Under, down, below and deep

WARNING: Some adult material. Reader discretion is advised.

As I sit here typing this, I'm trying to remember all the details of my day.

Because you care.

The plan was rather simple: Slim and I were to take the train towards the central station downtown, and visit the underground city, and then visit the open house of the UQÀM, where I'd signed us up for an information conference on the portfolios to attach to our university applications. We were then, depending on the remaining time, going to head back towards the city outskirts so that I could go home, and he could go to his aunt's birthday party at a Japanese restaurant in Laval, after which he'd head to Dague's birthday party, at Dague's place.

I woke up around 8:30, dressed, brushed my teeth and hair, you know. Morning stuff. And then, by 9:20, I called Slim.

Why? Because you never know; he might've still been asleep. (He wasn't. I was impressed.)

We were planning to catch the 10:07 train, so we wanted to be at the station by 10:00. At 9:45, Mom and I stopped by Slim's house to pick him up. I saw his father, blowing the snow off their massive driveway, waved hello to him, and by 10:00, we waved goodbye to Mom as she dropped us off at the station.

Okay, so maybe we immediately started talking about our war story. I blame Slim. Ever since he found out I could render his ideas in text form with vivid precision, he's been psyched to share all his other ideas.

And I'm glad to hear them.

We discussed characters all the way towards the Central station. By the time we entered the actual building from the underground terminus and came into its open area, we paused. Once again, we discussed settings, and this time, we had made time to properly explore this city of ours.

I will spare you the details of our underground wanderings. Let it merely be said that we had fun. We especially visited the three main plazas (Place des Arts, Complexe Desjardins, Complexe Guy-Favreau) and made up a truckload of scenarios, laughing, dramatizing, admiring.

Oh, and verbally role-playing as we ambled. It was a childish, entertaining moment.

I must say that we had so much fun that while we walked out into the sunlight, on the snowy street, we were both laughing so hard that a crinkled old woman passing by growled at us that, "You're all nuts!" Which, obviously, made us laugh even more.

Slim made up for it by helping another little old woman by carrying her luggage up a staircase. She repeatedly thanked us both, and since I love happy people, I just wished her a very nice day. Slim looked especially pleased with this small action of his. It was cute.

By 1:00, we'd reached the UQÀM booths and were seated in the conference room. It was, in keeping with the day's theme, an underground conference room.

And the conference was very, very worth it. Slim and I emerged from it with a new sense of determination to get accepted into the Cinema program. We need only to create something that shows off our real talent before the 25th of February. Yeah. Easy as pie. Not.

But we can make it. It doesn't matter that the program can only accept a total of 30 students. As long as we make it into the 60 people invited to an interview, we're alright. We always do great in interviews. We'd have a sure spot.

Anyway, the moment we stepped out of the conference room, Slim got a phonecall. Seeing as we were underground, the reception was terrible. After a short search for an open area, Slim redialled.

A short conversation later, he hung up, turned to me, and asked, "So. How do you feel about Japanese food?"

Some prying revealed that his parents would come pick us up at the subway station in an hour and a half ―giving us more time to fool around like the kids we are― and that they wouldn't have time to get me home, but that, since Slim's grandma had desisted herself, I could take her place and be one of their guests.

I was a little dumbstruck. I was pretty much invited to Slim's aunt's birthday party. (!) Where the only people I knew were Slim, Slim's parents, and Slim's sister and her boyfriend, and even then, hardly.

"Um, are you sure it won't be awkward?"

Slim blinked at me and gave me his usual what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about-you're-nuts face. "No, it's okay. They don't mind."

I was still stunned, and called Mom to tell her I wouldn't, in fact, be coming home for supper.

I'll skip ahead to the pick-up part, because honestly, we only walked around and discussed our future projects, and that's always boring to people other than ourselves.

"I'm really upset," Slim says suddenly as we step out of the subway station. We'd been quiet for the past few minutes, and so his comment comes as a surprise.

"What do you meeeeeean―" I ask, nearly slipping and falling on my butt because of the ice on the sidewalks. He grabs my arm and steadies me, and I repeat, more controlled, this time, "What do you mean?"

"I haven't spoken to Renee since last Tuesday. I don't know where she is."

Part of me feels sorry for him. A large part of me feels relieved. Maybe the $lut hath moved on. Maybe Slim is free again to find himself a decent girlfriend.

But it seems more and more obvious that, in spite of his attempts to reason his feelings, he's growing more and more attached to her, where she sees nothing but casual fun in him. He'll deny it to the very end, but I could tell, and for once in my life, I decided to tell him so. To tell him I could see his forthcoming disappointments, or worse, his upcoming wounds.

The conversation was cut short, however, by Slim's parents, who were glad to see us on time. We both piled into the car, and I greeted his parents, and his sister, and her boyfriend.

I must say it was awkward to meet Slim's extended family, especially since we had to specify that no, I was nothing but a friend. The little cousins eyed me suspiciously, but thankfully, Slim seemed to have no particular interest in seating us at their table.

As in cool Japanese restaurants, the tables were grill-plates around which we sat, and I sat next to Slim. Our table also hosted Slim's 21 year-old sister Steph, and her boyfriend François, their aunt and uncle, and Slim's parents. At least these faces were mostly familiar, so I felt comfortable with chatting a little.

Mostly, though, Slim and I kept our conversation tone low, exchanging rather fierce barbs about Slim's dubious choice of romantic partners. I had fun, especially since arguing with Slim is one of my favourite activities.

It is probable that my observation of his behaviour hit a little too close to home, because his serious "argument-mode" face melted into a sad smile, and he cringed, and asked, "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

We'd been discussing the fact that it was impossible to 'care strongly' about a girl, and make-out with her, and worry about why she wasn't calling, but not be at least a little in love with her.

I patted his shoulder and grumbled, "I bet you're loving it, too."

"Oh god," Slim admitted with a face-splitting smile, "yes, I do. I love this shit I'm in." At my grimace, he cringed. "And something tells me you don't approve."

"No shit, Sherlock." I opened my mouth to add something, but held back. It would be wrong to scream 'YOU CAN DO SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT SLUT, YOU DO NOT KNOW THE THINGS I'VE HEARD ABOUT HER'.

His mother paused over our shoulders and asked, "Is it alright if we stop by Chantal's house after supper?" She turned to ask me, "Do you have a curfew or something?"

I shook my head. "No, it's alright."

Slim looked a little upset. "Mom, it's Dague's birthday. Can we not stay too long?"

She kissed his cheek and left. This didn't seem to satisfy him, but he shrugged after a while.

And he prodded me anyway. "You want to say something. Say it."

"It's not my place."

"I'll share my Toyo chicken...!"

"Slim, we're already sharing our food."

"Oh. Right."

But he wouldn't let it go. He bugged me as we picked up our coats, and bugged me as we piled into the car. He bugged me as we arrived, and removed our boots, and as we went into his aunt's basement, and bugged me until I finally dragged him into a seperate, isolated room of the basement...

And hissed, "Okay, you want to know the truth? I cannot in good conscience as a friend let you date this girl without warning you. She's got a horrible history. Slim, I've heard things. I've heard how many guys she's dated since you dated her in eighth grade."

He looked a little upset, but he wasn't angry with me. In fact, as far as conversations like those go, this one was pretty funny. We argued, debated, motioned wildly with our hands and arms and legs, made faces, and laughed.
"It's just, after my dictatorial relationship with Katie, I really needed a fling with someone who wasn't serious," Slim says, in one of our serious moments. "And Renee is perfect for it."

At this point, I am amazed at the broad range of emotions I'm willing to display openly. We're standing a few feet apart, talking and motioning, and I shoot him an imploring look. I never use that face, usually, but I can't help it. "Slim, you won't be able to keep yourself from falling for her. I know you. God, I know you, you're the relationship type. It's natural for you."

He doesn't deny this. In fact, his eyes soften, but he shakes his head with conviction. "No, no, don't worry. I've thought this over. It'll be alright. I figured this out."

I can't help it. I laugh. I'm upset, and freaked out. His words sound so familiar.

" 'You've figured it out'." I echo. "Figured it out. Thought it over." I can't help but laugh a little, but my eyes are prickling and I look away to gather my wits. "Oh god," I breathe.

He watches my ironic, sad smile with a half-smile of his own, and shoots me a questioning look.

"Thought it over, huh?" I mock. "You really think mulling it over like some rational philosopher will prevent you from falling in love with someone?" I can't help it. I laugh again, a little crazed. "Oh my god, Slim, if only... if only... If only it could be that easy."

He's watching me intently, half curious, half serene.

"You have no idea. You don't know how easy, how easy... Oh god you sound so familiar, just like someone I... Let me guess." I take a step forward, and jab a finger into his chest. "You're thinking, 'I can cut myself off from her any day of the week.' You're thinking, 'Just a couple more outings and I should be good and sated.' You think you've got it all figured out. But after those few more dates, you'll keep making excuses. You'll keep saying, 'Well, come on, it's just friendship. What's one more date? What's one more outing with her?' And it'll drive you slowly over the edge until you realise that you can't spend a day without thinking about her."

I laugh again, and I shoot him a half-imploring, half-defeated look, shaking my head.

"Oh, Slim, you sound just so, so familiar."

His bewildered smile broadens and he shoots me a sad look, and he points at me wordlessly.

I can't look at him.

"It's you," he whispers. "You've gone through this."

I don't want to admit it, but he knows it. Now that he's got me...

"You thought the same things as I do."

"Yeah. I did. Oh god, you feel invulnerable when you convince yourself of something. It works, for a while, believe me, but the more you go through it, the deeper it falls, the harder it is to make up convincing excuses."

He finds nothing to say, but his gaze softens into a sad, very gentle smile. "I really am screwed, then? I have to get the hell away before I get too attached?"

I sigh, and say nothing.

"But I can't," he murmurs. "It's just..." His face brightens, happy and grinning. "She's just so fun." He does a little dance, and I can't help but giggle. "Oh, man, she's just, like everything I ever wanted. Smart, and she can guess my thoughts, and we know each other with a single look, and she loves the same things as I do, and she listens and is interested when I talk about drums and games... and okay," he concedes when I raise a brow at this last detail, "I try not to talk about those too much, but you know."

I purse my lips.

"And, don't take this the wrong way," Slim says, "she's also a hell of a good kisser. Man. When we make out... wow."

I take a deep breath and look down at my socks.

"Seriously, I have to say that I'm just really psyched to 'be'," he motions the quotations with his fingers, "with the girl I got my first kiss from. And man, I have to say that as far as first kisses went, that one was perfect."

I snort. My mind is reeling back to Bass. The first kiss I ever got ―from him, unfortunately― was, to coin a phrase, crap. It was only after we'd gotten the hang of it that it was alright. But it was not pleasurable in the least.

Slim seems to notice that we've spent the past hour talking about him, because he suddenly shoots me a sly look. "Seems to me I've only been stealing the conversation. What about you?"

I shoot him a smile and plainly say, "My first kiss was shitty as hell."

His brows shoot way up. "What?"

"It was with Bass," I say, factually. "And it was openly qualified as crap. And I was too chicken to tell him to leave. So yeah, the first time I ever made out was complete and utter crap. I spent most of the time watching the clock, and wondering when he would leave."

Slim's eyes have softened after the initial shock. I can feel his sympathy, subdued and respectful. He's listening intently, but not interrupting.

"Anyway," I say, struggling to decide what details he should be privy to and what should be kept for myself. I want to tell him everything. I want to just fling his happiness back in his face.

Truth is, I'm burning with jealousy. I want his happiness too. I want some of that same satisfaction for myself. I want someone to love properly and start over with. Bass didn't even qualify.

"Bass is just... he's a good guy and I can understand if some people like him," I say, fighting to keep my tone straight anf factual, "but I spent my whole time with him trying to evade his hugs and wondering if there was anything at all that he actually knew. Slim, it's not that I'm an elitist, but I can't make out with someone I don't love, and I could never love someone that couldn't keep up with me. And he's not..." SMART. "I mean, I just kept having this distinct feeling that I could..." I meet his openly sympathetic and soft gaze. "I could do better! And I think that in love, it's not fair to settle for whatever comes first. It's the best or nothing. And oh god..."

Slim is still watching me with surprising tenderness. I'm trying to keep my cool, but dammit! Bass doesn't qualify as a first kiss, or a first make-out!

"It's just..." I turn my head away, and I fall silent. Unfair. Unfair! My eyes prickle, and my vision blurs, and when I speak, my voice is wobbly. "... It's just... unfair."

And fat tears start rolling down my cheeks.

Oh god, why do I always end up like this?

And suddenly, wordlessly, Slim crosses the distance between us, and brings his arms up around my shoulders, and pulls me to his chest, and whispers, "Go on, crush my ribs."

I laugh and loop my arms around his waist, and mumble, "Why do I always end up crying when we talk?"

He chuckles and jokes, "What is this? You're not very strong. The best remedy to every trouble is a bone-crushing hug. Come on, show some spirit here." And as a demonstration, he tightens his hold on my shoulders, and my face is buried against his shirt. It would have hurt, but it didn't. It felt comforting to be held. I tighten my hold on his torso, and squeeze. "There, see?" He's laughing. "Now that's better, come on."

And we start laughing as we fight to crush each other's ribs. Eventually, we break apart, grinning broadly, a little breathless from the crushed-lungs thing. My eyes are dry once again. I don't know what to say.

"Um, thank you."

He shrugs.

"It's just," I start again, "um, anyway... I decided that Bass didn't count."

"That's the spirit!" Slim says, smiling brightly.

"He was just a practice run," I affirm, then hesitate and feel a little downcast again. "I mean, he doesn't qualify as a practice run."

I look back up at Slim and I see his face has softened to a look so gentle that it's hypnotizing.

"Oh, man," he says, softly, shaking his head. Then, suddenly, he closes his hands into fists and exclaims, with protectiveness I never thought he'd ever express for the likes of me, "Just you watch. I am going to line up all the men in the world in front of your door and help you find the ONE." I laugh, and he smiles, shifting from foot to foot excitedly. "See if I don't!"

I can't help but giggle.

"And," he says, sobering, "if it's any comfort at all, and I know it doesn't compare, but then, my personal example might actually be worse, my first time having sex was pure and utter crap too."

"I didn't have sex with Bass," I specify. He nods.

"I know, but I'm saying." He looks a little uneasy. We've never discussed sex before. It was one of those things we cast aside as being too personal for us to discuss. "It was horrible. And not just the first time, but all the subsequent times. Katie was, well... I think she was trying to make herself seem older, but I honestly don't think she was ready. I could have waited, but she kept saying..."

He shakes his head, and this time I can tell it still upset him.

"And you know what the worst part?" He brings his hand up to his heart and looks honestly weak and vulnerable. "She made it out to be entirely my fault, like I wasn't... well, you know." He motions vaguely, and I can easily guess. "Damn, she really... hurt. She actually made me cry about it. Not that she'll ever get the satisfaction of knowing. For months, I felt like a loser, thinking I was retarded compared to the guys. She actually convinced me I might've been inappropriate, you know, sexually."

This, by the way, infuriates me. I can't keep my outrage out of my face.

"Are you kidding me? She made you think you weren't..." I can't even finish my sentence. I'm livid.

"Yeah, well, she kept saying, 'it's okay, baby, I'm sure it's not your fault', and 'maybe you just can't get hard enough'." He looks like he swallowed a particularly sour lemon. "Bullshit. I assure you those were never issues."

I smile a little. "Don't worry, I'm not putting your manliness in doubt." He smiles a little awkwardly, and shifts his weight.

"Anyway, that's part of the reason I can't stand her anymore. She completely destroyed my self-confidence for months, and made me physically ill. If she tried to get back with me, I might actually smother her in her sleep."

I raise a brow. He smirks.

"Well, figuratively, of course."

We snickered. And the conversation drifted, until we ended up talking about Dague's party, and until Slim found toy soldiers, the green plastic ones, and we created a full-fledged battlefield on the carpet.

That's right. And the plastic figurine of Mr. Incredible was the badass bioweapon.

The underdogs' bunker came out the winner.

And so, in spite of the many emotions, I must say that I had a sincerely good day. Open agreements have been made today, notably that Slim and I are now officially close enough to confide serious issues in one another.

"I know you hate me," Slim says, smirking broadly in the doorway, his arms crossed. He's watching me seethe about his incapacity to distance himself from something I officially warned him about. He shakes his head and says it with an air of absolute finality, like he expects me to confirm and actually mean it. "I know you do."

"I don't hate you," I say, glaring at him. "But you prove to have very little sense indeed." He snickers. "Though I know you can't stand me."

"Ain't that the truth," he teases. "I mean, you and your observation skills and your common sense and experience and obvious care. God. I might have to ask you to walk home."

Oh, I pulled my tongue at him, if you want to know what I replied. It was mature and efficient. ; )

Love,
CM