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short, non-fiction piece on someone i will get over. it might be a little confusing due to due to the fact i left out all names but my own. i probably should've made up aliases, but i didn't have the heart to change any names. L O V E K A I J A
Summer birds of fancy play frame by frame on the surface of the passenger window, as we near the Kenora-Dryden junction. Inhale, exhale. Eyelids closing, I turn away from it, opting to press my ear to the frigid and image laden glass. But their bitter twills and harmonies slap and break at the lip of my ear and I wonder at what makes it so damn easy for the mind to wander at night in the cab of a car. This gets me scouring for metaphors, something to distract me from our destination. The causeway becomes a centipede of mythic proportions lamp posts rising like pairs of legs from its cold, dead belly. But the highway takes on a different personality. Now in stead of legs, I'm tunnel visioning on pairs. Pairs of people-- couples, feinting flawlessly at each sharp bend. Keeping a respectable yet calculated distance. Modern couples then. The drunk driver picks an opportune time to ask me how I'm doing and I choke out something generic. We've surfaced in the town of Kenora and I smooth my cheek against the window in private dread. You see, somewhere mixed between the flesh of 17,000 people and the worn down materials this town was built upon, are the eyes of the one I want the most. We pull into the parking lot for Timmy Ho's and she and I hop out of the back to cover the coffee run. As we're walking up to the entrance I can't help but ask if I look hot tonight. One of those odd things that somehow makes girls feel better. She looks at me strangely but tells me I look good. "What the fuck, yes. I told you that all ready. You look good. If I had a cock, I'd fuck yah. Okay. Shit, how do I always find myself with such needy friends. First Dorothy now this." I don't say anything at first, and go for the door that says push. Naturally, I try to pull, too wrapped up in the past and the hopeful future for her words to hit my pride. She laughs and throws out a 'you SPED' for good measure and I manage a despondent fuck off. She makes a sidelong glance at my face-- softening a bit, maybe? I think she's surprised by my lack of descriptive suggestions on how she should kill herself. We have a playfully abusive friendship. "Kaija," she says as we enter Canada's pride and glory. "Yeah, what," I say distractedly, leaning against the counter and waiting for service. "Kaija," "What!" I spit out crankily, finally staring at her face. "Fuck him." "I don't think that's an option right now," deliberately twisting her words. A weak attempt at a joke. She rolls her eyes and gives me a you know what I meant look, as I check out the guy standing behind us. Tim Hortons' vitality rate is down drastically and we still can't get any fucking service. The only human life in the place are the punks behind the counter, Faith and I, the hottie in line and a group of pigs over in the corner. Oh and of course I would notice the good looking guy in line. The longer I can't have him, the more desperately I begin to look for someone else. And I think the opportune word here is desperate. Frustrated, I say something obnoxious about the service gaining a laugh from Faith and surprisingly, the dude in line. And as I'm waiting for the little fucking geek to serve us, I find myself wishing I still had those hickeys from last weekend. You know. Just encase he ever decided dirty my air with his glorified hobolicious presence.
KAIJA'S THOUGHTS k kf
unrequited love on the trans-canada
