Jon’s co-op/internship ended and the day arrived for him to take off for England. As had become our custom, we chatted early that morning. I wished him a happy and safe journey, he sent me a warm smiling selfie waving goodbye and I got dressed and went off to work.
Later that afternoon after work and a training session at WorkOUT, I stopped off at the Sunrise Way and Ramon Rd Ralphs supermarket to pick up something for dinner. While pushing a cart past the steaks and chops the message notification chime went off on my iPhone.
There, along with another picture of him warmly smiling directly into the camera and waving once again, was a message that said he was about to board the plane for his flight to London and that I should take care and “be good Mister.”
For weeks Jon had talked more about how excited he was to be making this trip than anything else, and even though he’d often told me it was his practice to send short little greetings out to friends and that it was nothing special, I couldn’t help being overwhelmed by the thought that just moments before he began what for him was to be the journey of a lifetime he’d stopped to think about me.
From deep within my consciousness I could hear Brain exclaim in sheer and utter panic, “OH SHIT!”
Griselda had a smile that had grown into that same wide shit-eating grin I had; so broad that a lemon orchard at harvest time couldn’t get rid of it.
“QUICK,” Brain shouted in an effort to head off any possible sign of sentimentality on my part, “post something snarky before he gets out of range.”
I quickly tapped in something about how sweet it was to get his message and then began typing a short dialogue with “Lefty,” the nickname I’d given to the hand used most when making love to myself. Lefty had become both a surrogate for feelings I found difficult to express in our chats, as well as a sort of internal dialogue running joke.
The upshot was that in the middle of thanking Jon for his thoughtfulness, Lefty was distracting me by pointing out a handsome, muscular, hunk at the other end of the aisle.
In less than a minute a picture of Jon sticking his tongue out at me came back. I sent one of me laughing back to him.
I felt horrible. Even if my girlish heart wanted to take what at the very least was a warm and sincere gesture of friendship and run wild with it, there was no logical reason to mock him.
Jon did occasionally message me and send along some photos of the sites he was seeing…
I came to feel even worse during the days that followed. While Jon did occasionally message me and send along some photos of the sites he was seeing, they were often days apart. I began to experience what I can only say felt like withdrawal.
Without the daily text and nearly as frequent video chats, I fell deeper into a feeling of loss and a state of depression.
It became more and more difficult to concentrate. My job performance began to suffer and the bounce in my step and my shit-eating grin soon began to disappear.
I lost my appetite and had to force myself to go to the gym where, once again, the effort I was putting into my exercises was halfhearted at best.
By this time, Jon’s best friend back in Hamilton, Brodie and I had struck up an online friendship and were also occasionally video chatting.
One evening I apparently looked so downhearted that Brodie offered, without prompting, “I know how you feel; I miss him too.”
By this time Jon’s best friend back in Hamilton, Brodie and I had struck up an online friendship…
So convinced we’d, Brian and I, managed to suppress my girlish heart’s desire to be closer to Jon, we were completely caught off guard by Brodie’s observation. It left me feeling more than a little embarrassed.
I feigned ignorance and could not believe what came out of my mouth next.
“We’re just good friends,” I said with about as much conviction as a used car salesman pushing a repainted taxi off as a one-owner gem.
“You’re in love with him,” Brodie replied.
Once again I was dumbstruck. I must have stammered nonsense for what felt like a good ten to fifteen minutes.
“Relax,” Brodie said reassuringly. “Jon and I have been friends since I was in my teens. He’s a wonderful guy and very easy to spend time with.”
The chat over, I retreated to the sofa, full wine glass in hand, and sank deeply into my thoughts.
By this time Brain was apoplectic and he shot Griselda a withering glance intense enough to send her retreating sheepishly into the recesses of my mind. Everything he had been working to prevent seemed to be leaking in around us like a levy struggling to hold back flood waters.
Determined not to give up, he pressed on.
“What about that guy, Randy from Modesto you spent time with during IBC (International Bear Convergence) back in February? You had a great time with him and you’re both Facebook friends now. You chat. He even likes Disneyland as much as you.”
His desperation to distract my thoughts away from Brodie’s assertion and Jon’s absence was palpable.
“Married,” I reminded him.
“Uh…uh…,” Brain began desperately groping for any fling or fun association of any kind that I had since moving to Palm Springs as a means of derailing my thoughts of the big hairy guy from Canada. “Birds Nest Boy, that hot 26 year-old you went hot tubbing with at Quality Inn.”
Bird’s Nest Boy, a name Jon had given this particular young man with a strikingly thick, full, 1890s style beard, had invited me to join him for a soak in the hot tub at his hotel. He was visiting from Seattle and sharing a room with a friend. The friend was supposed to be out having dinner with other friends. However, by the time I arrived at the hotel, plans had changed and the “friend,” who looked like the giant economy size version of me was there in the hot tub as well.
It was an awkward evening that ended with me wandering about the hotel parking lot with little more than a pool towel covering my dignity. But that’s another story.
“Moving to Montreal,” I reminded Brain, “to study for a masters in something or other.”
The next evening, after a day spent moping about my job and the flat, I opened another bottle of wine and retreated once again to the confines of my mind. I called a meeting of all parties involved.
“It’s true,” I said with a sigh of resignation. “Like so many countless others I’m the last one to see what so many of our friends, and even Jon’s best friend have seen…”
There was a long pause as I inhaled deeply. I turned and faced Griselda who was on the edge of her seat. Brain was staring at me pensively.
“We’re in love, with Jonny Bear.”
Next Up: Just Breathe
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