Don’t call me. He says. I’ll call you.

Thump! You can actually hear the sound of my heart landing on the floor.

He fixes it by saying: I mean–I will call you. I want to.

He calls up on Sunday: Want to go for a walk?

I’m annoyed that we didn’t go out on Saturday evening, but feel better that he calls on Sunday. I agree.

He comes over and brings white tulips. I like that he brings flowers. I give him a nice kiss hello. We go outside and start to walk. We walk down the street. I start to talk. It’s the only time I’ve spent with him the entire weekend.

We walk.

We talk. (Maybe I’m doing all the talking).

We walk to the other end of town.

We walk back.

He nudges me past the sidewalks to my house. More walking? I ask. He chuckles and we walk past a few houses that’s he’s thought about buying and we talk about real estate for a bit. I theorize that one recently bought house has renters. That’s why there are so many cars parked out front. Looks like my house I laugh. I often have four or five cars parked outside of mine. The only way a single person can buy a house in this town is to buy one and share it.

We walk past another house where a young couple is moving in. I stop and ask if they are new home owners. No. No. They say. We are renting. Welcome to the neighbourhood I say.

We continue walking.

We walk around the corner and cross Powell Street.

He looks up at the stars. It’s a beautiful night.

We walk up around the school.

So. What did you do today? I guess I’m running out of things to talk about.

Laundry. Then I did some ironing. I laugh and tell him he gets points for ironing. He’s the only person I know in the 21st Century who irons.

We start walking back to my house again.

So. He says. Three-and-a-half months.

Three-and-a-half months I repeat–feeling a tiny bit hopeful that he’s actually counted.

Three-and-a-half months he says. I’ve been thinking about that lately.

Hmm…My heart starts to sink. What have you been thinking?

I’ve just been thinking.

About what? I prompt. What about three-and-a-half months?

About how I feel.

Thump! That’s the sound of my heart hitting the pavement.

How do you feel? I venture.

I–uh–haven’t been feeling like a boyfriend.

Oh. DUH! I think. I haven’t exactly been feeling like a girlfriend. Well. I say. Why is that do you think?

I–uh–just don’t have those feelings for you.

Great. After the hour-and-a-half walk and trivial patter, we are finally talking about what needs to be talked about.

And after everything you did on Valentine’s Day, I realized that you are for real. That this is real for you. And I don’t want you to waste your time.

My heart is somewhere on the pavement–probably scurrying under a rock. I note the house where we are so I can come and collect it later–if I can find it.

Well. I say. Thank you for being honest. Thanks for actually telling me.

I’m sorry he says. I can hear some pain in his voice. I know how painful it is to be honest.

I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. And I’d still like to be your friend.

Friends? I question with a bit of disbelief. I’m hurting and the sushi raw feelings are welling up. My heart is already on the ground somewhere back in front of that house. Friends? Well. I say. Well. I guess you can’t have everything.

So this is it? You’re breaking up with me? I just want to clarify the situation.

Yes. He sighs. I guess. I’m really sorry.

You are going away for two weeks at Christmas. You ask if he wants your parent’s number, in case he might want to call. He says it’s only two weeks.

He doesn’t have your number, so he doesn’t call you on Christmas Day to wish you Happy Christmas.

He takes you out to San Francisco for the entire day, and you walk around looking at stuff and talking and getting used to each other after the two-week break and you’re just happy to see him and you want to hold his hand and touch his face and he tells you later that he doesn’t do public displays of affection.

You have to ask if you’re invited to Tahoe for SuperBowl weekend.

You don’t win the random points-ratio-square for the SuperBowl game thing.

When he brings you flowers a week before Valentine’s Day, he says he doesn’t really do Valentine’s Day.

He makes plans for the weekend and doesn’t invite you. And if he does invite you, you sense it’s more out of duty than desire.

You don’t have pictures of the two of you doing anything together. You realize you don’t do much together.

You don’t really feel part of his life–let alone invited into it.

He doesn’t really tell his parents he has a girlfriend. His brother does.

He tells you he doesn’t have those feelings for you and he just wants to be your friend.

And you wish he’d told you that before you went to all the effort to embarrass him and make him feel special on Valentine’s Day.

Fool.

He might like you.
You might like him.

He might like to kiss you.
You might like to kiss him.

He might ask you to be his girlfriend.
After some reflective thought and careful consideration, you might say you would be his girlfriend.
You might like that he asked you to be his girlfriend and didn’t just assume you were.

He might call you to talk about your day.
You might like that he talked a bit more about his day, but mainly you’re happy he called to ask you about yours.

He might bring you flowers because you say you like flowers.
He might invite you to meet his friends.
You might want to introduce him to your real friends, but you’re not quite sure why he’s your boyfriend.

He might pick you up at the airport after you’ve been away for two weeks at Christmas and spend the day with you in San Francisco.
You really like that he picked you up at the airport after you’d been away for Christmas.
You might like that he spent the day with you in San Francisco.

He might mention that he’s thinking of going to Tahoe for SuperBowl weekend because that’s when he normally goes–with his friend from college–and there’s really nobody on the slopes on SuperBowl weekend. And you ask if you’re invited. And he says sure. So you plan to go to Tahoe to go snowboarding. And it’s kind of exciting because it’s your first sort-of weekend away with somebody who resembles a boyfriend.

You might not to get to go snowboarding at Tahoe on SuperBowl weekend because a snowstorm closed all the roads, but you do get to spend a concentrated period-of-time together in a car driving to and from Sacramento. And you get to talk the whole time and you start to feel more like your regular Princess Donkey self. And you just start to feel slightly comfortable with the person who resembles a boyfriend. And you get to go out to a SuperBowl party with some of his friends at one of the boss’s houses.

And he might buy you some sort of random points-ratio-square for the SuperBowl game.
And you might win the random points-ratio-square for the SuperBowl game thing.

He might bring you flowers a week before Valentine’s Day.
He might finally tell his parents he has a girlfriend.

You might want to do something for him on Valentine’s Day. Something you’ve never done for anyone before–especially on Valentine’s Day. You might want to do something that would slightly embarrass him, but make him feel special at the same time. You might arrange access to his office and decorate it with silly hearts and valentine streamers and confetti and candy–just to make a statement.

He IMs me at 4h30 pm:

How’s your day going?

Ok. Better now

Can you hang out tonight?

um sure.. What were you thinking?

Maybe I can get my friend Dave to cook.

Really? How do you do that?

Special talent #143.

Just a sec.

I work in another window finishing up my work items for the week.

Um… How about a movie? I am Legend?

What happened to your special talent?

It’s not working tonight. So…movie? Sebastopol? 6h40? or 7h20?

I calculate. 6h40 gives me almost two hours to finish what I’m working on and arrive at the cinema. Backwards calculate.

6h40 – 20 minutes (time to get to the cinema) = 6h20

It’s 4h40 now. That’s one hour and forty minutes to finish and freshen.

He IMs again:

We’ll meet my friends J- and girlfriend S- there.

Panic.

Breathe.

THAT IS NOT enough time to finish and freshen. Meet his friends!!! He tells me this at 4h40 on a Friday afternoon? What is he thinking?? Why can’t he mention it the day before. I need time. I need to prepare.

Breathe.

I type:

How about the 7h20?

That would let me finish my weekly workload. (I’m mentally calculating the time it’s going to take me to prepare).

Let me check. brb

OK. 7h20. At Sebastopol Cinemas.

Where’s that?

I wait.

He pastes an address in the chat window.

Two clicks I have directions from Google maps.

That was fast.

Special talent #153

OK. 7h20. I’ll see you there.

4h55. I have until 7h00 to prepare to MEET HIS FRIENDS. I’ve only known him just over a month. We’re trying to figure out where we are and what we are doing. BUT—I’m apparently meeting his friends tonight. NO PRESSURE THERE.

I’m wearing bland and frumpy things today—my favourite, comfortable brown corduroy jacket, my retro CBC T-shirt, and my extra-wide and extra comfy clown-like shoes from REI. I DO NOT FEEL special enough to be meeting his friends. Think—I tell myself. Think.

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I finish my work (and what I don’t finish, I’ll finish from home on Sunday). I run out to the parking lot. I approach my Honda but it doesn’t respond to my remote. What’s wrong? I get to the car and have to open the door with the key. UGH. I’ve left my lights on all day.

Run back to the building, but I’m on a contract, my key has limited access. I can’t get back into the building after 5h00 pm. I walk along the windows on the ground floor. Maybe somebody is still at their desk AND I’ll be lucky enough that they have booster cables.

No such luck. Everybody’s gone home. I feel like I have a huge neon L floating above my head. I walk back to my car, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t know where my head is lately. I’ve also forgotten my cell phone at home today. Or—put it in a cupboard or something—and couldn’t find it on the way out the door this morning.

Now–I can’t help myself. I’m laughing at my misfortunes and I find my right hand stuck in the shape of an L on my forehead. That three-dimensional L: Forefinger pointing upwards with the thumb perpendicular and the middle finger thrust forward so together they resemble an X-Y-Z axis. God, I’m such a loser sometimes.

A woman comes out the side door and walks towards a large white YUKON truck. Ah—I think. She has a truck. She must have booster cables.

Excuse me. Do you think you could give me a boost?

She looks a little unsure, but nods her head. Yeah. I have cables. I’ve never used them before though.

That’s OK. I sigh. I have. I have done this a lot. (Not recently mind you—but when I had my original Honda. They didn’t have the audible warnings on the base 1988 model and I was continually forgetting the lights). I was obviously so preoccupied this morning that I just tuned out the Ding! Ding! Ding! indicator that my lights were still on.

She retrieves the cables from a bag in the back of the truck. We decide it’s best if she pull facing my car. I pop my hood.

Just to be sure about the cables, I read the instructions. I figure you can’t go wrong with that. Except now– everybody has an opinion. A pickup pulls into the parking lot.

Do you need some help? They ask. Turns out to be friends of the lady in the YUKON. Just giving her a boost she says. But she’s leary about what to do. We determine she needs to pull closer to my car.

Together, we get my car started. I’m relieved—except—it’s now after 6h00 pm. I still have to find something to wear so I feel presentable and special enough and not frumpy. I speed down to Meryvn’s. I’d just been Christmas shopping the day before so I knew I could find something worthwhile and it wouldn’t take too long.

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Open the driver’s door. Get in. Check the watch. It’s 7h05. Great. 15 minutes to get somewhere 20 minutes away. I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t left my lights on all day, I would have actually been on time.

Get out of the parking lot. I’ll get there when I get there. I’m a good driver. I’m not reckless. I drive fast though—because I don’t really want to be late.

I find exactly where I need to go fairly easily. I’m only five minutes late. He’s waiting for me outside the box office.

I make a mental note to breathe and try to relax. Breathe. He sees me as I’m trying to find a place to park and comes over. He gets in and says…There’s no parking over there—try the street.

Uh. Hi. Sorry I’m late. I left my lights on and had to get a boost.

No prob, he says. We’ll only miss the previews.

We find parking and go in. He finds his friends (in the dark theatre) and we go sit down. He motions me into the aisle first and makesbrief introductions

Hi. I nod and sit down. He’s made me sit between him and his friends.

I’m petrified. And anxious. I’m sitting between him and his friends. I’m glad there’s action on screen and proceed settle down to watch the movie.

Except, I just find myself more and more embarrassed—because I KNOW what I have just done to get myself here five minutes late and that’s all I can think of. HOW LAME IS THAT?

I want to hold on to his arm to calm myself down, but I don’t know if I know him well enough to hold onto his arm in front of his friends. So I just bear down in the seat and sit on my hands. And when the music intensifies and I know something is going to happen, I look up at the ceiling so I’m not looking at the screen—because I am so nervous.

I look up at the ceiling and around at the walls. All around—anywhere but the dark, jerky camera motion on the screen. Then I wonder that his friends will think—what is she looking at? Crazy girl C. She doesn’t watch the movie. She just looks around. I’m not even looking at anything. I’m just trying to calm my anxiety and not watch the tense bits of the movie.

What am I anxious about anyway?

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I comb the racks and find a cute patterned dress. Great. Have to find the accessories now. Shoes. Check. Sweater. Check. Tights. Check. Good job I know my way around that store. I hurry to an available cashier. He takes his time at the checkout. Do you know if you buy one sweater, you can get two for free?

No. I say. It’s OK. I don’t have time to look for two more sweaters.

You sure? This promotion is only on today. You could get two more sweaters and not pay any more.

I can’t think that fast. I tell him. I’m—uh–on a bit of a timeline.

He proceeds to try to convince me to buy two more sweaters. And takes all the time in the world to ring up my purchases.

Whatever. Just ring it up already. I sigh. I glance at my watch. 6h40. Good job I asked for the 7h20 movie.

I grab my purchases and dash out of the store. What do I do with my face and hair. UGH. Miss Frumpy. Doesn’t matter that I’d found a cute little dress in record time.

I decide to go into the Safeway beside Mervyn’s. There’s got to be something I can use there. I buy a travel pack of PONDS face wipes, some deodorant, hair gel, and a brush. BACK TO MY CAR!

What do I do now? It’s almost 7h00 and I don’t have time to change anywhere. I get in the passenger side and start pulling off the frumpy clothes. Quick freshen up with the PONDS face pack. Pull the tags off the new clothes and wriggle. It’s not easy to change in the passenger seat of a Honda Civic…in a parking lot…in the dark.

All the while—I am getting more and more anxious. I briefly consider calling from a pay phone or borrowing somebody’s cell just to cancel. I’m NOT READY TO MEET YOUR FRIENDS. I want to say. I’m NOT READY FOR THIS. It’s a lot of pressure—AND I’m trying to get presentable…in the passenger seat of my car…in a parking lot…in the dark. I start to hyperventilate.

I take a deep breath. I take a few more. This is as good as it’s going to get, I think. I finish pulling up the tights and put on the new shoes.

I try to do something with my hair—I brush it out and add a few dollops of gel to the sides.

I have no idea how I look. I’ve just changed into a brand-new outfit in the front passenger seat of my car. There is no full-length mirror in the front passenger seat of my car.

I take a few more deep breaths.

I get out of the passenger side and walk around to the driver’s side.

Breathe.
Compose myself.
Breathe.

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