So long ago its now fiction

You aren’t supposed to be here. You are supposed to be in Mexico, or at the very least Toronto. You sure as hell are not supposed to be here, on this island, in this city. And even if you came home early due to illness or under duress, there is no way the universe, my universe could have given you permission to wind up here in this bar. This is my carefree girls night out. I came to see a man who would bed be play music. I wanted that jolt of being the girl the guy on stage is singing to. I played it all right; I looked casually hot. I had styled my hair to say “I don’t care” and “aren’t I stylish” simultaneously (this you well know is for me, no small feat).

My belly was full and my step was light as I walked in. The hot air on my cold lenses made them fog on entrance and I immediately took off my glasses and started wiping them on my scarf. My thoughts were those of frustration. Annoyed as I always am that our human technology has come so far but not somehow far enough to overcome this irksome winter ritual.

This thought was my last before the room went away, before my heart spun circles and collapsed in a breathless, pounding heap at the bottom of my stomach. This was my last thought before I looked up and saw you.

I wanted to run. Toward you or away I could not tell so I split the difference and froze on the spot. I think I smiled. I can’t remember. I recall not-so-casually telling you that you were currently in Mexico. A silly thing to say to a man standing in a bar in Montreal. I then prayed to all the gods, goddesses, effigies and saints for someone to interrupt us. I needed an out. I needed to breath, cry, scream. I needed to be looking at anything except your eyes. your lips. Oh god your eyes!

I proceeded to spend the rest of the night speaking to your friend because making small-talk has never been our thing and all the talking that needed to be made between us was big.