I left NYC and enjoyed the beautiful drive through the rest of New York to Canada. It was during this border crossing that I learned that my southern toll tags had not been working in the northeast. I am still receiving unpleasant reminders of this in the mail. I stopped by Niagara Falls and got a few pictures with my GoPro, then made it later that night to my medical school friend's family's house outside of Toronto. He had recently received his passing grade on the exam that I had just taken, but had the proper level of encouragement for me, which was "if you think about it, you failed".
For my second night in Toronto, this friend of mine, whose Polish roots were fast becoming apparent, invited me to join him and a couple relatives (one whom he called "uncle" but explained that it was not an accurate term) for sausage and drinks over a bonfire. Shortly after entering the home, there were calls for shots of vodka, and this theme would become pervasive throughout the evening. After chopping wood and getting a fire going, we roasted sausages and conversed. Since they spoke mostly Polish and little English, it was a pleasant, relaxing feeling. Once again, I was in a land and language not my own, but with a friend who would translate when necessary. And fortunately, alcohol speaks volumes (milliliters) in a variety of tongues. Shots were called for occasionally throughout the night, with myself and "uncle" being the only consistent participants, until the count reached something around 8-9 shots. Aside from the need to chug water afterwards, there were surprisingly no ill effects. No hangover the next day. The Polish are onto something.
I departed Canada and ventured on to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where a friend I had made over the summer in Arkansas had recently moved for work. And there was also a lady there from JBU that I had met with again in the summer, and with whom I was interested in reconnecting. With the former friend, I went bar hopping. It was Friday the 13th in October, so there were some wonderful promotions going on that evening. At one stop, I sang at a piano bar, which marked the first successful attempt I had made at such an endeavor. I only assume success because the pianist asked me to sing another. But I had already had enough to drink to dehydrate me considerably, so I did not trust my vocals for anything beyond the song "Oh Darling" by The Beatles. The night wore on and we drank with some Irishmen, which of course led to pain the following morning. Since I drink with more control than most other bar hoppers, I was still functional enough the following day to get coffee with the lady friend. We discussed faith and politics, but mostly faith, and the struggles revolving around it and living in this age and the dating world. It is relieving to know that there are others who struggle appropriately in such an age. It can feel like each of us is the only one. I went on a distillery tour with my host the following day, and then left that Monday for Chicago, which was only a few hours away.
Fortunately, it turns out that my cousin lives just outside of Chicago. Unfortunately, he is a staunch Republican Trump supporter, MAGA hat and all. Given that we are family, and he was hosting, conversations were fairly open when the evening wore on. He had one son and two new twin boys. Given my limited experience with such little critters, it was nice to have my cousin refer to me as the "baby whisperer" when the babies kept going to sleep while I held them. The trick, I told him, was to go months without ever moving a muscle while studying.
Chicago was a very photogenic city. GoPro and iPhone were both busy capturing much as I walked the streets. I only spent a day walking the city, but aside from an improv show that had already sold out, there was nothing fun enough for me to want to pay for it beyond a locally brewed beverage. That night, mere hours away from receiving my score, I pictured the score in my mind as being 175. In the morning with no need for any alarm, my arms violently trembled as I struggled to type in usernames and passwords to access my test results. Eyes hovering above my phone's screen because my contacts and glasses would be too much of a delay in such a moment, my eyes scanned the PDF document searching for the words "PASS" or "FAIL" or a number indicating my score. Eventually, I found it. 191 was the score I found. A passing grade was 192. Fortunately, it was above the 175 that I had settled upon in my mind the night before.
I had other plans to visit Arkansas and Oklahoma on the way home, but I instead left Chicago and drove straight to Texas to take a day or two off before beginning my studies again.
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