The cross
As I walked to drop off the goalie kit, cursing it knocking against the back of my leg, I stopped and looked upwards. The cross, lit above Christ Church, as I had seen it so many times before. But this time, this angle, this place on the side of a road I had never walked upon before, the angle was perfect. In my mind's eye it was atop a hill, called mountain, and I was suddenly standing back at the corner of Duluth and St. Urbain, perhaps on my way to see Krista in Rez, or maybe walking back home from Numoy's house, or down to meet someone at Lola Rosa, or Brutopia, or campus, and in that moment I could swear I was back in Montreal. It was a pretty good few seconds, until the warm air and gothic towers got the best of me. Today? Today was Sunday and I went to the library all day, wrote 1000 words and managed to feel both insane and useless and somehow successful at the same time. So I went to see Harry Potter tonight. And tomorrow I'll get up and do it all over again. Snap.
And now I suppose is as good a time as any to recall Saturday night. Saturday night? Friday night... I can't even recall what happened when anymore. But the recall is Friday. Right. And I'd had a rotten day. Rotten rotten terrible mood, worse than I can recall... in fact, I have no recollection of ever being more upset and angry, oh for good reasons, but angry nonetheless, undirected anger. So he's crazy right, and after Thursday I was sure I had played myself out of the game, but in fact I was swept right back in, he wanting to know what I was up to. And whether he could come along. And after two missed opportunities (missed because they sucked, not because we did) we wormed our way into Jeff's college bar. On our way down, he'd called again, wanting to know where I was going. Not interested, told him that I was in a mood and really not bringing the party. Hung up thinking it was over. Suuuure it was. Its never over with him.
Long story short, we rendezvous-ed with the Scotsman and then set off for the party. My mood had improved drastically, only to be brought crashing back down by uppity porters and mismanaged plans. Fine, we did manage to round things up, and finally turned the corner to meet our guide for the evening. Only she wasn't alone. And he was there, and my anger finally had somewhere to go, and man it went. Needless to say, having a fit on Longwall Street was not how I'd planned to release my stress, but it felt so good. And DPG was an angel about it, especially since I later found out that my combined anger, fast talking and accent had made me so difficult to understand that she had thought I was angry with her!
Long story short, we managed to get inside, and all was well. My anger subsided somewhat, aided by the longest and best hug ever from the Scotsman. I love that guy so so much. I was a little miffed by his constant staring, and the constant hitting on anything with two legs and tits, and finally miffed by his friendly hands (not that friendly, but friendlier than I would have liked) every time we were standing next to each other. And when the party lights came up, we stumbled out into the night, promised free drinks at another locale, and off we went, singing Barrett's Privateers past the Rad Cam, and generally feeling pretty damn good about things.
Then Scotsman appeared with a bottle of whiskey, and we knew better than to ask where he'd gotten it. My Crazy friend was hitting on yet another girl, and DPG and I were plotting our escape. Five minutes, sure, okay I gave her five minutes. And he overheard, coming over, and so sarcastic, asking if he could have five. I replied seriously that yes, he could. But he didn't want five, now he wanted two. Again, I said he could have two if he'd like. He half turned away then back again, intent, and pulled me over to the centre of the quad. I checked my watch, four minutes. The details of the conversation were gone as they happened, basically some implication from his side that there was something going on between us, that something lingered. I raised my eyebrows, no there wasn't, he had to sort himself out, especially since all night he'd been making sure I noticed him picking up other girls. He denied. I insisted he sort himself out. Then, shock, he tries to kiss me! No joke! The Russian and thoughts of the previous evening immediately spring to my mind, and I jerked backwards. Explaining. No, I can't do that. Why not? Oh, because there is something on the go at the moment, which isn't something really yet, but might be, and as such I wasn't' going to kiss him. Fine. Oh but it wasn't over.
Its never over with him. And so we leave, and as I'm rushing out to rescue/pull DPG on my way, I run into Scotsman, having disappeared with his bottle a little while earlier. Unfortunately, as I am kissing him on the cheek goodnight, he goes to do the same, and we drunkenly mis-kiss. Pulling back and laughing, I look up to see the Crazy guy walking right by. Crap. He now somehow thinks that I am non-dating the Scotsman. Well, I figured that it was probably the best outcome of the night, that maybe he'd bugger off if he thought that was going on. But it wasn't over.
Its really never over with him. The reason I haven't had a word from him all weekend is only because he's been out of town. I get home about half an hour later, and my phone beeps. "Want to go for a canoe ride" I am befuddled. "No thanks muffin" and again, beeps, immediately, likely he is sitting on a park bench somewhere with Captain and Random Friend, having a giggle. "Dave Semenko" What an old-time NHL enforcer has to do with anything is beyond me. But then he rang, so I had the opportunity to ask. Oh nothing. Oh. Do you want to go for a canoe ride? Again, no thanks, I'm actually going to bed. Ah, you're home then. Yeah, I'm home, we left you about half an hour ago, goodnight sweetie, have fun this weekend, I'll talk to you later. Pointedly hang up. Oh then it was over. Finally. And I took myself to bed. But I'll bet you its still not over.
And now I suppose is as good a time as any to recall Saturday night. Saturday night? Friday night... I can't even recall what happened when anymore. But the recall is Friday. Right. And I'd had a rotten day. Rotten rotten terrible mood, worse than I can recall... in fact, I have no recollection of ever being more upset and angry, oh for good reasons, but angry nonetheless, undirected anger. So he's crazy right, and after Thursday I was sure I had played myself out of the game, but in fact I was swept right back in, he wanting to know what I was up to. And whether he could come along. And after two missed opportunities (missed because they sucked, not because we did) we wormed our way into Jeff's college bar. On our way down, he'd called again, wanting to know where I was going. Not interested, told him that I was in a mood and really not bringing the party. Hung up thinking it was over. Suuuure it was. Its never over with him.
Long story short, we rendezvous-ed with the Scotsman and then set off for the party. My mood had improved drastically, only to be brought crashing back down by uppity porters and mismanaged plans. Fine, we did manage to round things up, and finally turned the corner to meet our guide for the evening. Only she wasn't alone. And he was there, and my anger finally had somewhere to go, and man it went. Needless to say, having a fit on Longwall Street was not how I'd planned to release my stress, but it felt so good. And DPG was an angel about it, especially since I later found out that my combined anger, fast talking and accent had made me so difficult to understand that she had thought I was angry with her!
Long story short, we managed to get inside, and all was well. My anger subsided somewhat, aided by the longest and best hug ever from the Scotsman. I love that guy so so much. I was a little miffed by his constant staring, and the constant hitting on anything with two legs and tits, and finally miffed by his friendly hands (not that friendly, but friendlier than I would have liked) every time we were standing next to each other. And when the party lights came up, we stumbled out into the night, promised free drinks at another locale, and off we went, singing Barrett's Privateers past the Rad Cam, and generally feeling pretty damn good about things.
Then Scotsman appeared with a bottle of whiskey, and we knew better than to ask where he'd gotten it. My Crazy friend was hitting on yet another girl, and DPG and I were plotting our escape. Five minutes, sure, okay I gave her five minutes. And he overheard, coming over, and so sarcastic, asking if he could have five. I replied seriously that yes, he could. But he didn't want five, now he wanted two. Again, I said he could have two if he'd like. He half turned away then back again, intent, and pulled me over to the centre of the quad. I checked my watch, four minutes. The details of the conversation were gone as they happened, basically some implication from his side that there was something going on between us, that something lingered. I raised my eyebrows, no there wasn't, he had to sort himself out, especially since all night he'd been making sure I noticed him picking up other girls. He denied. I insisted he sort himself out. Then, shock, he tries to kiss me! No joke! The Russian and thoughts of the previous evening immediately spring to my mind, and I jerked backwards. Explaining. No, I can't do that. Why not? Oh, because there is something on the go at the moment, which isn't something really yet, but might be, and as such I wasn't' going to kiss him. Fine. Oh but it wasn't over.
Its never over with him. And so we leave, and as I'm rushing out to rescue/pull DPG on my way, I run into Scotsman, having disappeared with his bottle a little while earlier. Unfortunately, as I am kissing him on the cheek goodnight, he goes to do the same, and we drunkenly mis-kiss. Pulling back and laughing, I look up to see the Crazy guy walking right by. Crap. He now somehow thinks that I am non-dating the Scotsman. Well, I figured that it was probably the best outcome of the night, that maybe he'd bugger off if he thought that was going on. But it wasn't over.
Its really never over with him. The reason I haven't had a word from him all weekend is only because he's been out of town. I get home about half an hour later, and my phone beeps. "Want to go for a canoe ride" I am befuddled. "No thanks muffin" and again, beeps, immediately, likely he is sitting on a park bench somewhere with Captain and Random Friend, having a giggle. "Dave Semenko" What an old-time NHL enforcer has to do with anything is beyond me. But then he rang, so I had the opportunity to ask. Oh nothing. Oh. Do you want to go for a canoe ride? Again, no thanks, I'm actually going to bed. Ah, you're home then. Yeah, I'm home, we left you about half an hour ago, goodnight sweetie, have fun this weekend, I'll talk to you later. Pointedly hang up. Oh then it was over. Finally. And I took myself to bed. But I'll bet you its still not over.
posted by Care | 10:57 PM
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