Just one more

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 10:17:31 GMT

    The first three courses went off without a hitch. In the candlelit darkness of her uptown apartment, we whipped a coddled egg and garlic into an authentic caesar dressing. We spooned buttery escargot into each others mouths with toothpicks, brushing each others cheeks, moaning as they slid down our throats. I narrowly avoided lighting her on fire with a flambe steak diane and loved the way her face glowed in the red brandy flame.

    And now disaster – a fallen raspberry souffle – threatened to derail the night.

    I first met Helena at Falafel King. I marveled at her waist-length ponytail of dirty blonde hair as she eyed my balls with suspicion. After convincing her they weren't breaded testes, we ate lunch together for a week. Our first dinner date started at a bistro and ended with the two of us on opposite sides of her apartment door as she bade me goodnight. First kiss? Between two passing trains as we fought to keep ourselves and our peppermint ice cream cone from flying away. Now that I'd gotten myself on the other side of her apartment door I was determined to stay there, even if it meant busting out the Redi-whip.

    For a French girl she wasn't much of a cook. As far as I knew she lived on cigarettes, coffee with whipped cream, and maraschinos. When she slipped onto the balcony for a cigarette I filled the fallen crater with Redi-whip and topped it off with a cherry.

    Jesus, I'll go to church every Sunday if you bail me out right now. I'll even send money to kids in Namibia.

    When she came back inside I casually placed the hot ramekin in front of her. But as I did so I saw that the residual heat melted the cream, leaving a creamy white slick on the surface of the dessert, with the cherry poking up like a nipple. “Well Jon, this is...interesting.”

    I tried to cover as best as I could. “Well yeah, um, it's a floating island kind of thing.”

    “Floating island, huh.” She dipped her spoon into the concoction, taking out a small sliver of cake and cream, leaving a gash that exposed the pink raspberry layer underneath. “It's a bit messy, no?”

    “D'aah, I'm sorry 'Lena. Souffles just aren't my thing.”

    She laughed and dropped her spoon, then picked the cherry up by its stem, teasing it with her tongue before she took it into her mouth. “They're not mine, either.”

    She reached across the table and pulled me in for a kiss that slowed down time. When it was over, I spat out a knotted cherry stem as she blew out what was left of the candle.

Sun, 13 Jan 2008 09:34:03 GMT

I'd fallen asleep during Before Sunset, and she kicked me in the head to let me know. 'Hey, wake up! We need something funny to keep your mind off of your homesickness, you doof!'

My trip back to Calgary taught me one thing; when Jonny leaves, all of Jonny's single friends uncork their libidos and start bumping uglies with one another. It was like rolling out of bed to find my friends sitting in a circle with a bottle in the middle; I caught them red-handed and was too late to get in on the action.

I'd known Nanami (or Nana, for short) since the start of the semester. She sat a few seats away in Indonesian class, and she always seemed to be hidden under several layers of clothing, like an onion...a shapely, petit onion, who I imagined smelled just like Ming-Na. I haven't actually smelled Ming-Na, but I'll bet you my next paycheque that she smells great.

I'd never shown much interest in Asian girls because most of the ones I'd known before were high-maintenance, vain, and generally not my type; I don't even drive for Chrissakes, and those same girls blew me off to ride in something that looked hella fast.

This one was different.

This one passed over the glitz, glam, and souped-up-Integras, and walked right into my trap.

She crossed her arms and tightened her scarf around her neck. She sat like that for most of the afternoon before I'd picked up on it. 'Hey, are you feeling cold?'
'Just a little bit.'
'Hey, come here.'

She joined me underneath the freakishly big blue blanket my mom got me as a housewarming gift. 'This'll make things easier,' and I slid my arm around her. My hand moved down her wool-clad arm, across her white cotton scarf, and rested on her wrist.

Feels like I could crush her just by moving the wrong way.

Heavy metal embroidery

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 02:45:39 GMT

The newest addition to Jonny's apartment

My First Writing Assignment

Tue, 11 Sep 2007 06:12:07 GMT

Since I'm not doing much blogging as of late, I figured I might as well post some of my writing assignments up here, y'know, for your help and such.

The traveler drops his backpack, sighs, then fumbles for, and finds a cigarette.

Hey man, got a light? Thanks…I was in a bit of a hurry to leave, so I ditched mine in that hotel room. You don’t mind that I smoke, do you? It’s been a bit of a rough one.

He lights his cigarette, takes a long drag, and casually blows rings.

D’aah, much better. You must be wondering why I’m in such a hurry to leave what’s otherwise a lovely town, and I don’t blame ya – all one really needs is a library, and a garden, right? This place has a great little library and enough gardens to make your eyeballs bleed, but for me, this place also has…HER.

He takes another drag, exhales quickly.

I’m from out of town, yeah? Well, I guess you’re also from out of town. Come to think of it, SHE’s also from out of town, three foreigners catching the tail end of tulip season. She always said, (He claps his hands together in a feminine pose.) Oh, baby, it’ll be so nice when you come to visit. There’s this little walkway by the canal where we can grab some coffee and just go for a nice chat. I’ll take you around the city, to the park where I spin my flags (he makes like he spins flag poi) – quite a crowd comes to watch, because I’m the only spinner here. And even though you’re a buitenlander – a foreigner, baby – you’ll be special, because you’ll be the spinner’s schat – her little treasure. I’ll see you soon, okay baby?

He drags on his cigarette, looks down, and French inhales.

Six months later and here I am at this station, and my sweetheart comes offa that train, hair done up fancy, red lips, the whole nine. (He flicks his hair, as she would.) Baby I’m so tired, we just got back from tour yesterday. Pardon me if I’m not the best company today. Oh, of course. I know how tough it is to do so much traveling, sweets. Coffee?

He drags, rolls his eyes, then exhales furiously.

What she didn’t mention was that she wasn’t alone. I knew she was with a group, but alongside her, there was also…HIM. I’ve seen photos of the guy – Latin, rock-hard body. Him…with HER. No worries, we kiss each other every day, that’s how you say hello. Of course we’re going to the monument together – everyone’s going.

He drags, and then ashes so hard that the lit end pops off.

SIX MONTHS TOGETHER and a $1200 plane ride to imagine HER getting under the sheets with HIM, that smooth-talking bastard. Great work, sweetheart; now we’re FINISHED. Get out, forget this ever happened, and fuck that guy; I know you will, tonight. You’d best run to catch that train, because I’d rather have hot needles in my eyes, than you for company…you…you whore…

He pops a half cigarette back into his case.

D’aah, I’m sorry. I got a little crazy there. I just…I can’t believe that after all this time…it was for nothing, and now I’m just another buitenlander with a backpack. That plane ride’s gonna be rough, I tell ya; complete silence, for seventeen hours. Way to go, hey? Book a plane ticket to come home with your sweetheart, and instead you’re riding next to a whore - not that this country doesn’t have its fair share of them. I might break that silence, ya know. What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get back home, whore? When does school start up for you again, whore? (pause) Would you like to go to that carnival with me…sweets?

He looks at his case, opens, then closes it.

We’re done, right? There’s no way she’ll want me back. I wouldn’t take her if I wanted to…but do you think, maybe…? I mean, maybe when we’re back home…

Speakers play an announcement that the train is about to arrive. He picks up his backpack, and cinches it on.

Hey buddy, thanks for the light. I guess I’ll see you when I see you, hey?

He opens the door, joins the flood of travelers, and the doors close behind him.

Tue, 28 Aug 2007 10:28:48 GMT

It has indeed been too long since I've written here.

Chalk that up to a lack of batteries, really. If there's one thing I've learned over the past year, it's been that I'm not the Energizer Bunny. Well, maybe I am, but we all know that that fucker needs to get plugged in from time to time.

It's only my second day in Vic, and I think that part's taken care of itself.

'What did you say your name was?'
'Jonny! You?'
'Shadow!'
'Shadow?? For real?'
'Indeed man, the shade of a tree.'

Twenty minutes earlier, I'd gotten back from my apartment inspection - a long story, to be told at another time, you see. Sure I was super tired, and hungry as fuck, but all I really needed was a bit of fresh air to get the engines primed again. I'd barely made it twenty feet outside the hostel when the telltale whine of a Vespa engine pulled alongside.

'Hey dude, open air cab. You down?'
'Excuse me?'
'This thing goes zero to sixty like you wouldn't believe, and you can see absolutely everything. Whaddaya say? I've got an extra helmet.'

Now what I should have done - what most people would have done - was say no, and politely decline a ride from a stranger whose face I could barely see, but given the vast amount of...difference...I've seen among the locals...

'Okay, tell you what. You hungry?'
'Like you wouldn't believe.'
'Here's the deal - take me somewhere to eat, then take me back, and I'll buy you a dinner. Sound fair?'
'Hop on dude.'

I hadn't had a ride on the back of a bike since Thailand. Sure, there was that trip in the back of a fruit truck way back when, but there's almost nothing that beats the freedom of a motor situated directly underneath the legs of the fellow with the handles beneath his digits. The almost, comes from being that guy with the handles beneath his digits. 'Whaddaya doing out here? Isn't Calgary a bit far from home?'

'I got into uni, start up next week.'
'Aaah, gotcha!'He swerved to avoid a series of potholes and inertia nearly threw me off the sides. 'Guess I should watch the road, eh?'

We pull into this family style diner that looks a lot like Humpty's, only red and white. These joints are hit or miss most of the time, but I had a good feeling about this.

Jonny, if anything, this'll make a great blog entry.

We order a large pizza and get down to the business. 'So Shadow, what brings you to Vic?'
'Well, let's just say I'm getting out of a bit of a situation. I was way into the dope, man. Needed to get back on track, y'know?'

Absolutely, I knew. As much as I love the company - and I do, I really do - it just didn't have a future for me. The man who sat across from me and loaded his coffee with milk and sugar was a lot like me, in terms of perspective. Magnitude not so much, but I had the feeling we were from a similar mold.

His hands told me what I needed to know. The grips built perma-calluses on his palms and fingers, themselves covered in a thin layer of exhaust. What didn't get caught on his hands ended up underneath his fingernails, and despite his attempt to remove all of that dust, it stayed on like a surgical glove.

This was a man who'd truly had a rough go-around, and now he's turning back time.

Some people would get a bit spooked at something like this, sitting across from a stranger in a diner, paying for a pizza that might not be great and running the risk of being abandoned in a strange town.

'I wasn't always like this, y'know? I actually spent some time in Calgary not too long ago. I'm a certified massage therapist.'
'For real? What's the field like?'
'Well...I guess it's like any other field. Build up a clientele, and then the bills pay themselves, you know what I mean? But yeah, I fell into the dope scene pretty bad and hit bottom not too long ago. It took me two years to get my scooter back, and hopefully the island will get everything else back, too. What I really wanna do though, is get into cooking school.'

Cha-ching!

Insert Jonny.

'Y'know man, I actually went through the ropes in culinary.' He lit up like a Christmas tree and his spoon overflowed with sugar. 'At SAIT? Isn't that one of the better programs in the country?'
'You bet!'

Hey, I gotta represent somehow.

Talking to Shadow, bit by bit, the layers of dust and grime that covered every exposed bit of skin on his body melted away, his eyes glowing with my descriptions of the mundane and his ears holding on to every last word that passed through my lips, and before long I was imparting knowledge of my own. 'As a culinarian, you absolutely need the discipline to fall in line and trust your brigade members. It's not a one man show like they do on TV - it's a total team effort. Think you can do it?'
'Definitely. And it's only $7k?'
'You say that like it's a drop in the bucket.'
'Someday, it will be.'

We took the same tattered, pothole ridden road back to the hostel, where he let me off and we said our goodbyes. I'll probably never see him again, but I'm sure that what we gave to each other would stick with us, much like his grime, and my various bits and pieces of baggage.

It's a great way to start off here, I think. Let's hope it gets better.

Mon, 16 Jul 2007 09:27:14 GMT

And the ten day festival is finally over.

I finished it off by walking a very drunk girl home and not even getting a simple 'thank you.'

I am so, so very happy to leave this place at this particular juncture.

Anyways, as of Wednesday, I'm off to Victoria (via Vancouver) to look at apartments and other places that could possibly hold all of my junk for my upcoming adventure.

Oh, and also forgetting about really sporadic hot-and-cold chicks who just don't fucking know what they want.

What does God do when he has a bad day?

Me, I usually sit in a baseball field and smoke cigarettes.

Fri, 22 Jun 2007 08:32:46 GMT

Hey, so it's been a year since I've been home from that fateful journey. I just realized that now, and a year ago I was doing pretty much the same thing that I was doing tonight; walking on our inordinately large, North American streets, smoking Marlboro Lights from Europe.

That Wolfgang, God bless him.

I am however, a lot happier these days; a break from the cyclical nature of my life, perhaps?

By all accounts, I should be asleep. I've got to get up and drag myself to work in about eleven hours, and I am tired, but somehow it feels right to be awake. I know that soon I'll lull myself to sleep with errant thoughts, I'll dream of a beautiful brunette to take me away from this place, and I'll just exist in my own little space wearing next to nothing while mosquitoes feed their kids with my blood.

I'll sleep. I'll do it well. I'll do it better than most people, and then I'll wake up with those thoughts out of my head, save for the disappointment that said brunette is not actually lying next to me and fingernailed rage for the white bumps on my skin.

And this is how I know that everything is well in my world.

I hadn't slept through the night since going to that country. Four days of up at five, wandering around town all day, and off to bed at eleven. I always woke up in the middle of the night and chain smoked, don't ask me why. I knew that it would only keep me awake, all that nicotine, but I couldn't help myself.

I was all alone in a strange country with noone to watch out for me. The love I'd pledged myself to was no longer there, safely tucked beneath sweaty white linens while her problems dissolved away in some other guy's arms. She was never mine, I suppose, but more than anything it was my willingness to give myself to her that was the deal sealer; she had me easily, and I'd shown my hand too soon.

Of course, there were temporary loves that I could have had for a few euro, but those would do little in terms of permanent change, which is what we (somewhat counter-intuitively) look for after a great upheaval. Instead, I opted for things that I knew would be all mine, and all the money I'd earned for her went into my mouth in one form or another. Some of it went out in thick clouds of smoke, while others took more natural methods out.

No sleep, no respite from the world that I'd crafted by hand and tended to about as well as those fields of tulips. It's a bit of an odd way to do business, keeping oneself in a perpetual state of pain, but hey - there's a time and place for everything, and it's not necessarily college.

'This should keep you two warm for the night. I can't say I've ever slept out here willingly, but it did wonders for me back when the Missus wouldn't have my drunken ways in the house. I can't say I ever woke up cold, but the beer usually kept me warm enough until I fell asleep.'
'Thank you so much, Ken. I don't know how we can repay you.'
'Just be up at five to milk Bess with me, and that'll be enough. Like I said, my daughter will be by in the morning to take you to Vancouver. Say, do you need to phone your folks or anything? They must be awful worried.'
'That's fine, I've already done it. I guess we'll see you in the morning?'
'Alright, you two have a good night.'

She pulled the cots together underneath a hole in the roof. 'I'll bet you never knew you'd be sleeping in a barn tonight, did you?'
'And you did?'
She laughed a little, then laid down on our makeshift double. 'No, but I know you don't do the great outdoors very well. Think of this as...as a compromise.'
'Lena, we're sleeping in a barn.'
'Exactly! It's halfway between a hotel and a campground.'

She had a point. I don't do well when there's a single wall of nylon that protects me from the elements. Give me four walls and a roof any day. 'Okay, but I'll be pissed if you suddenly give birth and dudes start showing up with gifts.'

I laid down and peered through the hole in the roof, breathless. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; I'd only seen one starfield in my entire life, and here was the second. I'd gotten close to seeing one again outside of a Nebraskan cornfield, but that girl needed to get home because we were out a little too late, and her parents hated that.

(Her dad didn't like me none too much either, but that's a different story.)

She noticed my sudden silence. 'Jon, what's wrong?' I pulled her close to me. 'Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong at all.'
'Why are you so quiet, then?' I pointed at the open roof. 'Look! It's full of stars!' She laughed her little laugh again, 'Of course it is, that's where they're supposed to be.'
'I've only seen this once before in my whole life.'
'That's what you get for living in the city.'
'Wait, don't you live in the city, too?'
'I live just outside the city...so there is not much light from the city. I see this often.'
'You know, I think I'd like to see it from your point of view one of these days.'
'Me too...me too.'

I felt her sit up next to me and fumble for her lighter, and I continued staring out of the rooftop. 'Cigarette?'
'Hmmm...not now. You know it'll just keep me awake. Don't forget, you've got to be awake too. No way I'm milking that goat all by myself.' She flipped it around and put the tip into my mouth, and instinctively I took a drag. 'Now what will we do?'
'Well...' She outed the butt in a nearby coffee can built for that purpose, and kissed me on the cheek. 'I can think of something we can do...'

We only got about two hours of sleep that night, but good lord were we ever ready for that day. It'd been a long time since I'd slept that well - years, in fact - and I'd continue to do so for the next few weeks following that.

Even though I'm turning twenty-four in a few months, it just feels like everything's falling into place without me doing much of anything. The move to the island still scares the hell out of me, but oddly enough I'm still sleeping well.

I'm taking it as a sign that I'm on the right track, and so far nothing's come along to prove me otherwise.

Hmm.

24.

Maybe I'm just getting to that age where getting a full night of sleep feels really good.

I hope I know what I'm doing.

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 00:18:21 GMT

After a whole year of getting bitch slapped by karma, I've finally gotten some return on my investments.

Monday signals the return of the Great German Menace, AKA Wolfgang. I'm going to do a lot more damage this time around, while wearing normal clothes to boot. I didn't have time to regret not seeing that crazy bastard last year in A'dam, but looking back it would have been awesome to reconnect with the guy while doing something that brought us together in the first place; namely, getting drunk and checking out hookers.

Boxing Day 2006 had me jump on a plane to Monterrey, and this year I get to sit on my fat ass and pick somebody else up from the airport. My lovely friend Jess is coming up for the Great White North experience; the catch being that I've gotta condense Calgary down into two days of activity. Maybe just for shits and giggles I'll tell her that I'll be stuck on a bus in downtown and that I can't make it to the airport to see her, but that there are taxis lined up at the airport and I'll be back later that night.

One year since my trip to Europe, and a piece of it's coming back here.

It'll also be one year since my Mexican adventure, and a little of that's gonna be on its way to my neck of the woods.

Come to think of it, Wolf visited during winter and now it's summertime, and Jess will get a taste of a real Canadian winter when our last memories were spent in the sunny (albeit freezing cold) Barrio Antiguo.

Karmic returns are abound, and I am firmly in the driver's seat.

They've turned on the TV in the shisha joint and that little annoying dude from ING Direct is presumably talking about returns and investments. The way things are playing out, I'm just about ready to bitch slap that little fucker into the abyss and declare my victory over the entire Dutch nation.

(I only mention the Dutch part, because ING is a Dutch group. Oh irony, how I love thee.)

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 07:00:30 GMT

I started smoking again.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Wed, 23 May 2007 04:08:02 GMT

I would leave this place tonight if I could. I got cigarette burned by a pushy pusher who insisted I was just holding off on not giving him one, when in fact I didn't have any on me. 'Fuck you man, I got twenty minutes to wait for you.'

'I don't have any, you dick.'
'I'M THE DICK? YOU'RE THE CHEAP MOTHERFUCKER WHO WON'T EVEN GIVE A BRO A SMOKE! YOU WANNA MAKE TWENTY DOLLARS EVERY HALF HOUR, YOU FIND ME, YOU PRICK!'

I would throw my things into a bag, have my folks pack up the rest of my room, and book a one-way to Victoria. I'd find a place, furnish it, and send for my things. In a week, I could be on Vancouver Island, smelling flowers and filling my hair with the salty breeze of the ocean as I looked for a job to tide me over until school began.

Most of my dreams fit into a suitcase and although I can't pay for them, I'll do anything to achieve them.

One dream won't fit, no matter how much I roll my shirts or rearrange my belongings, and if I had a Plan B, I would pack them all away, for her.

As much as I'm excited about the flowers and the sea breeze and going somewhere with my life, leaving her behind will be the hardest thing I've had to do, harder than coming home from Thailand, or cutting myself off from the loves of my life, or picking myself up off of the ground when all was said and done.

She's not yours, you nitwit. Not in that way. You two have something special that can't be replaced.

It's strange that even though I've penned these thoughts in various incarnations over, and over, and over again, they still bring no semblance of comfort. The alternative consists of Why don't you take things farther? There could be a spark. Move quickly Jonny, time's a' wastin'.

I'm not going to say the things I've always wanted to say.

She won't see me the same way I see her, when she's not looking my way.

What could I possibly say, anyways? Oh yeah, I'm sort of in love with you. But that's cool, you know?

When people visit me and ask about the photos of the people on the walls and on the screen, they'll ask me, 'Why didn't you do anything about it?'

I'll never come up with an answer that makes sense to anyone else, but me.

Tue, 08 May 2007 14:29:07 GMT

From the witty romanticism of Rain Noe...

Jonny really believes this is the next big thing.

Tue, 08 May 2007 08:36:52 GMT

It started off no different. I woke up, stumbled around until I found my bearings, slipped into the shower. I dunno about you, but I like starting my mornings off with a shower, even if it means I'm sacrificing a half hour of sleep. I used to be of the pre-bedtime shower camp, until I started growing this unruly tuft of hair that I spend all of three minutes teasing into the right shape for the day. Since then it's sort of been my thing.

After the shower and hair-teasing came lunch. I've been practicing eating very cheaply for the last month or so, in order to steel myself for when I have to do it in the real world, which is coming up faster than I care to acknowledge. I've been eating a lot of pasta and rice with different combinations of protein and sauce, all coming in at under two dollars or so for a few servings. Today it was macaroni, and gin.

I didn't put the gin in the sauce; had it with tonic and lime, nice and summery. I've also been practicing the art of pre-drinking. I can't tell whether or not I'm actually saving money as of yet, but with time I hope my technique improves. So far I've spent fifty dollars on gin over the past two weeks, with most of it being consumed in my own house. I used to go through fifty dollars of gin in one night, until I felt a need to start being responsible about that kind of thing.

After the gin, came my commute to work.

This is where it all gets flipped on its head.

Other commuters (gin-fueled, or not) would get to their jobs, talk shop with their co-workers, and shuffle papers around. They'd head to dinner with those co-workers, break bread, clink glasses. Maybe if they got lucky they'd head under the sheets. Maybe if they didn't, one would head home, and the other would wander the streets, wondering what could have been. Then they'd all go to bed and do it the next day.

I am not one of those commuters.

It seems like I have this bad habit of attracting all sorts of weird people who seem to think they have some sort of insight into my life. Some people would say, 'Maybe you're just at peace with the world, and life is opening its secrets up to you.' Others would say, 'You sure have a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

Personally? I don't really know, but I should probably stop taking stock in what they have to say.

Enter the Gypsy Lady. I don't know if she's actually a Gypsy, but she speaks with some weird Eastern-European accent and somehow always manages to find me on my way to work. I've never told her my name, and apart from the other times she's managed to find me, have never met her in my entire life.

The first time she found me was right after I'd gotten back from the European adventure, where she politely let me know that my ex-girlfriend and I would undoubtedly cross paths again, and it wouldn't be so bad. 'She's still good for you, you know? You just have to open your eyes.'

Riiiiiight, sure thing. Between undying hatred and the words of a complete stranger, I'm going to go with the first one. It's less complicated. Thanks, anyways.

We talked the next week. Whether or not she was good for me then wasn't readily apparent. I sort of made up my mind right there and then to not talk to her again, and I didn't, at least not for awhile.

The second time she found me was a few weeks later, after I'd applied for university and was stalling on production of the cooking show. 'Good luck next year! The ocean will do you good, magnet boy!'

Creeper! Are you supernatural, or do you just read my blog?

I did manage to make it into university, and right now I'm thinking of resurrecting the show at least for a little while. Actually, the plan is to show some real college style cooking on a budget, because I'm going to be one poor, broke motherfucker.

The third time she found me was a few weeks before Christmas, where I was slated to meet a dear friend in Mexico shortly after the big day had passed. 'You've been looking forward to this, haven't you? Don't worry. Things might be awkward at first, but she's as you think she is.'

Okay, now I know for sure that you're reading my blog. Or spying on me. But really...how?

True, meeting Jess was a little awkward at first, what with her coming from Durango, and me coming from Canada, and the two of us to that point only having talked over the internet, but she was just as sweet as I thought she'd be.

Second car, third door, is where I've always found her. The thought flashed through my mind as it suddenly decided to wander towards that little patch of sunshine in my brain, and like magic, there she was again.

Fortunately, she didn't see me. She had her back turned, and I might not have noticed her if I hadn't ID'd her trademark black bandana, with white polka dots. The first few times, I made the mistake of sitting across from her; during afternoon rush, it'd just be polite for me to remain standing in case any ladies come on to the train, I thought.

So, I leaned onto the glass behind me, pulled out some Murakami, and lost myself in the pages. This one's a sort of episodic work, constantly switching between two perspectives, and I imagine that towards the end they come together and everything makes sense. It seems absurd that two wildly different paths could come together and complete each other, but I won't be surprised if at the end, they do.

The train was just pulling out of one station on its way to the last stop before we hit the downtown core; I realized this as I felt a tug on my bag and a familiar voice stopped to say, 'Hey.'

Oh, crap. here we go again. 'Hey, yourself.'

'Murakami, hey? He's a fun read. Things come together in his books like two halves of a deck of cards to be shuffled.'
'Yeah, I agree. Good book.'

Oh, Dear God, what has she got in store for me?

She got ready to leave at the next stop. 'You know...you should really stop running.'
'Excuse me?'
'You know, stop running. Like the cards, your paths will cross again, no matter what you try to do to stop it. Maybe you're running right into her again, I don't know, but one day, you'll be face-to-face again. We both know this.'

I didn't know anything. In fact, that's how I like things sometimes. Ignorance can truly be bliss, at least on occasion. The train pulled into the station and came to a stop. 'And why should I stop running?'

'That's easy.' She hit the release and the doors swung open. 'Your legs will get tired.'

She stepped off, and like magic, she was gone again. A woman with a stroller needed assistance getting on, so I helped her on and looked down the platform for Gypsy Lady. She must move like greased lightning, because I didn't see any trace of her, nothing that would suggest that her form retreated into the green blob of the station, except for her complete absence from it.

Geez, gimme a break, will ya?

The gravity of what she said stuck with me for the rest of the day, her hollow, deadpan delivery of what would be my fate, repeating itself in my skull for my own personal enjoyment.

Kinda made me want to run, to be totally honest. Run and escape and be as far away from this place as I can be. What if, by running, I run into her? Would that make what Gypsy Lady said come true? I'm pretty sure that if I stay in this town, I'm going to run into her. Sure, it's a big town, but more fucked up things have happened to me.

I am leaving, yes, and yes, I am running. I chose Victoria because of all the cities in all the world, Victoria would have the least appeal for her. It's pretty, yes, but somehow I don't see myself walking into a bar that she works in, or see her walking into a coffee shop where I wear an apron embroidered with my name. She's wild, unbridled, and completely selfish. What could a city of newlyweds and nearly-deads possibly hold in store for her?

Nothing. At least I'm hoping so.

I'm also hoping I don't magically cross paths with her but if Gypsy Lady has her way, it's going to happen and there's not much I can do.

Either way, I'll just enjoy the sunshine and keep on walking.

Mon, 07 May 2007 19:53:06 GMT

Afternoons find me drinking Dutch gin and dragging my ass to work, while my world rocks from side to side.

Today is no different.

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 06:18:40 GMT

Have you ever found a packet of slightly moist matches, dried it out, and then tried to use them? You stick them in the sun for a day, carefully align them so they dry out from the head down, pull one off and then strike it.

Poof.

Aaah, that wasn't a good one. The next one will be a winner.

And then it happens again, and again, until you've exhausted the entire packet of matches which would have undoubtedly begun a string of firefly inspired blazes but instead has produced a whole lot of smoke, spark, and nothing.

Kind of like a fart.

Then you get smart and head to the convenience store for a free packet (which actually works properly) and you promptly draw it to the end of the cigarette held between your lips and inhale until that cherry finally stays put.

One fizzles, one sizzles, and to think that they both started off as a bit of phosphorus on the end of some laminated cardboard.

I've been busy, and it's been sucking. For awhile I lost interest in everything that gave me pleasure, like I woke up one morning and my mojo went up the vent in my room and poisoned some birds by the exhaust pipe. What I was left with didn't amount to much at all, really.

Actually, that part's not entirely true. I know where some of my mojo went and where it resides to this day, in triplicate nonetheless. I began losing said mojo as soon as I filled out three forms that basically gave the Company exclusive rights to my soul, guaranteeing that I will be at their beck and call for an average of fourty-four hours over twenty-four pay periods. If I knew that as soon as that ink dried, I'd start hemorraging everything that made me Me, I would have tossed the contract aside and asked Jaynie to forward a memo saying, 'Kiss my ass!' to everyone in the office, but as they say: hindsight is twenty-twenty.

I've always said that the food and beverage industry will hook you with promises of easy money, get you addicted to a few new things that put you in the hole a little, and then complete the cycle by convincing you that the only way you can keep said addictions is to keep working that floor. In effect, we're sort of like prostitutes who just can't seem to let go of the ridiculously easy money and the frills that come with it, which are cleverly disguised as various benefit packages.

I was offered a promotion today, one that involves wearing a suit and tie and getting in people's faces even more than I do now. 'Boss, you and I both know that my place is out on the floor.'
'Oh, you'll still be on the floor, but now you'll be able to leave in a blaze of glory!'

Blaze of glory, my ass. No way I'm making the same stupid amount of money wearing a suit and tie. I like you, but not that much.

Soon afterwards, I'm up to my eyeballs in red tape, politics, and sore muscles. I could just see myself: Jonny, lifelong caterer, AKA LIFER.

It gets worse. I only hung out with folks from work. We'd crack jokes and deliver plates to people and then we'd change into streetclothes, crack jokes, and have people deliver plates to us. I'd go on to Windows Live after getting home and talk to the same people I'd left at the pub a few hours before. Yeah, I'm doing good. Hmm? Oh, I'm not in until Tuesday, but I think they might try to pull me in earlier. Huh? Damn, that was funny! He really made a fool of himself tonight, didn't he? Well I wasn't having trouble...

I got myself ready for bed one night and thought about how it'd been so long since I'd seen one of my regular friends, who doesn't work with me. In fact I hadn't seen her since my Getting Into University Party, which by that time was a few weeks past. What's she doing these days? How are things with her giant boyfriend? What about that roomie? I wonder how their friend in Asia is doing, he seemed like a nice fellow. What about that...

I'd get bored when I wasn't at work, then get cabin fever because I didn't want to leave the house. I couldn't really even afford to go out - got money, want to get pissed, but really shouldn't because most of it's going to go towards bills and school. You'll have at least the AmEx killed by the time you leave, and you should be halfway through that Visa. It's a good thing you cut those two up, they were nothing but trouble. You should really think about cutting down on your social life...maybe you should save money by pre-drinking and pre-eating, Rain style. Of course, you could...

Even that idea of dating a co-worker didn't pan out. One night we have this little talk where we could become a thing, and then she doesn't call for like a month. Matter of fact, she still hasn't called. The three weeks in between were definitely really interesting. Hmm...she sounded really apologetic on the phone. Should I call her? Naaah, I'll seem desperate that way. Hold on, I phoned her like two weeks ago and got nothing! Well maybe if I...

Nowhere, fast. That's pretty much where I was headed. All work, little play, and even my play was at work. What play-play I did get was all in my imagination, or locked away in the psyche of one very passive-aggressive...pseudo-flirt.

Back to that matchbook thing. What the fuck am I doing? When does it end? I'm not going out like this!

Please god, don't let me end with trailing ellipses!

Fuck fizzling, I'm destined to sizzle.

I'm turning down the promotion. Yes, I could theoretically make about the same amount of money doing less strenuous work, but I don't really feel the need to. I'm gone in a few months anyways, and besides: I actually sort of like sweating it out with twenty pounds on my shoulder, even if it does mean that I cuss and down ibuprofens with red bull.

I'm also gonna give myself a shot at more alone time. The work thing is unavoidable; I said I'd be there, so I'd better be there, lest the phat cheques stop coming in and my shovel to dig myself out of credit card debt decides it's going to shatter into pieces. Nevermind that I figure I'll want roughly $3000 to survive my first month in Victoria until my student loans come through, if they come through.

If I get cabin fever, I'm not phoning anyone from work. I'm going to phone people as far away from the work network as I possibly can. Naturally, I'll aim for the safe...person, who's admitted that they'd probably work with me if they liked the people I worked with. I've grown with them, but her being, 'That Girl Who Doesn't Work With Us,' understandably puts a damper on things from her perspective.

Dating!

Yuck...women are still my weakness. I gave up on girl number one shortly after week four of absolute no contact - after all, I'd gone from flirting, directly to the breakup - but not without laying eyes on a few other ladies. So instead of one girl in the sights, there are...let's just say that I work in a target-rich environment.

I'll see how things go in the next couple of weeks. I'd really rather not end up as a bunch of farts, and I'm gonna do everything I can to stop 'em.

Anyone need a light? Gimme awhile, and I'll be good to go.

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 17:06:11 GMT

Hardware

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 05:57:26 GMT

And the results are in.

Time to do some spring cleaning, and based largely upon the results of:

a) This poll, and
b) My handy-dandy sitemeter account

I am doing a trim on the f-list. I have my reasons, so if you take offense, just drop it and let the issue die. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to. Of course, you can cry too, but that wouldn't do much, now would it?

Of course, most of my entries will remain public and I certainly don't mind lurkers.

Stay sharp,
Jonny

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 15:11:25 GMT

FEED ME, SEYMOUR!

Documenting all things related to my upcoming, four-year adventure away from home.

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 07:14:14 GMT

Thanks for the memories. Your freaky stalker like support is oddly heartwarming.

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 06:56:54 GMT

I just finished furiously cleaning out my room, and thanks to my piles of junk being neatly organized into identifiable piles, the whole process took less than thirty minutes. I'm usually fastidiously clean to a fault - anyone who's had me in their apartment, or seen me work in the kitchen can attest to my need for things to be clean, but when it comes to my personal living space I don't pay much attention. I'm just going to sit there, maybe sleep, chillax, read, and write out my plans for world domination through heroin laced rolls; nothing too intensive at all.

Of course, there's another reason behind the mad cleaning fiasco.

I'm an anomaly among men. Most dudes reach for a beer and hit up ESPN for the latest on obscure sports like professional fishing or five-pin bowling when the shit hits the fan, but as soon as I get the feeling that the world will fall apart, I reach for cleaning products and hit up the nearest mess. For the months of July and August, you couldn't find pathogens in my house if you went at it CSI style, I was so keen on keeping things neat.

It looks like it'll be that way again, because I've officially given up on The Girl. If you don't believe me, my freshly steamed pillow and futon, the sheets in the washer, and the scent of Febreze still heavy in the air should tell you that.

It's therapeutic. It's like finding my life in shambles and even though my mind's a ten car pileup, I can wade through old newspapers and styrofoam coffee cups to find a clean patch of carpet underneath. It might not be much, but at least I can make it smell nice, right?

I should consider becoming a cleaner for the mafia. Getting things all nice and sparkly for ten thousand dollars a job, meaning I'd only have to work three days a year to be well chuffed.

Where was I again? Right, the mafia.

I've gone through the memory banks and scrubbed those clean too. Cell phone number? Buh-bye. Instant messaging program friends list? Gonzo! (It's not like she ever said anything, anyway.) Photographs? All tucked away in the recycling bin. It's kind of like she didn't exist or something. I know it's cold, but I'm not about to deviate from a standard procedure that has worked wonderfully over the years I've been in The Game.

If there's a positive side to all of this, I only went on a few dates with her and didn't get close enough to get any pesky hairs on me. It's as if that's a reason women grow hair in the first place - so that it ends up in your stuff, you find a strand months later, and then you cry about it. Over the summer, Helena and I did laundry on our last day together, and even used the hotel vacuum to clean out our luggage.

No hair, no DNA (visible, at least,) no souvenirs, no memories, absolutely nothing. A clean slate, the kind that really only comes from a clean break.

It's funny, you know. I went from dating, right to the breakup. No kiss-kiss, no bang-bang, and all that I've got to show for it is a slightly bruised ego and a trail of lemon-scented goodness behind me.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sic the steam cleaner on the toilet.

Anybody out there?

Mon, 05 Mar 2007 08:55:08 GMT

Okay people, I'm putting this out there so I know who I'll trim and who I'll keep - if you're reading this right now, I'll probably keep ya, but for now we'll see how things go.

View Poll: A Little Snip Here and a Little Snag There

Mon, 05 Mar 2007 04:54:12 GMT

March 04, 2007
Deep and meaningful connections take time to build, so don't be impatient if someone isn't ready yet to trust you with her or his innermost feelings. Like a flower, a relationship needs time in the sun and a lot of nourishment before it can fully bloom. Spend more time with this person, and do not try to overcompensate by sharing your every emotion or personal story. Take note of this person's boundaries, and set similar ones for yourself. Do stick with this person. Just follow her or his lead.

What. The. Fuck.

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 10:55:03 GMT

I got the ending I wanted. It still sucked, but I couldn't have asked for anything better.

10.52 PM, November 3, 2005

Shall I file this one under 'U' for Unnecessary, or 'D' for Drama?

Or maybe 'I' for International Liaisons?

So I canceled my cell phone's ability to receive international calls that aren't from the United States. When I first got the phone, I had all of these international friends whom I never thought would call but just might, one of these days. They never did, really, but I just kept it on for shits and giggles.

I sleep with my phone underneath me because it doubles as my alarm clock. At best I'll wake up right away and get motivated to leave my bedroom, and at worst I'll swear at it a few times until the 5 minute snooze button kicks in and I feel like throwing it into my laundry bin. I use a different ringer for my wakeup than I do for an incoming call, so I'll know the difference between when my superiors need to call me in to work, or the Agency has a new secret mission for me, and when it's four hours before I have to be somewhere important.

4 AM this morning. The Hikari ringer started up, and I knew there was someone on the other line. I usually just let it ring if it's a number I don't recognize (which was the case) but it was one of those super long ones with all kinds of extra numbers attached to it. At first I thought that ET had misdialed, until I got my eyes to focus on the whole thing.

33? The hell? France?

'Bonjour, je ne parle pas français. Parlez vous anglais?'

I hadn't spoken French since grade seven and was damn lousy at it as well. I hoped that I'd gotten the point across, and not done something like ask for butter, or if the watermelon came with a blowjob on the side.

'Jon? C'est moi, Helena. Do you remember?'
'Helena??'

I told her I'd call her back as it was still too early in the morning for anything constructive, and I couldn't afford the cell minutes. I had to get to the convenience store for a cheap phone card, and on the way in the attendant noticed that I was in far too early.

'Wassa matter? Somebody die?'
'Nope, I don't think so.'
'Oh. We're having a special on cigarettes! 2 packages for $19!'
'I'm quite well chuffed, thanks, and Shoppers sells them for cheaper.'
'Are they open now?'
'No, but I could walk out, head five blocks the other way, and get a phone card from those other guys.'
'(Laughs) I guess you're right! Here you go. Don't go killing anyone, now!'

Killing someone was the least of my worries. What could possess this girl to phone me so bloody early in the morning? How did she get my cell number?

What is going on?

A million thoughts raced through my head, and the nicotine was kicking it into high gear.

I don't blog about a lot of super-personal stuff, unless I'm really bothered by something. I also don't usually blog about current relationships, because that shit can turn deadly. It's one thing to tell your girl that she's the best you've ever had when you're right next to her, because that's really what it's all about; a one-on-one emotional, spiritual, and physical connection. It's a completely different story to tell the world that your girl is the shit in bed, because if they don't break up with you on the spot for leaking that kind of stuff, they'll find a guy who reads your blog and has a bigger cock.

Past relationships are a completely different matter.

It was January, almost three years ago. I'd just gotten clear of culinary school and was enjoying the freedom to spend my days as I liked; working and gallivanting around downtown, without thinking of setting foot into a kitchen again for the rest of my life. My camera battery had just pooped out, so I walked to a nearby camera shop for a new one.

On the way there I was feeling pretty peckish so I stopped by Falafel King for some meaty goodness, when I saw a beautiful young girl with dirty blonde hair staring at the menu, completely dumbfounded. I'd seen the same looks on the faces of tourists at KFC in Thailand so I had this feeling that she wasn't from around these parts.

I managed to convince her that the falafel balls weren't breaded gorilla testes, and she had no problem figuring out what she wanted in terms of extra toppings. I ordered the same thing out of sheer hunger, and I started shooting the shit with her. I'd finished my exchange program a year and a half before, so I'd learned quite a bit about her because I just knew how to interact with foreigners.

She had nothing to do, so we went to the camera store and bought a new battery. After I put it in, she put one hand on the camera and the other on a passerby. 'Sir, would you take a photograph of us?'

She'd just gotten into town a week before and was planning to study for four months, touring Canada for the final two months of her stay before her return. After a month of lunch at Falafel King on Tuesdays and Fridays, she declared us a couple, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.

But early on in the relationship, we agreed that no matter what happened or how we felt about each other when her visa expired, that when it was over, it was over. We'd both been drop kicked from the LD relationship bandwagon before and there was absolutely no way in hell we'd let it happen to us again.

Just because you plan against something, doesn't mean you can stop it when it does. We'd been playing around with the 'L' word for some time and neither of us wanted to up and say it, because while we'd been around each other long enough to have a bead on what the other was thinking, the sun was staying out longer than usual, signaling her pending return.

'Helena...'
'Yes?'
'...'
'You're thinking about --'
'Yes...'
'...I do...Do you?'
'Yes, I think.'
'Okay, then.'

And we kind of left it at that, and a small part of us just kind of forgot about it. We just wanted to make the most of what little time we had together. When it came time for her to go, there were no tears. Just a lot of laughs, and a long, lingering kiss, before she walked into A terminal. She blew off a few kisses after heading through the metal detector, turned away, and was bound for Paris via Toronto soon after that.

I tried hard not to think about it, and eventually got over it. Once in awhile I received a handwritten letter, or an e-card from her, but that was about all I'd heard from her over the past few years.

As is my standard operating procedure, I packed up all of her stuff and sent it to her, piece by piece, as a form of closure. Photographs, movie stubs, waffle cone wrappers, all shipped off in little parcels that I'd never see again.

And now she's phoning me at 4 AM?

I got a cup of coffee and dialed through again, hoping that the caffeine would keep me awake. After some small chit-chat, I finally just got down to the nitty gritty and asked her what was up. 'You probably know that it's like 5 in the morning here, right?'
'Yes, I am sorry...but there is something you need to know.'
'What's that?'
'...I'm getting married - '
'Congratulations! Have you set the - '
'But I'm still thinking of you.'
'...date...?'

I dropped my cup with a thud. The styrofoam just exploded it back up, narrowly missing my genitals.

I put another pot on; this would be an interesting morning.

11.50 PM, November 4, 2005

I unlocked the door to her apartment that morning and walked inside. It was her nineteenth birthday that day, and although I told her we'd be going to a hip new place downtown for lunch, I packed enough groceries for a light breakfast and a tidy lunch for two on her Kensington balcony.

One of the things that surprised her about me, was my decision to not become a chef after becoming educated in the business. She'd said that with my skill, it wouldn't be too difficult to get a decently paying job within a few years, but once I explained to her that much of it was for health reasons, she understood why, and just left it at that.

I'm not quite so deep, though. One thing that surprised me about her was her love of the almighty power ballad.

I walked in, to the sound of running water and Meat Loaf playing on her shower CD player. I left the groceries in the kitchen, and put the bouquet I'd bought a few minutes earlier on her pillow; she always headed right to her room to get dressed after showering. There could be an earthquake, or the building could be getting ripped apart by hungry preschoolers, and she'd still wander into her closet to pick out the day's fashion.

I heard her come out of the shower, singing a few bars all Bonnie Tyler style. (I don't know if she actually sings the female part for that song, but if she doesn't, whoever sings that part is a dead ringer for her.) I didn't have the Meat Loaf hair, or the Meat Loaf pipes, but I made my non-Meat-Loafy presence known quickly.

I stood in her doorway as she had just noticed the flowers, and when she turned around I busted out 'I can do that! Oh whoa, I can do that!' She let off a quick burst of laughter before heading to her closet. I met her there and gave her a hug from behind as she went through her wardrobe. 'Helena, do you start off every morning like this? Power ballads and the whole nine yards?'
'Yes, but I could think of much better ways to begin the morning.'
'Feel like throwing around some ideas?' She turned around, put her arms around my neck, and gave me a nice, minty kiss. 'Good morning, Jon.'
'Good morning, dear. Shall we have some crepes for breakfast?'
'Did you??'
'I did!'

'I guess we should have a little talk about this then, eh?'

My cell buzzed with a few photo messages; her hair has grown out, and she's also slimmed down a little. She has slight, hazel colored eyes that remind me of a fresh cinnamon stick, and her trademark dimple still comes through.

Her husband-to-be was seven years her senior. He towers over her by almost a foot at just over six feet tall, and has devastating blue eyes. He's not out of shape either; he cradled her bird-like body in his massive arms, and it looked as though she'd disappear into his gigantic frame. 'So how long have you been engaged?'
'About a month. We'd been dating for just over two years before he asked for my hand.'

Two years?

That means that she must have met this guy right after our half-year romance. 'You love him, no? Wouldn't you know after being together that long?'
'I do love Bertrand, but I'm not sure if it's in that way.'
'There must have been something...why did you begin seeing him? There must have been an attraction, and you are beautiful. I'm sure you could have dated anyone you wanted.'

Honestly, she could have. I just felt like having falafel at the right time.

'I know I'm talking to the same person who kissed me at the airport all those months ago. Still the romantic, are we?'
'I know I'm talking to the same person I kissed at the airport all those months ago, definitely...but what's going on? Why are you telling me this, when you've pledged yourself to Bertrand?'

We both let off a sigh, and I refilled my third cup of coffee.

'He was convenient.'

Convenient? What the hell?

'What do you mean, he was convenient?'
'I never told you that I loved you...we never said that much, did we? And we also said that when it was over, it was over. But for me, I never really got over you, and when you sent me something that reminded me of our time together...it was like being heartbroken all over again.'
'I'm not quite sure I understand.'
'Bertrand was only supposed to be temporary. I wanted to forget about you, when I was with him. But whenever I was with him...I couldn't stop thinking about you.'
'So...are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you still-'
'In love with you?'
'...'
'Yes, and it's awful.'

It was now 5.30 AM, my bladder felt as though it was going to explode, and I needed to get some distance. 'Helena...I need to think about this for awhile. I'm just a little surprised at this all, but I will phone you back in an hour. Okay?'
'Okay, Jon. I will hear from you then.'

I hit the 'End' button on my cordless and set up some exercise equipment.

Maybe an intense workout would help to neaten this tangled web of unfinished business.

10.34 PM, November 5, 2005

I'd been complacent with my exercise schedule for a few days. Working as a caterer, unlike most other jobs, comes with the added benefit of a half decent workout. I'm pretty sure that this is the reason I'm still in relatively good shape, compared to some of the people I went to high school with.

The nature of my job sometimes puts me into contact with this very crowd. Over the past year, I've bumped into two other dudes from my graduating class. In school, they were both fine specimens of the male species, with well defined muscles and an equally good sense of fashion. And now? Both of them have busted the seams on their hundred dollar jeans and blimped right up, as though a tiny gnome had inserted hoses into both of their rectums and turned on an air pump.

A girl whom I'd graduated with just started working with us, and one of my bosses sat down with her for lunch. When I came back from my post-meal cigarette, the first words out of his mouth were, 'Fez, were you really shy in high school??'

I motioned towards her and replied, 'Yup, and she's in the hizz. Couldn't talk to girls, or anyone really for that matter. Then I went to Thailand, hooked up with chicks, all that good stuff.'

In high school, I'd have considered myself lucky if the nerdy hottie sat down with me for lunch, and now, I've got a lonely girl across an ocean wanting a little more than lunch.

Things have changed since then.

I hopped into the shower and recollected my thoughts. One thing was clear: this just wasn't going to work out, no matter what the storybooks, or Hollywood tells us. Nothing short of a $1400 plane ticket and a decision to change my life, that is. I rang her up again, ready to dole out the straight dope. I couldn't afford any misunderstandings and I hoped they wouldn't rear their ugly head. 'Hello, Helena?'

She'd been crying for awhile, as I could hear those trademark quick breaths before every word. Eventually she'd gotten better and we were able to have a good exchange. 'How do you know that you still have feelings for me? It's been a long time.'
'I...I don't. But I've tried so hard not to think about these past years and I'm still haunted by it.'
'By me?'
'Well...you were my first love...'
'What about that guy you left behind when you came to Canada?'
'He loved me, or at least he said he did. But I didn't feel the same way about him. It was one of those romances where you don't know why you're with them. Is it really about companionship? Or are you just comfortable with it?'

I'd no idea I was her first. This would make what I had to do, even harder.
'Helena...'

'What is it?'
'I know this is hard...it's hard even for me to say it.'
'Say it quickly. It will make it easier.'

God, I hope she's right.

'We will never be "Us" again. You're over there, and I'm still here, and even though I'm not seeing anyone right now, I'm not going to wait for you.'
'I thought you might say that.'
'Is there something you want to say?'
'No, I will listen. I think it will make things easier for you.'

Oh, baby...

'If you're still in love with me...then don't marry Bertrand. He deserves better than that; you both do. Even though I won't see you again, I won't forget you, either...I never forget a face.'
'How will you remember me, then?'

Good question.

'I'll always remember that you were the girl who thought that falafel balls were testicles, and that the weather was too cold in winter, and too hot in summer. The one who loved white tulips, waffle cones, and drinking beer late at night. The one who never let me get away without a good morning kiss, and always led me by the hand into her apartment. The one who hated to argue and loved to make up, usually by punching me hard, then kissing me as I rubbed the bruise.'
'Really? I did all of those things?'
'You'd better believe it.'
'Wow...'
'And...'
'And what?'

Just come out and say it.

I steeled myself for what would end this all. 'You'll be the one who blew me three kisses at the airport, didn't cry or pledge to stay together, and left with both of our heads held high.'

And then there was that long, awkward silence.

'Thank you.'
'For what? What did I do?'
'This was easier than I thought it would be. It's heavy, but I'll manage.'
'What's heavy?'
'The rock on my finger...I will not need this, I think.'
'So, will you call it off?'

She said she would, and I'm pretty sure she will. I just don't know when.

'Well Helena, I guess this is it.'
'What?'
'You know, goodbye and all.'
'I hate the word, but it makes sense.'

So do I, so do I...

'Goodbye, Sweetheart. I'll always remember those things about you, even when you don't.'
'I'll be an old maid before I forget about those things.'
'Nah, I'm sure that with advances in medical technology, you'll be like a hundred before that happens.'

She let off a little laugh, just like on the morning of her nineteenth birthday. I couldn't help but smile, and I let a tear roll down my cheek. These tears are much better than their more bitter counterparts. 'I'll be a hundred years old before I forget?'
'No! You'll be a hundred before you're an old maid. You're beautiful, and there's a guy out there waiting to find you.'
'Thank you...goodbye, Jon. Maybe we will meet again one day?'
'I'll be at the King.'

I clicked off, let off a heavy sigh, and walked around the block for a cigarette.

Had I really changed since those school days? Back then, I would have fallen in love all over again, or done everything I could to keep it alive. It makes you do crazy things, it does. I guess that back then, I always had this idealized version of it, where everything was awash with fields of daisies and cascading rose petals.

I guess that I once was that awkward student, looking for a place to fit in for three years but never finding the notch.

Now, much less mercurial, more realistic, I let someone from my past slip away from me again, but not out of spite, or anger; I just cared too much to let her carry on that way.

Is that even a form of love?

Because if it is, I'm not sure I want to be right.

When I got back home, there was only one thing left to take care of.

The evidence. The last thing I wanted to do was pine for her after everything we'd just talked about.

'Are you sure you want to erase this call history?'
click

'Are you sure you want to erase this photo message?'
click

'Are you sure you want to completely forget about this girl?'
Okay, well that option never really existed, but if it did, it would be the above two functions, put into one. It would do it's damnedest to guilt you into saying 'No,' and then it'd have some spiel like:

'YOU WILL HAVE SHITTY SEX FOR THE NEXT SEVEN YEARS!'

after it was all said and done. But, it just confirmed that the messages had been erased, then went back to displaying a smiling anime girl, like always.

And that was that. It was now 7.30 AM, and three and a half hours after the whole thing began, I had to start getting ready for work.

After a rather uneventful day, I decided to just clear my head and walk around downtown. A lot of things reminded me of her; the spot where we kissed in between passing trains and almost got nailed for jaywalking tickets, the boutique where she dragged me in to look at new clothes, the pub we went to on Saturday nights.

And of course, the exact spot where my camera died and I felt hungry all at once.

I began to reminisce, then stopped before things got too heavy. She's not the only one with a slight case of heartache.

I decided to pay our old friend a visit. The shawarma at this joint is pretty decent, and you can't beat the price. 'What'll it be today? Beef shawarma, as usual?'
'I think I'll just take a falafel wrap, thanks.' A familiar smile lit up his face. 'How's that girl that you took here so often? I haven't seen her in awhile. What was her name...Helen or something like that?'
'Her? Oh, she's just fine. How did you remember her?'
'I'm like you: I never forget a face.'

He gave me an extra piece of heart-shaped baklava and a wink as I paid for the meal.

She'll be fine, just fine.

And, so will I.

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 10:54:48 GMT

2.14 AM, February 13, 2007
We sat on a bench, watching the frozen river. It was pretty nice being in our own little world, her hand in mine, mist coming out of our mouths, shooting the breeze. She still smoked, and as I've been smoke free a few weeks I found it hard to resist, but I still did.

I had on what I'd been wearing outside for weeks; all black. Right down to the shoes and toque. I bought this really great double zippered sweater a few weeks ago, made with merino wool and it's become my new cold weather thing, and my car-length coat always stood up well to the elements. I don't usually wear gloves because I can always stick my hands in my pockets, but today I wore the kind that every Canadian high school kid wore - these useless, form-fitting magic gloves that did little else than make you look cool.

Ivory was always her color, even though she never believed me. She dressed simply and elegantly, right down to the wisps of hair that threaded themselves from the front of her hat. I'd never seen her wear anything else for winter, and I can't recall how many times I'd uncinched that belt around her coat before I pulled her closer to me. If I got real close, I could make out the hint of Poeme that always mingled so well with her skin and made me absolutely weak in the knees.

Never mind that I had no idea how I'd gotten there, much less how she'd gotten there, or how we'd ended up in Ottawa again, or why we were the only people there. The only important thing was that we were there.

There.

Together.

We're together again.

We must have been there for hours, before I realized it. One instant I'm in that place between sleep and dreams and the next I have her tiny, gloved hand in my stubby little paw. It must have been a bit of an odd sight for the few passersby; far away from the main thoroughfare and sitting on the banks of the frozen Ottawa River, past any sort of decent hour for romance or even common activity. An ape of a man clad entirely black with a delicate bird of a woman in ivory. 'Baby, can we go back to where we're staying? It's getting a little chilly out here, don't you think?'

'No...I like it here.'
'If I remember correctly, you hate cold weather.'
'I do,' she said. 'I do hate the cold, but this place is nice. Even nicer in winter, I think.'
'It's alright, then. I'm built for that sort of thing; I am Canadian, after all.'

We just sat there and talked, and talked, about the most inane things. It seemed superficial talking about adventures delivering kittens, or punching out people who got a little too fresh, or even working up the nerve to ask a fruit stand operator for a ride to anywhere, but it didn't make any difference because it was with her.

I let go of her hand, put my arm around her and held her other hand, pulling her close. She put her head on my chest at this, and I could see a few blonde strands of hair blow in the wind. She gave me a wet, long, lingering kiss before letting off a great sigh, her head back to where I could see those strands again.

'What's the matter?'
'Nothing's the matter...I just felt like sighing.'
'And this is where you go all quiet, right?'

She laughed, and clutched my hand tighter. 'I guess you know me very well, don't you?'

She kissed me lightly, just a brush of lips, and this time she parked her nose on mine. 'Do you remember what we did last summer, when we were in this spot?'

Gary, his son Steven, and their whippet Rex were strolling along and we played fetch in the river, only you thought Rex would bite. Rex bit me after I put my arm around you, because he was sa-weeeeeet on you...

'Would you refresh my memory?'
'You don't remember that dog who bit you?'
'Ummm...I'm drawing a blank.'
'ASSHOLE!'

She withdrew and crossed her arms. 'Okay! I'm kidding! Gary and Steven were walking Rex, that little clown faced whippet and you were so afraid that he'd bite you that I wanted to protect you, so I put my arm around you and he thought I was gonna take you away and then he bit my leg before laying down at your feet.'

'That's better!'

She leaned on me and my arm was only too happy to oblige - even if I was beginning to lose sensation. This time around, I kissed her, her lips still as moist and warm as they were moments ago, only this time she was a little less enthused about it. 'Tiring out already, hey? It's time to head back to the hotel.'

'No, Jon. I really don't want to go.'

This time she was serious. She was never one to skirt the issue, and I knew she meant business. 'Is there something wrong?'

'Jon, you had to study classical literature in school, didn't you?'
'Yeah, a little bit. Why do you ask?'
'Did you ever study the works of Anton Chekhov?'
'Yeah, I once had to read The Cherry Orchard. I think it was about some aristocratic Russian family that was losing everything and was completely oblivious to it.'
'Aaah, yes. I'm familiar. Did you ever hear what he had to say about showing a pistol in act one?'
'Yeah...something about if you're going to have a pistol on stage, at some point someone has to fire it, right?'

She nodded in approval. 'I always liked that about you. You've a good memory - and you always put everything into play.'

'Baby...is it weird that I have no idea what you're talking about?'

She never was one to pull up classical literature. She's a woman of biology texts and anatomy and cadavers. It would be like me explaining to her how blood pumps in and out of our hearts.

She traced my lips with her own, and then stared straight onto the frozen river. 'I'm glad we could be here tonight.'

'So am I...it sure beats lying at home in Calgary, let me tell you that much. So do you still want to stay here? Maybe we could find that little creperie that you liked so much. It's almost morning, you know, and Claude always needs to test drive the first few crepes.'

She let off another one of her trademark sighs, and continued. 'No, Jon. Here is where we need to be.'

Why?

We stayed there, and kept staring at the river, when something strange began to unfold. The sun began to shine and as it hit the frozen pond, a great fog started to come about. It didn't seem like much but it kept growing as the sun came to say hello, and as I looked over at this beautiful girl, her face slowly began to twist with pain.

'Hey, are you okay?'
'I...I'm fine.'
'Why don't you tell me what's wrong?' She stood up suddenly and said tersely, 'It's time to go.' I gathered my things and she stopped me. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes as I held her gloved hands in my own. 'You can't go with me.'

'Why not? We have to find the creperie.'

She fell forward, almost stumbling into my arms. 'You can't go with me...I...I need to go.'

What the fuck is happening?

I sat down on the bench and pulled her towards me. 'Where are you going?' Clutching her eyes, she made for the pathway before I grabbed her hand and forced her to stay. 'I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.'

'Jon...remember what Chekhov said about the pistol?'
'Yes, once you show it, someone has to fire it.'
'You got me, right?'

What the fuck is happening?

'Yes, I did.'
'You got me. A pistol is meant to be fired, and I am meant to be lost.'

No. Fuck no.

'Or...maybe you're meant to be married, right?' She laughed, and wiped a stream of tears from her face using her gloves. 'Or married, yes.'

'But what's the matter?'

The sun was now fully awake, angrily beaming light onto the pond. By now we were surrounded completely by the fog, and it had become a bit player in our riverbank drama.

She pulled me hard towards her and pressed her lips on mine as though they were two parts made whole again. I felt her fingers wander on my back and I felt her pull me in like a loaf of dough into a bread pan.

A perfect fit.

We began undressing.

I uncinched that belt around her coat and undid the oversized buttons, while she was far less tactful and stripped mine free. I took off my gloves and slid my hands into her back pockets, warming my hands and cupping the flesh under fabric, before slipping them under her angora sweater and feeling her bare skin with my fingers. She wrapped a leg around me and pulled our hips together before she lost her composure.

'Jon...I wanted this again...so much...'
'Lena! You can have it! You have me!'

She spun around, buttoned up her coat, and checked her sweater. 'I can't, anymore.'

'WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?'

She looked down, pulled me towards her, and put her ear on my chest. 'I can't...I can't have you...but I'll always have your memories, your thoughts...your words...you're the biggest hearted guy I've known and I was lucky to have your love, too.' I stifled a few tears. 'You have those...but what do I have of yours?'

She looked me straight in the eye. 'You have an end to the story. Our story.'

'What do you mean, I have an end?'

She smiled, or at least tried to, before making for the river itself.

The sun.

The angry beams.

The fog.

I made for her. There was no way I was letting her get away again.

'Jon...don't move. Don't follow me.'
'I'm not letting you go anywhere.'
'It doesn't matter anymore.'
'It does! I'm not letting it end like this!'

She stopped and said matter-of-factly, 'It's not up to you.'

It's not up to you. Five words everyone hates to hear, and everyone should hate to utter.

A few tears slipped out and my voice cracked, 'And what happens if I follow you?' She let off a final sigh. 'You can't. Because if you take five steps from that spot, you'll wake up.' By now she was almost completely encased in fog. She turned around to look at me, to look at this crying shell of a man, and blew three kisses.

'Baby?'

One.

'I'm sorry, Jon.'
'No, that's not good enough.'

Two.

'You can't come with me.'
'What if I want to?'
'I want you to but you can't.'

Three.

'Why not?'
'Because it's not right.'
'What's not right about it?'

Four.

'I..I'm going.'
'Wait!'
'...I will.'
'Then come back! Come on! Now!'

I can make it. I've done worse. I've trekked through jungle, dodged cobras and elephants. I've traversed an ocean to find a girl whose heart I had for months and lost in days. I've slept on mountaintops just to see the sun rise and bribed police officers to see the sun rise in my own room.

I've walked through a minefield for Chrissakes, there's nothing a bit of fog and an iced-over river can do to stop me.

I'm going to get her.

Five.

I shot up in bed, my face on fire. I looked at my alarm clock.

Fuck. It's five in the morning. What the fuck was that? Did I leave my nicotine patch on again?

The first day I went on the nicotine patch, I forgot to take it off before going to bed. I dreamt I was at work and when I told my supervisor I'd quit smoking, he congratulated me and reminded me of all the good things that came about - more money, more energy, and less stinky breath. I turned around, and when he called my name I turned back.

His tweed suit turned into a leather abomination and flames shot from his head. 'IF I CATCH YOU SMOKING AGAIN, I WILL HAVE YOUR SOUL! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!'

I woke up from that, still feeling the flames on my face.

I looked down my shirt and the patch was nowhere to be found.

Hmm.

Mom and Dad jet off to work, leaving me in my domain. In a perfect world, the entire house would be my domain, but seeing as I only pay for a room, I am master of something that probably doesn't even break one hundred square feet. My room might be tiny but it's home to me.

I'm flipping through yearbook pages, trying to figure out who was really nice to me in high school and therefore deserves to be stalked on facebook, when the phone rings. It doesn't usually ring in the middle of the day, unless it's a telemarketer, but we've been able to filter those bastards out. Mostly.

I checked the number.

France. 33....

Whoa, spooky coincidence. Let's pick it up, just for fun.

'Hello?'
'Hello, my name is Justine from the bureau de (blah blah blah, something or other, I don't speak French) in Lyon, France. I am looking for Mister Jonathan Salonga of Calgary, Alberta, Canada.'
'Ummm...that would be me. It's nice to meet you, Justine.'
'Likewise, sir.'

Nobody's ever called me sir, unless they've wanted to sell me something.

'What can I do for you today?'
'I am calling regarding one Miss Helena Latendresse.*'

(*Not her real surname.)

My eyes perked up at the mention of her name. 'Oh? What has she got for me?'

'It is my sad duty to inform you that at 12.12 PM on February 12th, Miss Latendresse succumbed to injuries sustained in a motor vehicle accident which took place on January 31st. She did not leave an official testament, however, her friends and family searched her personal effects for important connections which may be outside of our jurisdiction.'

What?

'Excuse me?'
'As you know, Miss Latendresse was something of a world traveler and undoubtedly made connections during her visits. It is not - '
'Wait, would you say that again?'

My heart sunk deep into the recesses of my stomach, and stopped beating.

'It is not our policy to perform such a rigorous search, however we have decided to assist her family in notifying people who may have been close to her.'
'Wait.'
'Yes sir?'

It seemed like an hour before the next words tumbled clumsily from my mouth. They were only two words, just for confirmation...I had to make sure I heard them right.

Please, please...please make sure I didn't hear them right...

'She died?'

4.04 AM, February 17, 2007
I was disturbed at the robotic precision with which Justine had gone through the motions.

'Yes...I deeply regret your loss. If it is any consolation - '
'It isn't.'

If she was going to be a robot, so would I.

'Sir, if it is any consolation, it would appear that she considered you very close. May I pass on your contact information to her family?'

One.

'I...'

Please make this not be true.

Two.

'Sir, I understand this comes as quite a shock to you,'

Three.

'but her family has requested this information. Do I have your consent to pass on your information to her family?'

Four.

'Sir? Hello?'

It's true now. No use running.

Five.

'You may.'

She might be a looker, but cleaning isn't her thing.

I waited patiently for her to get dressed, and hoped the beads of sweat that I knew would drip down my neck at some point wouldn't make an appearance just yet. I set down the bouquet of flowers on a clear glass coffee table, dotted with watermarks and old issues of FFWD. 'Uhh, Helena? Are you going to be awhile?'
'No, I'll be out shortly.'
'Ummm, okay. I'm just gonna clean a little, okay?'
'Just make yourself at home. I'm sorry to make you wait.'

The good ones always make you wait a little, because they know you'll wait as long as they damn well please.

I gathered up the papers, piled them in an unused corner of her apartment and left the most current issue on the couch. I found some paper towel and an old lemon, wiped down the coffee table, took the paper off of the couch and set it down. I looked in the direction of her bedroom and heard her humming what sounded like Prince's Purple Rain.

Can't stop now.

I headed into her kitchen and tackled a small pile of dishes. It wasn't much for me, seeing as I do them every day for a family of four, but it seemed like quite a bit for a girl who ate next to nothing and lived alone. Strangely enough, most of them were coffee cups.

Is this how she has so much energy and doesn't eat a whole lot? I thought she was just being really nice giving me the extra falafel balls.

I soaped them, rinsed them, and then set them to dry before wiping down the countertop, and looked at her kitchen table. I tossed the crumbs onto the floor, wiped the table with my still soapy sponge, and dried up with a paper towel. I turned around to look for a broom and saw her standing there wearing a white one piece and a huge grin. 'How long have you been there?' I stammered. 'Long enough,' she laughed. 'Do you always clean when you're in someone else's house?'
'Uhhh, no. It's just...I...' She placed a finger over my lips. 'Shhh.'
'You don't think I'm weird, do you?'
'No, of course not. You're marriage material.'
'Really?'
'Yes. You will make a wonderful wife someday.' I blushed and giggled. 'Awwwww...you'd better bring home the bacon then.'
'Bacon? I have some in the freezer.' She made like she was going to show me when I tugged on her hips. 'Baby?'
'Yes?'
'Sometimes, you're too cute for words, you know that?'

Maybe this time she'll give me the ten.

We spent the night at a bistro-like place on Penny Lane. We didn't plan on it, either; we were too late to catch whatever was playing at the Epcor Centre down the road. Not that I can remember what we missed getting tickets for, because we honestly just walked in and asked for tickets, and it wasn't like it mattered either. The food was fantastic, the band was romantic, and I'll never forget the way she looked under those lights, in her white one piece, laughing and sighing and always having this little grin on her face.

This was the fourth time I'd walked her back to her Kensington apartment. It wasn't much to look at; just your basic one-bedroom with the usual amenities. Actually, for being a foreign student, she had exceedingly good taste in interior design. While it wasn't something you'd expect to find on an episode of 'Cribs,' you wouldn't know by looking that she wasn't of this country. I'd only ever seen it during the day or the early evening - never past midnight. You'd think that after a few weeks of dating we would have kissed by now, but I'm really a fourth-date kiss kind of guy; one's too few, two or three might be too soon, but if you don't get the green light by four then you've officially entered the Friends Zone.

I briefly took a look at my watch. It's two in the morning. Good luck getting home on the cheap, bub.

'Thank you for walking me back here. I heard from my friends that chivalry was dead on the North American continent.'
'How do you play the game back home?' She laughed her little trademark laugh. 'Oh, it's still sort of dead, but once in awhile you get lucky.'

You're lucky? I'm the lucky one here.

'Hey now, it's dangerous for a girl like you to walk around late at night. I couldn't let you go home alone now.' She got her keys and unlocked the door leading inside. 'You always say that, even if it's ten o' clock.'
'I wouldn't be fulfilling my chivalrous duties if I didn't. And besides, it's nice on the city streets at two in the morning. So quiet, don't you think?'
'This city is pretty quiet, actually. But even if it's quiet, it doesn't mean a girl can't use a knight once in awhile.'
'Excuse me?'
'You know...or not?' I cocked my head to one side and flashed the 'Huh?' face. 'Chivalry comes from the French word chevalier, which means knight.'
'Wow! So I'm your knight, am I? I don't have a sword or a horse or anything, and you don't have to call me Sir. Think I'd look good in the armor?' She laughed again, this time a little louder, and wrapped her hands around my back. 'I don't know about the armor, but you look pretty good right now.' I blushed briefly and stammered before she wrapped one hand around my face and spoke up. 'Thank you for a wonderful evening, Sir Knight.'
'You're welcome, m'lady.'

I leaned in, like I'd leaned in three times before, and thought, like I'd thought three times before. Go ninety, go ninety, go ninety...go...for the cheek.

In a sensually violent motion she tilted her head and drew me in. She tasted sweet, like the skin of a fresh peach and just as juicy. I lost all track of time in these few minutes that we spent enjoying our first kiss. It wasn't until we heard the bell from the lift go off that we stopped.

How long have we been here? That was awesome! Hold on, the lift doesn't make noise when it's just dropping someone off.

We looked over and saw four smiles and a waving hand as the doors closed.

'Would you like to come in?'
'No need to ask me twice.'
'I've only asked once - ' I put a finger over her still moist lips. 'One of these days, I'm going to have to explain to you this thing we call "figures of speech." '

She has tiny, tiny feet. Her bedroom's kind of messy. I'd like to start cleaning, but she's a cuddly sleeper and I don't want to wake her up. Instead I'll just keep watching her sleep. Man, she's got some wicked bedroom hair, let me tell you that. Wicked bedroom hair and tiny, tiny feet. Come to think of it, this is a tiny bed. How does she sleep here? Maybe she wasn't expecting me for awhile, or at all. My shins are pretty cold. Look at that! What little leg hair I have is standing on end! Oh, right. Watch her sleep.

In, out. Up, down.

In, out. Up, down.

In, out. Up, down.

Her blanket was wider than it was long so we were mostly covered, minus her feet and my shins. I guess when you sleep alone you only account for yourself.

When couples move in, do they buy new sheets together? Or do they just leave it to the taller fellow to get appropriate bedding? What if he doesn't have good taste? No, they've definitely got to do it together. Together...wow, this is really something else. This is the first time I'm waking up with a girl in the morning.

All the sex I'd had in Thailand was on the sly. I'd head out in the morning, book a hotel room, and have her meet me at a convenience store an hour later. Then we'd go up the back way, up the concealed entrance. Apparently the hotel we used was popular for businessmen having affairs on the sly, and we joined that crew in no time. We'd make love all day, stop at a restaurant nearby for lunch, make love into the evening, and then she'd head out the back way and I'd go out the front. The bus that took her home was a stone's throw from the hotel, and I always kissed her goodbye before she hopped on the yellow number one.

I felt her shuffle and boogie next to me. 'Good morning, stranger.'
'Hey, you.'

I gave her a kiss, and we said nothing for a few minutes. Actually, she made like she'd fallen back asleep. I knew better though, especially considering I'd spent the last half hour just watching her sleep. 'Baby...what's the matter?' She sighed a great sigh and looked at me. 'Nothing.'
'If nothing's wrong, I wouldn't have asked.'
'I'm just thinking...'
'Thinking that things are different now?' She hesitated slightly, '...yes...' I sat up on the edge of the bed and rubbed my shoulders. 'I don't think it's a bad thing. Do you?'
'No, no, it's not bad. It's just...'
'Different, right?'
'Right.'

I walked over her white one piece, made for the washroom and began brushing my teeth, hoping she wouldn't mind me using her toothbrush. I think we have a problem if she has a problem with this, especially considering that I just slept with her. She entered shortly thereafter and I rinsed out before handing it to her. 'Jon?'
'Yes?'
'Can I use your razor?'
'I don't have one with me. Why do you ask?'
'Because if you're going to use my toothbrush, I should be able to use your razor.' I laughed and rubbed my eyes before kissing her on the cheek. 'I guess you're right. I'm going to get started on breakfast if that's alright.'
'Actually, it's not.'
'What, I can't make breakfast with your hair like that?' She looked in the mirror in disgust, then punched me in the arm. 'No, you may not make breakfast with my hair like this.'

She opened the tap, ran the shower, and led me inside. She was careful to wet her hair thoroughly, taking out the bigger knots with her fingers. As she worked shampoo through her hair, she handed me a lather builder. 'Here, put yourself to good use.' I squeezed some of her orange scented body wash onto the lather builder before she pulled the showerhead over and wet my hair and gave me a scalp massage. I ran the sudsy cloth over every inch of her body, and she returned the favor in kind before we both rinsed out our hair.

She dried off and then handed me the moist remnants of the towel. 'Oh, how rude of me.' She ran out to her linen closet and got a fresh towel. 'Hope it's not too cold in here.'
'Oh, you are so, so wrong. Can't you see how much these nipples stick out?'
'You're not so tough without your clothes, are you?'

I'm cooking breakfast. I've never cooked breakfast for an audience before. Well, if you count that time I got up before my folks did, then I guess I've done it before, but this is a real, appreciative audience. Nevermind that I'm only wearing a towel, so...nothing spattery. 'So, chef, what's on the menu today?'
'I could think of a few things.'
'Do you think you can make some crepes? I kind of miss them.' My eyes shot wide open in anticipation. 'I love making them! What can we put inside?'

She hurriedly went through her pantry and pulled out the requisite items - flour, oil, a bit of sugar, a bit of salt, and a jar of strawberry jam. 'This is really nice stuff.' I took a look through her fridge and pulled out a few eggs and some milk. The freezer yielded a box of vanilla ice cream.

I'm making strawberry crepes for a French girl, in her apartment, after a night of sweet lovemaking.

A guy could get used to this.

After I got a rhythm going (that first crepe is always a doozy,) the crepes came out of the pan in no time and she assembled them efficiently, much like the cooks that I'd said farewell to a few months back. Before we knew it there was a pile of a dozen or so tightly rolled packages, oozing with warm strawberry jam. She finished off the plate with a few dollops of ice cream. 'How did I do today, chef?'
'Perfect, baby. Just perfect.'

It was still too cold to eat on the balcony so we did the next best thing. We pulled her coffee table next to the window, and opened the shades. It was around 10 AM and the sun had made a full hello. She turned the tube to MuchMusic where they were having a U2 tribute and we tore into the plate of sugar.'This is probably the only time I will be in the kitchen with you.'
'How come?'
'I like sweet things. I like meat too of course, but I can't stand to cook it. Or watch somebody prepare it.'
'I don't think that'll be a problem.'
'It had better not! I have a bit of a weak stomach.'
'Well, if I'm going to fatten you up, then it'll be even, right?'

She giggled and we kept eating, and I was about to get up to begin cleaning when an old, familiar video came on the screen. 'This isn't the right entrance...or?'
'It's a live version. It's actually a really good live version, too.'

I hugged her from behind, held her hands, and pulled them tight to her bathrobe as the band played on. 'Hey, Lena?'
'Yes?'
'If that's the only time you'll be in the kitchen with me, that's okay.' She tightened her grip on my hands. 'Good. I think that works.'

The band played on, and again she tightened her grip on my hands. 'I love this song...they used to play it at the dances in high school.'
'I think they still play it at high school dances.' She loosened up a little and turned her face my way. 'You know, a girl could get used to this. Sweet breakfast, sweet music...sweet boyfriend chef.'
'I think I could get used to this, too.' She closed her eyes briefly before perking up at the extra verse. 'What's this part?'
'Oh, they pop this extra verse in on every live version and I'm pretty sure they change up the lyrics every place they go.'

'We'll shine like stars in the California dream come true, at least for me and I hope for you. We'll shine like stars in the summer night, we'll shine like stars and love...love will tear us apart, again.'

Without a word, she led me around her coffee table, past her kitchen, turning left at the linen closet into her bedroom, leaving the band to play on.

She yanked my towel away and her bathrobe hit the floor without a sound, joining her white one piece.

Yeah, a guy could get used to this. But let's not start taking it for granted, shall we?

It was the afternoon and getting to that lazy part of the day. I call it No Man's Land, where it's depressing no matter where you are. If you're at work, you're out of gas. If you're at home, you're wishing you're at work. If you're at the pub, you're wondering what the hell you're doing drinking so early in the day.

I got up to wash my face, being careful not to wake her up. She'd really conked out this time, and wasn't cuddly so I had the freedom to move about and make a bit of a ruckus. I got to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. As I wet my face, I heard myself say, 'Hey.'

C'mon, gimme a break.

I looked at myself in the mirror and reached for her facial lotion when I heard myself say, 'Hey,' again. I looked up and there I was, only I wasn't quite myself. 'You know, none of this is real. You're just re-living all of it. Pretty cool, hey?'
'I know it's not real. And it is pretty cool. But what's going on?'
'Jonny, you already know the answer to that one. You have this bad habit of holding on to things that you really should let go of.'
'I guess you'd know, right?'
'Hell yes I'd know! But my point is that you should really let go of this as soon as you can.'

I - the one trying to wash his face - suddenly felt very ill. Then I - the one looking at the fellow trying to wash his face - spoke up. 'Uh oh, this part didn't really happen. You washed your face, and brushed your teeth before she busted in here complaining about the racket you were causing. Then you made love to her - again, and again, all afternoon, to the point where it felt that you'd been pushing your dick through a barbed wire circle. When will you ever learn? Anyways, no matter, we can't have you reliving things that never happened - it's time to wake up now.'

I heard a knock at the door. 'Who's in there? Are you alright?'
'I'm fine, baby. Just feeling a little sick.'

I ran to the washroom and relieved my stomach. I didn't have an idea of what I was throwing up, because I hadn't eaten since Justine phoned. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I walked back to my room. Jesus Christ, it's five in the morning. I've only been asleep for two hours.

This is not what I needed. I needed rest, or a good breakfast, or a shower, or a workout, or a decent lay.

I wanted a cigarette.

Clearly I'd done a bang-up job of falling apart, as evidenced by not one, but two vivid flashbacks of the last girl I truly loved in the last twenty-four hours since she left this realm, and all I wanted was a comforting drag from one Philip Morris.

I got ready to kit out, all black attire, double layered. Sunglasses would cover my swollen eyes, and they know me by face. At most they'll wonder why I haven't been buying cigarettes from them for the last two weeks. I'll be fine.

I got one shoe on before feeling my cell buzz in my pocket. Who the fuck can this be?

I picked up without checking the number first. 'Good morning, Jon speaking.'
'Hello? Jon?'
'Yes, how can I help you?'

This was the last thing I needed. I'm playing morning secretary for someone who's probably misdialed and also happens to be looking for somebody named Jon. 'Hello, my name is Maurice, a friend of Helena's.'

Hmm.

Or not.

'Hello Maurice, or should I say, good morning?'

4.00 AM, March 1, 2007
'Good morning would be okay.'

I wasn't expecting anyone to actually call. At the very least, I hoped they'd have the decency to call at, you know, a decent hour. One man's decent hour is another man's fuck-off hour. 'I'm sorry Maurice, but do you know what time it is here?'

'Yes, I am sorry. But I couldn't put it off any longer. As I said before, I am a friend of Helena's, and I didn't want to make this call.'
'Then why did you?'

He paused, and there was one of those long, awkward silences. The kind where you're both wracking your brains for something apropos to say. He broke the silence. 'I did it, because she asked me to. She and I were very close.'

You and me both.

'Well I must say that this is a very awkward conversation, so I hope you'll excuse me if I don't know what to say.'
'It's alright, I'm not a good conversationalist. I'm just a messenger in this case.'
'You're doing a hell of a lot better than that robot, Justine.'
'Aaah, yes, Justine...a little cold, isn't she?'
'A little? She's a fucking ice queen.'

We both laughed a little, when he got down to it.

'So, you're the famous lover, Jon.'
'I wouldn't say I'm famous. Nobody really knows me.'
'Oh, we all know about you.'

Oh my God, oh my God, I can't believe she told people what I'm like in bed! She showed them the orgasm face, didn't she? What the -

'How so?'
'She always talked about how she felt loved when she was with you. How you had this...shine? In your eye?'

Ohhhhh...a lover in that sense of the term.

'A twinkle?'
'Excuse me? This has nothing to do with urine.' I stifled a bellowing laugh, trying to keep in mind that everyone was still asleep. 'No, no, not a tinkle. A twinkle, a glimmer, a...'
'Aaah, I understand, now.' I furrowed my brow and took a deep breath. 'So...I had a twinkle, eh?'
'She tried showing us but could only describe it in abstract...like you saved something for her, that only she could see.' He was right in that, but if you think about it, everyone has something special they keep for a lover; a secret smile they keep just for them. 'With her, it wasn't so much a twinkle.'
'What was it, then?'
'It had to be her smile...I loved seeing her smile, and her eyes would light up and...well I guess there was a twinkle there, too.' I had to stop to choke back a few tears. I didn't want to lose it here, on the phone with a complete stranger. 'It was definitely her smile that I remember most, though.'
'Aaah, she said you had a nice one. Charming kind of smile, very fitting.'
'Really? I thought I was a little on the chub side for her; she was pretty tiny, you know.' He paused as if to digest and fully translate the words. 'She said you were a good fit for her...that was one thing with Bertrand; he would always be touching her breasts if he was behind her so she always had to wear heels.'

Bertrand...poor bastard. He finds the girl, proposes to the girl, loses the girl, has girl visit old lover, and then loses the girl...forever.

I forced a laugh and continued. 'Oh, Bertrand...how is he taking all of this?' There was a slight silence as Maurice found what to say. 'Bertrand...well he is Bertrand. He is like a rock sometimes, but I am sure things are different on the inside.'

I could understand if Maurice was hiding something, but I'd never see that giant mass of muscle and sinew who gave my baby a diamond, so his secret would be safe with me. 'Maurice?'
'Yes?'
'Is there something you're not telling me?' He hesitated briefly, before replying. 'Well...It's not so nice.'

I'm ready. Definitely.

I took a deep breath and sighed. 'Maurice? Can I call you "Mo"? It would make things so much easier.'
'Alright.'
'Okay Mo, this summer, I found out that a girl I loved very much was with another man, and then Lena came along and I fell in love with her all over again while having the greatest tour of my life, she asked me to marry her at Pearson Airport in Toronto and I couldn't even find it in me to give her an answer, much less tell her that I would have gladly done it if she would have taken me away with her, and I've just learned yesterday that she is dead, and you're wondering if what Bertrand has to say isn't so nice?'

I could hear him gasping for air on the other line. 'I...I...uh...I - '
'I'm sorry, Mo.'
'No, no, it's alright. You have a point to make there.'

I had a right to know. It's like that fucker Albert Camus proposed - once you proceed with a course of action, you must follow that course to its terminus. I was on a runaway train at that point, so all that was left was to derail or smash into a million pieces. 'He was angry at the world for a long time. Angry at Helena, angry at you...angry that all it took for his world to fall apart was a memory that she had, a memory of you, a somebody that she knew and thought had fallen out of her world, and he loved her very much.'

All it takes for a world to fall apart is the wrong person. Hell, even I know that one. I was still putting together the pieces of that world when she came along and put them together for me, and now that she's gone the only person who can do that is in the mirror. Ironic though, that when his world fell apart, mine came together in a completely opposite fashion...

'I understand, Maurice.'
'Well...maybe not everything.'
'Oh?' I listened carefully in the background and heard the trademark sound of a Zippo lighter, and I could tell that my compatriot was lighting a cigarette. 'There's more to Bertrand, you know.'
'So...tell me about him.'

He took a drag and exhaled, blowing smoke over the receiver. 'After the accident, he was the first to come to the hospital. He stayed with her until the end. She held on for quite awhile, and even woke up a few times.'

Sounds just like her...she was always a fighter. Even when that big dude tried messing with her and I was ready to run our asses off, she kicked him right in the junk in front of that big crowd of people and two cops, and nobody fucked with her after that.

'She woke up?'
'Sometimes, briefly. We thought for some time that she would make it through...'
'Oh...' He quickly exhaled. 'Oh, I'm sorry...I can be more sensitive.'
'It's alright...so what was Bertrand's final...opinion?'

I could almost see him mulling over his reply, dragging and exhaling and blowing smoke rings. 'Well...he felt sorry for you, because he and Helena got to say their goodbyes, and you never had a chance.'

I would have killed for a drag right there and then. 'Aaah, well then...that's...that's nice, I suppose.'
'He really does mean the best, though. Like I said, he is like a rock sometimes. But...that's Bertrand, and some things will never change.'

I suppose so; on that last bit, that some things will never change; at the very least they'll be really hard to budge. To this day I still get very antsy around Latin guys with curly hair, and once I hear Portuguese I feel like vomiting. I thought I would have been over it by now, but some things are tough to get over.

I have a hard time dealing with everything that reminds me of that last half of June - passenger trains with vinyl seating, short girls with red hair, stifling humidity, booth-side whores, green canals, large, orange articles of clothing - and I feel everything boiling up inside of me whenever I'm around any of that.

She (Lena) made it all better...for three straight weeks I hadn't given thought to the heartbreaker and shortly thereafter, I put a lid on that chapter of my life and buried it where nobody would find it...

'Jon?'
'Yeah, sorry, I just...'
'It's alright. There's something I think you should know.'

Well, not much will surprise me now.

'And what would that be, Mo?' He took another deep breath that I couldn't distinguish between a breath and a drag. 'She...she had something for you, something very special. She wanted you to know that when she asked you to marry her, that she wasn't joking.'

Holy crap...wait...she was on the pill...was she...?

'So she had...what did she have?'
'She had a ring designed...I know she took the surprise out of it but it's a very beautiful ring. She never left home without it, always wore it close to her heart, on a chain.'

Up until the Mexico trip, I'd always worn two chains with two rings around my neck, and if I hadn't lost them I'd probably still be wearing them. I'd worn them for a few years and when she came by in the summertime, I tried giving a set to her. The smaller ring was a perfect fit, but she never took it and always insisted that if she were to take a ring, she'd have to keep it where I could always see that she wore it.

This was pretty intense though, her going off and grabbing a ring on her own. Somehow I felt betrayed, like I'd been denied my manly duty to work for a ring and then give it to her on one knee. 'It has sapphires, instead of diamonds. She never told me why she got it with sapphires, but it's what she wanted.'

Hey...that's my birthstone.

'Hmm, sapphires are a bit of an odd choice for a ring...like that...'

I can't believe she'd gotten a ring. Why didn't she tell me? When was I supposed to get one? Was I supposed to have gotten one?

A ring...like that...

'Yes Jon, a ring...like that.'

We'd said the same thing a few times over but it never got old. It just got...well, it got really awkward. More of that familiar nerve-wracking, and fumbling for words. I'd been up and down and just wanted a cigarette and maybe something like wormwood that would help me forget about this whole ordeal.

Maurice just came out and said it. 'Jon...she was going to marry you, if you waited long enough and things worked out.'

Thanks for trying to make me feel better guy, but somehow it's not working.

'But they didn't, obviously...and she wanted you to know one thing above everything.' I could barely stand it by now. I couldn't say anything, and I felt my eyes well up with tears and my lips snap shut. 'What she wanted you to know,' he continued, 'was that...' he stammered. 'What she wanted you to know was that if she had to, she would have done it without you.'

I know she would have.

'If you weren't around, she would have married someone else, and done it without you.'

She's feisty that way.

'She would have hated it, but she would have done it.'

I know...she's my baby.

'Mo...I think I know what you're trying to say...'
'...I don't know if I've really said it.'
'No, no, it's alright. I...I get it.'

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, as we made the requisite small talk and got ready to click off before he suddenly remembered the business end of our chat. 'Jon...I know you and her have a strict way of doing things, but...I must ask you. Do you want any of her personal effects?'
'No.'
I'm not about to start keeping a bunch of Things That Make Me Pine.

'Okay then. She will be laid to rest in Lyon; would you like to know where she is buried?'
'No.'

I don't want to sully the image of her at rest, because I know what it's like. Her chest rises up and down, and she buries her head in my chest. That's what it's like when she rests.

'Are you sure? Well, I guess there's no need to ask questions twice. Now, there is one more order of business that we'd like to tend to.'
'How can I help you?'
'There's a memory card here, with a password that presumably, only you or she would know. Would you like that?'
'Mo...I think you know my answer to this one...but if you like, I can give you the password.'

I asked her to keep all of our photos from the summer with her, so I wouldn't get any damned fool ideas and not move on with my life. 'Jon?'
'Yes, Mo?'
'I feel that I have to thank you, for listening, and for telling me a little bit about you and Helena. She was a dear friend of mine, too.'
'Any time, Mo. Any time. I'll be seein' you.'
'When?'

I laughed a little, explained what I meant, and then clicked off.

'Jon, remember when we saw that Japanese movie, Wonderful Life?'
'Yes, baby. I remember. And I think I know what you're going to ask next.'

There we were, back on the frozen canal, in a place so nondescript that it could exist along any stretch of riverbank but still had some remnants of civilization about it. 'You're going to ask me what memory I would take with me if I died right this instant, right?'

She laughed, and peeled off one of her ivory gloves. 'Which one would you take?'
'Shouldn't we be asking you that one?'
'Fine!'

She hummed and bobbed her head from side to side, before telling me. 'I would probably take the memory of the morning after the first night you stayed with me...I could live in that one forever, I think. And I'd never go hungry.' I nodded in approval, looked down at her fingers, and saw the way the sapphires softly glowed in the moonlight. 'What about you?'
'Baby, I still have a lot more memories to collect, don't you think? But if I had to pick just one...it would have to be that time we danced in the street and kissed between those trains...and I don't have to worry about going hungry, because I'm fat enough to last for quite some time.'
She looked stunned. 'What about me? I would die in a few days!'
'It's my memory! Leave me alone!'

We both laughed, like we'd done a million times before. 'You're right, Jon. There's still much to do, much to live and experience. And other girls to see.'
'Lena...'
'It's alright, I know. You're seeing a cute one, and there's always Australia to think about.'
'Hey! She's my friend!'
'Shhh...' She placed an ungloved finger over my lips. 'You're awfully bad for dating your friends. Goodbye for now, sweetheart.'

This time she didn't disappear in a cloud of white fog, or make a big deal out of saying goodbye. I just happened to wake up and feel my laptop lying next to me, now that I've got the ending I want.

I don't know what's happened to her, but wherever she is, I hope she's happy, sugary crepe breakfast or not.

And me?

I'm off to pack up some more memories and get them down on paper.

So, yeah, LJ is really iffy about gigantor posts. Ergo the splittage.

A Study in International Relations, Part VI: Sapphires, Instead of Diamonds

Thu, 01 Mar 2007 11:05:51 GMT

I am thusly persuaded to finish the story, after not knowing if or when I'd finally get around to doing it, but the fact of the matter is that it's almost four in the morning and I'd be in a lot of trouble if I forgot about it.

'Good morning would be okay.'

I wasn't expecting anyone to actually call. At the very least, I hoped they'd have the decency to call at, you know, a decent hour. One man's decent hour is another man's fuck-off hour. 'I'm sorry Maurice, but do you know what time it is here?'

'Yes, I am sorry. But I couldn't put it off any longer. As I said before, I am a friend of Helena's, and I didn't want to make this call.'
'Then why did you?'

He paused, and there was one of those long, awkward silences. The kind where you're both wracking your brains for something apropos to say. He broke the silence. 'I did it, because she asked me to. She and I were very close.'

You and me both.

'Well I must say that this is a very awkward conversation, so I hope you'll excuse me if I don't know what to say.'
'It's alright, I'm not a good conversationalist. I'm just a messenger in this case.'
'You're doing a hell of a lot better than that robot, Justine.'
'Aaah, yes, Justine...a little cold, isn't she?'
'A little? She's a fucking ice queen.'

We both laughed a little, when he got down to it.

A Study in International Relations, Part V: The Place Between Sleep and Dreams

Sat, 17 Feb 2007 11:13:01 GMT

I was disturbed at the robotic precision with which Justine had gone through the motions.

'Yes...I deeply regret your loss. If it is any consolation - '
'It isn't.'

If she was going to be a robot, so would I.

'Sir, if it is any consolation, it would appear that she considered you very close. May I pass on your contact information to her family?'

One.

'I...'

Please make this not be true.

Two.

'Sir, I understand this comes as quite a shock to you,'

Three.

'but her family has requested this information. Do I have your consent to pass on your information to her family?'

Four.

'Sir? Hello?'

It's true now. No use running.

Five.

'You may.'