Bleeding Fiction

Derek, the Bard has Spring Break or some such this week and has therefore flown from Toronto to the Left Coast of Canadia to visit his mother and step-father in the suburbs of Vancouver. Seeing as Vancouver is only a little over a two hour drive away from me, this seemed a good opportunity to actually, you know, meet the Bard, which I'd technically never done before.

I hadn't made a long drive since July and hadn't made a long drive by myself in... well, honestly, I forget the last time. A while ago, anyway. I love long drives so much; the weight of the car as it grips around a turn, the hum of air outside the car, the minutes stretching out into miles...

The drive north reminded me of driving through upstate New York, only with fewer billboards. Honestly, I think I just automatically associate long drives through rural areas with upstate New York, given how much of the former have been through the later. Even drives that are very different geographically (say, when I drove through the midwest a few years back) I've thought of in juxtaposition with New York State.

An hour and a half north and I hit the border. The guard was very confused by the fact that my license plate and driver's license read New Jersey but that I claimed to live in Seattle. So confused was he that he sent me off to the customs office, whereupon I was asked a series of ridiculous questions, including the purpose of my visit to Canada, how I earned a living, how I knew Derek and so on. The sort of questions that airline check in people ask, that a person who wants to cause any sort of trouble will simply lie about. It was wonderful to have to explain that I know the Bard from when he worked for me as a volunteer for an internet chat. I have, all things considered, had gained quicker access to countries where the customs agents and I did not speak the same language. But they had a picture of Elizabeth II, Queen of Canada, on the wall, so that made up for it.

After I cleared customs I drove through a sort of sleepy suburban area; the sort that I, as a kid from North Jersey's sprawl, tend to think of as sub-suburban. There are shopping malls and condos and housing developments, sure, but also abundant farmland. Pleasantish. I made it to the Bard's house without further incident.

Derek's first words to me were that I didn't look like he expected me to from the pictures on my blog. So large was the discrepancy that the Bard felt the need to take a picture of me with his digital camera, to see if it more resembled the person standing in front of him. That picture is still forthcoming for the viewing public, but I don't believe that it does. Derek said I have a squarer jaw than my pictures suggest. That's cool. Also not a surprise. Leaving aside only one picture that I can think of, I don't photograph well. In my case, the camera lies. Not so for the Bard who, leaving aside the top hat and cane, looks very much like the pictures I've seen.

Beyond that first surprise, we spent the day in a brief tour of the town, all important sites included. Which is to say the comic shop, the game store, the waterfront and the local shopping mall. I explained to Derek, as I have to many other people, that I'm very comfortable in malls, seeing as a good portion of my life thus far can be summed up by watching Mallrats. I bought some chocolate from what the Bard assured me was a wonderful chocolatier. We talked shop, which means we talked a lot about comics, both reading them and writing them. We threw some ideas at each other, gave suggestions and so on. Derek, in person, is as enthusiastic and energetic as he comes across on chat and the phone. It's slightly infectious.

I left the Bard's home a little before nine and made my way home. U.S. customs was pathetically easy to get past. I didn't have to answer any questions at all; just flashed the fakey-looking New Jersey driver's license and got waved right through. If anyone is considering illegal immigration to the U.S. for any reason, peaceful or otherwise, all you need to do is get a high school student to make you a fake I.D. and come through the Peace Arch customs station. Easy.

And that was the day. It was very cool to be able to see the Bard, finally. I've known him for so long it's crap that we hadn't been able to get together sooner. As I keep saying, we've put a lot of utility into the world, but nothing can top the wonderfully human touch of a voice unfiltered by electronics, of a strong handshake, of being able to make eye contact with the person you're talking to, of responding without delay. Even if it's just for a few hours, it can lend an interesting focus to a friendship.

Now I just have to work on that with Gus, Amanda and Gabe...