Moving On - 11. Chapter 11

I was sitting on the bench outside of the state licensing center, which is located in the middle of an industrial park in the valley, waiting for Krist to finish his road test. Usually these road tests take five to ten minutes and according to many kids, they’re easy as hell compared to the first test, which has twenty multiple choice questions. Get seventeen of them right, you get your permit straight away, and it’s not unusual to hear that many kids fail on the first or second try. Good thing the state let us try as many times as we want, but only one test per day. I looked up at the sky, wasting time watching the birds flying around aimlessly.

“Jeez, will it end soon?” I grumbled and leaned back on the bench.

“Relax, it’s only been five minutes,” Birna looked at her wristwatch, “Hope he remembers to stop right before the stop sign, not next to it.”

“Oh, he should be done soon. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes unless he hits somebody or gives the examiner a hard time,” Jake added.

“No more than ten minutes?” Ben looked at Jake, “Crisse, in Quebec, they would make you do up to thirty minutes of hell doing all sorts of things in the guidebook. And doing that in the crazy traffic of Montreal isn’t as simple as driving through an industrial park like you do here.”

“Vietnam is probably the easiest,” Alex cut Ben off, “Many people would ride a moto or drive a car without a license and get away with it all the time by bribing the traffic cops.”

“Look, he’s coming back!” I pointed at the car, not too far off, coming up the hill.

“He better slow down, he’s going a little too fast,” Birna rolled her eyes.

Krist drove into the parking lot towards the back of the building. In a minute, the examiner came out of the front door and told Birna to accompany Krist while he parked the car in the parking lot and then come in the building for the result.

“Hope it will be good,” Birna muttered as she grabbed her quilt-patterned purse and went to the back. Not too long after, we saw Krist parking at the very front of the lot closest to the door. We got up and went to the car to push Krist into telling us what happened.

“Nothing. I dunno. He said he‘d tell us when we get inside, but it seemed like it went well. I followed whatever he has told me to and he didn’t make many comments,” Krist announced.

“Did you remember to set it in park when you finished parking?” Birna asked him.

“Mum, yes, I did everything. Quit pestering me,” Krist groaned and we went inside after him.

The examiner was waiting for us at the counter. He looked a little old, balding and with glasses. Nevertheless, he smiled at us softly.

“Well, despite not stopping before the stop sign,” he started. Birna glared at Krist.

“I told you so,” Birna remarked, “Oh sorry, do continue,” she smiled at the examiner.

“Well, it was one mistake, so I’m willing to let that go, and say he has passed,” he gave Krist his permit marked ‘passed’ and a road testing number next to it.

“Woot!” Krist cheered. We all congratulated him and took turns looking at his permit, which was nothing but a piece of thick paper the size of two credit cards, printed with the state name, and Krist’s personal information and description.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the lady is waiting for you at the photo booth to take your picture so you can get your license. Drive safe, young man,” the examiner pointed at the booth and waved us good-bye. We turned around to head to the booth but he called out to Krist about something.

“Oh, I was curious about something you said in a foreign language. Something like ‘too er med littli tippi’. What does that mean?” he asked Krist. Birna glared at him and told him something in Icelandic before giving him a slap in the shoulder. Whenever she slaps Krist on the shoulder, it always means he said something stupid or cursed.

“Oh, I was reminding myself to slow down a little,” he answered, “I’m from Iceland, you know.” Birna rolled her eyes, implying ‘right…sure that’s what you said’ and told Krist off again softly in Icelandic…something about minding his language, if I pieced a few keywords together right. Alex found it a little amusing but he held himself from laughing.

“Ah, interesting. Have a nice day,” he waved before going to the back door to give another road test to a girl in the SUV.

“What did you really say?” Jake asked when we walked far enough away from the examiner’s hearing.

“I said ‘þú ert með lítli typpi’, which means ‘you got a small dick’,” Krist translated, with Birna confirming the accurately, “He kinda annoyed me about stopping a little sooner at the stop sign.”

Krist went into the booth to get his picture taken and signed his name on a little piece of paper, which the old woman scanned into the computer. In a minute, the machine hummed and spat out a freshly minted driver’s license.

“Oh fu…erm…fuddle duddle,” Krist awkwardly changed the word midway as his mother was close to slapping his shoulder again. He smiled and told us, “My picture is screwed up.”

“Lemme see,” I grabbed the license. I looked at his face, his lips a little crooked and his eyes staring very darkly.

“It looks like a mugshot of you,” Ben looked over my shoulder.

“You look cute nonetheless,” Birna said, “C’mon, we have to get home before your brothers do. I guess you can drive, Kristján,” she wiggled the keys in front of him, and he grabbed them and went straight to the doors, obviously heading to the car. We followed him shortly and off we went to go back to the mountains.

“Slow down,” Birna told Krist when he reached 80mph, “Don’t think just because you have your license that you’ll be free to do whatever you want. Plus, there is no way I’ll let you drive like a real Icelander would do around the cops,” she winked at him, pointing at that bush, and Krist eased up on the gas to get back to the speed limit of 65, because he noticed a state cop hiding behind the bush.

We arrived at Krist’s house and Birna invited us to come in and have something to eat for a late lunch since we got out of school early to see Krist’s special moment. Birna picked up the phone and decided to order some pizza from King’s, and left the house to pick up the order since King’s doesn’t really offer home delivery. Shortly after that, Krist’s brothers came in.

“Who’s home?” a boy called out from the door while two more followed.

“In the kitchen, guys. Come get your cookies that Mamma made for us!” Krist replied. Ben stared at three boys getting their coats, shoes, and backpacks off and leaving them on the floor.

“Hey, guys. Come here, I want you to meet someone,” I pulled one of the boys to face Ben.

“Jónsi, meet Ben. Ben, meet Jónsi, Krist’s fourteen year old brother,” I said as I introduced the oldest blond boy. Well, the whole family is blond anyway.

“Then the twelve year old twins, Sindri and Sigrún,” I told Ben, pointing at the identical twin brothers.

“Ok boys, go get your cookies,” I let them go and in a second, they ran to the kitchen, “Go Ben before they eat them all.”

Krist, his brothers, Ben, Alex, and Jake and I sat down at the table eating Birna’s homemade cookies and milk. We just chatted about our day, plus Krist showed his new driver’s license to his brothers, which reminded Ben to tell us something.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you I’ll get a road test too next week when I’ll be in Canada?” Ben told me.

“No…” I started to say, but Krist cut me off.

“No kidding, I didn’t even know you’re driving.”

“Really! Look, I’ll get my permit out of my wallet,” Ben went to his wallet, taking out a credit card-like permit with a goofy photo of him on it that he had made on purpose. Cute. Krist took it out of his hand to see it.

“Heh, all in French…” Krist gave it back to Ben, “I wish you luck. It’d be cool to have two people driving instead of me doing all of the work till Steph, Jake, and Alex eventually get their license.”

“I haven’t really thought of it. Say, do you have your manual? I’ll take my test after I come back from Canada,” I asked Krist for his copy of the PA Driver’s Manual since he wouldn’t need it anymore. He went up to his room to find me a copy, and Birna just came in with the pizza. We all sat down again along with Birna and we enjoyed some pizza and soda for our dinner.

“Ok, we better get going,” Ben said, “C’mon Step, we gotta leave early tomorrow, so we need some sleep.”

“Have fun in Canada guys. Don’t forget to bring us something Canadian,” Krist smiled. Jake and Alex repeated the same.

“Bye-bye, Ben and Steph,” the twins waved at us, with Jónsi. Birna was on the phone, so all she could manage was waving us bye as well.

As we left the house, Ben didn’t even hesitate to comment about the brothers.

“They’re too damn hot, just like their brother. God, the twins are cute!” Ben started to drool as he painted a picture of them in his dirty…mind.

“And I am not?” I remarked.

“Oh, you have a good gun, that’s why I’m still here,” he smirked.

“Fuck you,” I grinned, and we walked in the woods towards Ben’s house, passing the treehouse. Hmmm, I have to remember to take Ben there again someday when spring comes. We had to part ways, since I had to cross the ice to get to my house. We looked around before kissing each other goodbye for the night. I can’t wait for tomorrow, I’m going to leave the country for the first time in my life. Mom agreed to let me go on the trip, so there was no problem. She even gave me some money, five hundred dollars, to spend up there on the condition that I bring her some Canadian stuff as well. Looks like I’ll have a really full suitcase with everyone asking me to bring back something Canadian for them.

I woke up at six in the morning to Mom knocking on the door, telling me to be showered and ready when Mr. Lemoureaux came to pick me up. So I dragged my ass off the bed and walked like a zombie, knowing I shouldn’t have drunk that coffee an hour before bed. I showered. I shaved. I did whatever I always do in the bathroom every morning, including brushing my teeth. I grabbed my suitcase and backpack and brought them downstairs where I found Mom in the kitchen, taking some documents out of the metal safe box.

“Here’s your birth certificate and social security card,” she put the documents in a plastic folder and handled them to me, “You’ll need them to get across the border. Do not lose them. Got your photo ID?”

“Yeah, I do,” I flashed her my state issued ID made for people who don’t have their driver’s license yet.

“Good, make sure you have your school ID as well. Two is better than one,” she continued.

“Mom, stop fussing, I got everything! It’ll be fine,” I moaned.

“Well, you’ll be in another country for god’s sake! Do you expect me to be not serious?” she rolled her eyes, “Here, take this bag. I made sandwiches for you, Ben, and his brother. There are some large bottles of Gatorade too, but don’t drink them like water or otherwise you’ll be stopping too much to go to the bathroom.” Then a car just honked from outside.

“It’s them! Ok, I’ll call when I get there,” I went to give her a hug, “Love you!”

“Have fun,” she followed me to the door so she could wave at Mr. Lemoureaux, Ben, and Adrien. Mr. Lemoureaux got out of the car so he could squeeze my suitcase next to Adrien’s and Ben’s in the trunk, and he managed to do that…barely.

“Wonderful, now we can finally leave!” Ben excitedly told me and moved over to the middle of the backseat that held another of Adrien’s suitcase.

“All set, Steph?” Mr. Lemoureaux got in the car and turned around to face me from the front seat. Adrien looked back and waved ‘hello’ at me.

“You bet!” I replied and off we went. We went down the mountains to the valley, going to downtown Wilkes-Barre where the bus station is. Mr. Lemoureaux dropped us off, giving the guys a few reminders in French and gave them a hug, especially Adrien since he would not see his son for a while.

“Steph, keep an eye on him for me,” he winked and shook hands with me.

“Bye and thanks for everything,” I told him, giving the final shake.

“Here, the ticket…you go first,” he gave me a bus ticket and pointed at the bus being loaded. So I walked to the bus driver waiting at the open door and gave him the ticket.

“New York, huh?” he asked me.

“Erm…yeah,” I replied softly.

“Great, give your suitcase to that man there. He’ll load it for you,” he ripped the ticket and gave me the receipt back, and I walked on the bus. The bus was already half-full with people going to New York City, almost all commuters. It’s really hard to understand that some people living here would be willing to travel two and half or even three hours to New York City everyday except weekends, wasting too many hours of their lives on this long commute.

“Yo, move it. Pick a seat, Steph,” Ben gave me a little push from behind. I moved down the aisle to find two empty seats and since I got on first, I had dibs getting the window. Adrien sat right across from us on the other side of the bus, sitting next to a sleeping woman in a business suit.

The bus pulled out of the station and in ten minutes, out of the valley. New York City is about two and half hours away, three at the max if there is rush hour traffic. We spent half of our time going through the Pocono Mountains region of Pennsylvania, and then across the Delaware River, the boundary between Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Usually most of the trip through northern New Jersey is all forests with some mountains, but they’re nowhere as big as the mountains of Pennsylvania. Ben and Adrien were reading a local newspaper, the Citizens’ Voice, while I played my ipod for some music and games on the little screen.

Then we eventually fell asleep. Ben put his head on my shoulder and kept it like that until the bus driver announced over the speakers the warning that we were ten minutes away from the bus station in New York City, waking everyone up. I looked out from the windows; the city was already in full view across the Hudson River. After living in the countryside all of my life and being used to seeing several small high-rises in downtown Wilkes-Barre and Scranton, New York City’s dense skyline always amazes me no matter how many times I go there.

We entered the Lincoln Tunnel, which took us under the river for almost a mile before popping out in midtown Manhattan, looking through the skyscrapers making the streets like urban canyons. Situated near the opening of the tunnel, the bus station was huge, about the size of a football stadium perhaps. When the bus stopped, everyone jumped out of the seats to crowd the narrow aisle, hoping to get out as quick as they could. After we finally got out of the bus, we had to work through the crowd of people while trying to get our suitcases from the pile next to the bus, and once we got them, we went inside the station.

“We won’t have to get on the bus to Montreal for two hours, so we’re going outside to a café for some snacks,” Ben told Adrien and me, showing the timetable written on the tickets.

“How long will it take to get to Montreal?” I asked him.

“About eight hours, seven if the driver likes to speed a little over the limit,” Adrien replied as he pointed out the escalators to go up to the street level.

“Shit, good thing I packed plenty of music in my ipod and some food that Mom made for us,” I muttered.

We went out the doors and I had to dance around my suitcase through the heavy crowds on the sidewalks, trying to catch up with Ben and Adrien as they took me to nowhere. Ben told me to be patient as the destination was only a couple of blocks away from the station, so we wouldn’t have to drag the heavy suitcases for much longer.

“There we are, at this corner,” Ben told me.

“What is it…” I arrived at the corner and stopped, “Wow…” All around me were flashing lights covering many buildings, especially their fronts. I found myself standing in one of the most famous spots in the world, Times Square. Times Square probably has more flashing lights and flashing ad displays and would make the Las Vegas’s Strip look like a little light bulb compared to those dazzling displays on every single building in the district.

“C’mon Steph, don’t stand there…” Ben snapped me out of the trance that the flashing lights put me into, telling me we should cross the street, “Europa Café is where we’re eating,” he pointed at the café right across the street.

I followed them across the street and entered the café, all happy to leave that heavy bitchass suitcase next to a table to reserve a spot in an already crowded café. We went to the display of sandwiches, Paninis, salads, and more. Ben decided to get the large cup of strawberry yogurt parfait with organic oatmeal, strawberries, blueberries, and bananas in it with his coffee. Adrien decided to stick with the coffee, and I picked a turkey wrap with lettuce, peppers, and tomatoes inside. We sat down, looking at the clock making sure we wouldn’t be late for the bus, and talked about general stuff. Ben also talked about the places that he would show me when we got to Montreal.

“Soon after I show you that mall… Oh crisse de tabarnak! Adrien, on doit décrisser ou sinon on sera en retard!” (Oh fucking hell! Adrien, we gotta get the fuck out of here or otherwise we’ll be late!) Ben panicked at his brother after checking his watch, grabbing his suitcase. I didn’t need any translation since the body language said it all for me. We quickly walked like crazy through the crowds on the sidewalks. They’re New Yorkers anyway, so they didn’t really give a damn about us walking like crazy.

We arrived at the station in ten minutes, Ben asked his brother for the number.

“Erm…soixante…si je m’en souviens ben…” (Erm…sixty…if I remember well…) he answered.

“Ben là, on décrisse donc! C’mon Steph!” (Well, let’s move on then, dammit!)

“Ok…ok…ok…je viens!” (I’m coming!) I told him back in French, which was still basic anyway.

We went down the escalators to gate number sixty, and Adrien had it right, it’s the gate that leaves for Albany-Montreal.

“Good, not much of a line. Sure as hell we’ll be on this bus without having to stand by waiting for the next bus, which would be another hour to wait for nothing,” Ben explained, finding a way to justify the haste.

“Oh shit, you scared me… I thought we were going to be close to missing the damn bus and you’re telling me we may have to wait an hour?!” I took his hand to see his watch.

“If we had come fifteen minutes before departure, the line would be too long and we could risk not being able to get on the bus at the time we want to leave. Everyone wants to go to Montreal and it’s on a first come, first served basis,” Ben said in a little annoyed voice.

“Sorry, I’m not too familiar with busses,” I apologized.

We sat down on the floor waiting in the line; it grew longer as time went by. Soon the door opened and the bus driver was ready to accept the tickets. We got up, lining up as Ben gave each of us our own ticket to board the bus. After we finally boarded, I got the window again and Ben never really cared.

“Hey, I went this way before. I don’t care as long as I have you next to me,” he gave me a kiss on the cheek. I saw Adrien smiling and turn his face away. Geez, he’s been quite quiet, even in the café!

The bus pulled out of the station, back through the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey again. The bus would take us through New Jersey a little bit before coming back into New York further away from NYC to avoid the crazy traffic in Manhattan, and then up through upstate New York with a thirty-minute break in the Albany station at around three in the afternoon. We ate all of Mom’s sandwiches in the dining area of the station and then it was time to go back on the same bus that we had been riding. Shortly after we left Albany, we went through the beautiful Adirondack Mountains, a huge mountain preserve taking up a large chunk of upstate New York. Somewhere in the mountains, I started seeing highway signs, especially tourist ones, written bilingually in English and French, which really surprised me since I thought they’d be all in English until we crossed the border.

Adrien was sitting next to a blonde woman, talking to her. Ben went to join in the conservation.

“Do you mind me asking where you are from?” Ben asked her.

“Sweden…Stockholm, though I grew up in a small town that you don’t know, dear,” she smiled.

“That’s my brother, madam,” Adrien added, explaining his sudden involvement in the conservation.

“Neat, why are you here then?” I added.

“For school and hopefully to stay here to explore for a few years,” she answered me.

“And his friend…” Adrien rolled his eyes.

“Oh stop it with that tone of voice,” she gave Adrien a little push on the shoulder, “They’re nice afterall,” she laughed a little.

The woman started talking about more about why she was in the USA and Canada. She was studying English as a major in NYC and will graduate this spring with a bachelor degree. Then she will go to McGill University to get her masters to be an English literature teacher. Adrien would sometimes blush for no reason, and seemed as if he liked her. It took us about two hours to get through the mountains and then after another hour, we stopped at Plattsburgh, a small city right next to Lake Champlain for a quick break. Ben and I went to look out at the lake to see the Green Mountains of Vermont on the other side of the lake miles away.

“How long to the border?” I asked Adrien while Ben was in the bathroom.

“Oh, just fifteen or twenty minutes. It’s not too far off from here,” he answered.

“Oh…that close? Wow,” I said in surprise.

“Well, you slept a little, and that tends to make the trip seem faster for you,” Adrien grinned, “I haven’t slept at all yet, so I can’t wait to feel my bed in a couple of hours.”

“C’mon guys, the bus is boarding again,” Ben pointed at the people getting back into the bus.

Adrien was right; we arrived at the border in fifteen minutes. I saw that we passed a very subtle line on the cleared ground through the trees and a silver marker indicating the border between the United States and Canada. In a few seconds, we got in the line at the border booths that look quite a lot like those tollbooths we have on turnpikes and toll roads. The bus passed through one of them and parked next to a small building. The bus driver told us to remain in the bus until a customs officer gives us permission to come in. So we waited ten minutes until a lady in her thirties come in the bus, telling us to bring all of our stuff out of the bus, take our suitcases, and come inside the building for documentation checks. So everyone got up and did as she told us.

We waited in line; I took out the plastic folder containing my birth certificate and social security card to get them ready to show a couple of customs officers at the front checking everyone’s papers. I saw that Ben and Adrien were holding their Canadian passports.

“Can I see that? I never saw a foreign passport before,” I asked Ben, looking at the black passport with the word ‘passport’ written in English and French, the country’s official coat of arm, and ‘Canada’ written on it in silver letterings. Ben gave me his passport and I opened it up, giggled at Ben’s weird photo, looking like a real mugshot. Why do most official photos always look like that? And he looked younger too, so I looked at the issue date, he was fourteen when he got his passport. I went through the pages and saw he had a couple of stamps from Cuba and Mexico. Ben explained that his family went to Havana and Cancun for vacation. I also saw one big visa covering a whole passport page from the US granting him residency in the country and his green card tucked in a little envelope. Ben took the passport out of my hand, telling me I saw enough of his picture when I was going to look at it again to have another laugh.

Eventually, after ten minutes of waiting, it was our turn. The same woman customs officer that came in the bus motioned at us to come up forward to the counter. Ben and Adrien came first, greeted the woman in French to let her know which language she should serve them in, and then presented their passports.

“Hmmm, vous êtes donc Canadiens. Où vivez-vous et qu’est-ce que vous avez fait pendant votre séjour aux États-Unis?” (Hmmm, you’re Canadians then. Where do you live and what did you do during your stay in the United States?) The customs officer asked Ben and Adrien while she scanned their passports into a computer. I guess it’s a database thingie to check their identities and to see if they’re criminals or anything. Adrien took care of the answering the several questions that the woman asked them, and then the woman seemed satisfied and returned their passports.

“Vos documents d’identité?” (Your identity papers?) the officer asked me.

“Erm…wha…pardon?” I asked her in confusion.

“Your identity papers, like passport, official photo ID, birth certificate, and so on,” she sighed in English.

“Oh! Right, I have a birth certificate…” I handled it over to her, “And my state issued photo ID.”

“Which citizenship are you?” she asked.

“American,” I answered in a polite tone.

“How long will you be in Canada and what is the purpose of this trip?” she asked.

“For a week, and to go to Montreal to visit the city with Ben and Adrien here, my friends.” She entered the data she found on the birth certificate and ID into the computer to check for something like she did with Adrien and Ben.

“You’re seventeen years old, so you’re a minor. Do you have a parental consent paper?” she pointed at the birthdate on my ID.

“A what?” I asked.

“A consent paper that has permission from your parent or guardian letting you travel in Canada on your own,” she explained.

“I never thought I would need one…” I stumbled.

“Wait here, I’ll ask the other agent about this,” she gave me back my birth certificate and ID, and went to the other customs officer, explaining everything in French about my situation.

“Shit, I have a bad feeling about this,” Ben whispered at me. Fuck, I might be denied entry into Canada just because I didn’t have a written permission paper from my mother.

“But you’re seventeen too, and she’s letting you in without that paper!” I hissed at him.

“That’s because I have Adrien for an eighteen year old brother,” he answered, “Plus, I’m Canadian, so they can’t deny me entering my own country when I have enough proof that I’m Canadian,” he answered before the woman came up with a male customs agent, requesting to see my papers again and looked at the computer once more.

“Well, so far we don’t find you suspicious, but it’s a rule to know that you have parental permission to travel in Canada,” he said in an official voice, “Do you have a phone number that we could call?”

“Erm, yes, of course!” I answer and they gave me a piece of paper and pen to write the numbers on.

“We’ll be right back, we’ll need your papers to confirm everything,” he walked through a door into an office. We settled in for a few minutes of waiting that seemed to be an hour. I crossed my finger that I make it in and was prepared for the final word when they came out of the office, handled my papers back to me. The man told the woman something again in French and went back his counter to check the rest of the people.

“We did contact your mother and she accurately said everything what was written on your documents, and gave you permission to travel. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m bound by the rules,” she gave me a small smile, “You may go. Enjoy your stay in Canada,” she pointed at the doors where we should exit the room. We sighed with relief that there wasn’t going to be any problem getting in the country.

Then we walked with our suitcases down a hallway into the waiting room with the other passengers of the bus who had completed the custom check and been admitted into the country like us. It was cold and flurrying outside, so I went outside the building to look around. The border station was in the middle of nowhere. The land is quite flat with forests dotting the snow-covered landscape. Ben joined me and pointed me toward a welcome sign that looks like a half real purple iris flower photograph and half-white fleur-de-lis logo that is the symbol of Quebec. The sign said first in big bold letters in French, ‘Bienvenue’ (Welcome), and then smaller prints in English, and Spanish with a much bigger ‘Québec’ print under them.

“Bienvenue au Québec, mon chéri,” (Welcome to Quebec, my dear) Ben whispered in my ear, and so I took a photo of that welcome sign.

“C’mon guys, bus is loading,” the bus driver called out at us.

So we got back in the bus and off we went for an hour ride to Montreal. Canada is a huge sparsely populated country where almost all of its population and major cities often are situated two or three hundred miles from the border and Montreal is no exception as it is only fifty miles from the border. Riding on a highway through a flat, Quebec countryside with forests and farms mixed together, I let the strange, different signs all written in French amaze me beyond my mind. I managed to catch a couple of photos of those highways signs at high shutter speed. It was getting dark, so the photos didn’t come out as clearly as I had hoped.

Forty minutes after crossing the border, the countryside gave away to houses stacked next to each other, as a real suburb would have. I looked out the window to see I was next to the river and the lights of Montreal’s skyline came into view from a distance, and as well Montreal’s famous mountain, Mont Royal, rising high over the skyline. My heart was beating a little faster and I felt a shiver all over my body seeing the city from across the river, welcoming me, as I got closer. The bus shortly went on Champlain Bridge, one of several major bridges crossing the vast St. Lawrence River. Montreal is in an interesting location since it is the only major city in the world that sits on a big island in the middle of the river with a mountain in the middle of the city.

“Yep, that’s Montreal,” Ben smiled, “I’m so happy to see home again. God, how I miss it.”

“I think I love it already,” I smiled back at him.