The New Sense

Wednesday, May 01, 2002

Twenty minutes after I got to work B— came in while I was in the kitchen. He called me over and whispered in my ear:
"I need to ask you a favour."
"Okay."
"Could I stay at your place tonight? My friend's woman is giving him grief about me sleeping there."
I felt at that moment like my future was neatly divided into two distinct paths: 'With B—' and 'Normal'. Now, as I write this (while he's in the shower) I feel kind of excited, kind of scared, that I didn't choose 'Normal'.
"Sure."
That was all it took. Was I really 'sure'? Hell I was! But what's the point of being young, free and single if you can't say 'sure' when you're not?
B— slumped back down on the barstool. "Oh, thank you so much," he exhaled. "I've been wandering around for an hour and a half, first of all waiting for you to get here, then waiting to have the courage to come in and ask you. The courage never came, just the fear of pneumonia. I'm not really used to this kind of life, you know."
"What kind of life is that?"
"Having no roots. Having nothing to hold onto. I'm just a suburban middle class kid with a…"
I looked at him expectantly. With a what? A stolen car? A kilo of heroin? A venereal disease? (Shit!) But he never finished the sentence and I felt so guilty about not having already offered him a coffee when he asked for one that I didn't press him. Maybe I'll ask him when he gets out of the shower. I think he needs a rest, though.
He drank his coffee and livened up a bit. Olga appeared, coughing curses at the weather. She seemed really happy to see B—. In no time they were chatting about local politics. She told him all about the restaurant licence issue and the fines. He nodded understandingly. He must be the kind of man that old women and mothers-in-law love. A Nice Young Man. Which makes all that weird stuff all the more…oddly appealing. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who acts weird because deep down inside he's very boring, and needs an interesting persona to appeal to the opposite sex (or anyone, for that matter).
I went about my business and the hours went by. It became obvious that B— literally had nowhere to go.
At one point he went to the bathroom and Olga hissed me over.
"It's happened, hasn't it?" she asked with glee.
"The empanada delivery?" I teased.
She frowned. "No — you and that nice young man."
"B—?"
"Yes. You children are perfect for each other. I knew it as soon as I saw him."
(She's not the only one!)
"Well, yes, but don't make a big deal about it."
It's so funny how she calls all her staff and some regular customers her 'children'. It's both annoying and endearing.
Around two she left, and B— was alone at the bar. There were only a couple of people in the place. Not surprising really, for a freezing May Day.
"She's hilarious," he said.
"Oh, she's a one-off, alright."
"Have you been working here long?"
"Just over a year. I had the weekend day shifts while I was at school. She pays well. Pretty much any bartender in town would love to work here."
"Cool. I guess you need to be able to speak French though, eh?"
"Uh-huh. Why?"
"I could do with some extra cash."
"Why did you come here? It's not to take photos, is it?"
"Photos? Oh, no!" he laughed, realising his made-up occupation was so 'not him' that he'd forgotten it himself. "I just needed to get away from Vancouver."
"Okay, but it seems as though you left in a hurry."
"Well, I did. I can't tell you why, though."
"Will you ever tell me?"
"Maybe. It's not easy to understand."
"I'm pretty bright, you know."
He laughed. "Yes, you are. Believe me, it's not a question of being bright."
I decided not to push it. If he wants to tell me his big secret, he'll tell me. And I'll know that I mean something to him.
He's coming out of the shower now…

I'm writing this in the living room, as he sleeps in my bed. He's adorable — like a little boy who's played out in the yard for so long he just collapsed into bed. He was so exhausted I decided to let him sleep while I went out with Polly and Molly. Polly wanted to come back here and sneak a peek at him. Molly for some lame reason arrived late at the Wellington and never quite caught Polly up, so she was relatively subdued. Polly's just a naughty girl. That's what she is. Anyway, B— will need to be firing on all cylinders to cope with a full onslaught from those two.
Suddenly I feel like tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. What a cliché! Might as well be a word. Let's say it's the firstdotromlife. I know what it means, and that's all that matters in a diary.

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posted by Sara