A Belizean Delicacy The rickety old Ford cargo van squeaked to a halt outside a Belizean bakery, leaving a thin cloud of dust from the highway in its wake. One of our tour guides, a slim Rastafarian with short black dreads tucked underneath a wool beanie, climbed across the passengers in the worn seats between the back seat and the door, leaving me alone to wonder why we had stopped. Schoolchildren on their way to class stared at us as they walked by, interested in the many different shades of white visiting their country. There were ten of us still in the van, including the driver and one of the two guides, all waiting for the other to return so we could continue our hour-long drive to Jaguar Paw. It was early in the morning, and most of us were still damp from an unexpected downpour during the boat ride from San Pedro island to the mainland. Wet and cranky and tired, the only thing that kept us going was the thought of the jungle zip-line adventure waiting for us.

When he came back to the van, he had a big brown paper bag full of pastries, and he managed to spill only one as he climbed to the back seat. He held the bag out to me and I looked into it, unsure of what exactly I was looking at. So I asked.

He answered me in his almost impossible-to-understand accent, “Is corn fritter!”

Having been consciously making an effort to sample new and exotic foods while I was on vacation, I was somewhat disappointed that it was just a corn fritter. I mean, we have those back home! It didn’t seem like there were many new and exotic foods in this country that didn’t have something to do with seafood, which I’m not especially fond of. (In fact, the thought of those squirmy little ocean creatures is enough to make me lose my appetite completely.) I shrugged this off and picked one out of the bag, took a bite, and chewed it for a while trying to get used to the taste. It wasn’t like any corn fritter I’d ever had; there was something unusual about it. As the paper bag made its way around the van, I finished my fritter, surprised at how hungry I must have been.

A lady sitting in front of me took a bite out of hers and turned back to the guide.

“This doesn’t taste like a corn fritter,” she said, spitting a mouthful of chewed food into a napkin.

The guide gave her a puzzled look, then answered her in his thick Creole accent. “Corn? No, is kung fritter! Is shellfish!”

For the next few minutes I stared at my empty napkin, disgusted, wishing that I had the rest of the fritter to spit into it.  ¶ 11:14 AM

  Lust Lost Its Luster We couldn't stop. It went on for days and days, like we weren't aware that time existed, and if it did, like we could hide from it in each other's arms. Like the sun wasn't going down, coming up, going down, over and over. Maybe it was just that simple - that time stopped for that perpetual weekend and we were frozen together, twisting and weaving, coming and leaving. And then, at the end of it all, the magic was revealed and it lost its luster. It was no longer desire.

We waited in patient embrace, but things never changed - not to how they were before. Now there was no intrigue, no mystery, no pulse of life within Us, but we kept beating and beating strictly for the sake of that one weekend, as though if we waited long enough, the desire would overwhelm us again. And it did, just not with each other.  ¶ 12:24 PM

  Movies Nights When I was living at home and my sister was living in the city, she called from a friend's place for some computer help. I did as best I could, knowing very little about her problem or her solution. After I hung up, I looked up the problem using my lightning fast 56K Internet connection. After a while, I had an answer, and so I called my sister back at her friend's place. She was gone, but the friend wasn't. I talked to her for quite a long time, maybe an hour. I remember a few things that we talked about - movies mostly; recommendations, opinions.

There was a NAIT open house that I came out to the city for. The first night there, I went out to a club with my sister and a few of her friends, including the one I'd talked to on the phone. When everybody else left to dance, it was just her and I standing there in the corner, trying to carry a conversation over the droning pulse of the bass. We talked about movies, mostly, as well as how little we were enjoying the club.

Months and months later I moved to the city, into an apartment half a block down the street from my sister. One Friday night, my sister and her friend came over for some drinks before they went out to a party.

The next night, I invited her over - just her - to watch a movie, one that we'd both seen before and, honestly, one that we had little interest in seeing again. We spent the next few weeks sneaking around, trying to hide an awkward relationship from my sister, who could look out her apartment window and nearly see my building. It was as impossible as you could imagine.

I'm not sure why we were sneaking around, hiding it all from my sister. Maybe we were afraid she'd be angry or hurt, that she'd feel betrayed; but how could she be? These things are expected to happen when you leave a man and a woman all alone to talk about movies.  ¶ 7:17 AM

  A Duet The best memory that I have of her is when she was house-sitting for her friend. We were in the guest bed, bare and silly, and we took turns - sometimes together - singing old songs. Fifties, sixties, country, pop; anything that we could remember the lyrics to. The lights were off and all we could see were outlines of each other. Hearing though, and laughing, was as good of an embrace as we'd ever had. That night, I didn't feel as though she was hiding from me. There was an honesty in that room that we could never find again, once we pulled the sheets over our head.  ¶ 7:34 AM

  Taken I remember a night when we were laying together in a bed that neither of us had ever been in before. We shared our regrets; we shared our presence. It had been a long time since either of us had kissed somebody new. It was refreshing and addictive and impulsive. And it was forever.

The sun finally came up in the morning, scolding us. We hung our heads when we left that room - not ashamed, but embarrassed. A few letters were exchanged over the next few weeks, talk about getting to know one another, but it never would have worked. She had no room in her life for another man, and I had no room for a woman that was taken.  ¶ 7:36 AM

  The War There are times when I'm attracted to a woman and I have no idea why. This one that I have specifically in mind is one of those times.

I met her the same way I've met many women - on the Internet. This time, however, it wasn't on a dating web site, and when we first crossed electronic paths, the idea of dating was the last thing on either of our minds. Still, though, we got together for coffee and felt the flare of interest at first warm sip.

We went out often together. We saw underground local bands at bars that made us feel out of place. We got drunk on the worst pina coladas that may have ever been made. She made me dinner at my home. I made her dinner at hers. We walked her dogs, we went for dinners, and we got drunk again.

She was the type of woman that was fun when she let herself go. An educated woman who was more impressed with herself than actually impressive; stubborn, impersonal, and didn't mind burping loudly in public. "It's natural!" she'd say defensively. "How can something naturally relieving possibly be impolite?" And of course she was correct; proving her wrong would require that she acknowledged that she was fallible. And this would never happen.

We kissed one night, when I was dropping her off. We stood in the middle of the dark street as big snowflakes brushed down around us, and after I hugged her goodnight, there was a tension pulling me closer. I told her that I was going to kiss her, and she stood there, unmoving; so I kissed her, and still she didn't move. She didn't move until I let go of her, and off she walked, saying goodnight casually over her shoulder, leaving me alone on that dark, snow-covered street.

She was the first one to mention the kiss a week later. We met for after-work drinks downtown with the rest of the city's business-class yuppies. She told me that was the best kiss she'd had in quite a while. And then she asked if it was for me, too. I told her it wasn't and, when pressed upon it, I told her that she just stood there the whole time, that she didn't kiss back. It was like I'd kissed a statue.

She smiled through rum-covered lips at me, said she was taken off-guard. She promised that the next kiss would be much, much more enjoyable. After drinks, after we'd reached her bus stop and my train station, the second kiss didn't thrill me any more than the first. I pulled back from her. Her eyes were closed, lips still full. Her best effort was no different than her worst.

She told me again how great the kiss was.

And I was honest.

We left each other standing there on the corner of the busy city street, still within arm's length but without the desire to reach. There was little else to say except goodbye, which she said over her shoulder as she walked towards the approaching bus.  ¶ 8:00 PM

  The Crumbling Crown Who knew that playing high school basketball would indirectly cause me so much discomfort later in life?

During a scrimmage against a local men’s rec team, one of the tallest lummoxes I’d ever seen set a moving pick on me and planted his elbow firmly into my face. I went to the hospital immediately and got four stitches on the inside of my lip, which caused it to be swollen for the good portion of two weeks. (This was when people affectionately began to nickname me ‘Lippy’.) The next morning, I went to the dentist and got an emergency root canal done on the tooth that was knocked backwards 90 degrees. Days later, I got a crown put on that never quite fit properly and I was always self-conscious about.

In the last few years, I’ve began to notice the deterioration of that tooth. Bits of it were falling off and it felt brittle. I went to the dentist last night (should’ve done that long ago) and discovered that my tooth is, as I speculated, rotting inside and possibly infected. This may explain why I’ve been feeling so nauseous lately. Fortunately, I had a bit of foresight when we got a new health care plan at work and chose the plan with the most dental coverage. Unfortunately, it’s still going to be a wee bit expensive, the plan doesn't cover everything, and I may be missing a front tooth for a while.

There is no underlying message or moral of this story. Except, maybe, go to a good dentist the first time around.  ¶ 8:01 PM

  A Golden Rule I went out with a girl whose name meant ‘golden’ and she truly carried that name well. Our first date was dinner and drinks, our second date was a movie, and on our third date I went to her house and made her dinner. We got along well and shared long conversations about ideals and beliefs and humanity. Our views on a number of subjects aligned well and when they didn’t, we just didn’t talk about them. We were both very polite and had a great deal of consideration for others.

This is the worst type of relationship. It could never have worked.

Two people who don’t want to offend each other will hold back all their concerns until they ultimately snap. At some point, the metaphorical snow will eventually build up on the roof until it breaks through, leaving everyone inside cold and unhappy. People are different; this is a normal aspect to humanity. It should be celebrated and respected, not condemned and ignored. If you’re holding everything back from a relationship – everything that bothers you – then you won’t have anything meaningful to give.  ¶ 11:49 AM

  I.O.U.s In grade ten, one of my good friends was dating a girl that lived way out in the country. Because she lived so far away, and because neither of them had a vehicle, they didn't get to see each other that often.

My good friend called me one evening and asked, with considerable reservation, if I would pick him up and take him to visit his girlfriend. Being the person I am - who had a car as soon as I was old enough to drive and is always willing to share good fortune - I immediately agreed. When we arrived there I told him - against his insistence - that I would wait in the car so they could be alone. A few minutes later, he was right back outside to tell me that she didn't want me to wait outside. I begrudgingly agreed to come in.

We were all in the living room watching a movie. They were getting comfortable on the couch and I was laying on the floor, pretending to sleep. Despite being persuaded to come inside, I still felt like I was intruding on their date. When it came time to leave, I waited until they shook me awake because, after all, I was very tired and clearly sleeping.

I've always been this way. Selfless. Thoughtful. And it's this consideration for others that has become my biggest fault. I've grown into a personality that tries too hard to be accepted by people and now it seems I spend much too much effort giving kind gestures to undeserving people.

With my utmost apologies to anybody in the future that may have earned my kindness and not gotten it, I am not that person anymore. I am not going to run around bowing to everyone and taken for granted when my head is down. From now on, if you want my kindness you have to earn it. Nobody plays me on credit any more.  ¶ 8:02 PM

  Subconscious Hostility Following the discontinuation of a relationship, I find that it’s difficult for me not to be bitter, even when I know it wasn’t working. Even though I try to be honest with how I feel and react around someone, I always seem to withhold bits and pieces, and these things always seem to nag at me until I explode.

There was a woman that I was seeing after I first moved in with my sister. We didn’t have a lot in common – although we probably would have more in common now – but I did enjoy her company, when we managed to spend any time together. I worked early in the day and she worked late in the night, so our schedules always seemed to conflict, and even on the days when our free time overlapped, I would often get blown off so she could be with her friends. To me, that’s not such a big deal; I realize that friends are important. What I couldn’t tolerate, however, was that we would actually have made plans to do something and then she wouldn’t let me know otherwise until it was far too late. I brought this up once while we were still seeing each other but it didn’t make a difference. Months later, she called and asked why I hadn’t spoken to her recently, and that’s when I exploded. I told her exactly what I thought of her, I told her how inconsiderate she was, and I told her why I’d never be with her.

Some people must subconsciously enjoy that kind of confrontation. She sends me letters once in a while, wondering if we can get together. I haven’t replied yet.

Maybe I will some day. When I have some free time.  ¶ 8:02 PM

  The Miner There is a woman who will never read this. She will never know I found her letter from so many years ago; she will never know that I reread all her apologies and realized I was the one who should have written them. This woman will go the rest of her life never knowing that I now understand I'm the one who is sorry, that I pushed us apart. With every bit of sincerity I have, I wish she could hear me now.

Even though I finally understand, we still couldn't be together now. I am no longer as infallible as I was back then, and I know this now for certain, even more certain of my current imperfection than my past perfection. Between the man I was then and the man I am now was a mountain that took me six years to tunnel through. And now when I look back through that tunnel, even despite its winding, forked passages, I can see myself getting ready to dig. Try as I might, I can only look through the tunnel; I yell until I'm blue in the face and still can't hear my warning.  ¶ 8:02 PM

  Irrepressible When I was in grade six, I was a big tough guy. You wouldn't know it by looking at me then – or even by looking at any pictures of me in high school - but I was a real badass. None of this is completely true, but I hope you'll be kind enough to respect what I honestly believed back then.

Before school started one particular morning, I was on the swings, kicking myself up higher than anyone. When I was at the highest point and I was ready to jump off, my best friend Eric walked by in front of me. I eased back on my swinging enough to say hi and for some reason I spit in his direction. It hit him right in the face and he wiped it off, cursed at me, and walked away.

I wish I could say that the wind had pushed the spit in his face, that I was aiming away from him and it was an accident. The truth is, I don't know. I hope it was, but I don't know for sure. And of all the thousands of memories I have from my childhood buried somewhere deep in a long-term memory that just won't stay buried, I remember this one, and it makes me ashamed.  ¶ 8:03 PM

  A Cut Into A Hollow Wound I took the train home last night after spending equal time drinking in an apartment and drinking in a pub. The air around me smelled like whiskey, but I'll never admit that I was drunk. The train was as busy as you would expect for late Friday night. I managed to get a seat on one of the empty benches in the hall. At the next stop, a group of goth kids got on and took the other seats on the benches around me. All five of them sat down except for one, a girl whose hair was hiding her face like a drawn window shade.

I stood up and offered her my seat, which she graciously but apprehensively accepted. One of her friends cooed sincerely at my gesture. As the girl sat quietly across from me while her friends talked among themselves, she pulled up her black sleeves, possibly because she was warm or possibly because she wanted to show them.

There were cuts on the inside of her arm, dozens of them, ranging from scratches to gashes. They were bright against her skin but she couldn't see them. Her hair was pulled down so low in front of her, hiding them from her and her from the world. She rubbed her left arm softly, hoping her right might erase the impulsiveness of her youth. It didn't, and so she just sat there quietly, living.  ¶ 8:03 PM

  To Her Face A few years ago, I went with some friends to a New Year's event at a downtown bar. One of my friends brought his new girlfriend and her younger sister. I was drinking heavily that night, much more than usual because I was trying to forget something. The younger sister took a certain shine to me and spent most of the evening with me. Maybe I was too social that night because of the drink, but we talked a lot and danced a lot, and whereas I was being friendly, she was taking it more seriously. At the end of the night, I managed to sneak out to catch the LRT home.

When I finally woke up late that morning, there were no less than four text messages waiting on my cell phone, all from her and all within two hours. The first few were typical messages saying that she had fun with me and wanted to see me again. The next few were wondering why I hadn't replied yet. Over the course of that day, I sent about four messages to her and received more than a dozen. As it turned out, she got my phone number from my business card which was in my wallet, so I assume that at some point she must have found it lying around. Naturally, I was a little concerned, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and go out with her.

We went out for dinner once and I felt nothing, but still she persisted in pursuit. She sent me many more text messages over the next few days, mostly asking me when we were going out next. That she'd do anything. I decided against my best judgment to see her for coffee and tell her how I felt rather than just ignore her or tell her in an insincere text message.

It's ironic that she was pursuing me with such steadfast conviction when just weeks earlier I had been the one chasing a woman who had no feelings for me. At least I had the humanly fortitude to tell her to her face. To her face. No matter how hard it was for both of us.  ¶ 8:03 PM

  Horse Blinds I consider myself a smart person, so the times when I overlook something so minute, I just scratch my head in awe.

Back in high school, I worked at a fast food restaurant. While there, I developed a substantial crush on a certain girl and went out of my way to befriend her. It worked and we became close. Another girl that worked there, Angela, was a good friend of the certain girl. Angela and I enjoyed each other's company and sometimes I would work late only because Angela was as well.

When I first found myself deep in confusion and frustration over the certain girl, I called Angela, hoping for some insight. We ended up talking for a long time that night, partially about the certain girl and partially about nothing at all. We exchanged a lot of emotion, not only just my moping about girls but also her moping about boys. Towards the end of the conversation, Angela told me that she used to have a crush on me. I dismissed this as the past tense and it passed from my mind quickly because I was still infatuated with that other girl.

After that talk, Angela and I became much closer than before. We talked a lot more at work, I drove her home when she didn't have another ride, and on a few occasions when I saw her walking on the street, I'd pull over and pick her up. We got along just that well.

One night at work, I overheard that she was quitting and that this was our last shift together. I asked her why she hadn't told me and she said that she couldn't work there any more. She also added that I shouldn't pick her up if I ever see her walking home. I didn't understand as she walked away and it wasn't until years later, long after high school and long after I was devastated by that certain girl, that I figured it out. I realized that when you're focused on the wrong thing it's easy to miss the right thing.

Friendships don't work if it's not perfectly platonic and sometimes it's easier to avoid the person than it is to not want them.  ¶ 8:04 PM

  Stood Up There was a woman that I went out with many years ago. I was told that she was beautiful although I didn't really believe it myself. She made me nervous, not by how she looked but by her legend. More than anything, I wanted to be with someone that people thought was beautiful, and so we arranged to meet for coffee at a place on Jasper.

As it turned out, there were two different locations of the same store on Jasper, and of course I went to one and she went to the other. After waiting there for several minutes, I decided I had been stood up and left. On the way home, my cell phone rang and it was her, upset that I'd stood her up. After we cleared up the confusion, and laughed at the misunderstanding, I picked her up from her home and we went to play pool.

The evening was going well although I never managed to calm my nerves and, because of that, must have said some unusually odd things as I have a tendency to do when I'm befuddled. At the end of the evening, we went to my home where I got her a book that I owned and she wanted to read, and I drove her home. After walking her to her door, we made plans to go see a movie a few nights later.

When I went to pick her up for our second date, I buzzed up to her suite and there was no answer. I thought she must be in the shower, so I went back to my car and waited for a few minutes before going back to try again. Still, there was no answer. After I'd been waiting for about ten minutes, I called her from my cell phone and left a message in a mixture of light-hearted anger and frustration about being stood up. I may have even added something to the effect of her being inconsiderate by not calling to say she couldn't make it.

Over the next few days, I found out that on the morning of our second date, she had been crossing the street and somehow became trapped between a truck and its trailer. She was dragged for nearly a whole block then run over by the trailer's tires. When I left that message on her answering machine, she was in the emergency room being operated on. Oh how that message must have sounded when she finally heard it.  ¶ 8:04 PM