I am not a naturally aggressive person. I can make my opinion known, but you will never see me forcing others to go along with what I say, except when I am obviously kidding. In fact, I am so anti-confrontational on points of view that I usually refrain to discuss politics and religion in public. Politics more so than religion, Quebec being a relatively unreligious province by nature.
If you please, I'll summarize Quebec politics a little, because they aren't simple and extremely touchy, and you'll need some background to understand where this particular episode stems from.
Quebec, in case you hadn't noticed by now, is a province whose history is about as politically diverse as they come. Not only was it a colony to begin with, it was also doubly colonized: by the French in the beginning, and then by the English and Loyalists when France decided we were nothing but a few acres of worthless snow and handed us over to England to settle some war debts, choosing to save the tropical islands of St-Pierre et Miquelon instead (excuse me while I laugh, please).
We'll never know if France regretted that decision later. Facts as they are, though, the protestant English and their new buddies, the Loyalists, found themselves faced with a rather annoying problem. A French catholic problem.
And the damn francophones just wouldn't go away. You won't see me complaining, as I rather enjoy speaking French, but let's say the English spared no measures to try to assimilate the mass.
I said I'd make this a short story, so let's skip ahead to the 20th century.
Obviously, the French were stubborner than the English anticipated, because they didn't get assimilated.
In fact, they grew obnoxious.
So obnoxious, in fact, that as soon as they could, they gathered massively and began to request the seperation of Quebec from Canada. Basically, independance. The strength of this desire escalated into a feverish political movement that came not once, but twice, very close to actually succeeding.
Oh, yeah, and extremists also resorted to terrorism and vandalism, and kidnapping and murder in October 1970. Let's say that anglophones were not convinced Quebec's independance was the best way to settle the issue.
I am not a seperatist. By nature and for all my rationale, I cannot see the value of seperation, as there is no economic or political reason to explain it. Before you get any ideas, this whole seperation issue is an emotional and cultural decision, which is a little bit of a weak argument for me, seeing as Quebec has very little regard for its culture, at least if the quality of the French written and spoken here is to be judged.
But this is my opinion. I belong to the 51% of the province who wants to stay in Canada, yes, but I have no reason to seek to convince anyone that I am right and that they are wrong for thinking differently.
Seperatists, on the other hand, are typically an extremist, uneducated bunch. And they are loud. So the climate in Quebec is usually that we (by "we" I mean federalists, their apparently mortal enemies) let them claim their right to independance and sit quietly in the shadows, humming songs to ignore their annoying shouts of indignation, voting against their unreasonable attempts to split from a country that is pretty much the last thing standing between them and complete cultural assimilation by ―no offence anyone― American-continent dwellers in general.
It's a very passive and quiet resistance, but it annoys seperatists to no end. What can I say? I wish things weren't that way, but whatever.
Now that you know how things are, you'll understand that I am not a very assertive person on the political field. I prefer not to fire people up on that front, because things get heated very, very quickly.
So why Max, the most disgustingly seperatist guy I know, would willingly start a debate with me on the matter escapes me. Frankly, I wish he'd stop talking about felquists (the terrorists responsible for Oct.1970) like they are, to use his expression, "National heroes".
But since a rather aggressive and pointless argument I had with him last week, he's kept a minimal amount of resentment against me for, he says, my inability to respect my ancestors, my ignorance, my idiocy and my extremely poor judgement.
The poor judgement is his, however, if he thinks I give a rat's ass what he thinks. I still cancel his vote every referendum.
Anyway, I thought things were left at a standstill, that we were back to a no-hard-feelings state.
Apparently not.
I returned from lunch out with PB and Ban, and we entered the cafeteria after a long conversation on our futures (and psychopathic killers; don't ask me how we could have drifted to that). We immediately headed to the table where all our friends were gathered.
Before I could even put my bag down, Eva and Josie turned to shout in my direction. Slim and a couple others were also seated there, but they only turned to watch on.
Eva pointed at me and smirked, and said, "Hey, CM, so word has it you don't like the French language!"
I blink. Slim raises a brow at me, and I look beyond him, beyond Josie and Eva, and see Max, grimly sitting at the end of the table... unable to look me in the eye. Before I can gather my wits ―all this happened in less than three seconds― people rise in a chorus of "Yeah, CM, turns out you hate us all," and "Why don't you like French, huh?"
A single thing remains in my mind as PB and Ban and half the people there stare in confusion: I probably love and know French more than anyone in this whole cafeteria.
So, at the futility and absurdity of the accusations, I can only smile incredulously, my eyes crinkling. I motion towards Max and refrain from laughing. How lame of him, really. Of all things to accuse me of.
But the accusations are still hanging in the air, and I feel too tired to argue in return. Frankly, I don't give a damn what people think, and it's not like my political stance was ever an issue for anyone. I don't keep people from living their lives.
Josie, hardly giving anyone time to settle down ―we're still only seconds in by now― stands and shoots me an annoyingly smirky look, and says, in the voice of a charismatic ring leader, in the voice that I used to dream I could emulate one day, in the voice that gets her all the gossip and confessions, in the voice that makes her one of the strongest-willed people of my acquaintance, "Yeah, CM, I'm afraid I can't allow you to come to my birthday anymore."
She is also a notorious seperatist.
And she made the mistake of joking when I have been roused into a state of vicious awareness.
I calmly put my bag down, raise a brow, and reply, ever so softly, but with the sudden silence awaiting my answer everyone could overhear it:
"You didn't come to mine." And shrug.
Josie's smirk freezes on her face, and everyone, Eva and Max included, is left stunned for a fraction of a second.
Nobody, nobody, ever replies this coolly and uncaringly to Josie. I might've been the first to show such casual disregard for her shunning, even in joke.
Suddenly Slim followed by PB and Ban rise in a victorious, "DISS!" And they burst into claps and whistles.
I find myself watching with complete detachment as every seperatist in the group finds they have nothing to say against me. And I am amazed at my own repartee.
As per Max and Josie, they left almost as soon as I pulled out a chair next to Slim.
I am not the confrontational type, but if they're going to play foul, I won't even bother. What a waste of energy.
Let us just say that the conversation immediately jerked away from seperatism, and stayed away, after that.
Love,
CM
Showing posts with label Max. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Max. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Monday, December 03, 2007
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
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
Friday, November 30, 2007
Hitting the pavement and screaming WHY??
"CM? ... Oh, nevermind."
I hurry to respond. "What is it?"
"It's just, to be a thousand per cent honest with you..." Slim confides at one thirty in the morning. A part of me is freaking out. What kind of sudden epiphany could possibly overcome him at this hour, and especially, why would he be calling me? "I think... God. It's hard to say."
My heart is beating wildly. I slap myself mentally. What is wrong with me? I am setting myself up for disappointment. I am an idiot.
Still, why is he talking to me at this hour? Why is he talking about being honest with me? We're always honest with one another... mostly. Right?
No. We are just friends. He will never, ever, ever, ever, in a million years, think of me romantically. And anyway I don't want him to.
Liar. He doesn't even have a girlfriend anymore.
BUT HE'S STILL UPSET...!
Oh no. This is not happening. I am not having the internal debate thing for real. Oh my god. This stuff only happens in the stories I write, dammit!
But what if he does...?? What if...
God, shut up! This will only kill you more. You will be set up with numbing pain.
"It's okay," I say. "You can tell me."
"It's just..." I can tell he's awkwardly staring at his feet. I don't need to see him, but I can tell from the way his voice is deep and quiet and hesitant. "I think..." He takes a deep breath. He finds the next sentence hard to say.
"Slim?"
"... I still love her."
Oh god. Ouch. Ouch.
I told you. You wouldn't listen. You're an idiot.
Shut up. Seriously. I hate when you're always right.
I try not to freak out. "Slim, you know that if you pick things back up with her this time, Rick will kick your ass." At least Rick, PB and everyone else is backing me up on this. I don't know how I could hold this bastion alone.
"I know. I know." He sighs. "It's just, I still love her, but I can't cope with the relationship anymore. I mean, my head and my heart are at war right now."
Me too, buddy. Me too. I know what it's like. I've been dealing with this for the past five months.
"And in the past I've always followed my head," he adds.
Me too. I'm starting to wish I didn't though.
"Rightly or wrongly?" I ask.
He looks annoyed. "My reason is always right."
Well. Join the club, we have paper tissues.
Oh my god. I am pathetic. What was I expecting? Why does it feel like my whole body is empty and my guts have spilled on the cold floor?
"Okay, look," I say, trying not to break into hysterics. "Here's what I think. On one hand you could run back to her while still in the insanity of the moment and risk getting back to what hurt you all this time. On the other, you could let some time pass and see whether you really want her in your life or whether you just feel alone and sad because you parted ways and you need to mourn an eight month-long period of your life."
Then again, what was I expecting? I set myself up for the guts-on-the-cold-floor thing. Really. He seems so sad. I can't believe this. He's not even broken up with her forty-eight hours and I already think he's over it? I'm a heartless bitch.
"Anyway, you should go to sleep," I say. "It's getting late and night brings council, as Mom always says."
He smiles. "Your Mom is awesome. And I really don't mean anything sexual by that. She just sounds like a great lady."
"Well, she is. And she knows what she's talking about. So you really should catch some sleep. You're exhausted."
"Yeah, I guess I am. God, life sucks."
"No, it doesn't. You're just saying that because it's quarter to two in the morning, it's bloody cold outside, it's Ever-Depressing-November and you're overworked."
"And my girlfriend hates my guts."
"Your ex."
"Oh. Yeah." He sighs. "My ex. Sorry. Slip of the tongue."
"It's okay. Anyway, you'll see. It'll be better in the morning."
"If you break into song, I am hanging up."
" 'The sun'll come out, bet your bottom'."
"I can't believe you just sang something."
"Hey, I quoted Donkey. That doesn't count as singing."
"I'm sorry I called so late."
"Or early, depending on the point of view."
He's smiling for sure now, because I can hear his lips are stretched into a grin from the way he sounds. "Yeah, okay, subtle message. I get it."
We hang up. Morning comes. I enter the cafeteria with the firm intention of not bothering him any further. Really. Maybe he doesn't think of me romantically because he never has to wonder what life would be without me?
Hey, loser, yeah, it's me. Your brain. Dunno if you ever met me, but I'll let you know anyway: you're a moron.
Shut up. I know.
I greet Max and Josie, who has just heard about Slim's break-up from the man himself, who has been glancing at me for the past two minutes since the moment I walked into view. Don't think I didn't notice. What annoys me is that I know he's not interested, so this tidbit of fact pisses me off more than anything. Also, it boggles the mind.
Josie turns to me in shock. Slim is sitting two meters away, gauging her reaction to his latest news with a surprising look of boredom. Yesterday, Rick and I had convinced him that he was better off deleting his girlfriend's―I'm sorry, ex-girlfriend's― text messages from his cell phone.
I've known for three days about Slim's break-up, though. In fact I suspect I was the first to know aside from his ex. And it's a nice thrill to know that, for once, I am privy to more gossip than Josie is. Stupid, I know, but when you're a loser you stop caring.
"CM, can you believe this?" She looks up at me like I will be surprised and shocked (and I think she wants to know if I still have a crush on Slim which she ever so kindly discouraged last February, though I don't know if she expects me to scream or leap in joy). "Slim is single now!"
Shock and wonder. We all saw it coming, thanks. I deliberately keep my face straight.
"I know." I also know that he is miserable and that I have a million more things in common with him than you or his ex do.
I need a slap. Seriously.
"You know??" Josie stares up at me, then turns back to Slim, who is still looking straight at me. I can't meet his gaze, because I can't figure anything out. Why? WHY?? "When did she hear?"
Slim shrugs. "The night it happened."
Josie looks annoyed. "And this was when?"
"Wednesday."
"Oh my god," Josie exclaims, "you waited all this time to tell me?"
I stifle my urge to laugh. Give me a break. She once forgot for a whole three months to tell me she'd broken up with one of her boyfriends. Slim shoots me a quizzical glance, then says, "I was busy." Josie is about to argue, but he interrupts her by shooting me a bright Colgate smile (seriously, he must bleach or something, it's just not natural; it can't be) and exclaiming, "CM! GUESS WHAT I FINISHED YESTERDAY!"
And he waves a stack of DVDs around. Blank DVDs. Or maybe not so blank.
"Hey! Our movie copies!" I walk around to him and pull a chair for myself, leaving Josie in our collective dust. "Awesome." I lower my voice. "I thought you would be too tired to work them out."
He shrugs. "They were easy to do. Here's yours. I included our special Making-Of Reel at the end, not that anyone thinks it's funny besides us."
I grin. "Stop. It's pure genius."
He laughs. Max glances between us, and asks Slim, "So, think of any new girl you'd like to date?"
Slim puts the rest of the DVDs into his bag and shoots Max a flat, cynical look. "Dude, seriously."
Max shrugs, and Josie says, "Well, I think you should consider staying single for a while."
She's right, but she doesn't have to look at me as she says it. Max glances at me too, then jokes, "Hey, Slim."
Oh. God. No.
"What?"
"CM here is free." He waggles his brows and juts a thumb in my direction.
I will so kick Max's ass. I will gouge out Josie's eyes if she keeps shooting me any more knowing looks―
"What?" Slim laughs, looks at me briefly then looks at the floor awkwardly. "No. Me and CM? No. There's a wall between us."
―I will let the earth swallow me up if it so pleases.
Josie says nothing but I can feel her look as strongly as a solar beam. Max seems to realise the awkwardness of what he just suggested, but doesn't seem apologetic. You so know he was testing the terrain between Slim and I, as so many others have before him.
It's just that this time, I actually feel the humiliation of Slim's verbal admission to his lack of interest.
In response to the silence, I murmur, looking at Slim's t-shirt ("Sex is not the answer. Sex is the question. Yes is the answer."), "A wall? Yeah. Thank god."
But that's a lie. I can't thank anyone for this kind of frustration and sadness. I mean, really. If only he had the decency of being mean to me, I could at least feel the same way in return. But he won't and I can't.
He laughs awkwardly at my unenthusiastic response. "Thank god? Huh. Yeah."
As if to drive this point home, Josie says, "You know, in the last days your ex added me to her contacts list and threatened me if I tried to date you."
I don't think Josie qualifies as a friend. Really. I don't remember doing this to anyone. This kind of mental torture is inhuman.
Slim laughs. "Yeah, she added every single girl I ever mentioned."
... Except me, obviously. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have enjoyed having Slim's girlfriend in my contacts list.
But it's never fun to realise you don't qualify as potential competition, which is really what this is all about.
A wall. A wall!
See this fucking wall, jerk.
I turn around and start talking to Kitty, and immediately I feel better from joking around with her and Guy and Gabie. All the stress of the past few days has been driving me insane, I think. I desperately needed the relief.
"CM," Kitty exclaims, "I need a good conclusion to my oral presentation on the aging process!"
I laugh. "How about, 'I hope this depressing information doesn't prompt you to jump off a cliff anytime soon'?"
She smiles brightly. "That's actually good!"
Guy looks exasperated. "You're not going to put that."
She nods. "Oh, yes, I am. Watch me."
Slim sits next to me. Oh. Oh, no. Come on. What have I done to deserve―
"CM, did you do the yoga paper we had for today?"
I blink. "What?"
He stares at me flatly. "Okay, let me ask differently. When are you going to do the paper we had for today?"
"Um, before I have to give it in?" I volunteer. He looks at his watch.
"Well, you should get moving. You have two hours left."
"But I haven't had lunch yet!" I protest as Slim pulls me by the arm and drags me and my bag towards the stairwell. "This isn't fair! This qualifies as―"
"Come on, we'll do it together and then we'll eat."
"But... my lunch...!"
"I haven't had breakfast," he says, glaring at me jokingly. "Or lunch. But I deal with it. Like an adult."
"Why haven't you had breakfast or lunch??" I ask, shouldering my bag properly and following. He doesn't need to pull anymore.
"PB took all my money and hasn't paid me back yet." He grins a little sheepishly. I stare at him flatly. "What? He had to pay for the movie soirée tickets. You know, the one where we're presenting our movies? On the 13th?"
"Shut up," I say, annoyed by his re-stating information I already know. "That's still no excuse. You should always have a breakfast in the morning at least. A bowl of cereal. Something."
He shrugs. "Maybe. But I didn't have time."
I sigh. "Look, I'll pay for your lunch, but―"
"You don't have to."
"Slim." I glare at him. "You need to eat." I knock a knuckle into his stomach. "Don't pretend this isn't gurgling."
He rolls his eyes. "Look, let's just get our papers done and we'll eat afterwards."
"Fine."
We find an empty computer room and log in. It doesn't take more than fifteen minutes for us to invent a load of self-congratulation, which is what the paper is all about, but as I finally think we can head back downstairs to eat, Slim says, "I want to watch our movie."
I sit back down next to him. "Are there DVD players on these PCs?"
"Yes. Miracles of miracles."
We spend another half-hour joking around and remembering the good times. I must admit I forgot about the wall thing.
But I remember it again when I re-enter the cafeteria and he follows me closely as we pick out our food. I turn around and ask him, "Here, hold my tray a second," so that I can ask for a green salad from the guy across the counter. He waits patiently. I realise he hasn't said a word in a long while now. I want to ask, "Why is there a wall? Why must there always be a wall? Why is there a wall with Mike? Why is there a wall with you? Why are there walls? Why??"
Why will no guy seem to think of me as more than a friend? Why are the ones who are interested so bloody ignorant and simple-minded? Why can't they be like you? Why can't you have a twin, or a similar friend, or just a random stranger who can entertain me, interest me and connect with me?
Why is this salad taking so bloody long?
"CM. Your salad. I know my t-shirt is brilliant, but..."
"Oh! Thank you." I grab my salad from the guy who is smiling at me like a moron over the counter. He winks.
See? Even Counter Guy likes the looks of me! What is wrong with you, world?
I take my tray back and bring it to the cashier. Slim bends over to pick something off the floor. It's a bus ticket. He hands it to me.
"Here, for your ride home."
I laugh. "What are you trying to do, pay me back for the lunch?"
He shrugs with a smirk. "Oh well, at least I tried."
"You know, you didn't bring my camera back," I remark as we stride over to a table where Gabie, Josie and Kitty and making incomprehensible pantomimes of what I presume to be roadkill. Hilarious.
Slim takes his sandwich, pastry and milk-chocolate carton from the tray. "Yeah, well, I'll bring it back to you. ... Eventually..." He grins broadly. I glare.
"You will bring it back."
He breaks into maniacal laughter. I can't help but laugh as well.
And then I notice Josie and Kitty's looks.
Right.
The wall.
It must be made of glass, because I never noticed it.
...
Maybe I'll break it one day. For the kick.
Love,
CM
I hurry to respond. "What is it?"
"It's just, to be a thousand per cent honest with you..." Slim confides at one thirty in the morning. A part of me is freaking out. What kind of sudden epiphany could possibly overcome him at this hour, and especially, why would he be calling me? "I think... God. It's hard to say."
My heart is beating wildly. I slap myself mentally. What is wrong with me? I am setting myself up for disappointment. I am an idiot.
Still, why is he talking to me at this hour? Why is he talking about being honest with me? We're always honest with one another... mostly. Right?
No. We are just friends. He will never, ever, ever, ever, in a million years, think of me romantically. And anyway I don't want him to.
Liar. He doesn't even have a girlfriend anymore.
BUT HE'S STILL UPSET...!
Oh no. This is not happening. I am not having the internal debate thing for real. Oh my god. This stuff only happens in the stories I write, dammit!
But what if he does...?? What if...
God, shut up! This will only kill you more. You will be set up with numbing pain.
"It's okay," I say. "You can tell me."
"It's just..." I can tell he's awkwardly staring at his feet. I don't need to see him, but I can tell from the way his voice is deep and quiet and hesitant. "I think..." He takes a deep breath. He finds the next sentence hard to say.
"Slim?"
"... I still love her."
Oh god. Ouch. Ouch.
I told you. You wouldn't listen. You're an idiot.
Shut up. Seriously. I hate when you're always right.
I try not to freak out. "Slim, you know that if you pick things back up with her this time, Rick will kick your ass." At least Rick, PB and everyone else is backing me up on this. I don't know how I could hold this bastion alone.
"I know. I know." He sighs. "It's just, I still love her, but I can't cope with the relationship anymore. I mean, my head and my heart are at war right now."
Me too, buddy. Me too. I know what it's like. I've been dealing with this for the past five months.
"And in the past I've always followed my head," he adds.
Me too. I'm starting to wish I didn't though.
"Rightly or wrongly?" I ask.
He looks annoyed. "My reason is always right."
Well. Join the club, we have paper tissues.
Oh my god. I am pathetic. What was I expecting? Why does it feel like my whole body is empty and my guts have spilled on the cold floor?
"Okay, look," I say, trying not to break into hysterics. "Here's what I think. On one hand you could run back to her while still in the insanity of the moment and risk getting back to what hurt you all this time. On the other, you could let some time pass and see whether you really want her in your life or whether you just feel alone and sad because you parted ways and you need to mourn an eight month-long period of your life."
Then again, what was I expecting? I set myself up for the guts-on-the-cold-floor thing. Really. He seems so sad. I can't believe this. He's not even broken up with her forty-eight hours and I already think he's over it? I'm a heartless bitch.
"Anyway, you should go to sleep," I say. "It's getting late and night brings council, as Mom always says."
He smiles. "Your Mom is awesome. And I really don't mean anything sexual by that. She just sounds like a great lady."
"Well, she is. And she knows what she's talking about. So you really should catch some sleep. You're exhausted."
"Yeah, I guess I am. God, life sucks."
"No, it doesn't. You're just saying that because it's quarter to two in the morning, it's bloody cold outside, it's Ever-Depressing-November and you're overworked."
"And my girlfriend hates my guts."
"Your ex."
"Oh. Yeah." He sighs. "My ex. Sorry. Slip of the tongue."
"It's okay. Anyway, you'll see. It'll be better in the morning."
"If you break into song, I am hanging up."
" 'The sun'll come out, bet your bottom'."
"I can't believe you just sang something."
"Hey, I quoted Donkey. That doesn't count as singing."
"I'm sorry I called so late."
"Or early, depending on the point of view."
He's smiling for sure now, because I can hear his lips are stretched into a grin from the way he sounds. "Yeah, okay, subtle message. I get it."
We hang up. Morning comes. I enter the cafeteria with the firm intention of not bothering him any further. Really. Maybe he doesn't think of me romantically because he never has to wonder what life would be without me?
Hey, loser, yeah, it's me. Your brain. Dunno if you ever met me, but I'll let you know anyway: you're a moron.
Shut up. I know.
I greet Max and Josie, who has just heard about Slim's break-up from the man himself, who has been glancing at me for the past two minutes since the moment I walked into view. Don't think I didn't notice. What annoys me is that I know he's not interested, so this tidbit of fact pisses me off more than anything. Also, it boggles the mind.
Josie turns to me in shock. Slim is sitting two meters away, gauging her reaction to his latest news with a surprising look of boredom. Yesterday, Rick and I had convinced him that he was better off deleting his girlfriend's―I'm sorry, ex-girlfriend's― text messages from his cell phone.
I've known for three days about Slim's break-up, though. In fact I suspect I was the first to know aside from his ex. And it's a nice thrill to know that, for once, I am privy to more gossip than Josie is. Stupid, I know, but when you're a loser you stop caring.
"CM, can you believe this?" She looks up at me like I will be surprised and shocked (and I think she wants to know if I still have a crush on Slim which she ever so kindly discouraged last February, though I don't know if she expects me to scream or leap in joy). "Slim is single now!"
Shock and wonder. We all saw it coming, thanks. I deliberately keep my face straight.
"I know." I also know that he is miserable and that I have a million more things in common with him than you or his ex do.
I need a slap. Seriously.
"You know??" Josie stares up at me, then turns back to Slim, who is still looking straight at me. I can't meet his gaze, because I can't figure anything out. Why? WHY?? "When did she hear?"
Slim shrugs. "The night it happened."
Josie looks annoyed. "And this was when?"
"Wednesday."
"Oh my god," Josie exclaims, "you waited all this time to tell me?"
I stifle my urge to laugh. Give me a break. She once forgot for a whole three months to tell me she'd broken up with one of her boyfriends. Slim shoots me a quizzical glance, then says, "I was busy." Josie is about to argue, but he interrupts her by shooting me a bright Colgate smile (seriously, he must bleach or something, it's just not natural; it can't be) and exclaiming, "CM! GUESS WHAT I FINISHED YESTERDAY!"
And he waves a stack of DVDs around. Blank DVDs. Or maybe not so blank.
"Hey! Our movie copies!" I walk around to him and pull a chair for myself, leaving Josie in our collective dust. "Awesome." I lower my voice. "I thought you would be too tired to work them out."
He shrugs. "They were easy to do. Here's yours. I included our special Making-Of Reel at the end, not that anyone thinks it's funny besides us."
I grin. "Stop. It's pure genius."
He laughs. Max glances between us, and asks Slim, "So, think of any new girl you'd like to date?"
Slim puts the rest of the DVDs into his bag and shoots Max a flat, cynical look. "Dude, seriously."
Max shrugs, and Josie says, "Well, I think you should consider staying single for a while."
She's right, but she doesn't have to look at me as she says it. Max glances at me too, then jokes, "Hey, Slim."
Oh. God. No.
"What?"
"CM here is free." He waggles his brows and juts a thumb in my direction.
I will so kick Max's ass. I will gouge out Josie's eyes if she keeps shooting me any more knowing looks―
"What?" Slim laughs, looks at me briefly then looks at the floor awkwardly. "No. Me and CM? No. There's a wall between us."
―I will let the earth swallow me up if it so pleases.
Josie says nothing but I can feel her look as strongly as a solar beam. Max seems to realise the awkwardness of what he just suggested, but doesn't seem apologetic. You so know he was testing the terrain between Slim and I, as so many others have before him.
It's just that this time, I actually feel the humiliation of Slim's verbal admission to his lack of interest.
In response to the silence, I murmur, looking at Slim's t-shirt ("Sex is not the answer. Sex is the question. Yes is the answer."), "A wall? Yeah. Thank god."
But that's a lie. I can't thank anyone for this kind of frustration and sadness. I mean, really. If only he had the decency of being mean to me, I could at least feel the same way in return. But he won't and I can't.
He laughs awkwardly at my unenthusiastic response. "Thank god? Huh. Yeah."
As if to drive this point home, Josie says, "You know, in the last days your ex added me to her contacts list and threatened me if I tried to date you."
I don't think Josie qualifies as a friend. Really. I don't remember doing this to anyone. This kind of mental torture is inhuman.
Slim laughs. "Yeah, she added every single girl I ever mentioned."
... Except me, obviously. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have enjoyed having Slim's girlfriend in my contacts list.
But it's never fun to realise you don't qualify as potential competition, which is really what this is all about.
A wall. A wall!
See this fucking wall, jerk.
I turn around and start talking to Kitty, and immediately I feel better from joking around with her and Guy and Gabie. All the stress of the past few days has been driving me insane, I think. I desperately needed the relief.
"CM," Kitty exclaims, "I need a good conclusion to my oral presentation on the aging process!"
I laugh. "How about, 'I hope this depressing information doesn't prompt you to jump off a cliff anytime soon'?"
She smiles brightly. "That's actually good!"
Guy looks exasperated. "You're not going to put that."
She nods. "Oh, yes, I am. Watch me."
Slim sits next to me. Oh. Oh, no. Come on. What have I done to deserve―
"CM, did you do the yoga paper we had for today?"
I blink. "What?"
He stares at me flatly. "Okay, let me ask differently. When are you going to do the paper we had for today?"
"Um, before I have to give it in?" I volunteer. He looks at his watch.
"Well, you should get moving. You have two hours left."
"But I haven't had lunch yet!" I protest as Slim pulls me by the arm and drags me and my bag towards the stairwell. "This isn't fair! This qualifies as―"
"Come on, we'll do it together and then we'll eat."
"But... my lunch...!"
"I haven't had breakfast," he says, glaring at me jokingly. "Or lunch. But I deal with it. Like an adult."
"Why haven't you had breakfast or lunch??" I ask, shouldering my bag properly and following. He doesn't need to pull anymore.
"PB took all my money and hasn't paid me back yet." He grins a little sheepishly. I stare at him flatly. "What? He had to pay for the movie soirée tickets. You know, the one where we're presenting our movies? On the 13th?"
"Shut up," I say, annoyed by his re-stating information I already know. "That's still no excuse. You should always have a breakfast in the morning at least. A bowl of cereal. Something."
He shrugs. "Maybe. But I didn't have time."
I sigh. "Look, I'll pay for your lunch, but―"
"You don't have to."
"Slim." I glare at him. "You need to eat." I knock a knuckle into his stomach. "Don't pretend this isn't gurgling."
He rolls his eyes. "Look, let's just get our papers done and we'll eat afterwards."
"Fine."
We find an empty computer room and log in. It doesn't take more than fifteen minutes for us to invent a load of self-congratulation, which is what the paper is all about, but as I finally think we can head back downstairs to eat, Slim says, "I want to watch our movie."
I sit back down next to him. "Are there DVD players on these PCs?"
"Yes. Miracles of miracles."
We spend another half-hour joking around and remembering the good times. I must admit I forgot about the wall thing.
But I remember it again when I re-enter the cafeteria and he follows me closely as we pick out our food. I turn around and ask him, "Here, hold my tray a second," so that I can ask for a green salad from the guy across the counter. He waits patiently. I realise he hasn't said a word in a long while now. I want to ask, "Why is there a wall? Why must there always be a wall? Why is there a wall with Mike? Why is there a wall with you? Why are there walls? Why??"
Why will no guy seem to think of me as more than a friend? Why are the ones who are interested so bloody ignorant and simple-minded? Why can't they be like you? Why can't you have a twin, or a similar friend, or just a random stranger who can entertain me, interest me and connect with me?
Why is this salad taking so bloody long?
"CM. Your salad. I know my t-shirt is brilliant, but..."
"Oh! Thank you." I grab my salad from the guy who is smiling at me like a moron over the counter. He winks.
See? Even Counter Guy likes the looks of me! What is wrong with you, world?
I take my tray back and bring it to the cashier. Slim bends over to pick something off the floor. It's a bus ticket. He hands it to me.
"Here, for your ride home."
I laugh. "What are you trying to do, pay me back for the lunch?"
He shrugs with a smirk. "Oh well, at least I tried."
"You know, you didn't bring my camera back," I remark as we stride over to a table where Gabie, Josie and Kitty and making incomprehensible pantomimes of what I presume to be roadkill. Hilarious.
Slim takes his sandwich, pastry and milk-chocolate carton from the tray. "Yeah, well, I'll bring it back to you. ... Eventually..." He grins broadly. I glare.
"You will bring it back."
He breaks into maniacal laughter. I can't help but laugh as well.
And then I notice Josie and Kitty's looks.
Right.
The wall.
It must be made of glass, because I never noticed it.
...
Maybe I'll break it one day. For the kick.
Love,
CM
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Why Suspense Sucks
It's simple, really. Suspense sucks because it always gets me. Every single time.
You'd think I should know by now that suspense is one of the most efficient techniques to make people listen to you. You'd think that I would know.
Well, I do. But it doesn't keep me from falling for it every time.
The setting: Photography class (during the break). Liz, Max, PB, Slim and I wandered downstairs into the cafeteria. I was telling Liz about my most aggressive customers at Sears (where I work; aren't you shocked) and we were generally having a good time laughing at the expense of people with no patience.
Max and PB, ever the type to get drowsy, walked towards the coffee machines and bought tall cups. I purchased a bottle of fruit juice, mostly because I felt like having sugar. Then, Slim dragged PB off so they'd buy two poutines (a.k.a. the grossest dish in the history of the world), which meant they came back with a few unsoiled fries I could plunder. Yum.
It was in this rather disorganized setting that Liz and I sat, agreeing that some people needed some anger management. I'd monopolized a table and propped my legs up, drinking sips from my bottle. The weather is cooling off fast, and the cafeteria, with its huge wall-to-wall windows, is prone to be rather cold.
Slim, rather than slipping next to Josie, whom he tends to be more affectionate with than me (which is a little awkward, if you ask me), at another table, slips in the chair next to me and cradles his water bottle, while popping a poutine fry into his mouth wordlessly. PB and Max are off to bother Josie, whom I don't really talk to much nowadays, mostly because her social life doesn't fall into my standard definition of 'interesting', even though it is admittedly fuller than mine.
I glance at his downcast face, noticing that he looks exhausted.
"Hey," I say, rather than begin another crazy-customer story, "you alright?"
He looks up pensively. "Hm? Yeah."
It's not my place to press the matter, so I don't. A lot of things could be weighing on his mind, notably all the projects we have, the deadlines he needs to handle, his girlfriend, his lack of income...
Actually, in regard to that last problem, I've been helping him to hunt for a job for the past two months, but our latest attempt to get him hired at my Sears hadn't seemed to bear any fruit, to my surprise, in spite of all the good words I'd put in for him. We'd gone last Saturday so I could present him to one of the Men's Wear employers, and she'd said she might call him back Monday, but Monday had come and gone without news, so I hadn't pressed the matter, lest I rub his defeat in.
To tell the truth, I was running out of ideas to get him a good part-time job. Slim has excellent references. He worked at a summer camp for the past three years, did a lot of volunteer work during high school, is tall, handsome and extremely sociable. I couldn't see why in the world he didn't get called back.
Anyway, I was considering Slim's inexplicable state of unemployment when he slowly raises his head again and says, boredly, "Hey, Suzy called on Monday."
Oh god. Suzy being the Men's Wear employer I'd introduced him to.
My eyes widen. "Oh my god, really?" But he doesn't look overly enthusiastic. "Uh, I'm afraid to ask, but..."
"Oh, she asked for an interview," Slim assures me, sounding still rather monotonous.
He falls silent. I'm not sure what to make of this. Does he still want the job? Has Suzy expressed uncertainty?
"And when is it?" I ask. "The interview, I mean?"
Slim purses his lips. "Yesterday."
For a very brief second, I think of reprimanding him. Surely, he couldn't have just forgotten. I mean, really, how could Slim possibly be that airheaded?
He must have seen me on the verge of saying something inappropriate, because he adds, an odd smile on his lips, "Oh, I went, don't worry. It's just..." He looks away and out the windows at the open lawn in front of the school. "Well, I don't think she was very pleased to hear that I was leaving for the holidays."
I cringe. Oh. Yeah. The trip to Disneyland with his parents and Rick.
"Well," I say, a little disappointed, confident that Suzy had expressed her regrets and told him it wouldn't work out, "you know. They are looking for people to hire during the big holiday season. It's when they make half their year's revenues."
Slim nods slowly, looking down at his water bottle. I don't know what to say. I'm all out of ideas. If they wouldn't hire him because of his trip to Disney, it's unlikely anyone else would. What now?
"So..." I inquire, since he's the one who brought the subject up, "what exactly did Suzy say?" Were there any other objections?
Slim looks up suddenly with a sunny smile, "She said 'Come back tomorrow to sign the contract', so I went last night, signed the contract and now we're coworkers, aren't you happy?"
He'd said it so fast and with such a surprisingly happy expression that I'm taken short. I stayed, uncertainly, fixed for, like, three seconds, re-playing his sentence in my head and trying to make sense of it.
Suddenly, realization dawns.
I punch him. "YOU BASTARD, WHY DID YOU PUT ME THROUGH ALL THAT ANGUISH?"
He cracks up. "Sorry, it's just that I'm so good at it!"
I can't help but break into a huge smile too. Excitedly, I grab his shoulder and shake it. "Oh my god, oh my god, you're going to work at my store! That's great, I'm just so happy that all our work finally paid off! I'm so happy for you!"
He laughs. At this point, Eva steps in. She looks at my glee, sees Slim chuckle at my relief, and says, "Wait, what's going on, here?"
Slim turns around and explains, "CM got me an interview at Sears."
"It wasn't easy," I say, with a really bright smile. "But it worked."
Eva smiles too. "Wait, so now you both work at Sears?"
"Yep."
Eva turns to look at Slim with a raised brow as he stands to answer a question PB just asked him. "Hey, wait a minute," she interrupts him. "Aren't you going to say thank you?" She nods to me, and I'm taken short.
Thank you? Slim? Thank me? The concept is almost preposterous. We've been exchanging so many services, trading so many things, paying one another back for so much stuff, that saying thank you seems archaic.
Slim too looks surprised. The cogs in his head seem to turn at breakneck speed, as though calculating and coming to the same conclusion as me. He turns, glances between Eva and I, and finally says, "Well, but..."
Eva, exasperated, says, "Well, really, Slim. She got you a freaking job. The least you could do is say thank you."
I meet Slim's gaze.
It happens, sometimes, that Slim and I exchange glances and know exactly what the other is thinking, just because our brains work the same and we come to the same conclusions at the same time; even though sometimes the context is completely unrelated, even though sometimes we weren't even having the same conversation. We sometimes just glance at one another by pure chance and know what the other is thinking, know if they're exasperated or amused, know whether to grimace or to crack up.
Nobody understands, but I do, and nobody would believe it, but it's true.
Slim's gaze is warm, amused at Eva's antics. I can tell, the way his lips are puckered a little, he's forcing himself not to grin. It's just how he does it.
Finally, he says, to soothe Eva, even though he shoots me a warm, obvious look, "I figured my thank you was in my eyes."
Eva turns to look at me, but I only see her out the corner of my eye. I can see Slim, as he steps backward and away from us, is shooting me a pleased look.
I smile right back.
Eva, under her breath, comments, "Well, isn't that sweet."
I smile brightly. "That's what friends are for."
Love,
CM
You'd think I should know by now that suspense is one of the most efficient techniques to make people listen to you. You'd think that I would know.
Well, I do. But it doesn't keep me from falling for it every time.
The setting: Photography class (during the break). Liz, Max, PB, Slim and I wandered downstairs into the cafeteria. I was telling Liz about my most aggressive customers at Sears (where I work; aren't you shocked) and we were generally having a good time laughing at the expense of people with no patience.
Max and PB, ever the type to get drowsy, walked towards the coffee machines and bought tall cups. I purchased a bottle of fruit juice, mostly because I felt like having sugar. Then, Slim dragged PB off so they'd buy two poutines (a.k.a. the grossest dish in the history of the world), which meant they came back with a few unsoiled fries I could plunder. Yum.
It was in this rather disorganized setting that Liz and I sat, agreeing that some people needed some anger management. I'd monopolized a table and propped my legs up, drinking sips from my bottle. The weather is cooling off fast, and the cafeteria, with its huge wall-to-wall windows, is prone to be rather cold.
Slim, rather than slipping next to Josie, whom he tends to be more affectionate with than me (which is a little awkward, if you ask me), at another table, slips in the chair next to me and cradles his water bottle, while popping a poutine fry into his mouth wordlessly. PB and Max are off to bother Josie, whom I don't really talk to much nowadays, mostly because her social life doesn't fall into my standard definition of 'interesting', even though it is admittedly fuller than mine.
I glance at his downcast face, noticing that he looks exhausted.
"Hey," I say, rather than begin another crazy-customer story, "you alright?"
He looks up pensively. "Hm? Yeah."
It's not my place to press the matter, so I don't. A lot of things could be weighing on his mind, notably all the projects we have, the deadlines he needs to handle, his girlfriend, his lack of income...
Actually, in regard to that last problem, I've been helping him to hunt for a job for the past two months, but our latest attempt to get him hired at my Sears hadn't seemed to bear any fruit, to my surprise, in spite of all the good words I'd put in for him. We'd gone last Saturday so I could present him to one of the Men's Wear employers, and she'd said she might call him back Monday, but Monday had come and gone without news, so I hadn't pressed the matter, lest I rub his defeat in.
To tell the truth, I was running out of ideas to get him a good part-time job. Slim has excellent references. He worked at a summer camp for the past three years, did a lot of volunteer work during high school, is tall, handsome and extremely sociable. I couldn't see why in the world he didn't get called back.
Anyway, I was considering Slim's inexplicable state of unemployment when he slowly raises his head again and says, boredly, "Hey, Suzy called on Monday."
Oh god. Suzy being the Men's Wear employer I'd introduced him to.
My eyes widen. "Oh my god, really?" But he doesn't look overly enthusiastic. "Uh, I'm afraid to ask, but..."
"Oh, she asked for an interview," Slim assures me, sounding still rather monotonous.
He falls silent. I'm not sure what to make of this. Does he still want the job? Has Suzy expressed uncertainty?
"And when is it?" I ask. "The interview, I mean?"
Slim purses his lips. "Yesterday."
For a very brief second, I think of reprimanding him. Surely, he couldn't have just forgotten. I mean, really, how could Slim possibly be that airheaded?
He must have seen me on the verge of saying something inappropriate, because he adds, an odd smile on his lips, "Oh, I went, don't worry. It's just..." He looks away and out the windows at the open lawn in front of the school. "Well, I don't think she was very pleased to hear that I was leaving for the holidays."
I cringe. Oh. Yeah. The trip to Disneyland with his parents and Rick.
"Well," I say, a little disappointed, confident that Suzy had expressed her regrets and told him it wouldn't work out, "you know. They are looking for people to hire during the big holiday season. It's when they make half their year's revenues."
Slim nods slowly, looking down at his water bottle. I don't know what to say. I'm all out of ideas. If they wouldn't hire him because of his trip to Disney, it's unlikely anyone else would. What now?
"So..." I inquire, since he's the one who brought the subject up, "what exactly did Suzy say?" Were there any other objections?
Slim looks up suddenly with a sunny smile, "She said 'Come back tomorrow to sign the contract', so I went last night, signed the contract and now we're coworkers, aren't you happy?"
He'd said it so fast and with such a surprisingly happy expression that I'm taken short. I stayed, uncertainly, fixed for, like, three seconds, re-playing his sentence in my head and trying to make sense of it.
Suddenly, realization dawns.
I punch him. "YOU BASTARD, WHY DID YOU PUT ME THROUGH ALL THAT ANGUISH?"
He cracks up. "Sorry, it's just that I'm so good at it!"
I can't help but break into a huge smile too. Excitedly, I grab his shoulder and shake it. "Oh my god, oh my god, you're going to work at my store! That's great, I'm just so happy that all our work finally paid off! I'm so happy for you!"
He laughs. At this point, Eva steps in. She looks at my glee, sees Slim chuckle at my relief, and says, "Wait, what's going on, here?"
Slim turns around and explains, "CM got me an interview at Sears."
"It wasn't easy," I say, with a really bright smile. "But it worked."
Eva smiles too. "Wait, so now you both work at Sears?"
"Yep."
Eva turns to look at Slim with a raised brow as he stands to answer a question PB just asked him. "Hey, wait a minute," she interrupts him. "Aren't you going to say thank you?" She nods to me, and I'm taken short.
Thank you? Slim? Thank me? The concept is almost preposterous. We've been exchanging so many services, trading so many things, paying one another back for so much stuff, that saying thank you seems archaic.
Slim too looks surprised. The cogs in his head seem to turn at breakneck speed, as though calculating and coming to the same conclusion as me. He turns, glances between Eva and I, and finally says, "Well, but..."
Eva, exasperated, says, "Well, really, Slim. She got you a freaking job. The least you could do is say thank you."
I meet Slim's gaze.
It happens, sometimes, that Slim and I exchange glances and know exactly what the other is thinking, just because our brains work the same and we come to the same conclusions at the same time; even though sometimes the context is completely unrelated, even though sometimes we weren't even having the same conversation. We sometimes just glance at one another by pure chance and know what the other is thinking, know if they're exasperated or amused, know whether to grimace or to crack up.
Nobody understands, but I do, and nobody would believe it, but it's true.
Slim's gaze is warm, amused at Eva's antics. I can tell, the way his lips are puckered a little, he's forcing himself not to grin. It's just how he does it.
Finally, he says, to soothe Eva, even though he shoots me a warm, obvious look, "I figured my thank you was in my eyes."
Eva turns to look at me, but I only see her out the corner of my eye. I can see Slim, as he steps backward and away from us, is shooting me a pleased look.
I smile right back.
Eva, under her breath, comments, "Well, isn't that sweet."
I smile brightly. "That's what friends are for."
Love,
CM
Monday, August 27, 2007
FG City Info (and first TV class, kekeke)
Had Fiction TV class today. You read that right. My class is basically a historical study of major tv series in Canada (Quebec, more specifically). This is your cue for major jealousy fits. Go on, I'll wait.
And, as Gabie exclaimed when I entered the cafeteria before class, "Oh my god, CM, you have TV now, don't you?"
That's right. That's right. Whoop whoop.
"Yep."
"Oh my god," she gushes. "I had it last week; you will so love it."
I raise a brow. "Is the teacher any good?"
She sighs (she has a boyfriend but she ain't blind) and says, "Yeeesss. Oh, you won't hear a word because you'll be focusing on how gorgeous he is."
And gorgeous he is indeed. I entered the class with Slim (who is in my every specific class, by the way, and would have also been in my French and Gym classes if I hadn't changed my schedule) and saw that Gabie had it spot on. Our TV teacher is handsome. Not in the clean-cut way that I usually like, but most definitely in that casual just-outta-bed and not showered way. A bit like Aragorn with paler (but still long) hair. Very nice.
I sit in the back, and Slim sits next to me. Amazingly, ever since I stopped pining for him, it's like we get along a billion times better. No expectations, no disappointments. It's great. I started chatting with Liz, who sat on my other side, and we commented on a few of the class' other students. I showed off my newest shoes, heeled open-toe things that get me a few flattering looks, and she wholeheartedly agrees that sometimes, new shoes are absolutely essential to keeping a girl's spirits high.
When at last Luke (our teacher, who doesn't want to be called Sir or Mr. whatever his last name is) closes the door, he looks around as us and decides to sit on one of the desks at the front of the class rather than take his chair. He has the whole casual young adult thing going on. His voice is a little hoarse from, he says, a disappearing cold. I glance at Slim, who suffered two weeks ago from a major case of bronchitis, and he nods sagely.
"Soooo," Luke says, rocking back and forth slowly on his desk, fixing us all with lazy but all-seeing stares, "hey everyone. I'm Luke. You can call me Luke. I'm twenty-eight and studied in communications. Which means we might have the same cultural references. Which is great for me and you."
Slim turns to me and asks, in a low whisper, "Did you see this guy last year?"
I purse my lips. "Nope."
But Luke answers our questions as he continues speaking. "I went on a trip around the world last year, and it was great. But we can talk about the world some other time. We're here to talk about sitting on a couch, immersing ourselves in an important cultural icon: la télé ('TV', in French)."
Liz and I exchange glances and grin.
"Soooo... any questions so far?"
It went on like this, until he got to the class requirements. Slim and I took out our agendas and Luke said, to the whole class, "I hope you all have, like, recorders at home or something like that. Because you'll need to record episodes and... yeah. Though," he says, sitting up a little, "I won't hide I'm a bit of an inveterate downloader, so if you like dee-elling episodes, you go on right ahead, I don't mind at all."
I shoot Slim a large grin, and he smirks right back. Slim and I enjoy downloading stuff from the net; I never thought I'd find a guy with a greater addiction to d/l-ing than I, but there he is, sitting right next to me with the authorization to indulge in his little habit. We exchange a sinister chuckle that sounds not unlike "kekekeke" causing a few scared glances from Liz and Max (who was sitting behind us).
But whatever.
Somewhere during the presentation, Slim pulls out a pocket-size bag of chips, and I stare at him wide-eyed.
"Slim, oh my god, you can't eat during the very first class of the term. Save it for exams or something."
He glances at me with the open aluminum bag in his hand, crunching nonchalantly on a mouthful of potato chips. He blinks, then asks, "Want some?"
I look down into the bag and see a dozen delicious potato chips, Original flavour, my favourite (Slim and I share many tastes, turns out, which is a little creepy after a while).
"Well... yeah, I guess."
Slim nods and fetches into his backpack and hands me an unopened bag, identical to his, with a smirk.
My eyes widen. "Whoa, you're giving me the whole thing? How many packs do you have in there?"
He shrugs but doesn't answer me, eagerly eating more chips. So I open my bag and we sit back in our chairs, listening to Luke as he goes on to talk about soap operas. Between mouthfuls, I hear Slim whisper, "I can't believe we have a class almost exclusively dedicated to our favourite TV shows."
I almost choke on my mouthful as I hold back a laugh. When he finishes his bag of chips, he starts digging into mine. I shoot him a violated pout, and he raises both brows, whispering, "Hey, don't give me that. They're MY chips to begin with."
So I shrug and let him dig in all he wants. Whatever.
"And now," Luke says, "Enough talking from me. Let's do a practical exercise. Get in teams of four or five, and invent me a TV show by a Quebec firm for a Quebecer viewing public. Your goal is to get a concept that will interest the biggest number of people possible while lasting the longest possible time. Get in teams."
I shoot a glance at Liz, then at a Slim, then the three of us turn to look pointedly at Max, who bursts out laughing. When Max laughs, the whole world knows, because he laughs in sharp, loud bursts. Like 'AAAA-HA-HA-HA". No point saying that, just thought I'd share. It's funny.
We gather round. Before any of us can get a word in, Slim says, "Okay, so here it is: the whole province of Quebec is attacked by natural disasters, which cause an undead riot."
Me (wondering how it could possibly be that Slim is as much as disaster movie fan as I): "Not to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but I doubt that concept will appeal to every viewing public category."
Slim (disappointed): "But... zombies...!"
Liz: "We should go for issues that are really important to Quebec society at the moment. Like reasonable accomodation or the fall of the Parti Québécois, you know?"
Me: "It's true. You know why André Boisclair fell, though?"
Max: "Do tell."
Me: "He was gay and an ex cocaine consumer. Urban stuff, you know? You'll never find those in the rural areas. But the PQ's main supporters were in the remoter regions. Suddenly they didn't identify with him. Wonder why."
Slim: "Zombies."
Me: "Oh, shut up, Slim. We can't have zombies."
Slim: "But―"
Me: "Isn't the third Resident Evil movie coming out anyway?"
Slim: "EXACTLY, let's do RE meets The Day After Tomorrow, except in Montreal!"
Max: "Disagree. Everyone wants sitcoms to happen in Montreal because it's the only major city of Quebec. Let's be different. The majority of the viewing public doesn't have to be in Montreal anyway. Let's give them something new. La grande séduction meets... I don't know, something with general issues."
Me: "An inheritance."
Liz: "Pressures from the United States and Ontario― the English-speaking world chokes Quebec."
Slim: "And shady stuff."
Me: "Five appealing main characters, all different, all related in some way."
Liz: "All dealing with different themes and issues."
Max: "Wait! Slow down, I can't write that fast!"
Slim (smirking at Max, who is struggling to jot everything down): "AndzombieswithResidentEvil andlotsofbloodandgore, probablywithafewtornadoes andearthquakesandtsunamis."
Me: "Don't write that down, Max."
Max (sarcastic): "Oh gee I hadn't realised. Gosh how silly of me."
We had fun. TV class will be awesome.
Oooh, did I promise a city profile? Well, here it is (I'm still writing, by the way. I'm on page 73... slowly but surely...).
Full Name: Castleton, Capital of Hyrule
Leader(s): Princess Zelda Harkinian, Admiral Auru Mage and High Priest Rauru Luz
Town Centre: Citadel of Time
Founded: Start of the First Age
Current political orientation: Hylian Alliance
Location: Central-north of Hyrule, south of the Calatian mountain range
Geographical advantage: In the middle of fields, its visibility range is unhindered in every direction for miles.
Climate: Plains
Weather: Temperate, generally sunny and warm, prone to storms brought on by the mountains in the north and east.
Economy: Bordering on bad. The war has indebted the city and weakened it greatly. Focused on agriculture and aerial trade.
Technology: Medium-advanced.
History: One of the earliest cities, it was a gathering of farmers before turning into an important market town, where eventually merchants became bourgeois, then aristocrats. The most powerful were named monarchs, and the influence of Castleton became the country of Hyrule. Its focus has always been to keep power and protect its people. The Citadel of Time itself is a relic of the ancient temple that is spoken of in legends.
Main races: Hylian, Sheikah, Gerudo, Goron
Layout: Circular, with outer protective wall and inner fortress (Citadel of Time)
Architecture: A mix and match of all kinds of architectures, it has no style and could be considered rather ugly. Cobblestones mix with metallic panels and grates, cement with slate, brick with glass, steel with wood. The Citadel is the only homogenous-looking building of Castleton, its tall tower visible from miles and miles anywhere in the plains of Hyrule.
So that's that for today. Tomorrow's my dreaded dinner-date with Bass, who just called to confirm. Darn. But that's okay. I'll take it coolly and be honest.
Or, as Karl from my job said, "Be so blunt you break his heart so bad he'll remember his whole life to never call anyone 'doll' again."
On a side note, I'd like to congratulate Lyxie for her entry in the UFO Awards!!! I'm so proud of you, girl (and I feel very privileged to be allowed to read your stuff before everyone else ―hush hush)!!
Love,
CM
And, as Gabie exclaimed when I entered the cafeteria before class, "Oh my god, CM, you have TV now, don't you?"
That's right. That's right. Whoop whoop.
"Yep."
"Oh my god," she gushes. "I had it last week; you will so love it."
I raise a brow. "Is the teacher any good?"
She sighs (she has a boyfriend but she ain't blind) and says, "Yeeesss. Oh, you won't hear a word because you'll be focusing on how gorgeous he is."
And gorgeous he is indeed. I entered the class with Slim (who is in my every specific class, by the way, and would have also been in my French and Gym classes if I hadn't changed my schedule) and saw that Gabie had it spot on. Our TV teacher is handsome. Not in the clean-cut way that I usually like, but most definitely in that casual just-outta-bed and not showered way. A bit like Aragorn with paler (but still long) hair. Very nice.
I sit in the back, and Slim sits next to me. Amazingly, ever since I stopped pining for him, it's like we get along a billion times better. No expectations, no disappointments. It's great. I started chatting with Liz, who sat on my other side, and we commented on a few of the class' other students. I showed off my newest shoes, heeled open-toe things that get me a few flattering looks, and she wholeheartedly agrees that sometimes, new shoes are absolutely essential to keeping a girl's spirits high.
When at last Luke (our teacher, who doesn't want to be called Sir or Mr. whatever his last name is) closes the door, he looks around as us and decides to sit on one of the desks at the front of the class rather than take his chair. He has the whole casual young adult thing going on. His voice is a little hoarse from, he says, a disappearing cold. I glance at Slim, who suffered two weeks ago from a major case of bronchitis, and he nods sagely.
"Soooo," Luke says, rocking back and forth slowly on his desk, fixing us all with lazy but all-seeing stares, "hey everyone. I'm Luke. You can call me Luke. I'm twenty-eight and studied in communications. Which means we might have the same cultural references. Which is great for me and you."
Slim turns to me and asks, in a low whisper, "Did you see this guy last year?"
I purse my lips. "Nope."
But Luke answers our questions as he continues speaking. "I went on a trip around the world last year, and it was great. But we can talk about the world some other time. We're here to talk about sitting on a couch, immersing ourselves in an important cultural icon: la télé ('TV', in French)."
Liz and I exchange glances and grin.
"Soooo... any questions so far?"
It went on like this, until he got to the class requirements. Slim and I took out our agendas and Luke said, to the whole class, "I hope you all have, like, recorders at home or something like that. Because you'll need to record episodes and... yeah. Though," he says, sitting up a little, "I won't hide I'm a bit of an inveterate downloader, so if you like dee-elling episodes, you go on right ahead, I don't mind at all."
I shoot Slim a large grin, and he smirks right back. Slim and I enjoy downloading stuff from the net; I never thought I'd find a guy with a greater addiction to d/l-ing than I, but there he is, sitting right next to me with the authorization to indulge in his little habit. We exchange a sinister chuckle that sounds not unlike "kekekeke" causing a few scared glances from Liz and Max (who was sitting behind us).
But whatever.
Somewhere during the presentation, Slim pulls out a pocket-size bag of chips, and I stare at him wide-eyed.
"Slim, oh my god, you can't eat during the very first class of the term. Save it for exams or something."
He glances at me with the open aluminum bag in his hand, crunching nonchalantly on a mouthful of potato chips. He blinks, then asks, "Want some?"
I look down into the bag and see a dozen delicious potato chips, Original flavour, my favourite (Slim and I share many tastes, turns out, which is a little creepy after a while).
"Well... yeah, I guess."
Slim nods and fetches into his backpack and hands me an unopened bag, identical to his, with a smirk.
My eyes widen. "Whoa, you're giving me the whole thing? How many packs do you have in there?"
He shrugs but doesn't answer me, eagerly eating more chips. So I open my bag and we sit back in our chairs, listening to Luke as he goes on to talk about soap operas. Between mouthfuls, I hear Slim whisper, "I can't believe we have a class almost exclusively dedicated to our favourite TV shows."
I almost choke on my mouthful as I hold back a laugh. When he finishes his bag of chips, he starts digging into mine. I shoot him a violated pout, and he raises both brows, whispering, "Hey, don't give me that. They're MY chips to begin with."
So I shrug and let him dig in all he wants. Whatever.
"And now," Luke says, "Enough talking from me. Let's do a practical exercise. Get in teams of four or five, and invent me a TV show by a Quebec firm for a Quebecer viewing public. Your goal is to get a concept that will interest the biggest number of people possible while lasting the longest possible time. Get in teams."
I shoot a glance at Liz, then at a Slim, then the three of us turn to look pointedly at Max, who bursts out laughing. When Max laughs, the whole world knows, because he laughs in sharp, loud bursts. Like 'AAAA-HA-HA-HA". No point saying that, just thought I'd share. It's funny.
We gather round. Before any of us can get a word in, Slim says, "Okay, so here it is: the whole province of Quebec is attacked by natural disasters, which cause an undead riot."
Me (wondering how it could possibly be that Slim is as much as disaster movie fan as I): "Not to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but I doubt that concept will appeal to every viewing public category."
Slim (disappointed): "But... zombies...!"
Liz: "We should go for issues that are really important to Quebec society at the moment. Like reasonable accomodation or the fall of the Parti Québécois, you know?"
Me: "It's true. You know why André Boisclair fell, though?"
Max: "Do tell."
Me: "He was gay and an ex cocaine consumer. Urban stuff, you know? You'll never find those in the rural areas. But the PQ's main supporters were in the remoter regions. Suddenly they didn't identify with him. Wonder why."
Slim: "Zombies."
Me: "Oh, shut up, Slim. We can't have zombies."
Slim: "But―"
Me: "Isn't the third Resident Evil movie coming out anyway?"
Slim: "EXACTLY, let's do RE meets The Day After Tomorrow, except in Montreal!"
Max: "Disagree. Everyone wants sitcoms to happen in Montreal because it's the only major city of Quebec. Let's be different. The majority of the viewing public doesn't have to be in Montreal anyway. Let's give them something new. La grande séduction meets... I don't know, something with general issues."
Me: "An inheritance."
Liz: "Pressures from the United States and Ontario― the English-speaking world chokes Quebec."
Slim: "And shady stuff."
Me: "Five appealing main characters, all different, all related in some way."
Liz: "All dealing with different themes and issues."
Max: "Wait! Slow down, I can't write that fast!"
Slim (smirking at Max, who is struggling to jot everything down): "AndzombieswithResidentEvil andlotsofbloodandgore, probablywithafewtornadoes andearthquakesandtsunamis."
Me: "Don't write that down, Max."
Max (sarcastic): "Oh gee I hadn't realised. Gosh how silly of me."
We had fun. TV class will be awesome.
Oooh, did I promise a city profile? Well, here it is (I'm still writing, by the way. I'm on page 73... slowly but surely...).
Full Name: Castleton, Capital of Hyrule
Leader(s): Princess Zelda Harkinian, Admiral Auru Mage and High Priest Rauru Luz
Town Centre: Citadel of Time
Founded: Start of the First Age
Current political orientation: Hylian Alliance
Location: Central-north of Hyrule, south of the Calatian mountain range
Geographical advantage: In the middle of fields, its visibility range is unhindered in every direction for miles.
Climate: Plains
Weather: Temperate, generally sunny and warm, prone to storms brought on by the mountains in the north and east.
Economy: Bordering on bad. The war has indebted the city and weakened it greatly. Focused on agriculture and aerial trade.
Technology: Medium-advanced.
History: One of the earliest cities, it was a gathering of farmers before turning into an important market town, where eventually merchants became bourgeois, then aristocrats. The most powerful were named monarchs, and the influence of Castleton became the country of Hyrule. Its focus has always been to keep power and protect its people. The Citadel of Time itself is a relic of the ancient temple that is spoken of in legends.
Main races: Hylian, Sheikah, Gerudo, Goron
Layout: Circular, with outer protective wall and inner fortress (Citadel of Time)
Architecture: A mix and match of all kinds of architectures, it has no style and could be considered rather ugly. Cobblestones mix with metallic panels and grates, cement with slate, brick with glass, steel with wood. The Citadel is the only homogenous-looking building of Castleton, its tall tower visible from miles and miles anywhere in the plains of Hyrule.
So that's that for today. Tomorrow's my dreaded dinner-date with Bass, who just called to confirm. Darn. But that's okay. I'll take it coolly and be honest.
Or, as Karl from my job said, "Be so blunt you break his heart so bad he'll remember his whole life to never call anyone 'doll' again."
On a side note, I'd like to congratulate Lyxie for her entry in the UFO Awards!!! I'm so proud of you, girl (and I feel very privileged to be allowed to read your stuff before everyone else ―hush hush)!!
Love,
CM
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