Remembering a Saturday

It feels like yesterday. I can still feel the warm late spring wind blowing in my face, with fatigue starting to take hold of my body, as I was biking back to Parc Laurier, where we were supposed to meet. With every minute that passed, I grew more and more anxious and started cursing my own inability to bike faster. After all, it had been almost one hour since we were supposed to meet. I turned right on Laurier Ave, hoping that it would be a shortcut, but not knowing that it would eventually prolong the trip as the street took on a zigzagging path, with hilly ways that seemed to be plotting together to slow me down.

When finally the bike ‘ordeal’ came to an end, I carelessly locked my bike to the first pole I saw and raced towards the soccer field. Not again, I thought to myself, would I be so cheap as to prefer to bike than to pay $4 to catch public transport. I seriously overestimated my fitness that day and as I would soon find out, it would cost me very dearly.

I saw Eric and some of the French girls at the soccer field, went over and said hello. My eyes wandered from left to right and then right to left. There was no you. Maybe you went to sit down under the tree or something, away from them. I know you aren’t the social butterfly type, especially around people you hardly know. I excused myself to find a public telephone, which happened to be on the other side of the park. Really, everything seemed to be so out of reach that afternoon. I dialled your phone number and grew more desperate as your phone kept ringing, unanswered. Then your recorded voice came on the line. “Bonjour, vous êtes bien chez Emmanuel, laissez votre message and je vous appelerai.” or something to that effect. I love your voice there. You sound so warm and welcoming. But at that moment, it was the last thing I wanted to hear. With a heavy heart, I left you a message, letting you know that I would be going home and if you wanted, we could meet there instead.

I could have looked for you around the park once more and then tried to call again, but you know what, I was exhausted and I had no more coins. So I went home and as soon as I got there, reached for the phone and dialled your number again.

This time, you answered the phone. You sounded so different from your recorded voice. You sounded so.. cold and distant. You already left the park and were on your way home, which at the time, was far, far away from where I lived. My hope of seeing you again that day was dashed. “Sorry Karina, I’m very tired. I’m going home and rest.” Reluctantly, almost to the point of wanting to scream, “No! You can’t do that to me! You were supposed to wait for me!”, I hung up. I went to my room, put my overexercised feet on the desk and was suddenly enveloped by an overwhelming need to cry. What a shitty Saturday afternoon. And I sobbed, and sobbed, not knowing what I was really sobbing for.

I heard the door open and the sound of my roommate’s rollerblades filled the apartment. I spent the rest of the early evening with my roommate, talking and watching hockey on TV. It was during the Stanley Cup and of course, the Canadiens were playing, but I really can’t remember now who they were playing against. I cared very little about hockey then. After awhile, I was so tired that I fell asleep right there and only woke up when my roommate – the same one – came back into the apartment clutching his poutine dinner. I didn’t even hear him go out!

Feeling a little better, I turned on my laptop. You were online and you said hello. I wasn’t sure what to say, but you started apologizing for not waiting for me earlier. You said you were really feeling unwell, but “that’s not an excuse. I should’ve waited for you. I’m sorry Karina.” You asked me what I was doing. I said I was just semi-watching hockey on TV, but really, I said half-jokingly, I’d rather be hanging out in the suburbs tonight. I was referring to Riviere-des-Prairies, of course, your little quiet suburb. To my surprise, yes back then I wasn’t really good at reading what you were really thinking, you invited me to come over. I looked at the clock. It was almost 8.30pm. I said I wasn’t really sure which bus to take and even if I did, I didn’t know where to get off! You quickly gave me the directions, which confused the hell out of me.

When I got home that afternoon, I really did not imagine that I would be doing another long trip. And yet, there I was, waiting for the metro to take me to almost the end of the orange line, to where I would catch a bus that would take me to almost the end of the island. It was madness from my part. To think that at the time, I always told you stubbornly, “I just want us to be friends.”

I brought my iPod and a book. Still, the ride seemed to outlast the two put together. The whole trip was new to me though, so from that point of view, it wasn’t that horribly boring, though the rain outside made the bus windows foggy and I had to wipe the one next to me now and then so I could stay on top of your directions. God forbid I should miss my stop that night. It was raining, I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t have a mobile phone.

I virtually ran as soon as I got out of the humid bus. It was after 10pm then and it was getting cold. As soon as I saw you standing there outside your apartment, though, I said to myself, "it's going to be alright."