Keith Muise: Crossing Canada in Times of COVID, Part 2
As I drove through the city, memories of our life there played out like a Netflix documentary, and I was met with a relieving sadness as I got closer and closer to the edge of the city.
We had spent almost as much time there as we did in our hometown, we had seen the city burn in 2016 and then rise from the ashes, our son was born there, we had dozens of friends, and even some family there, and as I passed the city limits, I began laughing uncontrollably because at that moment I knew if I started crying I would have had to pull over for hours, and I had no time for that.
The first leg of the journey would take me to a place called North Battleford Saskatchewan. I had only driven about 700km that day but the emotional toll that the departure had taken on me had me ready for bed. I arrived just before midnight and I knew that getting a room would not be an issue so I didn’t even call ahead. It was the early days of the pandemicA global outbreak of a disease., and hotels and motels were not seeing much traffic as people were still trying to avoid COVID in those days.
There was an eerie feeling in the air when I walked into the motel to get a room, like I was in a post-apocalyptic movie where there was only a few people left on earth. Since there were just a few cars in the parking lot I felt alone, more so than I had for a long time.
Inside the hotel, the only person I saw was the front desk lady who, despite knowing we were in a pandemicA global outbreak of a disease., was surprised that I was wearing a mask. She didn’t give me any flack about it, but if looks could kill, that motel would be my final stop.
I got my key and went in to see what my room looked like. It was a typical motel room and very clean so I felt encouraged and now it was time to conduct the first of what I would later refer to as a “Keet Bomb” which meant I was going to flash clean everything I could while airing out the room and raising the space to the standards of cleanliness that would allow me to rest comfortably.
I left the door open, turned on the bathroom fan, sprayed every inch of the room with Lysol, the orange one, cause I hate the lemon one, wiped the doorknobs, light switches, remotes, the toilet handle, the toilet seat, the faucet and the knobs, and basically everything in my line of sight.
Once I had effectively doused the entire space in cleaning chemicals, which is not a great health choice all on its own, I took out the first king-sized sheet and used it to cover the entire bed, ensuring that I would never touch anything that someone else may have laid down on.
While cleaning, I plugged in a small air purifier that I had taken with me and let it rip on full speed. I wasn’t fully aware of the airborne nature of COVID at that time but I thought what the hell, cleaner air can’t hurt right? . I walked around with my shoes on the whole time, not taking them off until I was ready to get into my cozy, safe, untouched bed. After all, the world was lava now, and I did not want to lose the game.
After I had taken all of the valuables like computers and things out of the van, I finally laid down to get some sleep. I was exhausted but I had made it to the first stop and I felt happy about it. I laid in bed feeling a sense of accomplishment, and even though I had many days, and a long way to go before I reached my home, I was excited and looking forward to the drive.
My next stop that morning was to visit my brother’s family in a place called Saskatoon, where we had spent a month that summer before COVID numbers exploded, but this time was different. I would not be stopping for the night, and I wouldn’t even be hugging them goodbye, not this time. It was too risky, so we all met up outside and I stayed across the street as we chatted.
That moment was especially heart-wrenching, as my niece and nephew stood across the street, both younger than seven and visibly confused by the difference in our interaction from just a month before. This time they had to stay away from their uncle “Keet”, the name most family members call me, and this time they had to fight the natural instinct to run and hug me as they had done countless times before. They were conflicted, and I could see that, and it killed me.
My mother who lives with my brother and his family came out last, and we had a good little conversation about how things were going and the trip that I had ahead of me. It was hard to say goodbye to them, especially my mom, and weird not to hug them all, but with the trip I had ahead of me, getting sick would have not only hindered my abilities, but it would have literally stopped me from entering other provinces on my way to Newfoundland.
At that time, in October of 2020, the government still screened people entering the province, so one bad case of the sniffles could have stranded, and that was a risk I couldn’t take, not with my family eagerly awaiting my arrival at home.
As I drove away from my brother’s, my mother was standing on the lawn, she was sad and so was I, but I didn’t let her see the tears welling up in my eyes because I knew it would be harder on her. I felt terrible for the next few hours but regained my enthusiasm with the help of the Eagles, I mean it’s hard to stay sad with Take It Easy cranked on the stereo, and I was determined to find joy in my task. I had to.
