The Call After the city's Canada Day fireworks finished, my roommate and I had a few more drinks before heading out with the rest of our party. We had no intentions of actually going into any bars because of how predictably flooded Whyte Ave would be. There were people shoulder to shoulder everywhere, hooting, hollering, drunk, disorderly. It was quite noisy. The previous year was when the riot had taken place so police presence was significantly increased, and I think the EPS must have subcontracted all the former bullies and knuckleheads, because there were definitely some in uniform that night.

I had become separated from the rest of my group and was being ushered in the wrong direction by a twit with a badge and a gun. He wouldn't listen to me telling him that I lived in the other direction, so I eluded him by going down a quiet side street. On this quiet side street, I was finally able to hear my cell phone ringing. I didn't recognize the number. I answered it.

It was her; the woman that I'd been pursuing for months without success. We went back to my apartment and sat on the balcony, staring off into the distance where the fireworks had been. We talked for a long time while I held her, keeping her warm from the dark July chill. When we kissed that night, there was an energy that carried us into the future, where we waited together for nearly two years until the present could catch up to us.  ¶ 7:10 AM

  Through An Empty City By the time this particular conversation had taken place, we'd been out for dinner once. Other than that, there was only one time we got together, but it wasn't much of a date. This time it would be, and it would be unusual, spontaneous, and thrilling.

It was around two in the morning on a weeknight and we were still awake chatting. The conversation steered towards my motorbike, and I offered to take her out some time. Some time ended up being that very moment. I couldn't pick her up from her home because it might wake her parents, and of course her mother would object to her ever doing something so dangerous. She lived a few blocks away and it took her hardly any time at all to walk over.

We went on a long ride through an empty city, and all we had to fight the night's chill was the warm engine beneath us.

At the end of the night, I dropped her off near her home. We kissed that night, for the first and only time, and hardly spoke for months afterwards. It may have been the wrong thing to do, but after such a memorable date, is there really any other way it could have ended?  ¶ 7:33 AM

  Surprises The hardest part about life, I think, is waiting. Despite all the time-saving techniques and gadgets that man has come up with over the course of our history, we've never really cured our own impatience. We still want things faster and better, and then faster and better isn't good enough.

My father and I used to go shooting beavers when I was younger. I loved going. We never really talked or anything, but that's how my father and I were. We could sit there in perfect silence, listening to the wind shuffle its way through the bushes, watching the water for the slightest ripple. He had a great shot but he always let me shoot even though it meant I would probably miss. I never actually stole my father's shooting skill until I started going out with the rifle alone. Now I wish that we could just go out shooting together, just to sit in silence for hours, and spend time with him.

I remember one Sunday afternoon when I was in grade nine my dad and I went to Canadian Tire for something or other. I ended up wandering over to the electronics section to look at CD players. Since I had a dozen CDs already, it made sense that I would finally buy something to play them on. The cheapest thing they had was still out of my allowance and summer incomes, so I made a note to buy it later.

I mowed the lawn when we got home because I had promised I would. When I was done, I went to get out of my grass-stained sweaty shorts and t-shirt and found that same CD player sitting on my bed. While I was doing my chores, my dad went out and bought it for me. I thanked him - never as much as I should have thanked him. I've had the same CD player for six or seven years. Some buttons no longer work, it makes a terribly scratchy noise with some discs, and occasionally the alarms will change or go off unexpectedly. I just can't bring myself to part with it though.  ¶ 8:29 PM

  Eat Fresh For a time, my lunch breaks at work were predominantly from Subway. It got to be so regular that the attractive young ladies working there knew my order as soon as I walked in the door. One of the ladies in particular, whose name tag read Victoria, was extremely friendly, and we had long winding conversations that often had me waiting at the door, ready to leave but unable to.

One Sunday afternoon, I had to go into work for a while, so I stopped to pick up lunch. She was working alone, and, she lamented, hated it because it was so boring on Sunday afternoons. She added that sometimes she got so bored she just wanted to fall asleep. I laughed and told her she should have one of those energy drinks, to which she told me that there was only one that she liked, Tab. You know, the one in the cute pink can.

After I was done work, I had to stop to get fuel, and while I was there I decided to be nice and pick up a can of Tab. I stopped in and dropped it off and she cooed over how thoughtful I was. Making polite conversation, I asked her, as I was standing at the door, ready to leave, if the day had gotten any better. She said that it was really boring and that she was spending more time on MSN than working. As though the idea just struck her that instant, she asked me for my MSN address and added me to her contact list.

The following Sunday afternoon, I was at home and she sent me a message saying she was bored. Somehow, the conversation ended with me getting a bottle of Mint Chocolate Bailey’s and going over to reduce the boredom of her workday. It wasn’t unexpected; I mentioned the Bailey’s and she suggested that I bring it.

We sat at a table in the dining area doing various puzzles and enjoying our warm libations. When I came to the bottom of my cup, I decided to have another. I poured myself some Bailey’s and set the bottle down on the table. She was busy doing her chores so she told me just to get the coffee myself. I went behind the counter to get the pot and at that moment, her boss – who hardly ever comes in on Sunday – came in on Sunday. I sheepishly averted my eyes, mumbled something, and went back to the table, quickly setting the bottle down by my feet. I’d been a regular at the restaurant for a long time and he and I knew each other well enough that I was sure I wouldn’t get scolded, but I was embarrassed nonetheless.

A few minutes after he left, the phone rang. Victoria answered it, gave a series of “uh huh” and “yup” replies, then said goodbye and hung up. She came over, said it was her boss. Immediately I was worried that she had been reprimanded, but that wasn’t the case. He called to give her a bit of advice:

“If you’re drinking at work, hide the bottle. We’re not licensed.”  ¶ 8:03 AM

  Opportunity Lost What I now accurately identify as lust was, at least back then, most certainly true love. This was when I didn’t understand that important distinction, nor did I understand the value of telling someone outright how you feel. It was 1998.

I made her a mixtape; the hopeless romantic’s primary tool of courtship. Each bit of each song was carefully chosen and crossfaded over another song so that there were no breaks in sentiment. It took me days to finish it. And then it sat in a desk drawer for months while I waited as patiently as I ever had for an opportunity.

Then it happened. Opportunity. After I’d been wanting her for so many years, she was finally available. There was a party at my best friend’s home, and she was there, as beautiful as I’d ever seen her. I went to talk to her, but lost that modest amount of courage I’d built. Instead, I went to my car and got the tape, thinking I could give it to her and immediately change everything. Well, I didn’t have the courage for that, either. I laid on the hood of my car staring up at the stars, wishing that the effect of the alcohol would either disappear or amplify; I didn’t care which.

She must have seen me out there because she came out to see if I was okay. And close behind her was some knucklehead that she met at the party who she was now hanging off of. Another enormous and dimwitted brute.

People develop a habit of looking for the same traits in people, and falling into comfort with that. But sometimes it's just too destructive to manage.  ¶ 12:06 PM

  Vanessa Again Vanessa was a nice young lady when I met her, although she hated being called Vanessa. I did my best to call her Ness, but I found that abbreviation vulgar when I said it, the same way some words just sound wrong even when they're said correctly.

We met for dinner very shortly after she was off work, when she still smelled like the bakery. She was younger than I was, if only by a couple years, but her youth was defined carefully and magnified by her inexperience in the world. After high school, she'd worked at the same job for years, lived in the same place, did all the same things. She was in a comfortable place that she didn't mind being in.

She talked at great length and sometimes it felt like she was only talking because she was nervous. She repeated herself many times accidentally, and each time she seemed embarrassed by it. She didn't have many hobbies to speak of, very few interests, and she hadn't traveled at all. The conversation was, in all honesty, quite dull.

Several months later, we caught up on MSN. She said that talking to me that evening helped spur her into doing something different. (I didn't see how, because I hadn't given much input that I could remember, but I accepted the praise anyway.) She was now living in Holland, working on a farm and saving money to travel Europe. She said that when she returned, she wanted to meet for dinner, and I agreed, with no measure of actual conviction and a truckload of apprehension.

It's been a couple years since we set that floating date, and we've had no contact since. I imagine she's changed a lot in the time that has passed, by the people she's met, by the things she's seen. Maybe she's even Vanessa again.  ¶ 7:57 PM

  The Most Romantic Thing I Did For Her She recently wrote about her ten most romantic moments and I was - at least initially - insulted to not find myself among them. After a bit of reflection, however, I realized that I simply hadn't earned a place on that list. If we'd dated longer, maybe. But there was one thing that I did for her that she doesn't even know about.

Around the first few weeks of our relationship, I went on a week-long trip to California. My returning flight had me leaving Monday afternoon and arriving very early Tuesday morning, with four airports in-between.

At the second airport, during a long three hour layover, I saw a vendor selling flowers and decided it would be nice to bring some home for her. I picked out two small bouquets and had them taped together so it would be easier to carry along with all the luggage I already had. At the next airport, Las Vegas, I had another long layover. I went to the terminal and tried my best to sleep despite the clinking and beeping of the slot machines.

When my flight was announced, I lumbered onto the plane, found my seat, and fell right back asleep, and it wasn't until I reached the Edmonton airport that I realized my romantic gesture was underneath a seat in a Vegas airport. I drove to two convenience stores and one hospital looking for some place that might sell flowers at 4 in the morning, to no avail. The best I could do, which I did, was leave a note on her car telling her that I cared. I think flowers may have explained that better, though... they have a way of filling in the gaps of emotion better than words can.  ¶ 7:23 AM

  A Good Deed Unpunished My girlfriend and I were driving to her niece's confirmation one Sunday morning. It was a long drive, nearly two hours, and we were already running late. There was a vehicle pulled well off the road with its hood up, and as we passed I noticed that it was an elderly woman, obviously alone. Against my girlfriend's firm disagreement, I turned the car around.

The woman's radiator was leaking badly and it wouldn't even hold bottled water enough to drive on. We offered her a ride to the town she was going to, which was only about ten minutes out of our way.

She turned out to be an extremely nice woman who told us stories about her childhood, about Canadian injustices, and about lost love. I remember the first thing that my girlfriend said to me when the woman got out of the car. She said that she was glad we stopped. So was I.

We made it to the church about 20 minutes in, and whereas I'm not ordinarily a big fan of church, I felt like much less of a hypocrite going in as a Good Samaritan.  ¶ 7:33 AM

  Doors Opening and Closing I pulled up to the door of her apartment building and got out quickly so I could open the door for her. It was our first date but it wasn’t awkward; there hadn’t been many unnerving silences the whole evening. She fumbled in her pockets for her keys, found them, and asked if I would walk her to her apartment door.

The elevator rose slowly. She asked me what I was thinking, and I told her that I was thinking about kissing her. Before she could react, though, I confessed that I wouldn’t, that I would wait. With an intimate appeal in her eye, she moved into my shadow and looked up at me. “Don’t wait,” she said. I didn’t.

The elevator doors opened. As she unlocked her apartment door, she asked if I wanted to come inside. I wanted to, very much, but decided not to. Relationships have a way of burning out quickly when you rush them. Before turning around to leave, I reached into my jacket and took out a CD that I made for her featuring songs that I thought she might like. She thanked me, closed the door, and I walked over to the elevator to wait.

I heard a door click open and she ran out and threw her arms around me. She said that one of the songs I put on the CD was her favourite. She kissed me with a profound passion, and when the elevator doors slid open, I waited for the next one.  ¶ 8:23 PM

  Lolita Of all the women I've dated, in any such broad definition of the word, there is one in specific that I wish things had worked out with. She was six years younger, which didn't bother me because she had an incredible maturity to her that, at first, seemed to surpass my own.

We met at a party where we refused to give in to typical conversation. After we kissed in my car, and then hers, the sun came up, separating us from that night forever. Over the next year, feelings flared and faded. We dated, officially, for three days, and that was when I noticed her youth.

In the beginning, she never chose me, she chose to make no choice at all. The air of maturity around her was thinned by an innocence that I hadn't seen before.

She was beautiful, athletic, creative, musical, and intelligent. The most captivating woman I've ever known. Our conversations never lulled, our beliefs and interests varied only slightly, and when we held each other, our hearts beat united. But we met too young.

Such an awkward irony that when we first met, she was reading Lolita.  ¶ 7:28 AM

  Dancing With Ivy During my last weeks of high school, I came down with severe tonsillitis. It was a Sunday when I first started to feel it setting in, a feeling that I've known frequently my entire life. By Tuesday I couldn't swallow, not even soup or water, and by Thursday I hadn't eaten for days. The pain was so overwhelming that I couldn't sleep at all and spent all my time at home alone, sitting in a hot bath watching the television using a series of mirrors I set up. When my mother came home from her trip on Friday, she took me to the hospital where I stayed for days on an intravenous.

Over the course of the weekend, my family came to visit me a few times. They brought me books and magazines and homework, though mostly I slept off half a week's exhaustion, trying to get healthy for my graduation ceremony the following weekend. My mother joked that if I didn't get better in time, I'd have to take Ivy as my escort. Only one of my friends - Fiona, my actual escort - came to visit over those two days.

I was released Monday afternoon and, coincidentally, only a few minutes before two of my friends came to visit me during a spare they both had. Since I was dressing and getting ready to leave, they didn't stay long, and when I called my mother to pick me up, I couldn't stand being in the hospital any longer and walked up the street where she would be driving by.

I lost more than ten pounds that week and my tux hung off me looser than it should have.

For a time, I was upset that I didn't get more visitors that weekend. Then I realized that I ought to be thankful for the people that did come by to see me. And I was, and I am.  ¶ 7:56 AM

  Le Patinodrome In the ninth grade, my home room class went on a trip to Charlesbourg, a suburb of Quebec City, where we stayed with the families of students we'd been corresponding with since the beginning of the school year. While there, we hung out with the students, went to school with them, and once in a while practiced our French.

Of course, there was a girl. Dominique. Dark hair, just past her shoulders, short enough that whenever she turned her head, it would stay in the front and she would have to push it back. I saw her a few times over the course of that week, whenever the group got together; at the school, at a dinner, and one particular night when we went to Le Patinodrome, a huge roller-disco.

Back then I still had my enormously thick glasses. This was before lenses could be thinned, so mine were very heavy, and in order to keep them from falling off my face, the earpieces looped around my ears. I was almost literally blind without them, and they were definitely not an attractive clothing accessory.

I was taking a break from roller-skating, sitting in the snack area finishing a pop, when a slow French song came on. I skated back to the benches, where the group was sitting and waiting for the next good song. Dominique came over to me, took my hand, and pulled me onto the floor. She was so beautiful as we skated around on that huge elliptical floor, hand in hand, under the spinning disco balls and rotating lights. I was so happy, the only thing I wanted was to not embarrass myself.

I don't know why the skating area was designed this way, but there were pillars jutting out from one of the side walls. Dominique and I were skating by them when some guy - whom I never saw but can only imagine was some beefed-up jock - skated between us and pushed me off to the side. I went face first into one of the pillars, breaking my glasses and leaving my nose bleeding. I honestly don't know if it was her that helped me back to the benches, but I hoped it wasn't. I remember wishing that she was still skating around, thinking I was next to her, and that this was how the night ended. Hand in hand, smiling and laughing.

For the rest of the trip, which was another day and another night, I couldn't see anything beyond an arm's length. I never saw Dominique again for this reason, but I wish that I could go back now and finish that dance. Just one more lap around. For old time's sake.  ¶ 7:10 AM

  Slipping, Slipping, Slipping I once went on a last-minute camping trip with a good friend. It was well after 11:00 when we finally made it there and met up with his girlfriend and a few of her friends. Among those friends were two ladies in particular, one of which I had a crush on and the other who had a crush on me.

Shortly after we arrived, the ladies all came to help us unload, although we packed very light because we were told there was a camper for us to sleep in. Looking at the camper, though, there were only two beds - one for my friend and his girlfriend, and another, a bit bigger (but not by much), that I looked at curiously.

The girl who had the crush on me filled in the missing information. I would be sharing that bed with her and the other girl, the one that I wanted.

I think most guys, if presented with this situation, would just grin and drift off into a lewd daydream, which is exactly what I did. But the more we sat around the campfire drinking, the more I noticed unnerving things that made my grin disappear. Glances, interruptions, comments. Compliments. The whole night, I felt as though I was being challenged into making a choice. By the end of the night, I had. I crept away from the group unnoticed and slept uncomfortably in the back seat of my car.

This was no resolution to anything. Relationships and romances went on for years afterwards, meandering awkwardly between the three of us, like I never quite found a decisive grip on indecision.  ¶ 7:11 PM