A Sky Full of Stars

Moving In

I looked around my new apartment, not that it was anything spectacular, but it was something.  It was a simple one bedroom one bath on a quiet street in a small Montreal borough.  My large three empty bookshelves lined the wall near the front door waiting to be filled with the eight medium sized boxes that sat stacked neatly in front of them.  The TV sat on it stand on the adjacent wall, not plugged in and the bare white wall behind it seemed to almost swallow it up.  Near the balcony door set some other random boxes that contained some other random decorations and odds and ends that I would have to eventually unpack.  That space, after the boxes were unpacked, would contain my new couch and desk that I was waiting for delivery from Ikea.  I sighed to myself and walked down the small hallway leading to my small kitchen and bedroom.  Upon reaching my bedroom, I plopped face first down onto my half made bed, exhausted.

I had recently moved to the city from Halifax, leaving my long established lifestyle there to start my life anew.  After many years fighting with trying to find happiness and not wanting to settle for the plain old life that my friends and family had settled into, I began looking for a new challenge.  Montreal seemed to fit that, a bilingual, multicultural city with many festivals and lots of culture to partake in.  During my time in Halifax, I never attempted to continue my education after graduation from high school, and like most of my friends, went into the workforce and just partied my way through the beginning of my young adult years.  After a few years of going through the same old things, I became disillusioned to everything around me, and I started feeling bad about my life.  I began seeing a therapist who encouraged me to go back to school and look for my own happiness, without the help of alcohol and drugs.

It's been a long, hard struggle:  upgrading my less than stellar grades at an adult education institution in Halifax, the nervousness of applying to nursing school in Montreal, and telling my friends and family what I was planning on doing when I got accepted to school.  I was scared and unsure of even doing this dramatic thing once everything started falling into place.  My friends and family were supportive in one way, and discouraging in the next.  What if I failed, then all the time and energy spent would be all for naught.  I kept taking a step forward, not really listening to them.  I had started this process and I wanted to see it through the end, but there was this little voice in the back of my head who made me doubt myself.

I felt something move beside me and turned to face my Boston terrier, Frito, next to me.  He gave me a big lick on my nose and I chuckled and moved my face away from his. 

"We did it Frito," I told him, turning on my side.  Frito has been my partner in crime for the past 5 years of this long process.  Every time I would start to fall apart, he was always there, unconditionally loving and supportive.  Dogs are amazing creatures.  I scratched him behind his ears.  "Are you hungry buddy?"  His ears perked up and he tilted his head.

I pushed myself off the bed and went to the kitchen, Frito at my heels.  I found his food sitting on the small counter next to the fridge and sifted through one of the boxes on the floor in front of the oven trying to locate his food bowl and scoop.  I found them rather easily.  Taking the scoop, I pulled a heaping helping of food, put it in his bowl, and placed it on the floor.  He began to gobble it down as if he hasn't been fed in a week.  "Slow down buddy," I remarked.

I knew that he would be finished in a minute then it would be time for a walk.  Might as well make a slight detour and see if I could pick up my schedule from my new place of employment.  I had found a job listing as a barista at a local chain that would fit my schedule for nursing school and I could attempt to keep my head above water with rent and such.  I had applied before moving to the city and my limited knowledge of French wouldn't be a problem.  Seemed as I had picked the right borough in which to live, as it still had a good English population.  I had told the store manager that I would be picking up on my French more as it was part of my education in nursing school.  She seemed to be pleased with that.  I was amazed how easy it was find employment with only knowing a little French.