www.simoncollier.ca

Thanks to Chantelle for making me aware of this one.

I spent a weekend in Lake Louise with a friend of mine. I booked our site online weeks in advance and we set off shortly after work on the Friday, my car packed to the roof with sleeping bags, clothes and beer.

As we drove down Highway 2 to leave Edmonton we ran into roadworks, a construction project that should have been started ten years ago (but that’s another blog). After that delay we left Edmonton in the rear-view mirror, set the cruise-control to 120km/h and popped into the back seat to make a cup of tea.

After about two hours of driving we caught up to an ominous-looking cloud. It was a cumulonimbus cloud that had obviously had a run-in with a mountain and a sudden updraught, was in a pissy mood and fully intended to let us all know just how upset it was. It poured water onto the car so heavily that I could barely see the red tail-lights of the oversized trucks ahead. The grooves worn into the asphalt by the heavy wheels of flatbed trailers and SUVs filled with water and formed streams that quickly faded ahead into the fog of water thrown into the air by vehicles in front. I drove wide-eyed as my white knuckles held the steering wheel tightly in place as I aquaplaned my way towards Red Deer, the tachometer’s needle swinging from 30,000 to 60,000 and back as the wheels lost and regained traction through the torrent of water below them.

As the storm subsided we rolled into Red Deer and stopped for refreshments for the car and it’s occupants. I also decided I needed to visit the washroom. (Anyone that knows me understands that I will never turn down the opportunity to visit the washroom when travelling: who knows when the next chance will be.)

I walked into the men’s’ room where there were three urinals. The centre urinal was occupied so I had no choice but to stand next to the man using the centre one. There was no divider between the urinals so I was already uncomfortable with the situation. (Anyone who has read my blogs will know my feelings about the process of using the men’s’ room.)

I stood at the left-hand urinal and positioned myself ready to pee. I felt a sudden feeling of discomfort, like something just “wasn’t right”. I realised the man to my right had been in the final stage of peeing for some time now. (For the benefit of anyone reading this that does not have their own penis: The final stage of peeing is the “shake”, where any remaining beads are shed ready for repackaging.)

My eyes widened and I think a bead of sweat formed on my brow.

He was still shaking.

As discretely as I could, I glanced sideways so I could push that irrational fear from my head but the worst-case scenario was unfolding: The man to my right was masturbating at the urinal.

And I was looking at him.

And he was looking at me looking at him.

My eyes shot forwards and I believe I felt a sudden retreat of myself. I was now in a completely unworkable situation:

• If I didn’t pee, how would that look? I just walked into the men’s’ room to pass some time??
• I COULDN’T PEE. THERE WAS A MAN STANDING NEXT TO ME HOLDING HIS ERECT PENIS AND LOOKING AT ME.

I had an expression of fear, pain and bewilderment on my face as I put huge effort into concentrating on the wall in front of me and forced… WILLED… myself to pee.

But I couldn’t. And as the seconds painfully ticked by and the gap between preparing to pee and actually peeing widened into an immense cravess I could only think, please, please God let me pee now. Please let me pee. Let me pee and get out of this situation.

About four hours later (or it could have been 30 seconds?) I had forced SOMETHING out, hurriedly washed my hands and exited with speed.

We continued our journey to Lake Louise, where we arrived after dark. No problem though, the biggest challenge of the journey was clearly behind us.

For a long time, and even still sometimes, I have felt numb. The highs and lows have mostly normalised to feel the same. I have participated in the activities of life while retreating from the feelings in life. But after spending so much time with you I feel altered, in a way I needed.

I can hear an avalanche, a powerful and thunderous roar, and feel a surge of wonder tingling though my limbs followed shortly by a wave of wide-eyed concern for anyone I would never know was caught below it.

I can see a situation with people in it, then invert my understanding and suddenly and frightenly see people in a situation, with all the complicated pain and fear they must be feeling.

I can see two lost lovers run into each others’ arms and feel the ripple of emotion, their need and relief and feeling of destiny, radiating from them as they touch.

I can see a magnificant view and let it catch my breath as I register it’s grand beauty, and I enjoy that moment of awe.

I look at events and see people, at situations and feel emotions, and at the planet and see the fantastic. You gave me that. Thank you.