We drove up to PEI for an overnight, the Collector and I. What a disaster. We had one of those fights that just won’t quit. You know the kind – it was about everything, but at its bones it was about the same old thing.
Me: need more compassion, more communication, need more, need more!
the Collector: need more space, less talking. Less, less!
And we ate our fancy dinner in silence as I realized, to my horror, that we had no business taking this trip, what with our severe lack of funds. We decided to camp, in November, to stretch them; and there went the movie playing in my head of a romantic evening in a bed and breakfast – mattress raised off the floor and everything, sheets and dishes washed by someone else. So long.
How could I possibly express in that moment, to my partner, the heavy feeling of sadness and anxiety that comes in a moment of realized poverty. Isn’t it always in those moments, when I can’t quite put a finger on what I’m feeling, that I act the most monstrous.
Our moment of grace was the northern lights, which lit an irregular and shifting arc as we scrabbled together a makeshift campsite. Pausing as we loaded our tent, I took the Collector’s hand and we stared at the sky together.