Dead Eyed Girls

2012-02-12T22:59:00.002-05:00

I remember sitting at Jesse's kitchen table one night while they were in the back practicing. I became completely distracted from my homework when they started playing that sad song. I just sat there staring into space, listening. It's obvious, this is not working out. Even though it was just an account of some past failed relationship, it somehow felt like a prediction. An inevitable conclusion that I would have to face sooner or later. I started to cry.

Ça marche pas, Emilie.

Paying it forward

2011-12-22T16:09:00.004-05:00

This morning I couldn't figure out how to unlock the front door and the bus drove right by me on the other side of the glass. I went to the back door, but now it wouldn't lock behind me. Jesse's mom appeared on the other side and said not to worry, she'd take care of it and to have a nice day. As soon as I crossed the back gate my eyes filled with tears, but I didn't cry. The weather was really bad; it was rainy and windy and everywhere the ground was covered in ice. But the temperature was mild and the wind felt good so I was glad I missed the bus in the end - the long walk would let me clear my head. As I started to walk I took deep breaths, suppressing the overflow of emotions and trying to insert rational thoughts in their place. I was halfway to the metro when I slipped on a patch of ice and fell. Two people saw me and asked if I was okay and I said I was fine. I got up and my eyes filled with tears again, but I still didn't cry. I made it to the metro in one piece and used his change to pay for my ticket. When I got on I just sat there in a daze, thinking through everything again. I switched metros at Lionel-Groulx and two cellists were busking on the platform. I realized one of them was Avery, so I walked up and waved at him and he smiled and nodded back. I tossed the rest of Jesse's change into the open case. I stood there for a moment listening to the music and my eyes filled with tears again. But the metro came fast. By the time I was at Vendome, I felt fine again.

2011-12-08T01:19:00.002-05:00

I drove over the lake yesterday for the first time in a while. I prefer when I'm the passenger and I can look out across the water. It's nicest at dusk; you can see so much of the sky, so many colors reflecting on the water. And there are so many trees along the edges. But it's winter now and it was dark early. All you could see were the little lights along the shore. Sometimes when I get to the end of the bridge on the west shore, I remember that spring when I was fourteen and my boyfriend's brother downed in the lake. They searched the water for days before finding his body. And I remembered it was the same water where Tristan and I sat on one of our first dates. It was so still and quiet and creepy that night. I miss driving across the bridge. It's a nice place.

2011-10-27T23:32:00.006-04:00

It was spring. But only the beginning. One of those murky, cloudy days, when the air is just beginning to warm. Barely any snow left, yet the grass still damp and muddy. And that smell was in the air. You know the smell, when the seasons are changing. And the whole world is just on the brink of something.

I remember standing in my shower that morning. I can picture the moment, scrubbing my hair and thinking, dear God, now today you need to give me a sign. It seems foolish now to ask God for answers about such trivial things.

So the man I was seeing, he had been growing this awful beard for weeks. It was unsightly and uncomfortable (I had never kissed him without it) and every time we saw each other I pleaded with him to shave it off. "One day I'll just wake up and decide it's time and then I'll shave," he'd always say.

I had trapped myself on a kind of see-saw in the weeks leading up. Joy and happiness and comfort and love were at my feet, just waiting for me to say the word. But I really just couldn't decide if I liked it better feet in the air or on the ground.

So tell me lord, which way do I go? There's a problem with this idea of divine signs, I think. You can interpret almost anything as one. So I set up something concrete, there in the shower, getting ready to go see him. "Now if today is the day he shaves off that beard, I'll know which way to go."

I actually got myself pretty worked up over this. I remember the drive over to his place, rounding the bend and getting really nervous at the sight of his house. Normally I would go over in the evening and I'd tap on the basement window. He would look up at me from the sofa where he'd be sitting and waiting before coming to open the front door. But today I rang the bell. And when he came to the door, what do you know?

I nearly threw him to the ground hugging him and kissing his clean shaven skin. "I just felt like today was the day," he said. And I kissed him again and he said "Wow, you really hated that beard."

Last year's nostalgia

2011-09-12T00:10:00.001-04:00

I was glad when you suggested you make me dinner. I wasn't feeling sick anymore and so I finally realized how hungry I actually was. You put on some music that I called jazz, but you said wasn't actually jazz, but whatever, it was nice . And the dinner was good, thank you, but I thought I should brush my teeth right after so I wouldn't taste like garlic when you kissed me. You said you should brush yours too, I guess because you wanted to go to bed soon, but I hoped that you would dance with me in the living room first. It would have been romantic with the music and the dim light from your lamp. So I was waiting for you to brush your teeth, swaying there, by myself, looking at your books, that funny picture of you and your grandfather - the one who I met that time - hoping you would join me. When I turned around, you were standing in the doorway watching me. It's funny that I was startled, because I had been hoping you would see me like this. I sort of stumbled over the armchair - you probably found this even more endearing. But that sweet moment when I turned around to see you standing there, with the light in the room, the hair framing your face, your eyes, I wanted that seared in my memory forever and ever. Sad, only now I realize that none of this was real and the look on your face, the one I took for smite or maybe even love, must have only been pity.

Birds of a feather

2011-07-19T22:47:00.003-04:00

Sitting there in my living room, sprawled out in the arm chair, him strumming my harp. The glass of iced tea on the side table would leave a stain on the wood. It was hot, but not too hot. There was nothing to do in here but laze around. Laze around and play with the harp. I didn't care that my dress was hitched up too high (I knew it wasn't really appropriate) But for a moment I felt like I was allowed a glimpse into an alternate world; this is how we would have been. Comfortable enough to be slouched over the chair in an unattractive position, intimate enough that I would have felt no shame in showing so much skin. But bored. Unfulfilled. Slightly annoyed. We were just a novelty. Maybe at some point we created something worthwhile, but we don't belong together, really. He wished he was with someone else last night. And so did I.

2011-05-10T22:59:00.006-04:00

His eyes, normally soft and deep were like two black beads fixed into his face, gazing off somewhere behind me. His hair was untouched by the wind. He sat there lit up by the orange glow of a street lamp. I shivered and my legs shook uncontrollably. I had started to cry long before. All you could hear were my sobs within the long silences. His anger, though not unexpected, was unbearable. But I forget, he is not a child as I was when I was in his shoes. He has a stunning sense of self. Resiliant self-respect. And I'm just pathetic. "Well, I hope you grow a backbone one day and learn to stick with your decisions." And then he said "See ya" and walked back down the pathway leading to his house. I waited a moment, then followed in the direction he had gone. I looked up at the stars and prayed to God that he would be fine and asked to be forgiven.

Forgive me

2011-04-04T19:53:00.004-04:00

We came to a fence and realized we'd have to make our way out by cutting through the graves. He made sure to step in between the tomb stones, never walking over the place where the body lays.

"We should try not to step on them."
"Oh, is that rude?"
"I think so."

I asked him again about sin. It's something I've been wondering about lately. Is it sin if you don't feel that it's wrong? Or if you can justify it? He told me it is if it serves for one's own vanity.
And then we talked about Karma and I remembered that saying Xavier had told me: "If someone does you wrong, go sit by the river and you'll see his body floating" That's my own translation, not very eloquent.

I mean I don't feel bad. Not really. I'm wondering if the things I'm doing are just me taking back what was stolen from me years ago. Or maybe I'm just trying to justify what I know to be sins.

Hotel Chevalier

2011-03-21T19:13:00.002-04:00

"Whatever happens in the end, I don't wanna lose you as my friend."

I promise, I will never be your friend.

No matter what,

Ever.

2011-03-15T21:01:00.000-04:00

I think everything will be okay, at some point we will know what we want and stop feeling like we're out of place and like it doesn't make sense and we'll be happy and know who we are

2011-03-02T00:36:00.002-05:00

Sometimes random memories will flash into my mind. I think today it was just the thought of reading a book that made me remember a scene from this summer. I was sitting on the steps below a statue in the park. It was cloudy, but the sky opened up as a sort of spotlight on the place where I sat. I was wearing a denim jacket and a flowery dress, reading a book. What book was it? Something thick and old. I had placed myself there strategecially to be seen by the person I was waiting for. I was trying to look cute and intelligent and thoughtful. Sitting on the steps, reading a book. But when I saw him walking toward me, I realized how obvious I was. How naive and transparent I was then.

pink flowers

2011-02-28T22:55:00.002-05:00

Swayed toward the window
Reaching desperately for the sun
Dried up now, dead
It's sad when things come to an end

2011-02-26T16:26:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I feel that I just can't handle the feeling of being alive. It's all too much. I feel that I'll explode. But then tears just come out of my eyes and I sob and I cry and when it's over I calm down and my wand wanders off to other meaningless things. I wasn't understanding why there were all these rules, but now I see, a bit; If I want to live with these people, I need to follow the rules. I still don't fully understand. There's still a disconnect between reality and these daily happenings. And though I know it's not real, these emotions blur everything, triggered by a single word or thought or concept. Like the concept of friendship...loss of friendship. The tears just well up. I don't understand the nature of our relationship, you and me. There is a strange dynamic. But it's nice having you there, always there to fall back on, even just for the most basic human comforts. To smell you and feel your skin and hear the noises you make. And your eyes that glow. And even though you're selfish and confused and immature, I am too and inside of you I see goodness and beauty. Have you ever cried to much you got a headache? I can't stop looking at my phone; I'll pretend I don't, but I want you to call.

2011-01-31T18:11:00.002-05:00

"Her boyfriend isn't an obstacle for you?"

"He is, morally."

"Yeah, only morally though."

2011-01-21T12:13:00.002-05:00

A flake of dead skin that you want to peel off

A knotted tuft of hair that you want to rip out

A piece of food stuck between your teeth, lodged in your gum

You just want to pick it out

And throw it away

2010-12-25T02:24:00.000-05:00

"The room was full but I felt like you were just singing to me the whole time."

2010-12-22T01:49:00.002-05:00

You don't know what you're talking about.

Graduation

2010-12-15T18:45:00.003-05:00

I had my last exam today. I handed it in to Rick Braley. He asked, "You're done?" and I said "Yup." He stared at my essay and I asked, "Now what?" I meant what would happen with my exam, when I would know if I passed or not. But the question resonated. "Now what." He said as if he also understand the other meaning. "Now this gets graded. I'm pretty sure you passed." I waved awkwardly goodbye to him. Rick never liked me very much. I walked down the music hallway to go empty my locker. I felt tears in my eyes. The school was empty. I took all my stuff out of the locker. Alex's sandals and a few of his books were still in there. I looked down the hallway and then stared out the window into the parking lot. I cried for a minute or two, standing there by myself. This placed changed me so much. I made some of a my best friends here. I learned a lot, not enough, but I did. I just wanted to stand there in that hallway forever. Goodbye Vanier.

Now what?

2010-12-04T20:56:00.002-05:00

"Where were you? Why are you being so mysterious?"

"I was with someone. Someone who lives around here."

"No way."

I smiled and nodded.

"What? Are you joking?"

"We've been hanging out. We went to the movies yesterday."

"Oh my gosh. I'm so jealous. How did you do that?"

"What do you mean? I dunno, maybe he likes me? Am I not good enough for him?"

"Now you're just projecting." She laughed. "Ugh, I'm so mad. He was supposed to fall in love with me. Is he still fair game?"

jalousie

2010-10-17T01:11:00.004-04:00

I have a lot of stuff saved on here from the past year that I never posted. Here is one that I liked.

"Why are you sad?"

"How can you tell?"

It was pitch black and I hadn't shown any body language to lead him to believe this. Maybe it was just because I was quiet. I rolled over to face the wall and wanted to cry, but just felt numb. I waited for his breathing to become slow and heavy and then I crept out of bed and put on his sweater. I dug in his jacket pocket for his pack of smokes, slipped out the front door, lit up. I stood alone in the street. It was after 3 am, cold, drizzling. My legs shook. I listened to the wind ruffle a tarp. I had hoped the burning ache in my chest would be snuffed out. But now I just feel completely numb.

2010-10-04T19:40:00.003-04:00

Ce que tu voulais dire:

Je te veux

Ce que je veux dire:

Je t'en veux

Ce que je veux que tu dise:

C'est toi que je veux, pas elle

First time I saw you

2010-09-22T00:25:00.003-04:00

Two girls sitting on a bed, lurking facebook. One profile leads to another.

"Him, he plays the bass."

"Oh."

They look at some photos of some hipster in a tie-dye t-shirt.

"He's coming next semester"

They smile.

"He's cute, eh?"

"Dreamy."

"I'll introduce you."

2010-08-29T22:18:00.003-04:00

To my dear readers (all three of you):

This blog has been dwindling for the past year. My only posts have been depressing cryptic messages that can't be of any interest to anyone but myself. It's time for a change. Shall I write more mediocre short stories? Should I start sewing again and blog about that? Or write about my band? Or take trendy photos of my trendy friends with a fish-eye camera and post them every now and then? If you read this, comment so I know you're out there.

Sincerely,

Emilie

2010-08-29T10:53:00.001-04:00

babest babe

aaaah

2010-08-03T19:22:00.002-04:00

This isn't love. This isn't what love feels like.

Sometimes I really thought it was. But I don't believe in all that anymore.

2010-07-27T14:17:00.001-04:00

I don't want to be a child anymore. I want to grow up.

2010-07-07T02:04:00.002-04:00

I have sewn untidy furrows across my soul

But I am still a coward

Content to see my garden grow

So sweet and full

Of someone else's flowers

...sometimes I am so in love with you.

march 2008

2010-06-26T00:09:00.002-04:00

"If you become a successful rock star, you can move to Florida!"
"I don't want to live in Florida, I want to live in Montreal"
You're the only psychotic people who get up at 9:30 on a Sunday to shovel their driveway anyways. And stop calling me a rock star, I play the flute, okay.
Audition countdown: 6 days. At least I got to break in my new shoes, which I guess I'll never know if I got the right size or not. One of my goldfish just died.

I should get back to procrastinating. Why can't you just give me a chance...

Timothée

2010-06-11T02:11:00.001-04:00

I think I hugged him or something before I left. I probably walked away slowly, forcefully. He stood in the doorway and watched me go. As I pressed on the handle that opened into the stairwell, he called out to me one last time and I looked back with hopeful despair.

"T’es belle, Emilie. T’es comme une pieuvre; tu attrapes tout le monde avec tes tentacules."

I smiled weakly and forced my limbs to carry me on once more.

And that was the last time I ever saw him.

button-up

2010-06-07T16:44:00.002-04:00

I start to unbutton your shirt. Then pull on the collar to draw in your face. Kiss your lips at angle. You are warm and soft. I tremble. I take the shirt off. Re-button it. Fold it up into a perfect square. Put it back on the shelf. Go back to work.

I love surprises

2010-06-05T00:59:00.002-04:00

I will give you one week of misery, but it will all be worth it
At the end of the week you will receive a prize
You won't see it coming
It will just be there
Out of the blue
And you'll know it when you see it
And everything else will be absolved

"What are you doing here!?"

2010-06-03T23:27:00.004-04:00

I want you to go away

Bust out of that empty shell of a man

And when you return and feel absolutely nothing when you see me

May it be because you truly, finally, know and love yourself

2010-05-25T16:56:00.001-04:00

how many times

can you break my heart

before it can't be fixed

anymore?

Friends

2010-05-12T20:03:00.003-04:00

"I'm telling him. I'm gonna hook you guys up."

"What are you gonna say? So Friday night I was banging Emilie and she told me she has a crush on you?"

2010-04-04T23:20:00.002-04:00

Mornings are the hardest. It takes a few seconds after I've opened my eyes. I've had some wonderful dream about him and for just a moment I feel warm and content.

And then I remember.

Princess

2010-02-02T22:31:00.002-05:00

13 years and I haven't changed one bit.

J'aurais du la pénétrer

2010-02-02T20:50:00.008-05:00

"I would have liked to fuck her. I wanted to possess her because of the wait and the feeling that I was incapable, powerless. When I finally had a taste, she kissed like shit. I don't understand people who are not "good in bed". They lack of something important. She never touched me. I was the one massaging her, she called it "Pétrir". I knew she liked to rub her feet together, so while I was doing the dry-humping, I rubbed my feet against hers. She didn't move a bit. Kissing her was deceitful; all this time I was waiting for a magic smooth kiss, but she used her tongue too much, scraping it on my teeth like I do to clean my tongue. I should have just fucked her."

Xavier

1979

2010-01-21T23:31:00.004-05:00

I looked through my parents' old photograph books. Pictures dated back to the early sixties, beginning in black and white, then gradually gaining color. Frozen moments of people living in a different time. My parents young and happy, their smiles tinted in sepia. But the people in the pictures don't exist anymore, really. The strangest feeling came over me. I kept turning the pages, but I began to cry. I wept and wept. I don't know why. My mother's long blonde hair, her genuine grins on every page. And my father, with hair, looking like any handsome young man you might meet today; lazing on a sofa or proudly mounted on his motorcycle or simply holding a beautiful young woman who would one day be my mother. I could see so much of myself in them and not because they are my parents, but just in the feelings, the emotions, the expressions they held. They were just the same as I am now. I had never given much thought to my parents existing before I did, but seeing them like this, living out their youth eternally through these photographs just made me feel so strange. I couldn't stop crying and I don't know why.

Why, oh, why are you dead in the eyes?

2009-11-02T00:29:00.005-05:00

I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary that night. Amongst the crowd, a vision catches my attention for a split second: a pair of brown eyes peaking out from under her fringe. As I move in closer, the eyes stare, but there is something vacant in them. She is not all there. Only part alive, she's dead in the eyes. I approach her and she speaks to me. She says the feeling is of a flame licking at her insides and that it can only be snuffed by a cool kiss. So I stroke her burning cheek and she shivers under my skin and I extract all of her anguish through my lips. But the taste that fills my mouth is unexpected, bittersweet. She exhales desperation through a sigh of fulfillment and relief and so I back away; I cannot satisfy whatever subconcious need she conceals. Though I leave her, guilty, I have saved her in some small way. As I look back one last time, I notice that something has changed: there is a fire in her eyes.

Darling Ghost at L'Esco October 13th

2009-09-20T15:44:00.001-04:00

Fantasies - Part Two

2009-09-07T11:18:00.001-04:00

It's my last day at work. It's a slow, rainy day and I hardly need to be here. The asshole manager who I hate is working today. I'm really nervous; he's quick to criticize anything I do wrong. And I do a lot of stuff wrong. He asks me to set up the dining room for the dinner. All of the sudden the bar gets really busy and the bartender asks me why the hell I'm not helping him. So I run over and start serving drinks, when the manager comes back and asks why the hell I'm not in the dining room. I explain how the bartender asked me for help.

"But I told you to stay in the dining room! Who's the boss here? Me or him?"

Stare at him blankly, comepletely blank!

"Eh? When I ask you to do something, you do it without back-talking. I'm the boss."

I say something clever like, "Could've fooled me!"

He really is a goddamn asshole. I don't think I've ever seen him work. He's either on a smoke break or driving balls on the golf course or telling me not to wear those tight pants to work.

"What did you just say?"

"You know what..." I slam down the beer glass I'm in the middle of filling (so badass!) "Fuck this, I'm out of here!"

As I start to walk away he shouts "You know that if you leave you're fired!"

I turn around with the most satisfying smirk and say "Didn't you know? Today's my last day."

But I didn't really say anything clever or badass. I finished filling the pint of beer, handed it to the costomer. Sheepishly walked back into the dining room like "The Boss" had asked and finished my last shift without a word.

Fantasies - Part One

2009-09-07T11:14:00.002-04:00

It's fucking bullshit, is what it is, serving these rich assholes. Tonight I'm working a banquet for some cancer foundation. The event charades as a good cause, but the room is full of drunken, bumbling old men. The second course finished, I walk up to clear their plates. This one man is so drunk, he's practically yelling "Hey baby! You're so beautiful!" I remain stone faced as I try to comprehend why old men with beer guts like him, harass pretty young women like me. "Oh come on, we only call you baby cause we don't know your name!"

"I sure as hell am not telling you," I say quietly.

The men at the table vow to get my name by the end of the night.I'm about to curse the entire male population to hell when I walk into the kitchen and there he is, that kid, the young dishie who makes me forgive men of all their faults. Every tiny physical subtlety about him makes my heart flutter; I feel like I could spend hours staring at all the little hairs on the back of his neck. He acts mature, but every now and then he makes a comment that reveals his naivity and it's terribly charming. He makes a funny remark under his breath as a drop the plates onto his station. I smile briefly before my dreaded return back into the dining hall.

"Stephanie? Oh come on baby!"

"Jessica?"

I don't say a word as I pour more wine into the mens glasses even though they're all past drunk. But I wouldn't want to make my boss mad. Keep the wine glasses full. "Catherine?"

"Nope."

I escape back into the kitchen with another round of dishes. Exasperated, I lean against the counter and sigh, resting for a minute before my boss yells at me to get back in the room. Standing there against the counter, the kid walks over, walks up real close to me, reaches for something on the shelf behind me, puts his face real close to mine. I smile, because I like the game he's playing. And he smiles back. My boss walks into the kitchen and the smiles fade. He asks me to go set up some tables in the back room. I'm relieved; at least I'm free of the dirty old men in the dining hall.

So I get some utensils and I begin to set the tables. It's mundane and repetitive, but I like being able to escape in my thoughts, here on my own. The light outside is fading. It's dusk. The end of another summer's day. I can't help but feel defeated. I don't bother turning the lights on as the room grows dimmer and dimmer. Suddenly the kid shows up in the doorway, makes my heart race. He's about to ask me something, but I stop him and say "Come here". He walks over and I place my hand under his chin. We kiss. It's fast and slow at the same time, you know? He pushes me up against the table and all the utensils I've set crash onto the floor.

But we didn't actually kiss. He remains in the doorway, asks if I've seen the boss. I say no, then make some dumb joke. He smiles innocently before disappearing again. I sigh and set down another fork.

Perfection

2009-07-31T22:46:00.000-04:00

I just came home from work. Walking from the car to the front door, I stopped for a minute to look up at the stars. You can't see them where I'm going. But then again the city lights makes a pretty good replacement, right? I could smell the grass, hear some people laughing in a backyard a few houses over. Nostalgia is a funny thing. Like when I finished high school; I despised the place for five years, but still found myself overflowing with tears the day it was finally over. The way I've hated being here; trading free food and television for nagging and house chores. But standing outside my house for those few moments that would not last, suburbia seemed simple and perfect. And just like my last day of high school, for some reason I sit here bawling my eyes out.

Lone Skater

2009-07-22T13:42:00.000-04:00

Recovered rummaging through old papers. He looks kind of grumpy, probably because he was stuck in math class with me.

Snapshot

2009-07-21T19:58:00.001-04:00

I found this photo while cleaning out my room. You're probably glowering at me through your computer screen right now. But I love this. Going away that summer would have been terrible without you.

Number Two

2009-07-20T19:38:00.001-04:00

Here is my second successful dress: dotted cotton, eyelet, buttons. I loosely followed an old-school pattern.

First Try

2009-07-11T20:09:00.002-04:00

One of my first dresses

Emilie and Zorbox

2009-06-26T18:23:00.003-04:00

Click to enlarge!

Ghosts

2009-06-22T21:08:00.000-04:00

He cleared his throat. She didn't hear. Or was she ignoring him? She was a superficial girl, he knew, but he was taken by her beauty. He was hesitant and stood there awkwardly behind her, trying to act natural. He would start by introducing himself and she would smile. He hoped. Finally, his body decided it was time. He turned to her, sipping his tea. But the tea was still near boiling and it burnt his tongue. He winced as she walked away without noticing.

She stood there absently. Nothing in the room affected her. Where was he? She knew nothing about the boy, but still felt a pull toward him. She stood there near the back of the room and tried to maintain her persona. He would come up to her and introduce himself and she would smile. She hoped. Finally, her body accepted that he wasn't coming. She felt her insides crumble as her hope slipped away. He was not there, would not notice, so she walked away.

The Note

2009-06-13T11:28:00.000-04:00

I stared at the note. It was a list I had written for her. In my anger I had torn it up, left the pieces lying on the floor. After our fight, she wouldn’t need it anymore. I was losing her. Maybe this was my one last act of spite. Tiny pieces of paper, saying everything I wanted to scream out. After all these years, maybe I would just have to accept the things that would never change. But when I came home today, the note was there, sitting on the counter; she had taped it back together.

Darling Ghost and Some Large Octopus Thing

2009-06-13T11:05:00.000-04:00

Come see DG at Yellow Door June 20th!

Three Pieces of Cheese

2009-06-01T00:42:00.001-04:00

Grater

Both smooth and rigid
I tenderly graze your edge
Longing to grate cheese

Cheese of a Lifetime

I was feeling lighthearted and I could tell he was too. It was finally summer. We decided we would make ourselves a grand feast for the evening. I started cutting the onions; he took out a block of cheese.

“Can you believe it’s over?” he laughed.

“Yeah! The nostalgia hasn’t quite kicked in yet.”

“I mean some of those people we probably won’t see ever again.”

He started to grate the cheese and I started to panic. I guess what he had said had finally triggered something in me. I suddenly felt like I was gasping for breath, but only on the inside. It was as if time was slipping through me and I had no recollection of how I’d even gotten here. I watched the cheese disappear into the grater, the constant motion, the cheese running out until almost none was left. I grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just stop. I just want to stay like this.”

Forbidden Cheese

I found out I was lactose intolerant when I was eight. It ruined the better part of my childhood, depriving me of ice cream, milkshakes, yogurt and worst of all, cheese. Whenever we learned about the food groups in school, I had to leave class before the teacher mentioned the dairy or I would break down in tears. I would not come to accept my relationship with milk products until years later, when I began to work as a dishwasher at a local French restaurant. Here I was surrounded by cheese. It was like constantly seeing an ex-lover who had betrayed me. I loved cheese with all my soul and all cheese had given me was nausea and diarrhea. I had moved on, of course. But sometimes, just sometimes, late at night when we’re closing up the restaurant, I stick my nose into the fridge and smell the cheeses. I’ll never go back. But how I long for him…

So one Friday night Jacques ran up to me at my dish-washing station yelling
“WHERE IS THE CHEESE GRATER?” I was impressed that a man who I believed spoke little English knew the word cheese grater. I guess I had underestimated Jacques. I told him I had no idea where his cheese grater was. That was a lie. One of the other dishies and I had used it to grate some pot at the end of our shift the day before. The grater was perfect for breaking up the weed. We must have left it in the staff room. Jacques was furious. He stormed around the kitchen and before I knew it everyone was searching for the cheese grater. I had to recover the grater before it was discovered downstairs, but when I saw my enormous pile of dishes I decided that I couldn’t disappear without anyone noticing, so it would have to wait. At the end of the night I ran into the staff room and snatched the grater. I snuck up into the kitchen when everyone had left so that I could subtly leave it back in its place, but little did I know Jacques was still there. We walked right into each other and I froze, cheese grater in hand.

“AHA! You little thief. You think you can just take whichever of my kitchen utensils you please? This is not for your own personal use. This is for professionals!” He snatched the grater from my hands.

“It’s not what it looks like! I…I don’t even eat cheese! I’m lactose intolerant!”

He didn’t believe me, of course. He was convinced I was a cheese-craved maniac who wanted to steal his grater. Jacques demanded that I prove to him I was lactose intolerant. He took a big chunk of cheddar out of the fridge and placed it in front of me. You know that feeling when you see an old lover? You feel kind of numb knowing that he’s right there and you could have him. You relive all of the wonderful memories in your mind and even though you can also remember the pain, you just want to touch him…

“Go on, eat it!” he prompted

I grabbed the block of cheese, took one bite and after that there was no stopping me. I gave myself to cheese and he took all of me. I shoved the cheddar into my mouth, finished the whole block, left not even a crumb. Jacques looked at me satisfied; he had proven I was a cheese-freak. Then I felt it: the wrenching pain. My stomach screamed. I vomited all over the kitchen floor and my heart was broken once more.

“Damn girl! I guess you really are lactose intolerant!”

I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

“A thousand apologies for not believing you. And for making you eat all that cheese! Is there anyway I can make you feel better?”

Can you unbreak broken? Was what I wanted to ask. But then he leaned in and spoke very quietly

“Do you get high? I mean now that I have my cheese grater back I can finally make a proper doob!”

Wondering

2009-05-17T15:05:00.000-04:00

I think I've made up my mind...

The Longest Story Ever

2009-05-11T01:40:00.000-04:00

This one time my friend Dix invited me over to listen to him play a Cello concerto he had been working on for a long time. At the end of the piece he looked up and said,

"Why such a long face?"
To which I replied, "That was very long!"
He frowned and said "But I've come such a long way..."
Not wanting to hear anymore cello concertos, I tried to change the subject:
"Hey Dix, let's go watch a nice, long movie!"
"Alright, we could go see that one starring Justin Long"
"I've been longing for Justin Long!"

But when we got to the theater there was too long of a line, so we decided to just go for a long walk instead. It was awfully cold outside, so cold that Dix insisted - to my embarrassment - that we both wear long-johns. All that cello playing had made Dix pretty hungry, so we stopped at Subway and we both got a foot-long. He insisted on paying for the sandwiches because he was long in security.

Afterwards, we walked to the park on Parc even though it was (what I consider to be) a long ways away. We stopped to admire some kid's kite that was in the shape of Lóng, the mythical Chinese dragon. Then this other kid playing football yelled "GO LONG!" Dix tried to catch the ball, but missed by a long-shot.

Embarrassed by his momentary lack of athletic skills, Dix insisted that we leave when we suddenly ran into an old friend of his who was like, "Long time no see!"
As they reminisced about old times, I couldn't but help feel like I didn't be-long. So I said,

"So long!"
"Oh come on Emilie, can't we all just get a-long?"
"Not as long as he’s here!" I said angrily.

On the long and winding road back home I stopped at Bar Chez Maurice to drown my sorrows in a couple of Long Island iced teas. The guy sitting next to me wouldn't stop going on and on about his long-distance relationship with his girlfriend. I tried talking to him, thinking maybe we could be friends, but then I realized he was just looking for someone to get it on with all night long. It was then that I realized that I would never find another friend quite like Dix as long as I live.

So I went home and tried to write him a the longest short story that I could, but this was the best I could do.

Thanks to everyone who contributed their "long" expressions!

Don't Fill Your Blue Jeans Up With Big Ideas

2009-05-10T15:44:00.000-04:00

I found this about a year ago at a concert. I grabbed it off the stage thinking it was a set list, shoved it in my bag and didn't look at it until I got home when I discovered it was this mysterious note. I like to think it was an angry message intended for one of the band members who would have been surprised to see it when he looked down to check which song was next...
I'm thinking I'll send this into Found Magazine. Check out the site for more finds: www.foundmagazine.com

The Organ

2009-05-06T21:44:00.000-04:00

When Richard is not busy watering his tomato plants or wondering which move he should make next on online chess, he thinks about how lucky he his to be moving in with the most wonderful girl, his friend Emilie. Their new apartment would be perfect; sunny with yellow walls and beside a parking lot, none the less! There was only one thing missing, one thing that would be crucial to their lives: They needed a piano. A piano would allow the possibility for jam sessions, for collective singing of popular songs at parties and of course for Emilie to properly express her deep melodramatic emotions. Emilie already had an old piano she liked to call Larry.

"It's much too heavy to move to the new place. And it'll cost a fortune to tune."
"It would still be cheaper than buying a new one."
"It's not worth it. It's just out of the question!"
Women, thought Richard.

So began Richard's quest for the keyboard. After deleting his Facebook account because of his strong opposition to social networking, Richard went to Craig's List, a website that allows people to connect and contact each other for all sorts of reasons. Richard went to the "For Sale" section and typed in "Piano". Hundreds of results came up. He grazed through them quickly and noticed an ad for an electric organ. Richard got to thinking, an organ, eh? He could already here the Bach preludes in his head. So he typed "Organ" into the search bar. One of the search results really caught his eye.

Organ for sale
50$
Ask for Joe

Wow! Fifty bucks! Richard scrambled to his phone and called the number. A man with a scratchy voice answered.
"Hi, I'm calling about the ad for the organ?"
"Yeah, I've got a couple. What are you looking for?"
"I don't know much about organs! I'm just looking for something cheap."
"When can you come by?"

Richard arranged to go over to Joe's place later that day to check out his organ collection. He called up his friend Felix and asked him to join him just in case he decided to buy one and needed help lifting.

Joe lived on a little street in Cote St-Luc. The neighborhood was pretty gloomy and sketchy, but at least it gave Richard and Felix something to make clever remarks about. They found the address; it turned out to be a little white house on a tiny lot. They knocked on the door. A greasy fat guy wearing a wife-beater answered.

Richard greeted him with a big smile "Joe?"
"Yeah, you're the one who called?"
"Hello, I'm Richard and this is my friend Felix. He's also a musician."
"Right. Follow me."

The house smelled like cigarettes and old people. There were clothes and dirty dishes everywhere. It was a real dump, but Richard was not one to judge and kept an open mind about his new acquaintance.

"I keep them in the basement," said Joe.

He led them down a shaky staircase. He pulled the light switch and they found themselves in a small, unfinished basement. Tons of junk was piled up everywhere, but no organ in sight. Richard noticed a giant purple exercise ball and couldn't help but think to himself that it might do Joe some good to take it back out from storage. On the far back wall there was a door with a framed picture of Jesus nailed to it. Joe opened the door and the boys followed him into a second tiny room. Inside it was empty except for a fridge and a large white freezer. Richard and Felix looked at each other, confused.

Joe opened the freezer. He looked back at his guests expectantly. Richard took a few steps forward and peered inside.

"Oh. I wasn’t looking for that kind of organ!"

Maeda and Me

2009-04-22T22:02:00.000-04:00

Mug Shot

2009-04-19T00:00:00.000-04:00

I was standing in the elevator sipping my coffee. On the way up a man and a woman got on at the 5th floor. They stood beside each other quietly for a moment, then the man said:

"Did you ever get your mug back?"
"No," replied the woman. She hesitated and then said, "But I know who took it and I don't know what to do about it." They were quiet for a minute.
"You know, I don't want to accost a colleague, but it's a one of a kind mug from Victoria."
"Oh, I see," said the man.
The woman then leaned in towards him and said very quietly, "Can you keep a secret?" She looked back at me suspiciously then cupped the man's ear with her hand and whispered something, presumably revealing to him the name of the mug-napper.
"Really," said the man. He looked back at me briefly. His smug expression said I know something you don't know, making me feel like we were little kids in grade school.

The three of us got off on the 10th floor. As I made my way to my desk, I smiled at myself, amused. What was so special about mugs? People left them lying around the office kitchen all the time. In fact, the mug I was sipping out of right then I had found in the kitchen. As I drank the last drops of coffee, I noticed the tiny white writing at the bottom of the mug that read:
Victoria BC

Love of Horses

2009-04-13T20:53:00.000-04:00

I was in love. It’s just like they say, you just know. And boy did I know. My heart skipped a couple of beats when Cindy passed me the note that said “Jason likes you.” Now I’m not the kind of girl who just sits around and waits to be asked out. I’m a strong, independent woman, so when the bell rang for recess I went right up to him and asked, “Do you want to play with me today?”

We got the swings before anyone else. It was so romantic. I didn’t really know what to talk about with a boy. After a few minutes of silent swinging, I was starting to get nervous. My first date ever and we couldn’t even make small talk! So I said the first thing I could think of,

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Jason though for a moment, “Uh…horses.”

“Really? Me too! It’s so nice to finally meet a sensitive boy who shares my loves of horses.”

“Yeah, they’re great. I live for horses.”

We had the same interests! It was meant to be.

That night I went to the library and found as many books as I could on horses. As I flipped through the pages, I fantasized about Jason and me admiring the pictures together. I imagined us both reaching to turn the page at the same time and our hands would touch. I sighed. I walked up to the counter to take the books out. The lady asked for my card. Shoot! I forgot my darn library card! I blushed, embarrassed, while inside I was beginning to panic. My fantasies started to slip away when I realized I couldn’t have the books. “I’ll just go…put these back,” I said as I stumbled away. I went back into the row where I got the books. Suddenly I did something totally out of character; I shoved the books into my backpack. I swear I don’t normally steal! But you understand, this was an emergency. I took three deep breaths then took a mad dash for the door. The alarm rang when I ran through with the un-checked books, but I just kept on running and didn’t look back. The crazy things you do for love!

The next day at recess I proudly showed the books to Jason. We sat down on the grass side by side and I opened one of them.

“Wait,” Jason said. “I have to tell you something.” He looked down.

I leaned in closer and did the bravest thing ever: placed my hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can tell me anything”

“Well, I don’t actually like horses. I just kinda said that cause I remembered you have that purple sweatshirt with the picture of the horses on it. I thought maybe you’d like me more or something.”

My eyes welled up with tears. It was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard.

Things That Happen to Sabrina, Vol. II

2009-04-13T19:19:00.000-04:00

This one time I was walking with Sabrina and another friend of ours named Sarah, but not the same Sarah related to the case of mistaken identity. So Sabrina and I wanted to buy candy at the depanneur and Sarah needed to go to the bank and pick up her glasses which she had left at a restaurant the night before. So we took this extra long route to accommodate Sarah with her errands. On this route, Sabrina found a random notebook on the ground and decided to keep it for some reason. It had Diego - you know, Dora's friend - on the cover. Sabrina wanted me to put the notebook in my bag, but I refused because I didn't want some dirty notebook in my bag! The next day I got this insane message from Sabrina on my phone saying she's experienced a crazy coincidence. After work, I rush home to find out what it is. She shows me the notebook. Inside there are pages and pages of little scribbles, apparently from a little kid. But on one page it was written "SABRINA" with a vague, illegible message underneath. So she's freaking out! What does it mean? Is it a secret message someone is trying to send her? Maybe she's being sent on a mission! I just shrug my shoulders and say "Wanna go watch Sex and the City?"

Things That Happen to Sabrina, Vol. I

2009-04-13T12:30:00.000-04:00

Sabrina told me about this one time when she was the subject in a case of mistaken identity. She was at this random Starbucks that she never goes to and this lady comes up to her and says, "Sarah?" Sabrina says no, she's not Sarah. The lady walks away confused. This event reminded Sabrina of another time a while back when she was on a bus. A girl kept looking at her shyly as if she knew her and before getting off, approached her and asked "Sarah?" Now Sabrina's going crazy, wondering who this Sarah girl is that looks so much like her. And it happens a third time! On the metro plat-form. But this time Sabrina was ready. She dully looks at the identity-confused person and says "No." Sabrina looks Sarah up on her social-networking website. Sabrina thinks Sarah is unattractive and is embarrassed. I think Sabrina should use this mistaken identity thing to her advantage. She starts thinking up ways to get karmic revenge. She will tell the next person who mistakes her for Sarah that they owe her money.One night I wanted Sabrina to come out to a bar with me, but since she is underage she needed to find a fake I.D. So we ingeniously send an email to Sarah asking for some of her old cards. But she said no and that is the last Sabrina heard of Sarah.

by Mat

2009-04-12T15:05:00.000-04:00

The Funeral

2009-04-12T14:20:00.001-04:00

It was my first funeral. I had never seen so many people in black. They had come from far to see the dead girl. I could recognize most of them. There was a surprising amount of food. Hadn’t anyone ever heard that the dead don’t eat? And she was there, of course, but after what had happened I did not want to see her. And even if she had something to say to me, I didn’t want to know. But I guess it was inevitable that she come up to me.

“I'm...” She started slowly, “I’m so sorry. You know I never meant for things to go as far as they did. I wish you could forgive me.”

Her voice shook on the verge of tears. I didn’t say anything. I hate apologies. People only say sorry to make themselves feel better. Her apology couldn’t change anything and I would never forgive her.

As she walked away, the memory of that night we had spent just days before flashed before me. The warm feelings and then the cold. “Just try it, it’ll make you feel alive,” she had said. How could I resist with her insisting in my ear and that beautiful boy in my sights. And it was like floating. And we all floated together… Now we were at a funeral and it was her fault. The whole thing had been her idea and she would have to deal with the consequences.

And then they shut the coffin lid and I was alone. I sank lower, lower, lower into the ground and I wondered how I could ever rest in peace when nothing would ever really be resolved.

Sunshine

2009-04-12T14:11:00.001-04:00

Saturday Mornings

2009-04-12T04:00:00.000-04:00

I used to work opens at this fast-food place. Every Saturday morning, 5 A.M. to 12 P.M. At a quarter after I'd get home and slip back into bed beside my girlfriend, who still hadn't gotten up. We'd make love before falling back asleep. My Clara was perfect. We’d been sharing a bed for months now and I looked forward to our Saturday mornings all week. We lived with a room-mate, an old friend of Clara's named Bruno. He was a cool guy, played the bass in a rock band.
This one day I got home from work and slipped into bed. Clara was warm and she smiled when I stroked her face. As we lay there, I analyzed her body and ran my fingertips over her skin. I noticed that today she had little black marks on her body. They were on her back, her arms, her breasts, even a bit on her face. Just these little dirty smudges everywhere.

“Clare, you've got black marks all over your skin."
“That's funny” she said. She rolled over and looked at her arms. “Hmm, I dunno what that is.”
“Hmm,” I kissed her forehead then wrapped my arm around her and drifted off to sleep.

The next Saturday, Clara had the same dirty smudges on her skin. She still said she had no idea what they were from. It was driving me crazy. Hadn’t she simply been lying in bed since I had last left her this morning? I began to come up with theories about what secrets she could be hiding, what she could be doing while I was away at work. She led a double life as a plumber and enjoyed to work naked, leaving marks from the dirty pipes all over her. Or maybe she would sneak off to the fingerprint lab at the police station and as a fetish asked the suspects to rub the leftover ink all over her body. But these theories seemed unlikely, so I went back to sleep.
That Friday night we went to see Bruno's band play. They sang songs about wolves and ex-girlfriends. It was actually good. When we got home, Clara told me this one song Bruno sang really moved her. That got me thinking about Bruno and what a great guy he was. He was someone you could count on and even though his talent made me a bit stiff with jealousy, I was happy for him.
The next morning was Saturday. I got cut from work and came home an hour earlier than usual. Bruno was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.

“Hey man, good job last night, the show was great,” I said.
“Thanks, glad you enjoyed.”
“For real, I hope you make it. You deserve it, you know.”
“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Before going to meet Clara in bed, I opened a pack of pop tarts. While I waited for the toaster to pop, I absent mindedly watched Bruno pour himself a glass of orange juice on the counter beside me. When he set the the glass down, I noticed something that made me feel sick: Bruno's fingertips. They were black. I looked back at the newspaper sitting on the kitchen table.

“Bruno…”
“Hmm..?” He looked at me sipping his juice.
“Do you always read the newspaper?”
“Yeah,” he said smiling “Every Saturday morning.”