"You're really hard not to like"

Something I never understood. It stuck with me from then until now and bothered me for the whole time.

Understandably, there were only three options. Women are women are women.

But I thought I would have had a little support.

Why did no one take up my flag?

Did no one say, "Are you an idiot? He's a great guy. You'd be stupid to look somewhere else."

But I guess there were only three options. They either didn't think that I was any good for you, or they just wanted to be supportive and couldn't tell you what they thought, or they didn't include me in the equation at all.

My friends said everything under the sun; one extreme to the next.

But yours.

What did they say?

Women tend to be supportive, above all else. Decision made, words reinforce.

I can hear it now, "Do what makes you happy. If you are not sure, you should figure it out. etc, etc, etc."

The more I wait, the more I realize something that was clear to me before, but became obscured as time went on.

I am a pretty good person. I have my faults, but on a whole I am worth it. I would make you happy, if you would let me. If the world would let me.

But this isn't about me, which is something none of your friends may have said. I am not the one failing here.

I am just a boy. A boy who tries, everyday, to be better and to take the high road and treat people with kindness and respect. A boy who would make a good husband, a great father and an eternal friend. Someone who is smart, funny, loyal and strong.

Which is how I sit. I am not going to devolve. This is who I am and I am only going to get better, not worse.

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."

Memories Pt. 37

summer, with you not there

Years ago, you went somewhere. As much as I try I can't remember where. You were gone, away from the city. You were still living with your mother, but she was gone too, that much I remember. Everything else is foggy and dark. You had left me, but I had instructions, that much is clear.

I was tasked with stopping in to take care of your cats. I had keys and a need to do what was right; what was agreed and good. Duty.

You were specific that time. You wanted me to stay for a while and give them love. Sure, I could watch cable. Sure, I could make dinner and eat the food. Sure, I could even sleep in your bed if I wanted. I just had to be there for the cats, first and foremost.

I am not sure you told your Mom or her husband that I would have the run of their house. But I had keys and instructions and a purpose.

I kept coming back, mostly late in the evening, after driving back from Oakville. Once with a pizza; once I made dinner, burritos, if I remember. I lay on your bed, eating my food and watching your cable.

Tubby stayed near. Chester roamed as he always does, but checked in every once in a while. And I watched the food network until I started nodding off. Restaurant make-over and iron chef until I started falling asleep on your comfortable bed, in that basement where I never fit.

I felt so near you even though you were far away. I felt like a caretaker of your life; and your Mom's. I was doing good work, necessary work. I was doing my duty. I was your boyfriend.

These memories came flooding back tonight. You see, I was tasked with a similar duty and I struck out to complete it with diligence. Keys were given and I rode hard to to put them in locks. I had to take care of some cats. I couldn't stay as long as I did before, not tonight, but I gave as much as I could.

You used to call me daddy when you talked to your cats. You joked about my love affair with Tubby. How she loved me but hated me a little, or was jealous of you, not sure. Even for a cat, she was high needs. Daddy's little girl, I guess.

Chester has always been his own cat. Fine alone, but making lots of friends, he was playful and warm to everyone. Not so much to me, but we had an understanding. An agreement to make things work for you and tubs. A gentleman's bond. Man to man.

But tonight was different. Alone, I was there taking care of someone else's cats and I couldn't help but think of you. I wanted you to be there. I wanted you to sneak up behind me and startle me with a kiss before jumping up and holding on as I piggy backed you around the room

Duty called, but I wanted you.

Close and there, enjoying our little family.

All to the amusement of the cats.

Cause you know its a simple game that you play...

At night, in the shallow breaths of the dying summer, I sit and think, awake and alive.

Summer is for lovers. That is clear.

It should be bicycles and blankets; picnics and patios; beaches and barbeques, the memories kept and savoured.

Savoured with kisses and cuddles, under fireworks and in parks, the darkness a friend, a quilt to keep out the world.

But the sunlight, those bright and sunny days, shines down and illuminates you. It brightens those things I already know. Those forms. Your beauty; your being. You glow at night and in dusk, no doubt, but under the bright sun of day, you radiate. You are alive, more so than any other time of day. You are like the moon, a daytime moon, reflecting the sun's light down on me.

And I bask.

I live in the glow of you. The sunlight and the love, they are my food. I look for them. I look for them to help me get through the day.

And without, I am less.

I struggle to smile, I struggle to laugh.

All of those things that I want to do, I can't. Not without the glow, the light.

You have that effect on me.

Yes, you sustain me.

And I am tired without.