I won't go into the details. Suffice it to say that a magical, life changing weekend with a girl I'd been in love with unrequitedly
and vice versa blossomed into a wonderful re-meeting. She'd snuggled against me the seventh time and I remarked
suddenly, "we're like our parents were." She looked at me rather quizzically, raising herself up on one elbow, and I pointed
out that when we were kids, wondering if this moment would ever happen in our own separate lonely suburban bedrooms,
the families of our friends (and hers) were breaking up and the adults were engaging in furtive, post-divorce but with nearly adult
children around engagements.
A lot of things made sense now. Their glances they thought we hadn't seen but didn't quite understand yet. Factoring kids
into the equation. It's funny to go from keeping it from your parents to keeping it from your kids. Her kids were now almost the
age we were when we met.
She smiled. I made her something to eat.
I found out it was over as I was packing to go see my kids (and to stay with her) two scant weeks later. The message was short and succinct.
"I hate to break this to you, but I found someone else. It would be really awkward if you stayed here as we'd planned. Sorry."
Well, paraclete wasn't gonna get her happy ending. Yeah I was crushed, but you know, people don't owe me anything.
What TRULY sucked was arriving the next day, exhausted, at the airport at my destination to find that my first paycheque,
the one that I was COUNTING ON to be there,
the one that I was ASSURED would be deposited along with the moving advance, UNDERLINED IN TRIPLICATE in my
offer letter and acceptance, was not there.
Stranded in a foreign country with nowhere to go, and no money, and nowhere to stay.
I called my ex-wife, who told me in no uncertain terms I was not welcome to stay there, and that this was going to suck for
the kids, and how could I. I told her if circumstances changed I'd call her back. But it was Thanksgiving Friday, so nothing
would be open, and by the time it was, I'd have flown back.
With the very last of my change, I called another high school friend I'd promised to see, to tell her that I'd probably not
be able to make it. I gave her the Cliffs Notes version of what had happened, and she said "where in the airport are you?
Wait right there."
I had forgotten how white and how cold eastern Canada was in winter. The airport was nothing but bleak dunes of shining
white, and I could feel the unpleasant drying sensation of the moisture in my nose freezing. But sure enough a car
sped up within half an hour, and though she was older, and the car was limed with salt and snow, it was definitely the girl I last saw in 1989.
I welcomed the warmth of her car as I stooped to get into it.
"Sporty, yet practical" I said by way of greeting. "It suits you to a T."
She grinned the wide, genuine smile I remembered, though her eyes were now gently lined by the gesture , and a furrow at the corner of her mouth that
that detracted in no way whatsoever from her good looks. I'm a sucker for a redhead, and her interest in marathon
running had turned her into something feminine, yet lithe and swimsuit modellish.
As she drove, I looked at her, marvelling at how she was simultaneously familiar and yet naturally different
with the years that had passed.
"The silver in your hair really works. It's gorgeous." She lost her smile somewhat at that - until she realised I genuinely
meant that it made it more beautiful. The few strands of white she had
were a luminescent silver, and it worked with the fiery copper of the rest of her hair.
"I've a bit of a complex about that." I apologized, she said no worries. And she meant it.
"Where are we going?"
"My house" she said firmly, sticking something into my pocket.
I pulled out what she had just inserted, and looking at the sheaf of bills, they counted out to $200 Canadian.
"Hey, listen, I..."
"Is it not enough? I can get more."
"It's plenty. It's a lot, and it's..."
"You can pay me back when you get paid yourself. You have kids to go see."
"Fair enough". Even back in 1989, I knew it was futile to argue with her.
That night we caught up. Sitting in her very tasteful and beige living room, the familiarity of Canadian
winter brought back all kinds of nostalgia - the sudden blindness as glasses instantly react to warm and
humid indoor air by fogging up, the way your lungs react to the change in temperature and moisture, the smell
of furnace-warmed air. She excused herself to fire up a video
game she was obsessed with, and hunkered down on the floor like the teenager I last saw. She'd never lost that part
of her that many women find endearing in men - the ability to lose oneself completely in a hobby or some
kind of study. Her shelves were a genealogy of her interests, the age of the books and videos showing the approximate
timeline of one after another.
I drank the hoppy, very familiar Canadian beer that was in my hand, its cold welcome in my warming hand.
And while she played we caught up. I was able to guess at most of her life's twists and turns, with a surprise or two.
My life was completely unguessable to her. I'd weirded her out in the strangest way - by eventually being engaged
in a respectable professional occupation after various twists and turns and gangrel wanderings, brushes with
celebrity and a couple of darker personal turns.
It was cosy. I had my feet up on her coffee table, and she had her back to me, comfortable enough with me to carry on
her life as usual with this person in her house.
We repaired to her kitchen. She drank more coffee than any Seattlite I'd ever met, and she had a strict eating regimen
as well. She poked at her various kitchenry items, this room a palette of blue-greys and blue-whites and spotlessly
clean. "You know, I'm actually really glad we reconnected."
"Same here" I said. "It's not that many people who would put someone who's been a stranger the past 20 years up
in her house and push two hundred in his pocket."
She picked up on "house". And she was glad I'd said it.
"Yeah, well, there's something I've got to do tomorrow. You're welcome to come too."
"Just so long as you promise to point out the various love interests and exes you've talked about the past hour."
I reached for something on the counter next to her, and she suddenly turned. The result of which was, my hand was palming one of her breasts.
The intersection surprised us both. Neither of us moved, frozen.
There was a very long pause.
"Oh dear God. I'm sorry."
She hadn't moved. "It's okay." I know you didn't mean to do that okay, not "thank God you finally did this" okay.
I removed my hand gently. I'm glad we're on the same wavelength. She stood where she was. Her smile was truly warm now. It had gone from the impish reply
to my previous comment to a genuinely disarming one.
I pulled her into my arms and hugged her. "I know you'll understand this exactly the way I'm saying it, which is WHY I'm saying it, but I love you, you know that?"
and with that, I kissed her on the forehead.
She smiled at me and returned the hug. It was genuinely warm and comforting.
From her head next to my shoulder: "you know you're sleeping on the couch this weekend, right?"
"Yes, yes I know."
And all was right with the world.
| 
