After cramming in another 3 hour paper, I decided to take a short walk to the store. I congratulated myself on the balance of my purchases: cigarettes to contradict society’s condemnation of unhealthy practices, and rice chips to lose ten pounds.
You might say I’m a bit stubborn. I rarely follow good advice, and I’m quite stingy with frivolous emotions like excitement, and pity. These traits, I am convinced might’ve been somewhat charming on someone with a heart of shimmering gold, but with the added handicap of a heart of pure stone, I’m pretty much an asshole.
It’s no surprise then that I’m single. Not for want of suitors, or shallowness of feeling but because I couldn’t be bothered to invest the sort of emotions required for lasting human connection. It’s just too much risk for such speculative returns.
It should also come as no surprise that I am not fond of Valentine’s Day. I prefer to sneer at and make caustic remarks about canoodling couples, and though I like to blame my hermit-like lifestyle on my extended academic career, I know it’s really due to a loss of faith in humanity as a whole.
Imagine my surprise, when on Valentine’s Day Eve, just as I was getting in the elevator a sudden memory of some forgotten heartbreak. I wondered at the obscure remembrance and absently looked for my keys. The thought was still in my head when in the reflection on the deadbolt I saw a man in a diaper behind me. I spun around but saw no one.
“It was a speck in my eye, or a string from my scarf… it was only my distraction that made me think anyone was there,” I told myself as I jerked the key clockwise in the lock and hip-checked the door open.
I kicked off my boots and flung my hat, scarf, gloves and coat into the closet, tore off my top 2 layers of clothing and crashed into my couch in my long-johns and a t-shirt, unsure of whether to smoke a cigarette or bust open the bag of rice-chips. Hank, my new kitten, sling-shot himself around the room before attaching himself to my shin. I screamed out in pain, accidentally kicking him into the sliding doors.
He looked at me accusingly and stalked back towards me. I reached for the spray-bottle to head off another attack when the doors were thrown open and a tall white guy in docs and a cupid get up with dreads down his back scooped Hank up in his arms and tickled his belly. He pulled an arrow with a heart-shaped runner tip out of the quiver on his back and poked at the cat playfully. The man smiled as Hank sunk his teeth into the tip of the arrow chewed on it gratefully.
“G’day!” Trucker Gord shifted his weight and grinned at me expectantly. “I’m not here”.
“Oh my god! Gord you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I’m not really here.”
I’ve known Gord a long time. When we were 6 years old, he refused to allow me to his birthday party. When we were 13, he grew a mustache, so he was the guy who bought beer for the neighborhood kids. When we were 24, he drove me to Nevada for Burning Man. When we were 30 he sewed someone else’s hair to his head in order to lengthen his dreads. He grew up to be a trucker. Just like he always said he would. He also managed to travel most of the English speaking world and then some doing it. He wore largely a variation on the same theme every day: black tshirt, black jeans, boots, a flight jacket, and a hat. Gord was one of the only guys I never thought about sexually, let alone imagined in a diaper.
“What do you mean?” I asked incredulously.
“Really watch. I’m not here”, then he was gone. Just gone. No fade, no pop no faint mist, not even the scent of diesel. He had just disappeared instantly, as if he was never there. The cat sat wantonly on the floor licking himself.
“Floop!” I yelped and felt the flesh crawl across my body. Hank bolted. I checked the ingredients on the rice chips to see what chemical I might be reacting to. Seeing that I had accidentally bought ketchup flavoured instead of BBQ as I had intended , I convinced myself that perhaps my delusion was due to red dye poisoning . I lit a cigarette.
“You’re still smoking?” I tried not to hear it. But I did. I looked down at Hank.
“He’s not here” I said to Hank.
“No, you’re right. He’s not.” Hank said in TruckerGord’s voice.
“I’m hallucinating” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes tight laying my head in my lap. Hank attacked my pony tail.
“You probably are hallucinating, but that’s not important.”
“It’s not?” I grabbed Hank and held him in the air staring him down.
“No, what’s important is that today is the day before Valentine’s day and you are a Valentine’s Scrooge!”
“What? Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on here and why do you sound like Gord?”
“Who the hell knows. Maybe cause its my birthday.” Hank squirmed out my hands and rolled to the floor. “Maybe cause I’m your oldest friend and you miss me. Maybe I'm the incarnation of cupid sent here to bring you a message. Who knows, who cares?”.
“Happy Birthday, by the way. I sent you a face book message.”
“I’m not really here.You realize that Right?” Seeing Gord’s deep rumbly voice coming out of tiny little Hank made me giggle.
“Ok I get it. You aren’t here. So what are you not doing here?”
“As I was saying, before you rudely interrupted me… On Valentine’s you will be visited by three ghosts. Expect the first at the stroke of one. “ Hank’s tail twitched ominously.
“Hehehe… you said stroke.”
Then without even a chuckle, Hank leaped onto a newspaper and walked sideways towards a squeaky toy. He didn’t say another word to me.
