Is She Really Going Out With Him?
When I returned home from my ten day tour of the Deep South there was a message from my friend and neighbour, Magda. Nothing urgent; just the usual hi, how are you, haven't seen you for a while, give me a call sort of message. I've been home for four days now but haven't returned her call yet.
See, I'm afraid I'll catch her at a bad time. All summer long, it seemed, I was catching her at a bad time.
Her boyfriend, Romeo, moved into Magda's place at the beginning of the summer, and I'm surprised he's lasted this long. Every time I talk to, or see, Magda, I expect her to tell me that she's thrown him out. Or possibly, though less likely, that he's left her.
She's a pretty woman, and he's a gorilla — in temperment, if not in physical appearance. And if my eyes don't deceive me (which they don't) there's something going wrong around here.
It was June when Magda told me, quite giddily, that Romeo was living there now, and that since he was home most of the time during the day, she wouldn't need me to walk Max, her gorgeous, lovable husky every day any more.
I adore Max, and I believe the feeling is mutual.
Not long after Magda's announcement I let myself into her place one afternoon, when I understood Romeo would be out for the day, to take Max out. Usually, he comes right to the door when I, or anyone else for that matter, opens it. Like all city dogs, he lives for his outdoor playtime. But on this day there was no Max. I ventured farther into the house to determine whether or not he was there. He was: in the bedroom, lying on the floor. Uninterested in me. Uninterested in going out.
I decided he must be feeling under the weather, and wondered what to do. I tried to coax him to come with me but he wouldn't budge. Not even for cookies. Then the lump on the bed which I had mistaken for unmade-ness but which turned out to be Magda, stirred, and her head popped out. Well, popped isn't really accurate; it implies perkiness or brisk movement. Her movements could be more precisely described as lethargic.
"Are you OK?" I asked, not immediately grasping the obvious, that anyone who is in bed in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week is clearly anything but OK.
"I'm not feeling well. Could you take Max out for me, please?"
"Of course! Can I get you anything while I'm out? Do you need anything from the store? Tylenol, or cold medication, or anything?" You'd think I was the one with the child, not her. Her daughter, Daniella, is in university, by the way, and so does not live with Magda.
It was a beautiful summer day, and several of Max's buddies were in the park, so we stayed out for almost an hour. When we returned, Magda was sitting at her kitchen bar, smoking a cigarette and sipping a glass of wine. Her face had that puffiness you get when you have a cold and when you've been crying. And I swear she had put mascara on.
"So how are you?" she inquired before I had reached the fridge. Then: "Romeo and I broke up!"
As I poured myself a glass of wine, I worked on my gee-I'm-so-surprised face. We drank and smoked, and Magda recounted the fight they'd had the night before, and how he'd walked out, and that she wasn't expecting him to come back.
The next day he was back.
I dropped in after lunch to check on Magda, and there they were, the two of them, happily puttering around the house, preparing for something or other. The door was open so Max could come and go. They both acted as though nothing had happened, so what could I do but join in? The breakup was never mentioned again.
Until the next time, that is.
The townhouse complex where Magda and I live is on Lake Ontario, not far from The Exhibition grounds. The Canadian National Exhibition is an annual carnival, home show, farm exhibition, and concerts lasting for three weeks leading up to Labour Day. The final weekend features continual air shows starring The Snowbirds, and where we live is one of the key viewing spots. We need only take a refreshing beverage and move to the wide, concrete steps at the west end of the building.
It was the Saturday afternoon show, which had begun at 1:00. By 4:00, Magda and Romeo, Daniella and her boyfriend, Romeo's son and his girlfriend, another couple of couples, and of course Sass, were half baked and happily in the bag. One of Romeo's friends knew all about the planes and as each one appeared he announced their engine size and top flying speed. Me, I just like to watch them loop around, you know? When the show was over we returned to Magda's place to get out of the sun.
Magda's daughter's boyfriend, JJ, was engaged with the computer in the back room, trying to find out how much tickets to that night's hockey game were going for. We were in the middle of the Canada Cup and that night Canada and Russia were playing at the ACC. How great would it be to see that, eh?
When JJ came back to the bar he was crestfallen: "The tickets are $250. Each!"
We decided to go up to our local and watch the game on the big screen there, instead. The party broke up, temporarily, so we could all shower and change. We'd meet back at Magda's at 6:30 and walk up town.
At 6:30 sharp, beer in hand and best summer sundress on — I wanted to take advantage of what would undoubtedly be the last truly summery day this year — I went back to Magda's to find only Daniella and JJ at the bar.
"Where is everybody?" I asked.
JJ looked away. Daniella reluctantly met my eyes and said, "They had a fight. Romeo's gone, and Mom's in the bedroom."
Since I was all dressed up and had somewhere to go, I walked up to The Banknote alone. I thought I'd run into Romeo on the way, but I ended up watching the game with the owner of the bar and my favourite bartender, Andrew. Canada won. All in all, it was a good day, at least for me.
Andrew threw me out at closing time but gave me a lift home, and as I got out of his car a cab pulled up behind us and out climbed Romeo.
"Hey, there," he cried, cheerily, "My, don't you look sexy?"
He was too far away to slap.
You guessed it, the next day they acted like nothing had happened. The elapsed time between these episodes, though, is increasing. It wasn't two days later, I think, when I happened to be walking past Magda's place and saw her sitting on her patio, a glass of wine on the table in front of her. It was a warm evening, and I assumed she was just relaxing and enjoying it. Max was at her feet, so I came down the steps to say hello.
She was crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked, though even you, Gentle Reader, know the answer.
"Romeo locked me out," she replied.
"Locked you out? You mean he went out and didn't realize you were here, and locked you out accidentally?"
"No. He knew I was here."
"OK, that's it, come on, let's go down to Pier Four and get drunk," I said, reaching for her arm.
"No," she sniffed, "He'll be back."
And before I could insist he did come back. Walking in long strides, at such a high speed he would have bowled over anyone in his path. He came down the steps at the other end of the patio, key in his outstretched hand; went straight through the door, and slammed it behind him.
"You'd better go," said Magda quietly.
That was two weeks ago.
My phone is ringing...
* * *
For the next Banknote story, in which Andrew slays a dragon, click here. Or, go to the next story in sequence, in which Postmodern Sass introduces you to her karaoke buddies.
See, I'm afraid I'll catch her at a bad time. All summer long, it seemed, I was catching her at a bad time.
Her boyfriend, Romeo, moved into Magda's place at the beginning of the summer, and I'm surprised he's lasted this long. Every time I talk to, or see, Magda, I expect her to tell me that she's thrown him out. Or possibly, though less likely, that he's left her.
She's a pretty woman, and he's a gorilla — in temperment, if not in physical appearance. And if my eyes don't deceive me (which they don't) there's something going wrong around here.
It was June when Magda told me, quite giddily, that Romeo was living there now, and that since he was home most of the time during the day, she wouldn't need me to walk Max, her gorgeous, lovable husky every day any more.
I adore Max, and I believe the feeling is mutual.
Not long after Magda's announcement I let myself into her place one afternoon, when I understood Romeo would be out for the day, to take Max out. Usually, he comes right to the door when I, or anyone else for that matter, opens it. Like all city dogs, he lives for his outdoor playtime. But on this day there was no Max. I ventured farther into the house to determine whether or not he was there. He was: in the bedroom, lying on the floor. Uninterested in me. Uninterested in going out.
I decided he must be feeling under the weather, and wondered what to do. I tried to coax him to come with me but he wouldn't budge. Not even for cookies. Then the lump on the bed which I had mistaken for unmade-ness but which turned out to be Magda, stirred, and her head popped out. Well, popped isn't really accurate; it implies perkiness or brisk movement. Her movements could be more precisely described as lethargic.
"Are you OK?" I asked, not immediately grasping the obvious, that anyone who is in bed in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week is clearly anything but OK.
"I'm not feeling well. Could you take Max out for me, please?"
"Of course! Can I get you anything while I'm out? Do you need anything from the store? Tylenol, or cold medication, or anything?" You'd think I was the one with the child, not her. Her daughter, Daniella, is in university, by the way, and so does not live with Magda.
It was a beautiful summer day, and several of Max's buddies were in the park, so we stayed out for almost an hour. When we returned, Magda was sitting at her kitchen bar, smoking a cigarette and sipping a glass of wine. Her face had that puffiness you get when you have a cold and when you've been crying. And I swear she had put mascara on.
"So how are you?" she inquired before I had reached the fridge. Then: "Romeo and I broke up!"
As I poured myself a glass of wine, I worked on my gee-I'm-so-surprised face. We drank and smoked, and Magda recounted the fight they'd had the night before, and how he'd walked out, and that she wasn't expecting him to come back.
The next day he was back.
I dropped in after lunch to check on Magda, and there they were, the two of them, happily puttering around the house, preparing for something or other. The door was open so Max could come and go. They both acted as though nothing had happened, so what could I do but join in? The breakup was never mentioned again.
Until the next time, that is.
The townhouse complex where Magda and I live is on Lake Ontario, not far from The Exhibition grounds. The Canadian National Exhibition is an annual carnival, home show, farm exhibition, and concerts lasting for three weeks leading up to Labour Day. The final weekend features continual air shows starring The Snowbirds, and where we live is one of the key viewing spots. We need only take a refreshing beverage and move to the wide, concrete steps at the west end of the building.
It was the Saturday afternoon show, which had begun at 1:00. By 4:00, Magda and Romeo, Daniella and her boyfriend, Romeo's son and his girlfriend, another couple of couples, and of course Sass, were half baked and happily in the bag. One of Romeo's friends knew all about the planes and as each one appeared he announced their engine size and top flying speed. Me, I just like to watch them loop around, you know? When the show was over we returned to Magda's place to get out of the sun.
Magda's daughter's boyfriend, JJ, was engaged with the computer in the back room, trying to find out how much tickets to that night's hockey game were going for. We were in the middle of the Canada Cup and that night Canada and Russia were playing at the ACC. How great would it be to see that, eh?
When JJ came back to the bar he was crestfallen: "The tickets are $250. Each!"
We decided to go up to our local and watch the game on the big screen there, instead. The party broke up, temporarily, so we could all shower and change. We'd meet back at Magda's at 6:30 and walk up town.
At 6:30 sharp, beer in hand and best summer sundress on — I wanted to take advantage of what would undoubtedly be the last truly summery day this year — I went back to Magda's to find only Daniella and JJ at the bar.
"Where is everybody?" I asked.
JJ looked away. Daniella reluctantly met my eyes and said, "They had a fight. Romeo's gone, and Mom's in the bedroom."
Since I was all dressed up and had somewhere to go, I walked up to The Banknote alone. I thought I'd run into Romeo on the way, but I ended up watching the game with the owner of the bar and my favourite bartender, Andrew. Canada won. All in all, it was a good day, at least for me.
Andrew threw me out at closing time but gave me a lift home, and as I got out of his car a cab pulled up behind us and out climbed Romeo.
"Hey, there," he cried, cheerily, "My, don't you look sexy?"
He was too far away to slap.
You guessed it, the next day they acted like nothing had happened. The elapsed time between these episodes, though, is increasing. It wasn't two days later, I think, when I happened to be walking past Magda's place and saw her sitting on her patio, a glass of wine on the table in front of her. It was a warm evening, and I assumed she was just relaxing and enjoying it. Max was at her feet, so I came down the steps to say hello.
She was crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked, though even you, Gentle Reader, know the answer.
"Romeo locked me out," she replied.
"Locked you out? You mean he went out and didn't realize you were here, and locked you out accidentally?"
"No. He knew I was here."
"OK, that's it, come on, let's go down to Pier Four and get drunk," I said, reaching for her arm.
"No," she sniffed, "He'll be back."
And before I could insist he did come back. Walking in long strides, at such a high speed he would have bowled over anyone in his path. He came down the steps at the other end of the patio, key in his outstretched hand; went straight through the door, and slammed it behind him.
"You'd better go," said Magda quietly.
That was two weeks ago.
My phone is ringing...
For the next Banknote story, in which Andrew slays a dragon, click here. Or, go to the next story in sequence, in which Postmodern Sass introduces you to her karaoke buddies.
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