Memories Pt. 38

birthdays

I am not sure when he said it. I don't even think I was there when he did. I just learned about it from you. It was one of those things that you couldn't wait to share with me. One of those moments that you wished I had experienced with you.

He called it 'happy cake'. It was just one of those things that kids do. They make up names for things. Not sure if it came form happy birthday and birthday cake, but it stuck. From then on we always called it happy cake.

It was one of the many additions to our own language.

But those words are disappearing, like many of things between us. I remember the last happy cake I made you. You said it was the best cake you ever had. You said that about a lot of things I did for you. The best you'd ever had. Mostly food, but other things as well.

But that has all gone. And with its departure there is a hole. I miss the little guy who coined the term. His affection was real. But I miss other things as well. A lot of them were dreams and fantasies, but they all add up to a gaping void. A giant black pit somewhere between my heart and my stomach. A hole that I don't seem to be able to fill.

It is almost like an itch you can't scratch as it is just out of reach.

Not pain, although it has a corona of pain, but a loss so profound it overwhelms me sometimes. A deep dark void where something golden used to be.

A hole in my life perfectly shaped like you.

Just parted from friends, I turned the corner, heading for the subway. A narrow sidewalk faced me, cluttered with lebanese food, fresh fruit, lights and noise.

A girl caught my eye. Dead centre of the concrete, where I had to travel. Tall and slim, but carrying an oversized knapsack, and a cloth satchel, in that hippy way. She pondered the fruit.

Getting closer. Sizing her up, after a few drinks, I thought of asking her if I could help bear some of her burden. Take one of the bags and walk her home.

Even closer. Intent on her fruit, I aimed to pass her by. Maybe smile, say hello.

Closer still. She turned her head, strange man approaching wouldn't you. I couldn't break me stare before our eyes met, just before I passed her by.

Passing her by, she turned to follow me with her eyes. Now she was staring and there was something familiar. Something I knew.

'Peter?'

I stopped.

'Peter, right?'

I turned.

'I can't believe I am right off the bus and I run into someone I know.'

How have you been, I mumble, how is your sister?

'She is fine. She got married in 2001 and lives in Kingston. Have you lived here long?'

About ten years.

'Wow, that's crazy I bumped into you. I am famished. Just here for a couple a days for a wedding. Just got off a plane from Halifax. I am waiting for a bus.'

It had already come to me. I knew this woman. It had been almost twenty years, but I knew her. She was the younger sister of my high school sweetheart. I hadn't seen either in years.

But, I had thought. I had spent hours thinking about, at different times, how it went wrong, how I could apologise, whether I should.

You see, I cheated on her sister. It was a drunken moment of weakness when I was eighteen, but that doesn't forgive it. And it gets worse. I don't think I loved her but I told her I did, a lot. Mostly for selfish, destructive reasons. I was a child, but again, that doesn't excuse it.

I have dwelled on that for a while. I have wondered where she was, looking for signs of her online and through friends. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was for being a boy. A stupid, immature, self centred boy. And I regretted it. It took a while and I grew up, but I regretted it all the same.

"Don't think on it too much. Come across something that don't make you miserable, enjoy it."