular basis. We were all getting a little antsy to get going back to Earl's place, and once I had my jacket on Dante gave me another once over saying, "What's your hurry meow mix." I have no idea what exactly I should derive from being called meow mix, I am still trying to figure that one out. We all got up and walked out of the bar, leaving Dante to finish his two rye and cokes by himself.

I have two days left in Winnipeg, I will try and make the best of them. Its been very different this time around. No trips down memory lane, I find myself spending most of the days hiding in my parents basement, no enthusiasm to go out and experience the days of my youth. Yesterday I took my daughter to her great grandmothers grave, the plot of land she now shares with my grandfather. It has only been a couple days since the funeral, the ground now repaired to cover up the sorrowful event that took place here only a couple days ago. Who knows when we will be back to this place, this small piece of earth that has united husband and wife in their final resting place. I know that I feel just as screwed up here as I did in Vancouver, maybe even more so, its time to go home and continue on.