Canada? Why Canada?
I’d never been to Canada. I don’t know why I knew that; I just knew it.
Then it occurred to me: How could I not know where I’m from, who I was, where I lived, and still know I’d never been to Canada?
“None of this makes sense!” I mumbled aloud.
“What?”
I looked at the old man, “I said, it doesn’t make sense. I know I have to go to Canada, but I don’t know why!”
The old coot scratched at his tossed beard, “There’s always a reason, boy. Or are you really as dumb as you look?”
I smiled. “You don’t hold back do you?”
“Why should I? No one’s ever done me no favors. Who’s in Canada?”
“A girl.”
The coot winked, “Uh-huh!”
“No. It’s not like that, you see. I don’t really know the girl. I…” I sighed, “That is, I know there’s a girl there, and I know I HAVE to see her,”
“Why?”
“To get answers!”
“Answers to what?”
“To who I am? To, what’s happening?”
The old man shrugged, “So what IS happening?”
“That’s what doesn’t make sense! I really don’t… know!”
The coot grunted, “Come with me!”