Pro-Tip for Humans #34: True friends are the ones digging you out of that crater you just dug for yourself.
Just so you know, I kinda-sorta chickened out on the whole damn thing. Like big time.
I was doing this weird half-walk that was more like a hesitant run, each step in time with the Foo Fighters blasting in my ears, taking me back down the block, closer to Jaime. The thing that I hadn't considered was that these were three very long blocks, and by the time I reached the end of the first block, the music had already changed. It was the music change that did it for me, going from the hopeful and triumphant sounds of Everlong, and moving to the mocking and sarcastic lyrics of My Own Worst Enemy. My steps became less sure, doubt raising its ugly head and punching me squarely in the nuts as I asked myself what the fuck was I actually doing? All of the bravado I had previously possessed spontaneously said "fuck it" and stumbled away to get drunk with my pride.
By the time I reached the end of the block and taken refuge from the sudden wind that the universe had whipped up just to fuck with me, I had fumbled my phone out and called the one person who could tell me how much of an idiot I was being and save me from myself.
"That's a bit dramatic even for you, don't you think?" Louise said.
"Well, of course, it's dramatic," I muttered, eyeing the clutch of commuters neatly queued at the bus stop. "I'm in crisis here, Louise. That's why I called you."
Louise was my female best friend. Yes, Claude was my main best friend, but while he and I could talk about the fine details and philosophy of Olympic Curling, even if we had no interest in it, and we could even pick up in the middle of conversations after going months without seeing each other, we never actually talked about anything of substance. He knew how to be there for me when there was a problem, but we never discussed the actual problem. That was where Louise came in. Claude could tell me I was a dumbass, Louise was the one who listened to me whine and told me why I was a dumbass. And she did it with a British accent, which made my dumbassery so much more obvious.
Louise was also the one who had introduced me to Jaime. She hadn't meant to, but it was just one of those things that happened. Kinda like how true love can never be denied or something like that. Like fate or whatever.
"Go home, Bob," Louise sighed, in that very British way she had. Even her sigh had an accent.
Jaime chose that moment to walk around the corner, her familiar mop of curls bouncing as she made her way to the bakery, and my heart stopped, an idiot smile spreading across my face as I drank in the euphoria that always came from seeing her.
The telltale white cord leading to her ears indicated that she was listening to her music, maybe even the same song I was listening to. All of my worries seemed to fade as I looked at her, admiring her effortless grace. Watching from a distance, I could properly appreciate how goddamn perfect my ex-girlfriend was.
I never really described Jaime before, so here goes: she was about five-foot-six with the kind of lean muscle lots of girls only wished for and that she made a point of going to the gym regularly to attain. Remember that whole army stint that I mentioned earlier? She had kept up her workout and training routine in the four years since she had left the army, so it was that kind of muscle. She was half-white, half-black, with the kind of indefinable beauty that a lot of people just ended up labelling as exotic, mostly because of the impossibly thick lustrous curls that framed her face. She was dressed in a cautious combination of jeans and wool-coat that probably hid a sweater underneath because like most Torontonians, she knew how to dress in layers, never trusting the weather not to completely fuck her over.
"I just want her to talk to me. Even a hello would be nice. We were together for a year, and now it feels like it meant nothing to her... like I meant nothing to her, you know?"
"Please allow me to counter your eloquent argument with two facts. A. you're whinging. B. the restraining order," Louise insisted passionately since Brits don't actually yell. "She will have you arrested!"
I looked away from Louise in indignation as Jaime entered the Bakery and Coffee Shop.
"I'm not whinging," I whined.
"Definitely sounds like whinging to me," Louise quipped. "You have been watching Rom-Coms again, haven't you?"
"If I lied and said no, would you believe me?"
"I'm putting this conversation out of its misery Bob. Tell me you're going home."
"Could you at least talk to her about me? She still listens to you."
"Let me think about it."
"Great—"
"I thought about it, and the answer is no."
"'Hello, customer service?'" I feigned a call. "'This friend is defective, and I'd like to return her.'"
"You know you love me. Now go home, Bob. Click!" And yes: she actually said click.
I glared at the phone and then sighed deeply, realizing how right she was.
"Bye, Louise," I mumbled.
I glanced around at the queue of people, and then leaned against the glass wall of the bus shelter. I occasionally glanced across the street at the Bakery and Coffee Shop, waiting for Jaime to make a reappearance with her coffee and bagel.
Bzzt! A text message alert popped up on my phone.
Claude: Hey, dude, you wanna grab some breakfast?
I shrugged and considered, then typed my response.
Me: Sure? I'm on the bus now. Just passing Islington.
Someone stepped in front of me, blocking my view. I looked up, preparing some choice words of a what-the-fuck nature, but I froze when I saw who was deliberately blocking me.
"Isn't Islington two blocks that way?" Claude asked, pointing in the wrong direction. "I might have to run to catch up with your bus, but I think I can handle it."
"Fuck," I swore again for emphasis.
Look, I'm going to save some time here, okay? You should always assume that Claude is dressed in a suit of some kind, mostly without a tie. Think of what you expect a movie star to look like on the cover of GQ magazine, and that's Claude. The topcoat he wore had a very expensive-looking weave that made my wallet hide in embarrassment. Dressed like that, he should have looked completely out of place in this neighbourhood, but as always, he managed to pull it off. He looked utterly at home, no matter where he was.
Claude had a disposable cup of steaming coffee in his hand, the logo of the Bakery and Coffee Shop proudly proclaiming where he had made his purchase.
"Louise totally called you, didn't she?" I asked in disbelief. "How the hell did you even get here so fast?"
"Funny story: I missed you at the store, so I was trying to catch up with your bus," Claude said casually as if I wasn't wearing my guilt all over my face. "You'll never guess who I saw jump out of that bus and make his way back to his ex-girlfriend's corner. I'll give you two guesses," Claude said. He paused to sip his coffee and peered at me over the lid. "Hint: rhymes with Bob, looks like you."
The bus chose that moment to arrive, and I stepped out of line to let the real commuters stream past, some of them shooting narrowed eyes of irritation at me.
"I could say something totally cliche like 'this isn't what it looks like' if it makes you feel better?" I suggested.
"Go for it."
"This isn't what it looks like?" I ventured.
"Well that's a relief," Claude said. "For a second there, I thought you were stalking your ex-girlfriend."
"Keep your voice down!" I hissed, but a couple of the commuters had heard him and now glared at both of us. "Besides, it's not really stalking." I clasped my hands together and tried to look as saintly as possible. "I'm just making sure she's okay."
"Seriously, dude?"
"Well she's been listening to this really sad playlist--" I stopped and swallowed my words, realizing what I had just admitted to when Claude immediately looked at my phone. "Shit."
Claude sighed deeply and held out his hand.
"Give it. Now."
I reflexively pulled my phone away, caressing it to my chest.
"Dude," Claude said warningly.
"Dude yourself!" I replied. "You're going to log me out, and I don't think I can handle that right now."
Claude nodded in understanding and shrugged. "Just gimme the phone, Bob," he said softly.
"I thought you were on my side!" I protested.
"I am on your side!" Claude hissed. "That's why I'm here trying to stop you from doing something stupid!" He paused. "Again!"
The bus trundled away into the slow-moving traffic, leaving us alone in the glass enclosure. We wouldn't be alone for long; more commuters were already on their way to the bus stop. Claude and I both glanced across the street at the Eastbound bus stop, but Jaime wasn't there yet.
"I'm your friend, Bob, I can't just sit around and watch you shoot yourself in the face. Somebody's gotta save you from yourself."
I thought about it and slumped in defeat.
"You're right, dude," I finally muttered. "It is a little creepy."
"I would have said 'a lot' creepy, but that works too."
"In my defence, I didn't go looking for it. I logged in one day, and there it was: 'Jaime's Mega-Sad Playlist.' It was like fate. How could I not listen to it?"
"Yeah ... I'm just gonna upgrade you to 'Definitely Creepy,' totally free of charge since we're such old friends," Claude said. There was that damned hand again. "Now!"
"I'll do it myself," I muttered in protest and defeat as I held up the phone and tapped my way to Settings.
Movement from across the street caught my eye. Jaime had exited the Bakery and Coffee Shop, coffee and bagel in hand, but she wasn't alone. A tall, strikingly-handsome guy with a man-purse slung over his shoulder, followed closely, big cheesy grin on his stupidly handsome face. He had hair that could only be described as "lustrous." I hated that motherfucker on sight, especially when Jaime looked back and smiled up at him in the same way she had always looked at me, her big brown eyes drinking in all of him—
I turned away, heart dully pounding in my ears, not wanting to see.
Claude looked from me to Jaime and then back to me again.
"They're kissing, aren't they?" I asked.
Claude's face twisted as he considered lying. "No... not really... okay, yeah, they're kissing, but maybe they're just really, really good friends?"
I slapped the phone into Claude's outstretched hand and took off, determined not to look back, blinking back the hot sting of tears.
"We should go now," I said over my shoulder to Claude, and somehow I managed not to choke on the words as I stumbled away.
"Good idea," Claude said. "Except the car is this way."
I don't even remember how we got back to the car. All I could see playing over and over in my head was Jaime looking up at that douchebag and pulling close to kiss him.
I am proud to say I didn't look back. I didn't do something stupid like try to pick a fight with the dude kissing Jaime and try to rearrange his face with my fist so he couldn't go around kissing people's ex-girlfriends like that. I didn't do anything like that at all. This story would have a completely different ending if I had done that.
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Soundtrack: Hate Me - Blue October