It was 9am, practically lunch-time for my biological clock, as I turned onto Parc Avenue. This was during the period of my life when passing out at 9 and waking up at 4 was the norm thanks to all the prescription drugs I was on. I knew my favourite tea spot wasn't open yet so I headed next door to El Mundo in the McGill Ghetto. A nice enough place to get in one's morning thoughts in writing. A typical WASP family was sitting in the corner as I entered. The daughter wanted a bagel or something. In front of me in the queue was a brunette, her hair in a 'just-right-amount-of-messy' bun, she wore a short black dress, enclosed brown wedges, and cute floral top. She turned around and gave me a petite smile. When a girl smiles at you, you have to ask them out right?
"What would you like?" asked the barista.
"Ugh," I stammered as I snapped back to reality. "I'll take the breakfast burrito and..." I glanced at the drinks menu."A mango, rooibos iced tea." Don't ask me why I ordered that. I took out my wallet.
"Credit," I added and finished the economic transaction.
I sat down and turned on my laptop. I took a quick peek. She had her laptop open, and was fiddling with her phone. I wrote a quick character description in my new, script-wriitng software for future projects, because apparently I do that nowadays.
"She looks like a Katie," I thought to myself as I tapped furiously away on my keyboard. I glanced up again. The owner of the cafe, a bald man in his late 30s, who looked like he wore eyeliner, put his hands on her shoulder.
"Typical," I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes.
The owner left only to return later, with what I assumed to be a complimentary drink. Eventually he went to check on his other shop next door, but not before sharing a clearly audible laugh. She put her Apple earbuds in as she started Skyping someone on her phone. At this point I was a total creep, so why not eavesdrop? It wasn't English that was all I knew. Some weird Dutch or German dialect. I was leaning towards Dutch, but she was kind of short for a Dutch person. Was I being stereotypical? I was going to ask her out, right? I stared back at my laptop, and decided to be productive and work on the last part of my hospital blog(http://bit.ly/1k4I5jp).
After finishing the conclusion, I decided to man up and talk to her, but not after running to the washroom for a 1-on-1 pep talk.
"Hey sorry to disturb you, but are you doing anything this afternoon?" I inquired. I must have looked rather nervous because it immediately began to rub off on her.
"Um, I have to finish this essay and catch a bus at 3:30," she replied.
"What about 1:00 then."
"Why not?"
"Do you like pies."
"Sure."
She gave me a goofy smile. She had cute, slightly crooked teeth.
"Awesome, should we meet here?"
"Yep, yep."
I left with my heart pounding a little quicker than usual.
After my detour to the urology clinic, I hurried home, showered and then took the 12:30 bus to Parc Avenue and Sherbrooke. Walking past Papeterie Nota Bene, I glanced at my watch. I was 10 minutes early for our rendez-vous. I decided to check out the type-writers in the store; after all, I didn't want to look desperate for our first outing. I left the store with some rudimentary knowledge of refurbished type-writers and their price range -- 2 to 3 bills. I arrived at El Mundo on the hour. I made a bee-line for her table and sat right opposite her.
"How's the essay?" I asked.
"Finished!" she replied excitedly
"Ready?" I asked.
"Oh, um do you want to go to this pool with Alex and I."
Alex, as I soon found out was the owner who was flirting with her from earlier.
"My life is really spontaneous," she remarked.
"That's cool." I tried my best not to sound completely disappointed. She packed away her stuff in a backpack, and put on a cream coloured fedora that was a tad too small for her head. I told her I was going to Amsterdam in August, if my docs gave me a clean bill of health.
"Right, on!" she exclaimed.
"Add me on Facebook, so I can send you stuff to do." She handed me her smartphone.
A random, Dutch pop-up appeared on the screen.
"Sorry I don't know how to use an iPhone," I apologized as I turned the screen towards her.
"Oh really, you should get one," she beemed at me. "It'll go away in a second."
The pop-up disappeared and I typed my name into her facebook app and handed it back to her. Just as we got up, Alex came out of the back room and Krystal introduced me to him. I told him that I often frequent his fine establishments.
"Sorry, I only remember the girls." Alex shrugged. Sexist? We exited El Mundo and got into his Audi SUV parked on the corner. We drove up Parc Avenue and down one of many nice streets in Outremont. Alex explained the area to her: rich, french-canadians and orthodox jews, second only to Westmount. We parked at the back of his flat which was directly opposite the pool.
Alex handed the girl at the pool counter a bubble tea, payed for us, and led me through the changing rooms.
"I don't have any swim shorts," I confessed.
"No problem." he replied as we entered the pool area.
A sea of pre-pubescent kids greeted us. Krystal and Alex unfolded two beach towels, and we sat down on the concrete floor. Alex began recanting his life story-- immigrating to Canada 12 years ago and eventually starting his own business .We eventually transitioned to other small talk. After about an hour, Krystal was bored and Alex suggested we head over to his place.
"Krystal, you want to go to my apartment?" Alex asked.
"Where is it?" she asked.
"Just there," he pointed at the line of flats across the street.
"Oh wow. Sounds good."
We got our stuff, headed out of the pool, crossed the street and made our way up the stairs. Alex showed us around his apartment. It was pretty sweet for a bachelor pad. His kitchen was next level, but he doesn't cook (which is fucked up). We sat on his balcony over-looking the park.
He opened two stellas and asked if I wanted one; I declined.
"I have to eat fresh, food. No fat. No processed things," he explained as we took in the view of the park.
"Well dutch people eat chocolate with bread everyday," I jested at Krystal.
Krystal laughed.
"And they never get fat." I added in disbelief.
As the day dragged on I realized she was kind of ditzy, but in a good way. Simple-minded, determined, yet care-free just like some-one I knew from back home. She had the travel bug-- the itching to burn down the open-road to wherever life took her next. But she was still caught up in societal expectations, she also wanted the nice things: a nice flat, a car, the comfortable life. She was attached and she didn't know it yet. That used to get me; that used to BE me. I wanted to join Kerouac and Neal Cassady on the road, finding yourself out there. But I was naive and foolish, it's only a facilitator, it isn't "it". "It" comes from within, to find it you have to know yourself; be comfortable with yourself.
It was 3:00, and Krystal had a Megabus to catch. On the way back I suggested we stop at TA Pies so Krystal could get something for the road, but mainly because I was starved. It was a small, quaint little store that sold both pre-heated and frozen pies from down-under plus an assortment of other goodies. Alex turned the corner onto Parc.
"It's right here," I said, pointing out the window. We stopped abruptly in front of the shop.
"Alex, do you want me to get you anything?"
He shook his head and we got out. We were in and out in a jiffy. Two pies, salad, mushy peas, a can of V8, and a diet coke between us.
We got back into the car and we were off. Alex drove for about 4 minutes before he made a wrong term onto a one-way street. Alex swore.
"Oh no worries, we can just get off here," I suggested.
Krystal nodded in agreement.
"Sure?" Alex asked Krystal.
"Yeah," she replied.
Alex reluctantly unlocked the doors.
"Thanks so much, Alex," we chorused as we stepped out of the car.
We waved him goodbye as he did a sharp right turn and sped away.
Krystal stopped to reorganize her backpacks. I took out my pie-- it was more a quiche in disguise to be honest-- eggs, tomotoes and spinach.
"So what are your plans for the rest of the summer?" I asked as she finished
"My sister is visiting the beginning of August."
"That'll be awesome." I remarked as we walked down St. Antoine.
I was munching away on my vegge pie; destroying it actually. I tried the mushy peas- mediocre at best. As we neared the entrance of the bus, she thanked me for accompanying her. I told her if her sister and her decided to visit Montreal in August, they were more than welcome to crash at my place for a couple nights. She agreed, smiled at me, and we parted ways. I didn't know if I was going to see her again, but this is life with no regrets.
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