A Study in International Relations, Part I: Liaisons
Shall I file this one under 'U' for Unnecessary, or 'D' for Drama?
Or maybe 'I' for International Liaisons?
So I canceled my cell phone's ability to receive international calls that aren't from the United States. When I first got the phone, I had all of these international friends whom I never thought would call but just might, one of these days. They never did, really, but I just kept it on for shits and giggles.
I sleep with my phone underneath me because it doubles as my alarm clock. At best I'll wake up right away and get motivated to leave my bedroom, and at worst I'll swear at it a few times until the 5 minute snooze button kicks in and I feel like throwing it into my laundry bin. I use a different ringer for my wakeup than I do for an incoming call, so I'll know the difference between when my superiors need to call me in to work, or the Agency has a new secret mission for me, and when it's four hours before I have to be somewhere important.
4 AM this morning. The Hikari ringer started up, and I knew there was someone on the other line.
I usually just let it ring if it's a number I don't recognize (which was the case) but it was one of those super long ones with all kinds of extra numbers attached to it. At first I thought that ET had misdialed, until I got my eyes to focus on the whole thing.
'33? The hell? France?'
'Bonjour, je ne parle pas français. Parlez vous anglais?'
I hadn't spoken French since grade seven and was damn lousy at it as well. I hoped that I'd gotten the point across, and not done something like ask for butter, or if the watermelon came with a blowjob on the side.
'Jon? C'est moi, Helena. Do you remember?'
'Helena??'
I told her I'd call her back as it was still too early in the morning for anything constructive, and I couldn't afford the cell minutes. I had to get to the convenience store for a cheap phone card, and on the way in the attendant noticed that I was in far too early.
'Wassa matter? Somebody die?'
'Nope, I don't think so.'
'Oh. We're having a special on cigarettes! 2 packages for $19!'
'I'm quite well chuffed, thanks, and Shoppers sells them for cheaper.'
'Are they open now?'
'No, but I could walk out, head five blocks the other way, and get a phone card from those other guys.'
'(Laughs) I guess you're right! Here you go. Don't go killing anyone, now!'
Killing someone was the least of my worries. What could possess this girl to phone me so bloody early in the morning? How did she get my cell number?
What is going on?
A million thoughts raced through my head, and the nicotine was kicking it into high gear.
I don't blog about a lot of super-personal stuff, unless I'm really bothered by something. I also don't usually blog about current relationships, because that shit can turn deadly. It's one thing to tell your girl that she's the best you've ever had when you're right next to her, because that's really what it's all about; a one-on-one emotional, spiritual, and physical connection. It's a completely different story to tell the world that your girl is the shit in bed, because if they don't break up with you on the spot for leaking that kind of stuff, they'll find a guy who reads your blog and has a bigger cock.
Past relationships are a completely different matter.
It was January, almost three years ago. I'd just gotten clear of culinary school and was enjoying the freedom to spend my days as I liked; working and gallivanting around downtown, without thinking of setting foot into a kitchen again for the rest of my life. My camera battery had just pooped out, so I walked to a nearby camera shop for a new one.
On the way there I was feeling pretty peckish so I stopped by Falafel King for some meaty goodness, when I saw a beautiful young girl with dirty blonde hair staring at the menu, completely dumbfounded. I'd seen the same looks on the faces of tourists at KFC in Thailand so I had this feeling that she wasn't from around these parts.
I managed to convince her that the falafel balls weren't breaded gorilla testes, and she had no problem figuring out what she wanted in terms of extra toppings. I ordered the same thing out of sheer hunger, and I started shooting the shit with her. I'd finished my exchange program a year and a half before, so I'd learned quite a bit about her because I just knew how to interact with foreigners.
She had nothing to do, so we went to the camera store and bought a new battery. After I put it in, she put one hand on the camera and the other on a passerby.
'Sir, would you take a photograph of us?'
She'd just gotten into town a week before and was planning to study for four months, touring Canada for the final two months of her stay before her return. After a month of lunch at Falafel King on Tuesdays and Fridays, she declared us a couple, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.
But early on in the relationship, we agreed that no matter what happened or how we felt about each other when her visa expired, that when it was over, it was over. We'd both been drop kicked from the LD relationship bandwagon before and there was absolutely no way in hell we'd let it happen to us again.
Just because you plan against something, doesn't mean you can stop it when it does. We'd been playing around with the 'L' word for some time and neither of us wanted to up and say it, because while we'd been around each other long enough to have a bead on what the other was thinking, the sun was staying out longer than usual, signaling her pending return.
'Helena...'
'Yes?'
'...'
'You're thinking about --'
'Yes...'
'...I do...Do you?'
'Yes, I think.'
'Okay, then.'
And we kind of left it at that, and a small part of us just kind of forgot about it. We just wanted to make the most of what little time we had together.
When it came time for her to go, there were no tears. Just a lot of laughs, and a long, lingering kiss, before she walked into A terminal. She blew off a few kisses after heading through the metal detector, turned away, and was bound for Paris via Toronto soon after that.
I tried hard not to think about it, and eventually got over it. Once in awhile I received a handwritten letter, or an e-card from her, but that was about all I'd heard from her over the past few years.
As is my standard operating procedure, I packed up all of her stuff and sent it to her, piece by piece, as a form of closure. Photographs, movie stubs, waffle cone wrappers, all shipped off in little parcels that I'd never see again.
And now she's phoning me at 4 AM?
I got a cup of coffee and dialed through again, hoping that the caffeine would keep me awake.
After some small chit-chat, I finally just got down to the nitty gritty and asked her what was up.
'You probably know that it's like 5 in the morning here, right?'
'Yes, I am sorry...but there is something you need to know.'
'What's that?'
'...I'm getting married - '
'Congratulations! Have you set the - '
'But I'm still thinking of you.'
'...date...?'
I dropped my cup with a thud. The styrofoam just exploded it back up, narrowly missing my genitals.
I put another pot on; this would be an interesting morning.