In Calgary that summer, I smoked on my cousin’s balcony every afternoon and listened to Cracklin’ Water by OP8 on repeat. I watched squirrels. I continued to mope about #30 for a bit and then suddenly I met the goddess of the mall and was completely distracted by my hopeless, delightful crush. I felt like I was twelve years old again or something. I basically wanted her to fall in love with me and we could run away into the sunset together.
This did not happen.
So anyway, I was out on a Saturday night, at either the Warehouse or Republic, I forget which, but it played alternative music and I was thrilled to be there. I remember 500 Miles by Down By Law and a boy in an I ♥ My Vagina t-shirt. And also #32. Maybe I scrounged a cigarette off him or something, I don’t remember, that used to be an easy icebreaker back in the day. Anyway, we wound up dancing together and at some point during Friday I’m In Love by The Cure he smiled and said “Saturday”. Cheesy as hell, yes, but it signalled that I could get off with him if I wanted to.
I saw him again on the Monday afternoon. My flight to Ottawa was that evening and I’d been holding out for a last encounter with the goddess of the mall, but it was not to be, so I met up with #32 and we drank Okanagan cider by the river. It was pretty nice. I guess it’s pretty clear that my head was mostly elsewhere, but it was still nice for what it was.