The All-Nighter

I should have seen it coming. I should know that snowstorms are never a good sign.

Everyone, at some point in their lives, has to pull the infamous all-nighter.

There are two types of all-nighters. The ones you choose, much like parties and "sleepovers" and the ones you don't, like work and plane trips and so on.

The first all-nighter I ever pulled in my whole life was not of my choosing.

I wish it had been, but it wasn't.

"Hey, you know they're announcing a big snowstorm tonight and tomorrow?" Kara says at work. I'm finishing my eight hour shift and I want nothing more than to go home. But something dawns on me.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Hey, sorry, I have to go talk to Slim, I'll be right back."

Kara shoots me an obvious look. "Okay, you do that."

"Don't make that face."

She shrugs. I walk off and find Slim, in the menswear, trying to keep his hair from sticking up because of all the static electricity. My shift is nearly over. I poke him. He turns and grimaces.

"Oh, not you again."

"Yeah, asshole, I didn't want to see you either, but I have no choice."

"Damn these inevitable encounters," he says flatly, his eyes amused.

"About the TV project... Um, it's, like, for tomorrow."

"Monday, yeah."

"And it's far from finished. So I sent a mail which you already read, but Max and Amy didn't reply. What should we do? We need to meet up and write that paper."

"My place?" He suggests. I think about it.

"Yeah, that'd be good. But we'll have to get the others to come too, because there is no way we can do it alone."

"Deal. I'll just call Mom to tell her we'll have late visitors."

"Okay, cool."

"I'll give you a lift back, then."

"Okay, but we need to stop by my place so I can pick up our documents."

"No problem. It's no detour. So where are you headed now that your shift is over?"

I look around at the crazy holiday shoppers. The mall is already decorated for Christmas and it's four in the afternoon. Depressingly, the sky is already dark blue, but the absent daylight makes the red and gold all the more beautiful in the soft lights. I turn back to him.

"Holiday shopping for the family. I'll be back in an hour, when your shift is over."

"Okay." He smiles. He doesn't look depressed in the least about his recent break-up. "Scram."

I start by heading towards the Radio-Canada stall, where PB works. He sells old and new TV series, t-shirts with the RadioCan logo, and Hockey Night In Canada boxers. You know, your typical tv channel merchandise. He looks bored. I greet him.

"Hey, PB."

His face brightens as he recognizes me. "Hey! Done for the day?"

"Yeah. Did Slim come by?"

"Yeah, we took breaks together."

I look at the stand. "This seems like such an exciting job," I tease him. He shrugs.

"It's actually pretty cool. People are interested. Only thing is, I have forty-five minutes left to make my target sales, and I'm missing three bucks." He looks depressed. "Three bucks away from target!"

I sigh. "Well, I'm looking for holiday gifts, so if you can sell me someth― Oh my god, yes."

He's showing me a special edition DVD box set about the Expo '67, where my mother made some of her fondest memories.

"I watched it during my training downtown," he says, "and even I was psyched about this thing―"

"I'll take it."

"―so if your parents liked it back in the day― What?"

"I'll take it. I'm taking it. Here's my card."

"Really?" He looks ecstatic. "Awesome! Wow! Thank you!" We joke around as we complete the transaction, and he hands me my bag with a smile, saying, "See, now you have one gift down, I made my numbers, and your mother will be really happy. Everybody wins."

"I know, I'm so happy. But I gotta go find something for my dad and my brother, now."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then. They announced a snowstorm, so that should be interesting."

"Yeah, it should. Okay, gotta go."

"See you."

I bought a Beatles compilation CD for my dad. He has a new car, and this one can play CDs now, and since he can't listen to music really loud at home, I thought I'd get him a starter CD for him to rock out in his car. Because Dad would totally rock out in his car, I'm not even kidding. Besides, my dad loves the Beatles.

And I bought the Massive Book of Optical Illusions for my brother, because he loves messing with his own brain.

All in less than an hour. I returned to the store and showed Slim my purchases. He grabbed all my bags and pretended he was going to throw them against the wall, but handed them back to me when I squeaked.

"Approved, approved and approved," he says.

"I was just showing you, I don't need approval."

"Doesn't matter, you have it anyway. Now go get your coat."

We leave, and I firmly ignore Gale and Kara's eloquent looks. I just glare.

We stop by my place. I head upstairs for a change, then head downstairs to put all my documents on my USB drive. Slim greets my mother politely, and makes small talk with her about his day at work. I'm about to suggest that we leave when my mother suddenly asks, "CM, have you eaten anything since noon?"

I turn. "Oh. Damn. I knew I was forgetting something."

Mom rolls her eyes. "Well, I have frozen pizza, so if you want, I can pop it in the oven for you two."

I glance at Slim. He seems to appreciate the idea. His phone starts to vibrate. We both pause and wonder who it could be.

He glances at the caller ID, then groans. "Oh no. It's Katie again."

His girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend, as it were.

"She's been calling me all day, dammit."

I expect him to pick it up, but he pockets his phone again. I ask, "You won't talk to her?"

He sighs, looking a little upset. Softly, he says, "I can't. I don't want to."

We leave it at that. By six-thirty, we're done eating the pizza with tall glasses of milk (Slim doesn't like carbonated drinks either), and we leave. A quick call to Amy, our third teammate, reveals she is too sick to show up tonight, but that she sent me her document by mail. I pray that at least Max would have the decency to show up instead, though as time passes by I begin to realise that it could turn out to be just Slim and I tonight... working overtime.

Slim pops a CD into his car. For the whole drive over to his house, we listen to the old-school soundtrack of Mario 64, humming and tutting along with every note. I notice that he's in a really good mood today, in spite of his exhaustion from work. We enter his home. A few tiny snowflakes are falling.

I say hello to his mother with a smile. She greets me in return, but turns to her son and says, "Slim, Katie called five times today. She left three tearful messages. Here, you listen."

I can see Slim's good mood deflate in less than five seconds. He takes a breath, then listens to the three messages his emotional ex left on his family's answering machine. Meanwhile, I pretend not to be concerned and say hello to Slim's sister, Steph, who was just on her way out for a date with her long-time boyfriend. Something inside me feels stretched, like I'm reaching the end of my rope. I'm so tired; school is tough, exams are upon us, Slim's love life is a mess, my love life is non-existent, my friends aren't helping, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in four days... and I'm not even on PMS anymore.

Slim puts the phone down. I shoot him an inquisitive glance.

"Will you call her back?"

He shakes his head. "No." He climbs the stairs to his room two by two, hollering, "Gimme a sec', I'll get a change of clothes."

Meanwhile, I grab his phone and dial Max's number, which PB gave me earlier.

Four rings. The answering machine picks up, and Max's voice, annoyed, asks, 'Hey, 's there a way to get some god-fucking peace?' and the tone.

I laugh. "Nice message, Max. It's CM. I'm at Slim's right now, house three-o-eight on... I think you know where it is anyway. But whatever, if you get this message, call us back at 514-XXX-XXXX. ASAP, actually."

I hang up. Slim appears at the overhead railing, changed in a plain white tee and Point Zero jeans that are faded in all the right places. He looks down and asks, "So?"

I climb the stairs to join him. "Not answering. I hate to be negative, but I have a really bad inkling that―"

"It's just you and me tonight," he finishes, looking unsurprised.

"Yeah," I breathe, exhausted. He sighs.

"Alright then, let's get to work."

And we do.

Very soon, we get a sense of how much work is involved, and how we're not going to find any rest. Let's just say that we had to write a thirty page essay for noon the next day. That left us with approximately sixteen hours. By nine thirty, as it dawns that we would not get any sleep, I call my mother and the following conversation occurs.

Me: "Hi."
Mom: "CM! Well?"
Me: "Yeah, uh, don't expect me home tonight at all."
Mom: "What? How come? What's going on?"
Me: "Too much work, Mom." I sigh and try not to sound freaked out. "We have eight analyses to find and elaborate on that stupid TV show and thirty pages to write for tomorrow at noon, not to mention we're missing half the team. We're barely going to make it."
Mom: "CM, haven't I taught you better?"
Me: "Well, Mom, it's a little tough to do better at this point."
Mom: "I'm not impressed. At all."
Me: "I know, I know. Please spare me the lecture."
Mom: "Where, exactly, are you going to sleep, anyway?"
Me: "Um. Sleep is relative. I don't think I'll have time for that."
Mom: "At least don't forget to have breakfast, then."
Me: "Yeah, no problem, Mom. That's the least of my concerns, right now."

Mom sighs exasperatedly. I can tell she disapproves very strongly. Hell, she hadn't allowed me to go to Bass' place back when he was crushing on me and I didn't want to break his heart. Though I think she had more faith in Slim's sense of honour than in Bass', which is perfectly comprehensible. For one, Slim actually made small-talk with her about hand-crafts, which is a feat few guys have managed in the past.

I hang up after another apology. Slim nudges me. I turn to him and he motions behind us. I turn.

Oh. Right. Slim has two single beds in his bedroom. I'd forgotten...

"In case you need a place to sleep," he says. "Though Guy slept in that one last night. Hope you don't mind."

I laugh. "Right now, any bed seems like paradise."

"Ain't that the truth," he sighs. "Okay, back to it."

But not before he shows me his copies of Mario Galaxy and Call of Duty 4, of course. Oh, and his live performance during a talent show with Guy, Dague, and Jason ―his on-again, off-again bandmates―of their most famous song (this song is melancholy, in soft melodious rock, and it evokes so many memories for the people in my school year that it was dubbed Memories, in honour of every student who associates it with their high school times). To be honest, every rendition of this song makes my throat tight and my eyes moist.

But usually I can control it. Suddenly Slim glances at me. "Hey, CM... Are you..."

"What?" I say, reaching up to dab at my eyes.

"Are you..." He touches my shoulder with a smile. "Are you crying?"

His broad smile is too much to bear. I choke.

"No."

But fat tears are rolling down my cheeks. He begins to laugh.

"You're crying," he teases softly. "You're crying!"

"Shut up," I say, turning away and wiping my eyes. "I'm not..."

"Stupid pride, you moron," he says softly. "Cry. It's alright."

"If you tell anyone about this," I say, breaking into choked sobs, "I'm killing you!"

He puts a hand to my shoulder and squeezes. "Cry, CM. Cry. Let it all out. I won't tell anyone, it's our secret."

And so I start sobbing as Memories comes to a close. He doesn't say a thing, but I can see his own eyes are a little too bright.

I don't even know why I'm crying, really. I say this. He looks amused and rubs my shoulder absently.

"Somehow," he says, "the fact that you're crying irrationally just makes me smile." He glances straight at me and says, "If there had been an actual reason for you to cry, then I'd have felt way awkward."

Awkward with me, huh? I dry my eyes with the palm of my hand. He hands me a paper tissue. I thank him. Awkward...

Is that the wall he was talking about? What is the wall? The term resurfaces. I can't believe this. I can't believe that comment upset me so much. Who cares, anyway?

I open my mouth. We're just friends. I can ask about a wall, right? It's nothing romantic, it's just friendly curiosity. Right. I can ask, no problem.

"Slim, can I ask you something?"

He watches in amusement as I slowly regain control of my composure. "Yeah?"

I open my mouth to speak, but his cell phone starts vibrating. He cusses under his breath and takes it out of his pocket. I know without even looking that it's his ex.

Well. So much for that. There's my answer.

Slim contemplates his phone for a second, makes a motion to open it, then takes a deep breath and pockets it again when it stops vibrating.

"I feel like a jerk," he says. "But I don't think I can handle this." He looks at me and says, "You know, I think I envied you just there."

I blink. I know my eyes are still a little red and my cheeks are wet. "What do you mean? When?"

"Crying," he says. "I wish I could do that whenever I feel like it."

"You can," I say, furrowing my brow. "Why can't you?"

"It's just, whenever I feel like crying, I can't seem to. Like I can't make the tears come out. I feel so stupid." He smiles warmly. "I wish I could cry shamelessly, you know. Just to let off some steam."

I laugh shakily. "Well, a good cry is always beneficial, I'll give you that. See? I already feel better."

He chuckles.

"And honestly," I confess, "it's the first time in years that I've cried in front of someone who was not my family like this."

"What," he asks, "you normally hide?"

I laugh. "Of course I hide. I'm not an unhappy person at all, but if I cry in public, people automatically assume something is wrong."

He snorts and looks away. "I could have used a good cry this week." He blinks quickly and won't look at me.

I smile. "Right." I turn to look at the computer screen. "Well, sometimes it feels good to just let go of all the tensions... Thanks for not making too much fun of me."

He shrugs. "I think I respect you for it."

The house phone rings. Slim starts. He groans.

"No. Oh, no. Please, no. Say she didn't."

Slim's mother, a therapist who needs to get up early in the morning, was already asleep. It's ten fifteen. The ringing stops. Groggily, his mother calls, "Slim, it's for you."

"No. No..." He whispers in mild panic, his hand hovering over his own receiver uncertainly, realising there's no more escape.

I bite my lip. "Would you like me to stay or leave?"

He shoots me a wild look. "Um. Whichever..."

I choose to leave. He deserves his privacy.

Fifteen minutes later, after hearing a whispered one-sided conversation, I deduce that, for one, Slim's break-up still hurts him, and for two, that his ex is a terrible blackmailer, as evidenced by his repetition of the phrase, 'Please, Katie, don't cry... Oh, Katie...'

I pace in the hallway in front of his door and try to pretend that none of this affects me. A wall. Awkward. Why, god, why?

He hangs up. I wait. The door opens, casting a long ray of light into the hallway. I turn. His face is sad and grim, and I can feel the misery that he's trying to cover up with a well-such-is-life face. I step back into his room. He closes the door behind me, and we stand face to face in measured silence. His gaze softens and now he looks just plain hurt by circumstances.

Gently, I whisper, so as to not wake up his parents, who have gone back to sleep, "I could pretend I have heard nothing..."

He smiles sadly.

"But that would be a lie," I continue. "So if you want to talk about it, or if you want to keep it as is, then it's in your hands."

"I feel like a jerk," he says, his voice tight, and he steps forward, as if trying to gauge my reaction to this statement. We slowly sit into our chairs in front of his computer. His shoulders are low, and he looks up with the most earnest and pained expression I ever saw on him. "Am I a bad person, CM?"

I pass an arm around his shoulders. "Slim, listen very carefully. You are not a bad person, and if that is how she makes you feel, then she is what you call an emotional blackmailer." I rub his back comfortingly. "Slim, you are a very good person, one who is sincerely afraid of hurting others. It's normal to be sad and depressed after a break-up. You should never let someone make you feel bad about searching for your own happiness."

He nods slowly, and I remove my arm from around his shoulders, pressing my palm on his back. "She is upset, but she will get over it one day. Trust me, Rick and PB will support me on this, you did the right thing."

"I know..." He murmurs. "I just wish things had been different."

We stay in silence for a minute.

Finally, he shakes himself and says, "Anyway. Moping will solve nothing. We have work to do."

I smile.

And we work.

Max never called back, in spite of our increasingly interesting voice messages (including one that was sung entirely by me, and backed by Slim).

I wish I could say that it was fun. Unfortunately, it was not. Work, especially on a few-hours' deadline, is never fun. By midnight Slim was half-asleep as he typed. By one thirty in the morning, my writing on the page swam incomprehensively and I strongly suspect that I would have fallen asleep if Slim hadn't kicked me.

At two thirty in the morning, we were only half done. I'd taken over the computer and Slim was managing the TV on which the series' episodes ran. He was lying on his bed, dozing off from time to time. My exhaustion was greater than I'd ever felt; I was so tired that my whole body ached: my brain was throbbing, my stomach was empty, I felt like retching and my muscles wouldn't move without shaking a little.

I feel so weak and sick then, I'd rather just fall asleep and fail the final project.

I turn to Slim. "Okay, this is what we'll do."

"Hm?" He looks like someone knocked him in the back of the head with a hammer, then tried to shake him awake again by hitting him in the face with a pillow.

"You go to sleep," I say. "I'll finish all my parts and the formatting while you get some rest. I'll wake you up when it's time for you to write and finish the project. Alright?"

"Right... I get to sleep?"

I smile at his confusion. "Yes, Slim, you get to sleep."

His eyes practically roll back inside his head. "That's the most wonderful thing I've heard all night." And he falls back between his feather pillows, pulls the comforter over his shoulders, and drifts off to sleep within minutes.

I must say I felt the biggest surge of envy then. Sleep. It was so tempting. I wanted to sleep so much, my body was rebelling against me again, making me double over in pain at times.

Three forty-five in the morning. I'm done with all my parts. I save a million times, then turn to Slim, whose breathing is deep and even. He looks so peaceful there, cuddled under his comforter, that my heart practically aches to do his part of the work and let him sleep.

But I was feeling selfish, then. Eight hours. Eight hours of constant mental work on this project after already ten hours of standing on my legs at my day job. I couldn't hold much longer in this state without fainting.

I leaned over Slim, touching his shoulder. His face was rested, his breathing coming through his nose with a soft noise. His hair was a mess, his mouth was relaxed, his forehead had no wrinkles of amusement or doubt, for once, and quite frankly he looked so comfortable, peaceful and warm that it broke my heart to shake his shoulder.

He didn't even twitch. I tried not to laugh.

"Slim," I whispered. "Slim, wake up, please. Please, it's your turn... Slim..." I gave him a little shake. He hardly budged.

So I leaned closer and whispered in his ear. "Slim, you need to wake up, okay? Please." And squeezed his shoulder.

This made him react. His face contorted, he burrowed it deep into his pillows, and pulled the other pillows over his head, grumbling something incoherent. I refrained from giggling.

"Please, no," he mumbled, his hoarse voice muffled by the pillows. "Say it was all a nightmare..."

I smile. "Come on, it's your turn."

He sits up really quickly. I stop him by pushing my hands against his shoulders. "Whoa, whoa, there." He looks up at me in sleepy confusion. I smile again. "Low blood pressure. Don't get up so fast. Here, take a few breaks, I'll summarize what you have to do."

He nods, and slowly gets to his feet. As I speak, he takes all his stuff off the other bed, and pulls the comforter back. It looks like heaven on earth.

When I'm done talking, he takes my arm, pushes me towards the extra bed, and says, "I get it, smarty. Now go to sleep, I've got it all covered."

"Are you sure?" I ask as he shoves me down onto the bed. Oh. Soft. So soft and so warm. So promising. My body sags. "If you need anything, don't hesistate to wake me up, I'll―"

"Sleep, CM," he says, in his best no-nonsense tone. "It's okay, I can handle it as well as you can."

"I know, but―"

"Sleep."

"It's just, if you need―"

"Sleep, dammit."

"Okay, okay, but you know what to do if―"

"Yes, I'll jump up and down on your bed and hit a few pots and pans. No problem, don't worry. Now go to bed and sleep."

I smile. He smirks a little.

"Alright."

I fall asleep within minutes. An hour and a half later, I wake up again to Slim saying, "You can rest in peace now, the project is done."

"It's done?" I repeat, without fully realising how wonderful that is.

"It's done. You'll correct any spelling mistakes tomorrow morning, it won't be too long. I'll set my alarm clock to nine-thirty so that we have time to take showers."

"I have no change of clothes," I grumble. "I'll just stop by home instead."

"Suit yourself, smartass, but in case you didn't know, there's like a half-meter of snow outside."

"Oh, shut up, asshole. I'll figure something out."

He laughs under his breath, then pushes the comforter higher against my chin. "Right. Good morning, CM. Sleep well."

I think I said something like, "bastard," but I don't remember very well because I fell back asleep then.

And slept so blissfully, words cannot express. Slim's bed was warm and comfortable, and his comforter was so soft and his pillows were so puffy and his mattress was so perfect. We both slept so peacefully and deeply that I didn't wake up until nine twenty-five, and not even by an alarm clock. It was Slim who had knocked something over in his sleep, and he was stretched out on his bed, breathing deeply.

His t-shirt had ridden up, exposing a long strip of his side and stomach. Somehow I just wanted to go over there and cuddle for warmth.

He stretched, and I figured it wouldn't be long until he was fully awake. I sat up, blinked groggily, wondered if it had all really happened and how I managed to be awake with so few hours of actual rest. But yes, there it was. The computer was on sleep-mode, a Matrix screensaver casting a strange glow to the room. Outside, everything was white. It was snowing big snowflakes, like the ones in the movies.

I walked to the computer, intent on correcting Slim's final additions. It returned to the log-in password-protected screen. I sighed and decided I would wait for Slim to wake up, but then he said, "Ta-dum, you shall not pass, infidel," in a hoarse but otherwise cheerful voice.

I turned to look at him. He was still stretched out on his bed, his comforter a mess. He was looking at me contemplatively.

In one movement, he stood and walked two paces over to me, bending to enter his password for me.

"Thanks."

"No problem," he said.

"Sleep well?"

"Of course not."

"Hm. I slept very well."

"Right. Worst moment of my night was when you interrupted my sleep. I'm sure I was having a good dream, too."

"Trust me, I felt very guilty about that."

He laughed. "I'm sure you did."

"I better call Mom so I can have time to go home and take a shower and eat breakfast and brush my teeth."

"No morning breath. Strange."

"Same to you."

"Can't explain it."

"Yeah... Shut up, I'm calling Mom."

"Hm. Will you print the document out yourself?"

"Yeah, at home. And then we'll return to school for the oral presentation at noon."

"Okay."

Mom answers the phone on the third ring. "Hey sweetie."

Me: "Mom, we're done."
Mom: "Did you sleep well?"
Me: "Not a lot, but yes."
Mom: "Well, I'll be there soon. Hey, you know what?"

I glance at Slim, who is rubbing his nape with his palms, stretching his head in every direction to work out the kinks.

Me: "What?"
Mom: "School's out for today because of the snowstorm."

...

Me: "WHAT?"
Mom: "What? I said school's out because of the―"

I stand and squeak into the phone, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You are kidding me. Please say you're kidding me."

Mom says, without understanding my shock, "Well, your brother came back, says all the classes are cancelled for the day."

"No. No. NO."

Slim frowns. "What's wrong?"

"School's out today," I say.

He stares at me in shock. "WHAT?"

"CM, what did you expect? Look outside, it's a nightmare."

I stand and walk to the window.

Oh. I see what she means. The snow would reach my knee, and I have long legs.

"But... but..."

"You don't sound very happy, sweetheart."

"But we did all this... ALL THIS for nothing!?"

"Well, at least now it's done," Mom says.

"But..."

"If only we had known," Slim mutters, checking online on the site because he refuses to believe what my mother is saying. "All this..."

I fix a meeting time with my mother, and then I hang up. Slim turns to look at me as I gather all my stuff. Finally, we stand face to face again.

"You know the other day," Slim says, "when you explained Murphy's Law to me?"

I smile.

Yes. Exactly.

"Slim?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's try to not do this again."

"Excellent idea."

I should have seen it coming. I should know that snowstorms are never a good sign.

Love,
CM