#that coworker is five years older than me and I’d interacted with him twice.

[deancoded-deangirl]

my performance review was good but my boss said I should consider “opening up” to the team because I’m very reserved, but “they all want to get to know [me]” like. you want me to tell these people my trauma— that’s the example she used— but these are the same people who have made plans to go out with everyone on the team, except me, in front of me. i will not be socializing with them, thank you.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I got to see Garnet Rogers live last night, the last time I saw him was probably at the Edmonton Folk Festival when I was seven years old. The tickets were my Christmas present to my mother this year, which I loved because it was the first the in a very long that I could afford to get her an actual gift. I had a lot of years of financial precariousness where I’d do nice sentimental things for gifts, and of course my parents are lovely people who appreciate the thought that I put into things, but it was nice this year to be financially stable enough to get her a regular gift (I mean, I’m not doing financially well by any means, I’m just not in imminent danger of losing my ability to pay rent if I buy a few non-essential things, and that is true even once I take into account the money I’ve set aside for/already spent on a trip to the UK this summer, so I feel pretty lucky these days). The tickets weren’t expensive or anything, but still, the price of two of them was more than I’d have spent the year before.

Someone at work asked me if I had any plans for this weekend, which immediately made me feel awkward, for which I mainly blame the backlash against hipsters that took over all of culture in about 2010. When everyone became obsessed with making fun of the prototypical hipster who, when you ask them what music they’re listening to, says “You’ve probably never heard of it.” This has caused a problem for me, as it leaves me with no polite and acceptable way to answer if someone asks me what music I’m listening to.

There’s no winning. If I say the name of an artist they haven’t heard of as though I expect them to know it, then it just sounds weird, they look at me strangely and I feel the way I did when I was ten years old and brought my Lennie Gallant CD in for show and tell and all the kids made fun of me. If I explain who the singer is, then that sort of feels more pretentious, or at least, gets into a longer conversation than the person was asking for when they just asked what my weekend plans are. And the people who perpetuated anti-hipster backlash have taken away the option of saying “Oh it’s a guy you won’t know.” Like. I don’t think I’m better than you for it. Quite the opposite, my personality today is largely driven by the inferiority complex I developed when I was ten and other kids thought my music was weird. It’s fine that you’ve probably never heard of it, I’m not saying that as some sort of power play. I’m just saying it because, you probably haven’t heard of it. And you don’t want me to explain who it is, and I don’t want to explain who it is while you listen politely and try to get out of the conversation, why can’t we just bring back “You probably don’t know it” as a normal and value neutral thing to say?

Anyway, this time, I was pleased that I did have a way to explain who I’m seeing via a reference point that most people know. Because Garnet Rogers is the older brother of Stan Rogers, a very famous Canadian folk singer. He died in 1983, and I think my music collection contains at least five different songs, written by various other Canadian folk singers, in tribute to his death, which is how you know he was a hell of an influence on the culture.

There’s an entire folk festival dedicated to his memory, called StanFest in Canso Nova Scotia. I’ve traveled the 15-ish-hour drive to attend that festival twice in my life and it’s been two of my favourite weekends ever.

Stan Rogers was so famous that he became one of the folk singers to break the containment of the folk niche, and he’s a cultural touchstone for most people in Canada. I’m pretty sure most people in Canada can sing at least the chorus of his most mainstream successful song, Barrett’s Privateers. So when my coworker asked me who I was going to see, I said, “Okay, you know Stan Rogers?” And she said “No”, and I just wanted to call in a referee and say "Hey, that's not fair! I know that usually a flaw in the social interaction is my fault, but this one can't be on me, it was a reasonable expectation on my part that a random person would have at least heard of Stan Rogers. This social interaction field has been stacked against me, how can I be expected to perform under these conditions?"

Anyway, I was totally unprepared for that answer to I sort of stammered, “Oh, right, well I’m seeing his brother,” and she looked at me like “Why have you told me that you’re seeing the brother of a guy I’ve never heard of?” and I looked at her like “Because I’m not allowed to just tell you you’ve never heard of it for some reason” and it was awkward and this is why I don’t usually try small talk with coworkers.

Anyway. I remember being a kid and asking both my parents who their favourite singer was; my dad said Gordon Lightfoot and my mom said Garnet Rogers. My dad briefly revised that to Emmylou Harris when I was a teenager, but I think my mom’s answer has stayed the same for about thirty years. My dad likes Garnet too, but not as much, and this is a rare music thing that I share more with my mom than my dad, which is cool.

My mother likes music, but not normally as intensely; she’ll come along for the first day or so of the folk festival, if it’s nice weather, and doesn’t want to do the whole long four-day, rain or shine adventure the way my dad and I do. Music has always been a big bonding thing for my dad and I, so I really enjoyed getting to have it as a bonding thing with her last night. She was so excited, she kept talking about how she used to see him at folk festivals all the time but hasn’t seen him since about 2006. She bought his book at intermission and got him to sign it. She had two glasses of wine and had me drive her home.

He was great; he looked older than his age (which is presently 68), but his voice hasn't started fading at all. He played mostly acoustic, but plugged the bass guitar in for his really famous song called Night Drive, about touring with his brother, which was amazing. He did some of his old stuff and some new stuff and an unexpected Greg Brown cover and ended on a Stan Rogers cover. It's got to be weird to spend 40 years best known for being a dead man's brother.

And the crowd was great. First of all, great Canadian folk singer James Keelaghan was in the audience, and it's always cool as fuck when that happens. When you go to one person's gig and someone else is just walking around. That used to happen all the time when I lived in Nova Scotia. In one Halifax bar, I once saw Bruce Guthro with Jimmy Rankin in the audience, and a few months later saw JP Cormier with Lennie Gallant in the audience.

Anyway. It was at this folk music club that just opened in 2021, and it brought all the folk people back. All the people who used to go to our local folk festival, until 2012 when they sold the festival to some people who overhauled it and brought in the "indie rock" acts, and then the just regular rock acts, to draw in younger crowds at the small cost of having a folk festival with no folk music. I kept going for a few years, and then stopped bothering because it had stopped being a folk festival at all, it was full of drunk young people and indie rock bands (I've recently started getting over my prejudice against things labeled "indie rock" that was caused by that, because some of that music I quite like, I just don't like it taking over folk festivals) and it was shit, it still is. Folk festivals are meant to be for hippies who are 60+ years old, wearing tie-dye and makeshift ponchos and with grey ponytails. I fucking love going to a folk festival and seeing all the grey ponytails, on men and women. Makes me less anxious about getting older, seeing that some people who reach that age don't feel the need the cut their hair or dye it.

Anyway, it turns out all the hippies with grey ponytails in the city didn't disappear when the folk festival got sold, they just stopped coming out. But now this folk club opened and that's where they all were last night. Both my parents and I have tickets to see JP Cormier and Dave Gunning there in April and I can't wait to go back.

I've realized this is the only thing in my life where I get to be in the liberal bubble. The rest of my life has been taken up with this sport where you're considered fairly left-wing if you were open-minded enough to be willing to get a COVID vaccine, even if you still had "concerns" about it. I've now started sometimes hanging out at local comedy places; I went to a club comedy night the other night with 8 men and 2 women on the bill, almost all the men had some amount of racist or sexist material, and that's still considered one of the more progressive nights because they had women on and most of the material wasn't like that. I know that sometimes I overlook bad stuff because my standards of what counts left-wing is skewed by a community where only being mildly bad is considered centrist.

But folk festivals. Folk festivals have always been my one point of access to the liberal bubble. The performers and the audience full of people who were hippies in the 60s and then just kept on being that way after everyone else stopped. It's fucking great. I'm a big fan of the liberal bubble, and have less and less tolerance these days for people who deride it, because even if it's imperfect it's so much better than the alternative.

My favourite Garnet Rogers song is Underpass, and annoyingly there's no good quality version on YouTube of just that song, but here's a video of him playing it along with Twisting in the Wind, which is another great song. It's from 2011, apparently, but last night he looked pretty similar to that, aside from a few more wrinkles in the face. He definitely still has the same hair as in that video, though. Last night, the most impressive grey ponytail in the room was on the guy on stage.

While we're at it, here's my personal favourite Stan song:

There's this thing at the end of the John Robins/Elis James radio show called the Keep it Sessions Sessions, as an outro to the podcast and separate from the live radio broadcast, where they'll take turns picking a musician or band they love, will talk for a few minutes about who they are and what they do, and then they'll play 30 seconds (all they can do without running into copyright issues) of a song by them. Usually used for bands that are not on the Radio X playlist, so they can share music they like the listeners even if it's not something the station will let them actually play.

I've quite enjoyed those segments, and it's introduced me to a couple of singers where I've ended up downloading and enjoying their stuff (like I said, I am overcoming my anti-indie rock prejudice, to be honest listening to Kitson's radio shows went a long way toward getting me to overcome that and a lot of the Robins/James recs are in the same vein). But every time I hear it, I think, that sounds like fun, I wish I had a platform to just spend a few minutes every week telling people about a band or singer I like, explaining where they come from and what they do and then playing people one of their songs and offering recs on their best stuff.

Then I remembered, I have a Tumblr blog where I can post whatever I want. So I might just start doing that. Here, this is a decent quality version of his song about touring with his brother.

[puckngrind]

What’s In a Name: 1 - J Toews

Summary: Bekah heads to the 2015 All-Star game in Columbus where she meets Jon.

Warnings: mentions of break up, swearing, smut

Word count: 3205

Series masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Numb.

Numb was the word Rebekah finally landed on to describe her state of being. She knew it wasn’t grief. She felt that emotion rip through her soul in waves when thinking of her grandfather who passed away two years prior. This wasn’t that or pain and she knew it.

Her boyfriend of the last four years walked into their shared apartment two days after Christmas in 2014 as she was cleaning up the holiday decorations dancing to the N’Sync Christmas album. He announced he was done with their relationship and moving in with his coworker that night. Rebekah had convinced herself that this man was the one she would marry and spend the rest of her life with. Now the cold, numb feeling she felt said maybe that she willed herself to the feelings of wanting to be married and the thoughts of marriage was not due to the actual love she thought they shared.

“You need to eat Bekah.” Brynn shoved eggs and bacon in front of her face. “And we are going back to your place today to remove the asshole’s presence from it. Got it, Bekah?” Her best friend’s hand landed on Bekah’s in that mom kind of way. To be honest, Brynn was kind of like a second mom. She was older but the two hit it off from the moment they met. Brynn was in accounting and Bekah in marketing at a same firm in Columbus, Ohio. They were work wives if you asked those who interacted with them the most.

“Thanks Rin.” Bekah was the only person to call her a nickname which was a running joke since Brynn’s name was chosen specifically because it did not have nicknames. Of course, Bekah found one and Brynn secretly loved watching her mother flinch when she heard it used.

The two headed over to the Bekah’s apartment after breakfast. “Maybe I should just move? Break the lease?” The realization that she would never feel at home again started settling in as she watched Brynn pack up the pictures from over the fireplace and moved towards bedroom.

“You can come live with us until you find a new place. Derek mentioned it in bed last night.” Brynn and Derek were the cutest married couple Bekah knew. “Plus the team is on a roadie so we can have the house to ourselves to burn things if ya want, drink wine, and of course, eat Jeni’s.”

Derek was a trainer for the Columbus Blue Jackets. He traveled with the team which Brynn sort of loved because she could host nights in when he was out of town but hated that he was gone so much. Bekah knew she hated to be alone but would never admit to it. There was a perk Bekah enjoyed from being friends with Brynn and Derek. She was always the one who went to games with her bestie. While Bekah wouldn’t call herself a die hard fan, she loved the atmosphere of the arena. Hockey was something that amazed her for a multitude of reasons. For starters, the way these giant men skated so gracefully while all 5’7” of herself somewhat athletic self could hardly stand on ice skates. Then they hit pucks and opponents so impressive to watch.

“You just need to get back out there.” Brynn handed Bekah a glass of wine while settling into the couch to watch the last game of 2014.

“I don’t know Rin. I kinda think I need to be alone for awhile. Find myself or whatever.” Bekah sipped her wine and took in the game.

“I’m sure Derek could introduce you to one of the single guys on the team.” Brynn nods to the television. “No strings attached there. You know most of them go home for the summer.” Brynn giggled as she watched her best friend’s face contort.

“Holy shit Brynn! No. NO! Talk about awkward. And they are either married or way young, right?” Bekah barked out.

“Well the ones I’m thinking of are all 21 or older...and maybe you just need to get under someone new, that’s all I’m saying.”

“And a pro hockey player is your solution? Like they would even give me the time of day.” Bekah pulled at her french braid then shoved her empty hand deep into her hoodie attempting hide her insecurities. “I’ve been single for what, five days, friend. I don’t need anyone new right now.”

“Well you should see the way some of the boys look at you. Boone comes to mind.” The gasp out of Bekah’s mouth was enough for Brynn. “When you are ready, just let me know.” She eyed her best friend then dropped the topic for now.

January brought a new chapter. Bekah found a place she loved and swore off men for the near future.

“You are coming to the All Star things with me. Derek already got you an all access pass so you cannot say no. He only gets two.” Brynn announced the week before the All-Star break. She tried to convince Bekah to go with them on vacation but Bekah was already feeling like the third wheel in the few weeks since the breakup and said no.

“That sounds fun.” Brynn’s mouth dropped open when Bekah didn’t fight the announcement.

The city was buzzing and finally felt like a hockey town. Bekah picked Brynn up and the two fluttered around the arena district before taking in the activities on the concourse then headed below to go see Derek. The amount of people in the tunnels was crazy but soon the two found Derek. Bekah pointed to a place to meet and wandered off while the couple spoke.

“So are you related to a Jackets player?” A deep voice boomed above Bekah’s head.

“Huh?” Bekah turns and looks up at the tall, handsome man decked out in All-Star gear. She noticed a 19 on his sweatshirt meaning he was a player.

“Your shirt makes me think you are a Columbus fan and since you are down here...I’m assuming you are a relative. Am I wrong?” His serious face cracks into a slight smile.

“Oh! I’m friends with the trainer.” Bekah replies finally pointing into the sea of people.

“Nice. I’m Jon. And you are?” Jon places his hand out to shake Bekah’s hand. She places her hand in his.

“Rebekah. Bekah to most. Nice to meet you.”‘ she looks up into his dark brown eyes. “So, which team do you play for?” She moves her hand out of his and flicks her finger up towards the number.

“Blackhawks.” Their conversation quickly turning into Chicago and how each enjoyed the city. “Well, Beks, I have to go. Can I find you later?” Jon winks while touching her forearm slightly and she nods feeling her cheeks turning pink before he walks off towards the locker room.

“Oh. My...GIRL!” Bekah hears Brynn almost at squeal level as she turns around. “You were just talking to Jonathan...eekkkk!” Brynn does a little dance and her words become incomprehensible.

“He’s nice.” Bekah smiles looking around to see if he’s in view.

“And single!” Brynn coos.

“Don’t Rin.” She gives Brynn a death glare and that just stop look.

“I’m not...just stating a fact. Let’s go find our seats.” Brynn grabs Bekah’s hand and leads her back up to their glass seats.

The skills competition went on and Bekah noticed every chance Jon got he skated towards where she was sitting. He’d wink or nod and then skated back. Just a little “Hey, I see you” before returning to his captain duties.

“I’m not saying anything but I see you two.” Brynn leans into her best friend. Bekah can feel the heat in her cheeks spreading and with his next stop in front of her she tightened her thighs together trying to will away the way he made her entire body tingle in just how he looked over at her. “Let’s head down before the crowd gets up!” Brynn announced at the last commercial break. The two got up and headed down to meet up with Derek.

“So is there a good place to get a drink around here besides my hotel’s bar?” Jonathan leans down into Bekah’s ear making her heart skip a beat and her body jump. “Sorry, did I startle you?” Brynn’s glowing recommendation of him as well as the way he spoke to her caused Bekah to say yes to drinks at a bar around the corner.

Drinks led to standing outside his hotel room. “Jon.” Bekah grabbed his wrist with a confidence she didn’t think she possessed. His gaze moved from the door to her hazel green eyes. “What are you expecting when we go through that door?” His lips pressed together then curled into a smirk.

“No expectations. Promise. Just come in.” He easily broke her grip and wrapped his hand in hers leading them through the door. Bekah wasn’t sure she knew hotel rooms this large even existed in Columbus and she takes in the space and including the large window where she can see the city lights dancing off the Scioto River.

“I’m pretty sure this is larger than my apartment.” She finally slinks out of her jacket and looks over to where Jon has disappeared in the bedroom.

“You live alone?” He comes out pulling on a t-shirt and Bekah catches the gasp is her throat with the glimpse of his abs.

“Uh, yeah. Fuck. Yes. Sorry. Recently dumped.” She fiddles with her hair and looks for the closest chair before her legs give out.

“I’d say I’m sorry about the break up but I’m not.” Jon places his arms on either side of the chair Bekah just sat in flexing while leaning in. “His loss...my gain.” He presses his lips on her forehead before retreating to the couch across the sitting room. “So what do you do for a living?”

“Marketing. I’d ask you but...” Bekah giggles feeling herself relax while looking up at Jon’s serious face. “I do have some questions about your job.”

“Open book.” Jon opens his hands to a motion her to continue.

“How long have you played in the NHL? Same team? Like your captain?” The line of questions made Jon crack a smile.

“Started in 2007. Always with the Blackhawks. And his nickname is Captain Serious.” Jon pulls his lips together like he does in interviews and looks over at the gorgeous woman who seems to be processing the information.

“Captain Serious huh? Sounds fun.” Bekah crosses her legs cursing her body for the feelings pulsing throughout. “How often are you in Columbus?”

“Once a season. We only play them twice. Played them in December and then they play in Chicago in March I think.”

“Nice. Well, I think I’ve sobered up enough and you have an All-Star game tomorrow.” Bekah abruptly states and starts for the door. Jon quickly catches her hips and stops her dead in her tracks.

“What just happened there? We were talking and then your shoulders wiggled and you announced you are suddenly leaving.” Jon holds Bekah firm in his grasp. His gaze moves from her soft dark golden brown locks framing her face to her eyes which told him her actions and her desire were fighting. Lightly pushing Bekah’s loose hair behind her ear he looks deep in her eyes. She blinks trying to stay focused on her thoughts that she was leaving.

“I don’t know. My heart tells me one thing and my body is telling me another. And my mind says I should kill Rin for even taking me tonight.” Bekah looks down and notices how close their bodies are.

“Who’s Rin?” Jon pulls her body even closer.

“My best friend. Redhead I was sitting with. Her husband is the trainer, Derek.” Bekah breathes out.

“So that’s who I have to thank?” Jon runs his fingers over Bekah’s arm and across her collarbone pulling her chin up to look back at him. “I won’t make you stay but I also don’t want you to leave. No expectations is true. We also can do whatever here tonight and then you don’t have to see me again if you don’t want to.”

“One night stands aren’t my thing...well...actually I’ve never had one before but I’m assuming they aren’t.” Bekah’s admission makes Jon laugh which she feels throughout her entire body.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a one night thing...and I’m not a one night stand person either Beks. Can I kiss you and start from there?” Jon’s thumb runs across her cheek and he feels the twitch pulsating from his briefs.

“Yes.” Bekah hardly spoke before Jon’s lips were on her’s and she deepens it as she stepped into him placing her hands in his chest clutching at his shirt. His hands coming up and holding the small of her back and the cradling her neck. She felt him growing between their bodies. Breaking for air Bekah huffs out, “How do I turn you on?” The admission was self doubt about how average looking she felt and how damn sexy he was.

“Beks, you are fucking gorgeous!” Jon kisses her again and she shakes him off. “No really. Distracting as hell when I was trying to be a captain of the team tonight. Please tell me you aren’t sitting that close tomorrow. My team needs to win this thing.”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Bekah fumbles on the words before Jon’s lips were on her again.

“Yes, and I’d like to show you how gorgeous you are if you just stay.” He starts shuffling their attached bodies towards the bedroom.

“I’m not doing the walk to shame tomorrow.” She starts moving her feet with his.

“You can borrow sweats so I’m guaranteed to see you again.” With that Jon placed her body on the bed. “Now can we get rid of some of these clothes?” His finger tips run along the inside of the hem of her sweatshirt. The slight nod she gave him was enough for him to discard both of their shirts. He made his way down to his knees pulling her jeans off slowly leaving Bekah in her light blue matching bra and panties. The sight made him jump into action. “Fuck you are even more beautiful.” She bats her eyelashes at the compliment.

“You are very...very....fit.” She runs her hands down his abs and he chuckles. “Handsome. Well both. Damnit I’m bad at this. I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t and don’t be.” Jon pulls her leg up and kisses down to her knee pulling his sweats off with the other hand. Her eyes widen when she sees how stained his boxer briefs are. “See. Definitely doing something right.” He nips at the meaty part of her thigh and she flops her body on the bed. “Does that mean I can continue Beks?”

“Yes.” She places her hands over her face as Jon’s fingers pull at her panties moving them down her legs exposing her core to him. He kisses back up and lands on her clit. Bekah moans out of the relief and Jon laughs while moving his tongue to elicit more noises out of her. His fingers slide in and curl causing Bekah’s hand to fly up into his hair.

“Tell me if you don’t like something, m’kay?” He pulls up to move her legs onto his shoulders and her body further into him.

“It feels amazing. It’s just been awhile.” She admits as he continues his pumping in and out while scissoring his fingers to stretch her out.

“We’ll go as slow as you want. Promise.” He kisses her clit again and sucks causing an orgasm to rip through Bekah’s body. She moans out his name and he moves away.

“Don’t stop. Fuck. Don’t stop.” She lifts up to look down at him. Face glistening and a look of accomplishment from how quickly he was able to make her come unglued.

“So maybe not that slow.” Jon returns to licking through her folds and is stopped by Bekah’s hand tightening in his hair.

“Can you...I don’t know how to...never mind.”

“No, talk to me. Sex is better when you talk. Where to you want me?”

“Inside of me. I want you up here.” Bekah feels the heat returning to her face as she made her request. “Unless you want me to...” she eyed his briefs again as Jon stands.

“No, I definitely want to fuck you now.” He climbs onto the bed and pushes both of their bodies up the bed freeing himself of the last piece of clothing. “May I?” He pulls at the strap of her bra and Bekah arches her back to allow him to pull it off with easy. Kissing her breasts and then her lips Jon grunts. “Ready?” He leans up as she nods for him to inch into her core. Bekah’s back arches as Jon lowers himself inside. She would never admit to anyone how long it’s been since she’s had sex and it felt so good to have his weight on top of her. Bekah wraps her legs around him and Jon finds a rhythm that makes both of them moan with each thrust. Then it happened. Both reaching their highs in unison. A slew of swears mixed with praises drop out of Jon’s lips then he collapses on top of Bekah.

“Wow. How did that happen?�� Bekah huffs out while her fingers run across Jon’s sweaty shoulders and across his lips.

“How did what happen?” Jon’s chest moves in and out trying to even his breathing.

“We...together...” she breathes out.

“You’ve never climaxed with someone? Together?” Jon pulls up and takes in Bekah’s blissed out yet confused look.

“I’m just gonna shut up now.” Bekah’s hand flies over her eyes.

“No. Remember, sex is better when you talk. And we aren’t done.” Jon moves her hand and flexes his abdomen sending shock waves through Bekah’s body.

“So, no.” Bekah whispers. “I’ve never orgasmed at the same time as my partner. That was amazing feeling. You are amazing.”

“You are too. Trust me. Fucking amazing.” His lips ghost her skin as he rolls off of her. “Beks, so good.”

“You are the only person who has ever called me that which is funny.” She kisses the top of his head as he rests on her chest.

“Yeah. Why is it funny?” His fingers walk down her hip.

“Because I do the same thing. Make up nicknames for people.” He laughs at her admission. “Rin for example is Brynn. I’m the only person who calls her Rin. Not even her husband calls her anything besides pet names and Brynn.” Jon feels Bekah’s body relax and he smiles.

“And do I get a nickname then?” He kisses her stomach.

“Maybe. It’s more of an organic thing. With time.”

“More time. I see. Then can you come back here tomorrow too? After the game?” He looks up at Bekah.

“Yeah I guess that would make this not a one night stand, huh?” Bekah’s lips turn up and Jon laughs loudly.

“Yeah.” He rolls her over on top of him. “Definitely not one at all.”

[purrincess-chat]

Moving On

Putting this all under a cut because I don’t know how long it will be, and it’s mostly just me brain dumping. I’ll probably delete it later, but just some things I want to say in order to get them out of my head and finally start healing. I know to some people it might seem silly to be this upset over a cat, but I think a lot of people underestimate the role that pets play in people’s lives. I live alone in a tiny one bedroom apartment. I have a couple of friends here that I see fairly regularly, but my really close friends and family all live an hour or more away which means if I want to see them, one of us has to drive. Which usually isn’t a big deal, and I visit often on the weekends, but weekends are only two days out of the week, and all of the other five days a week I spend alone. 

I get up. I go to work. I come home. I might see another local friend once or twice a week, but most of my evenings I spend in my apartment on tumblr, discord, or youtube. I write, I watch videos, I play games, I scroll aimlessly down my dashboard looking at the same pictures over and over and over. Most days I have no one physical to converse with at home, so I chat with strangers on the internet. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with being by myself and being about my own agenda, in fact, most of the time going out with friends a lot is draining. I like my quiet time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely. 

Most of my days are pretty mundane. I’m in a weird transition point in my life between one step and the next as I figure out where to go, and while I love the time I get to myself, sometimes I do crave some sort of interaction. No one can be alone all the time, and that is why I got a cat.

I got Penny a little under a year and a half ago. She was just a tiny little kitten at the time, and ironically enough, I inherited her from a coworker who almost ran her over. She was loud. She was stubborn. She was bratty. But she was also snuggly, affectionate, and immensely attached to me. Often times, I would stick my face in hers to give her kisses before leaving for work every day, and after a few months, she started licking my face any time I leaned down to kiss her. She would get fussy if I came home and didn’t kiss her hello right away. She liked to sleep in my dirty clothes because they smelled like me, and she never showed much interest in the clean ones. She spent a lot of time in my bed, especially if I was in it because she wanted to be close by. She used to sleep on my face at night, or sometimes I’d wake up to find her curled up on my chest. She liked to be close to me. She liked to be touching me. It was comforting for both of us because that way neither of us felt alone. 

However, despite all of my best efforts, Penny was a wild cat. She was born in the wild, and although she was raised indoors from a young age, she still longed to be outside. I was wary at first, living in an apartment, so I would leave the door open in the evenings if I was cooking or doing dishes and let her push her boundaries a little at a time until she inevitably came running back inside. As she got older, she got braver and wandered farther, but she always knew where her home was. Every night, I would let her out (and she would demand that I do so) and every morning she would be waiting right outside my door, ready to come in and have breakfast before curling up someplace comfy to sleep for the day. I got used to listening for her cries at the door to be let in, but no matter how long it took, she would wait for that door to open because she knew that I would always come back. We learned to trust each other in that sense, so I let her out every night because I knew that in the morning she would be waiting for me.

But Tuesday night was unlike any other night she had experienced. 

For the most part, it was a typical Tuesday for me. I let her in in the morning, fed her breakfast then shuffled off to work. She slept inside all day on the back of my couch on a coat of mine that I’d tossed there days before. I came home for a little while after work and took a nap because I’ve been doing my damnedest to get over these stupid allergies. After a while, I got up and went out to dinner with friends just like we normally do, and when I came home, Penny was waiting for me on the arm of the couch. It was a cold, wet night, and she seemed a little hesitant to go out at first, and I waited until she was comfortable and certain before closing the door. I didn’t expect her to stay out long in such weather, but to my surprise, I never heard her howl at the door once. 

I went about my usual business, keeping an ear out in case she ever wanted back in from the cold, and before I went to bed for the evening, I peeked my head out the door to see if she was waiting. She wasn’t, and she didn’t come when I called either, but there were many nights where similar situations occurred, so I didn’t think much of it and went to bed, figuring I would get up in the middle of the night and check again in case she finally wanted in. 

1AM came, and I woke from my sleep as I often do to usually let her out on nights where she stays in longer. I poked my head outside, but she was no where to be seen. Again, I shrugged it off, figuring she was out exploring and doing her own thing. 5AM rolled around, and I woke up again, but I figured that I would be up in a few hours anyway, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. My alarm went off at 7, and I turned it off. Another alarm at 7:30 at which point I finally sat up. Most mornings, Penny would sit by my door and listen for sounds of movement then she would begin howling for me to let her in, so I sat in bed on my phone and kept an ear out in case she called for me. But she never did. After a while, I got up and opened the door, but she was no where to be seen. Again, I didn’t think too much of it because sometimes she did that too. Sometimes a couple minutes after I shut the door, she would come running up because she knew that I was awake. 

But she never came.

We were due for inspections at my job that day, so I had planned to go into work early, and a little before 9AM, I thought it odd that she hadn’t come in yet and started to get a little annoyed. I messed my coworkers that I was going to hunt down my cat then head into work, so I took my trash out to see if maybe I could coax her out of wherever she was hiding. I called for her as I walked to the dumpster, but she never came. So I went back inside from the cold and wet and waited a few minutes to see if she would finally come. She didn’t. At this point, I am exasperated, but starting to worry, so I got dressed in something more substantial than my pjs for the cold, grabbed her container of treats and headed back outside. I walked the length of my complex and back, shaking her treats and calling for her, but she never came. 

I walked to the frat house next door because she often times liked to hang out in their yard, but she never came. I walked a little further down to the bar thinking that maybe she went a little further to avoid the cold, but still no sign of her. I kept telling myself that she must have found someplace warm and dry to curl up and that she would turn up eventually. When I went back to my apartment, I decided that I couldn’t hold off any longer. I needed to go to work. I decided that my morning walk in the cold and mist warranted a trip to the donut shop for donuts and hot chocolate, so I put out some food for Penny in case she showed up while I was gone and wanted food and took a different route from my normal one, going the opposite way up the street than I normally would have. 

Just as I arrived at work with donuts and hot chocolate, I received a text from one of my employees that our inspectors had arrived. Perfect timing. I rushed inside, set my breakfast on my desk, and immediately took over placating them as quickly as possible. Inspections weren’t pleasant to say the least, but we at least passed. With that out of the way, I was left to worry about Penny as the day was only supposed to get colder with more rain showers leading into an eventual freeze overnight. I told myself that if she didn’t turn up that I would check the local shelters in the morning (today). I decided to use some of my sick time to take the afternoon off when my employees changed shifts, and I sat at my desk picturing Penny waiting for me back by my door when I went home. 

Time seemed to move in slow motion, and I debated leaving before shift change numerous times, but after some time, my next shift worker offered to come in early so that I could leave and go wait for Penny to come home. I agreed, and left an hour earlier than I intended, and I don’t know if I would call it fate or coincidence, but leaving at that time, in that exact moment allowed me to pass by a certain truck stopped in the road at an exact moment. 

Now, my complex is situated kind of awkwardly along the road, and most of the time, you have to make a u-turn if you are coming from the opposite direction to get into the entrance. I was coming from the right side, so I didn’t have to u-turn, but as I approach the median where the turn is, I notice a white city truck parked in said turn lane, and something in my gut told me to pay attention to him, and as I got closer, I notice that he is raking leaves out of the road. When I glanced down at his pile of leaves, I notice a mass of black fur that catches my attention, and just as I pull level with him, he scoops his pile up to eye level with me, and I see a small face with a pink tongue sticking out for a split second as it is tossed into the back off his truck. 

My stomach drops, my heart skips, my throat closes, and a quick glance in my rear-view mirror tells me there is no time to stop lest I risk causing an accident. So I pull into my complex quickly, but there are no places to park on the side I pulled in on, so I am forced to drive all the way around to the other side where I pulled into the first available spot. I rushed from my car back to the main entrance, hoping to flag him down, but he is gone. For a moment, I stood on the pavement, too stunned to move, but after a moment, I find my bearings and slink off to my apartment, noticing the bowl of untouched food still sitting outside my door. I go in and shrug off my coat and crawl in bed, processing what I had just witnessed and rationalizing any possible way for it not to be true. But deep in my gut, I feel that sinking confirmation because even though my glimpse was brief, it combined with Penny’s lingering absence were confirmation enough for me. 

My friends and family kept telling me that maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe she would still come back. Keep hoping. Stay positive. But maybe my brain has just never worked like that because I knew that Penny was that cat in the road, and that she wasn’t coming home. It then became a mission of figuring out of there was a way to track down that truck and potentially get confirmation, but after a few phone calls, it became clear to me that the truck was gone and so was Penny. 

I checked with my office just in the building right next to mine just in case, but they had no knowledge of a dead animal reported, but the moment I mentioned it, my landlord gasped in horror, “You don’t think that was your cat, do you?” I shrugged, but the look on my face seemed to confirm my thoughts, and her next words nearly broke me. “I just can’t believe that. She was always waiting for you outside that door. Such a good cat. No matter how long it took, she would always be waiting for you to open that door.” Swallowing back tears, I thanked them for their time and retreated back to my apartment. 

Several times, I almost cried, but I didn’t.

My best friend several towns over dropped everything, left work early, and drove an hour and a half to come spend the night with me. We went out to dinner. We talked and laughed. We came home and ate peanut butter from the jar while watching She-ra. Then we went to bed, and I lied awake for a while unsure of whether or not to cry. I don’t like to burden people with those things, but after a while of being misty eyed, I fell asleep. The next morning, we woke up and made breakfast while watching another episode of She-ra (because hey this is pretty good) after which my friend had to leave to drive back home and go to her own job. As she left, I picked up the abandoned bowl of food from my patio, accepting that Penny was never going to come back and eat it.

I sat in bed for a while on my phone, trying to distract myself from the emptiness of my apartment, still listening for those exasperated mewls outside my door but knowing they would never come. I got up after a while, avoiding the litterbox and bowl of dry food that I’d filled the morning before in preparation for her. I got dressed. I packed my bag. I grabbed my keys, and as I opened the front door, I turned to look back at my apartment, a habitual phrase catching itself on the tip of my tongue. 

“I’ll be back later.”

I stopped before the words left my lips, realizing that there was no one there to say that to now. My heart broke, but I shut the door and carried on. Work was dull. Time passed slowly, and I was left to my thoughts. I tried to write on paper, but didn’t get very far. Even though I had accepted the fact that she was gone, part of me still hoped to find her waiting for me when I got home. But she wasn’t. As I climbed back up the stairs and approached my door there was nothing but my faded welcome mat waiting for me outside the door. I went inside to find an empty apartment with no sassy scrap of fur standing on the end of the couch to greet me with a dissatisfied mew. No face to lean down and kiss, no rough, sandpaper tongue to lick my nose, no purring chin to scratch. Just furniture that didn’t match, discarded jackets and shoes strewn about carelessly, and traces of black fur littering her favorite spots. 

I went in and shut the door, kicking off my shoes and coat and abandoning them with the others as I crawled back into bed. My apartment is quiet, and for a moment, I am left with my thoughts, recounting all of the things Penny used to do around the apartment. 

And that’s the hardest part about moving on.

Living with ghosts, remembering how she used to trot up and jump on the bed with me. How she used to curl up next to me while I sat on my computer, sometimes curling up on me. How she would start to purr when I’d look over at her every once in a while, and she’d blink at me happily. How she would follow me to the kitchen when I went to cook dinner. How she would run and jump on the bathtub when I went into the bathroom. The stupid way she would smack her water bowl before drinking from it that required me to move it into my bathtub. How she would sit on the corner of my desk and watch me from afar, watching curiously as I would toss an empty water bottle or a used tissue in the direction of the trash can. How I instinctively go to hide my hair ties under my pillows when I pull my hair down for the day but realizing that there’s no one here to try to eat them anymore. Realizing that when I come home at 7PM that I can lock and latch my door because I won’t be opening it again for the remainder of the evening. Thinking that maybe I can finally do all of my puzzles since there’s no one to knock them over anymore. Small things. Tiny, insignificant little things that most people wouldn’t think twice about suddenly leave a gaping hole in my chest. Routines that are no longer necessary. 

I can always get another cat. In fact, I probably will some time soon. But new cats bring new adventures. New routines. New quirks. I’ll never have the same ones again. I’ll never experience those things with Penny again. And that, to me, is the hardest thing to come to terms with. I’ll get to love another cat again, but I’ll never get to love that cat again. Never get to kiss her face or awkwardly juggle her and my laptop in my lap. All of those days are over.

At some point I’ll have to clean that stupid litterbox. I’ll have to pick up her food and clean her diva bowl then put it away in the cabinet until the next one comes along. I keep replaying the day in my head, watching how all of the events unfolded in such a way that leaves me wishing that I had done things differently. That I had taken my usual route to work and passed by that place where I maybe could have seen her. That I had left work earlier when my gut told me to so that maybe I could have beaten the trash man and found her myself. That I had stopped sooner and waved him down so that I could see if it really was her or not despite how damning the evidence is now that she’s been gone for two days. That I had gone out to look for her before I went to bed and insisted that she come in from the cold. That I had maybe walked the other way during my morning search. 

I don’t know how long she was in the road. It could have been a few hours. It could have been since the night before, shortly after I let her out. I think not knowing whether or not I could have found her and saved her that morning is something that haunts me. I think not getting to say goodbye is what really breaks my heart. I knew the risk of letting her out, but I never thought that she would venture out into the street. She never showed interest in it before. It was always too noisy, too busy, too crowded. But the night was cold and wet, so who knows if she maybe ventured out seeking shelter. Who knows?

If you’re reading this and thinking that it’s melodramatic for a cat then, hey, maybe rethink your priorities because you kept reading. You could have stopped, but you didn’t. And that’s your fault. 

I think all in all I’m okay. I have my moments where I get misty eyed, and maybe that’s my way of crying. I’ve never really been good at it anyway. I don’t think I know how to feel. I think part of me is still in denial. I still expect to see her every time I open my door. I still expect her to be waiting when I come home even though I know she won’t be there. I guess part of me still hopes. 

I don’t like to feel sad. I don’t think that it’s productive. I don’t want to spend my time lying in bed crying over something that I can’t change. Because no matter how hard I wish it, I can’t go back and change any of it. It’s done, and all I can do now is move on. 

To all of you out there with fur babies who bothered to read this far, hug them close. Give them that extra treat, let them lay on you even if you have to pee or your leg’s asleep or they’re unbearably hot. Because you never know when it’ll be the last time you see them. 

[jessesteele]

Taiwan's Prejudice of Foreigners Taught Me Black Systemic Racism Is Real

[中文]

College was my first exposure to American Black culture. I’m a far better man for it. Moody was less than a block from Cabrini Green. I taught Pierre how to swim and he taught me how to forgive. My room mate, Ronnie, was president of African Awareness Fellowship. Three years, he tried to tell me that the problem was with “the system”. “It’s the system, Jesse. It’s hidden in the system. I know you don’t see it. But, I see it every day.” I listened, but I still couldn’t see.

Ten years in Taiwan opened my eyes. Ronnie, I’ve seen it. I haven’t just heard about it, I’ve finally seen it with my own eyes. Others don’t see it, especially if they’re part of it. I’ve seen that too.

If a man thinks his unjust actions are acceptable, there is no way to tell him that he is unjust in a way he will find acceptable. I know how Rosa Parks felt, in a way. I wholly agree with Dr. King in his Letter from the Birmingham Jail.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial “outside agitator” idea.

We readily consented, and when the hour came we lived up to our promise. So I… am here because I was invited here. But more basically, I am [here] because injustice is here.

The Taiwanese need Westerners. They welcome Westerners at their airports and in their marketing. They need Western-trained, Western-thinking engineers to build their own defense weapons against a large aggressor in the region. They need English teachers—and more importantly English speakers to interact with in the every day world. But, from fear of the large aggressor in the region, and from hurt over foreign occupation in the past, Taiwanese made laws that restrict all foreigners, including Westerners. So because of the past, Taiwan turned away the friends they needed for the future. Haven’t we all done the same?

Bear with me the boring details. In America, a work visa gives residence. After five years, the foreigner becomes a citizen. America makes it simple. In Taiwan, they place strange restrictions—not one day between jobs, not one speeding ticket, and all work permits which the government never delivers. Even then, you can’t become a citizen unless you renounce all citizenship elsewhere.

My story began twelve years ago when my boss wouldn’t give me my work permit, which he is legally required to and never forced to. I folded it up and sneaked it out in my tie, then went home and cried. The next boss never gave me my work permit. I called Immigration and told the officer; the officer shouted, “They must!” then slammed down the phone. There was no follow-up.

Soon, the local Labor inspector found me at the wrong school—I worked for a chain. I had no Idea where I was supposed to work. The address was written in Mandarin on the work permit, which I never received. I got a summons from Labor; the boss was worried and told me to lie to the government. We even had a special meeting to coordinate our lies. The bigger boss gave me a strange handshake; I thought my life was being threatened. The company would pull strings “high up” in government to get out of the ordeal. While I sat with my boss, lying to the Labor inspector—a very good person with extremely limited power, mind you—the bigger boss walked into the Labor chief’s office, feigning benign chit-chat. The Chief looked scared. I rolled my fingerprint to certify the lies told with a knife to my back and we left without so much as a hiccup.

Weeks later, I learned that the strange handshake was a request for sex. I had been sexually harassed—they would only call their gangster buddies to get me out of their lying to the government if I lied to the government and had homosexual sex with the big boss. No. Maybe that’s why they tried to fire me a couple months later. No. Firing requires compensation, which the company refused.

Then came an in-class evaluation two weeks before the contract ended, with a promise not to renew the contract regardless of the evaluation. The boss insisted based on me having voluntarily reported I was one page behind in the schedule. Most teachers were three pages off schedule on any given day.

The boss is legally required to accept my resignation with a stamped letter. The boss refused. I went to the police station twice, the police never forced the boss to send the letter. Then, the boss reported me as MIA, which is illegal for a foreign employee. But, being wise, I had already notified Labor of my desire to resign. I’d sent certified mail, with return proof of delivery confirmation, a full confession of perjury to the Labor inspector—a very good person with extremely limited power, mind you. I included a CD with the recording of the boss saying, “I hate foreigners.” The inspector scheduled a mediation meeting and called my phone, urging me to bring a Taiwanese friend to translate.

The meeting lasted three hours and the boss accepted my resignation. That was a first. I mean, this was a breakthrough. Tainan had never seen a successful agreement in a dispute between an employer and foreign employee. They always last forty minutes, then go to court or deportation. I was the first to reach peace.

I asked my Taiwanese friend, the one who accompanied me to the mediation, why my boss had lied about the address on my first work permit. There was no reason. Why lie first when the truth wouldn’t hurt? “Because of the Cultural Revolution in China,” he explained. “People about forty years and older are still influenced by Chairman Mao’s thinking, including that lying is okay.” He also told me that the big boss controlled a kind of local “ESL mafia” in the city.

Later, I was told by a coworker from that chain that the inspector, seeing how that boss treated me, continued inspection; three locations of that ESL chain were closed. The school suddenly started treating him with respect, which was good for him. They had tried to fire him also. I’m glad it worked out for him.

My immediate supervisor quit her job over how they treated me. She went to work in a factory for more pay and less stress. I’m glad it worked out for her.

My next employer told me that they had to let me go because they were getting harassment from that previous boss. I couldn’t work. Looking back, I don’t know how I financially survived. I guess God wanted me here, so I stayed while He made a way.

Officers at Immigration, city government workers, and aides of two different legislators asked me why I stayed in Tainan. “Why don’t you just move to Taipei where there are more jobs and your boss can’t chase you?”

See, there’s the plight of the Taiwanese! Every time there is a bully, they just bend over. They were beaten down by Chiang Kai-Shek, like Israel in the desert after Egypt, afraid to enter the Promised Land. “No way!” I’d say kindly, strongly, and reassuringly. “There is no law saying an American can’t teach English in Tainan. So, the government can protect an American willing to stand with the Tainan people! Their English is bad and they need the practice more than Taipei. I suffer because I love Tainan, and Taiwan’s government still won’t help me.”

The only meaningful help I received was from a person who understood the trouble, but never spoke to me: the Labor inspector—a very good person with extremely limited power.

The people who ask why I never moved to Taipei ask with childlike innocence, not knowing that they imply discrimination against not just myself, but also against the people of Tainan. Many Westerners live in Taipei in the populated north, but Tainan has many delights in the south. Taiwanese anecdotally believe Westerners prefer Taipei because it is the “big city”. Actually, it is because the Ministry of Labor places hefty financial burdens on the small ESL schools of the south—the same requirements the rich ESL schools in the north can afford. Most Tainan ESL schools aren’t rich enough to hire an American legally. So, they need help from a black market, which my former boss was rumored all too happy to oblige. Albeit, the laws are written in Taipei, in the north, where there couldn’t possibly be connection to black market interests in the south. But, I saw something more important: Westerners avoided Tainan because its ESL community was gripped by an invisible black market. And, it didn’t just hurt me; it hurt the Taiwanese, who remained oblivious.

That was when I started to see how a system can oppress one people, without the people across the street even noticing. In fact, Taiwanese didn’t even know how their Labor laws crippled English learning in Tainan. Taiwanese were victims of systemic prejudice as much as I was. All this rigmarole hurt their highly-coveted English skill. None of this would be a problem if Taiwan simply extended the same rights and protections to Americans as America extends to Taiwanese. That way, many Americans would be Taiwanese dual citizens who could work anywhere, including the poorer ESL schools in the southern, delightful city of Tainan.

But, Taiwan’s government won’t allow it, even after eleven years of petition. And, yet Taiwan cries for global help when countries break diplomatic ties. The Taiwanese people don’t even know what trouble Immigration and Labor laws create for them on the global stage.

The juicy part of this story is that my former ESL chain receives public funding from America’s government. I called their American office to report the incident. They hung up the phone on me without a word. I won’t reveal the name because all evidence of human rights violation is illegal within the jurisdiction it is collected. I prefer to stay with the Taiwanese people, helping them survive dishonest business practices toward which the Taiwan government turns many a blind eye and deaf law. And, I still hope for a peaceful answer from Taiwan, even after twelve years.

For the last seven years, I’ve written editorials every Monday, looking at Taiwan objectively, respecting the status quo Taiwan has as a de facto sovereign country. I’ve been objective and constructively critical, but at times, I admit, favorable. I hailed Taiwan’s police for not bloodying students who entered the Legislature in 2014—a stark contrast to police in Washington DC. Students who entered the Executive branch weren’t so fortunate.  I know; I was here in Taiwan. When Taiwan President Tsai said, “Taiwan is a vibrant democracy; it has many problems, but it is worth saving,” with permission, she was borrowing my words from one of many supportive letters to US Congress.

In the last twelve years, I never went public with the name of my accusers nor did I publish related articles where I am syndicated. Peace was my goal. Taiwan needed time to change, but I have seen no change. Work permits still pass through the hands of a gate-keeping boss. Rights of dual citizenship remain non-existent.

I’ve applied for permanent residence twice. The first time, the committee voted “no” on matters unrelated to my application; the meeting was out of order, which I can prove because Taiwan’s unabashed government sent me the minutes of the committee meeting to show me I was wrong. The second time, I applied based on my favorable coverage of Taiwan in the press, given their unredressed grievances and my patience and, most importantly, my silence. The application response deadline is 90 days; Immigration hasn’t given an official response of their committee’s vote in over 200 days.

What may I conclude, but love? I can’t hate Taiwan for being systemically prejudice. Black Americans don’t hate me for my systemic racism. I didn’t know what I did to Black Americans—I still don’t because I don’t see systemic prejudice when it favors me. We can’t make excuses for ourselves, but the Black Man isn’t complaining about any “big nothing” as some purport. I was raised a White Republican. I must learn to listen to Black Americans just as I know Taiwanese can only understand by listening to me.

This was a message I eagerly wanted to tell Americans: invisible injustice in our systems cause poverty! But, I couldn’t tell that story without hurting the Taiwanese people. Now, after 200 days of waiting for a 90 day deadline, it’s safe to say that Taiwan’s Immigration Agency won’t mind.

Of course, I have many Taiwanese friends whom I don’t deserve, many of the skateboarders. Why would I choose Tainan, a city with the most restrictive skatepark and skateboard laws on the island? Tainan has talented skateboarders as eager and gifted as anywhere else. Injustice in any system affects every sector. I don’t run from problems no matter how small, no matter how scary. It’s hard to leave friends, especially when their patience has changed my life. Taiwan opened my eyes over the last twelve years to understand the plight of the Black Man. I understand my first country better because I kept reaching out to the hand that slapped me back. And, I kept taking the many hands in Taiwan that reached out to me.

I can’t reject the Taiwanese. They’ve taught me too much.

Taiwan’s Prejudice of Foreigners Taught Me Black Systemic Racism Is Real from Jesse Steele