Alamo

It is to be our last day together.

It is to involve more walking than I am accustomed to.

I go to her door.

I want to live downtown some day. I have a surprising passion for walking. This has developed after years of not having access to a car. In Banff I had access to Antoine, who I treated as a car. A car wearing pants. So jolly.

He never gets impatient. Except with me.

Alright, I'm back.

I ask Marie if she has ever been hollered at by men from a moving vehicle. Turpin has this happen almost daily. I wonder what they holler. If I was driving past Turpin and felt so overwhelmed as to shout a comment at her I would likely utter, "You're lookin' pretty average. Want to give me directions?" Then I would continue driving. Until I reached Millfox. Then I would turn around.

She is fairly certain she has experienced drive-by harassment.

I tell her that I wouldn't mind if a woman adled me in said fashion.

Because women don't holler. And I have self-esteem issues. I think it would put a spring to my step.

You're hot. Walking by yourself. Perhaps you're running errands. Carrying something without handles. It's a tedious day. And then:

"I'd like to get me some of that ass!" Or, "Turn around, let me see the front!" Accompanied by honking.

I'd appreciate their letting me know. That they want some of that.

Ass.

Marie tells me she will holler some day. I look forward to it.

We go to Fred's. I told her at the beginning of the week that I had never been there before. As soon as we enter I tell her that I had been mistaken, forgetting a first of my life once again.

I'll remember bits and pieces of my first-born's birth. He or she will likely be born somewhere fucked up. In front of a lotto booth in a mall somewhere.

In Dakota. I don't know why Dakota.

It will be hard to forget that. But I bet my wife will have to continually remind me that she was there, too.

Temptation to splurge grows strong and we quickly leave.

We go to Hempire. It is not as I expect it to be. It's more mature, somehow.

Continuing our flask hunt, we go to an antique shop (forgotten the name, sorry).
Marie asks some preliminaries and gets little in the way of results, sadly. We browse. I feel obliged to do so out of politeness. I feel very strongly that neither of us should be in there.

I am attentive to every step.
"We'd better go," Marie suggests.

She practically tiptoes to the door. I focus on nothing but her satchel, and its potential collision with the various teacup knicknacks that choke the place.

She exits stage right to find a bathroom. I stand on Duckworth.

You know the sounds associated with (stereotypical) Indians before political corectness became trendy? "Woo woo woo?" Hand over the mouth?

I hear that. I turn, and I see Jennah Turpin. She has the same headphones as me.

I am confused.

She asks what I am doing. I tell her I am waiting outside of the restaurant in case a pretty girl comes out of it. I am trying to be cute, you see.

The three of us have conversation that is only a tiny bit forced. Until Jenny Gear shows up.

She brags about getting knocked up and then moves on.

Behold my mighty womb!

Anyway, Jennah leaves, with feeble mentions of Christmas.

Marie tells me that she is very attentive to hands. How they look. How they are shaped.

She mentions that she thinks mine are nice and I immediately stumble on a sidewalk crack. I clumsily recover. Physically, that is.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, I am Jack Tripper.

She is bringing a salad to a potluck. Spinach.

I know how to make a pretty deadly spinach salad these days. Side note.

I drive us to Sobey's (liquor store attached). We explore the endless options for buying feta.

We compare almond prices.

I dwell on how bored I will be once she leaves.

I say nothing.

Her salad ingrediants cost more than she expects. She buys a ticket for something while at the til.

She confuses which part she is to give to the cashier. But only briefly.
"I guess you would want the part with my name and address on it..."

They would, yes.

We forget that she wants wine as well.

I drop her off.

I can't remember the interim.

We meet up again at the potluck. I try to be as charming as I can, but it is difficult because I have to be at work in a matter of hours. Midnight.
She is going to watch Mark Bragg. I want to go as well. I want to quit my job. I want to no-show.

I meet someone named Hans. He looks more threatening than he sounds.

Marie brushes her teeth. I pay attention.

I drive she and I to The Ship.

The people around us are the sort I wish to be around more often.

I get her beer.

I run into a fellow performer from The Victory. He compliments. I file.

A person starts to sing. I cannot remember her name (terribly sorry, whoever you are).

We shout things back and forth. My brain can feel the heat of convection ovens.

It is time to go.

We part. It looks like this:

I'm still waiting for Christmas.

But then, I'm always waiting for Christmas.
It is when I get to see Jennah Turpin.

I walk away and try not to feel sad.

I open my car door and think to myself that I miss her already.

I put on deoderant.

I go to work.