out of the blue
[reunion]
A few weeks ago, M. surprised me and emailed to say that he could visit. After a few emails later, I found myself excited to see him, memories flooding back into my mind. But quite coincidentally, I had also thought of him too, though not particularly about him, just my mind touching a memory that I had thought I'd lost over the years. beingboring had mentioned Ann Arbor (I forget why), and I was reminded of M. mentioning that he had wanted to go there.
I haven't seen M. in just over 11 years. The last time I saw him was in March of 1996, when I had went to visit Sammi's mom (my cousin) and dad in San Francisco. It was before I met Y, before I became this icy joe. We hung out a couple of times and I saw a side of SF that forever made me fond of the city. We kept in touch, sometimes actively, most times sporadically, but I tried never to let him go out of my life.
M. would be flying standby, so there wasn't a guarantee that I would be seeing him that weekend. Even so, Y and I cleaned house quickly in preparations for his visit. On Friday night, he called to say he was heading onto the plane and I had begun to feel a little nervous, wondering if we'd change enough that we'd forget who we were 11 years ago. There was still some more tidying to do, and so about an hour before he'd be downtown at our doorstep, I was in the bathroom swiffering. I accidentally tapped the doorknob with my elbow, gently hitting the door, which closed with an odd click, like a button snapped into place. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn't open, and so suddenly I found myself locked in the bathroom. I cried for help and Y came bounding over.
“It won't open!” I yelled.
“Try turning it some more. Try moving it from side to side.” Y advised.
“It's not doing anything.” Y began trying to force the door open. “Stop! All you're doing is pushing the door frame!”
“Is there anything in there you can use? Something to take apart the doorknob?”
I looked around and found some tiny screwdrivers, nail clippers, a small pair of safety scissors and tweezers. I tried to unscrew the doorknob apart. “Don't you have any screws on your side?”
“Nope. You'll have to do it on your side.”
“Fuck.” The phone rang.
“The phone is ringing!” Y yelled. "The phone is ringing!"
“Answer it!”
“Hi! It's Y. Joe locked himself in the bathroom.”
M. was going to be over in 30 minutes. I was beginning to sweat and feel claustrophobic. Nothing was working. I even tried the phone card Y slipped under the door, like they do in the movies. (I guess my life isn't like the movies.) Y even managed to pass a screw bit under the door with the right shape. It was useless, because I couldn't use a 1.5 cm screw bit to unscrew the doorknob. It's impossible.
Minutes ticked away, the bathroom still unswept, and then bang! Y smashed the doorknob with his geology hammer. I escaped! (and we're left with a nice hole in the door.) and then M. was here, at another door. He looked a little older, a little wiser, but practically the same as I remembered him... except I forgot how tall he was.
After the initial misadventure, the rest of his stay was wonderful. It was really weird to see someone you haven't seen in such a long time, and it was really comforting to find how easy it was to spend time with him, almost like it was 11 years ago again, except maybe I had more of his attention. We had breakfast at Le Petit Dejeunner, went to see the Emily Carr exhibit at the AGO, coffee at Moonbeam in Kensington Market and dinner at Café la Gaffe. It was sweet to hold his hand again.
By the next morning we awoke, thinking he had a little time for breakfast before trying to catch the 2 PM standby flight out of Toronto. And then it hit me that daylight saving time began, and I had forgotten to turn the clocks forward. We packed, we cleaned up and we got him out to a taxi to the airport. Relieved that he made it out on time, I went back inside and relaxed a little, waiting for Y and K-chan to get ready for coffee with brucebruce and the gang. An hour later, we were all at the door, and ready to go. I looked over to the kitchen counter and saw M.'s cellphone and car and house keys. Shit.
After trying to find a live person on his airline's automated client service system, and then being put on hold for 10 minutes, I realized that it wasn't likely that I could get some phone centre drone to either transfer my call to the airport or get the telephone number of the lounge where M. was possibly waiting for his flight home. I ran out the door and flagged down a taxi. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do at the airport, but I thought there might be a chance to get his cell and keys to him.
The taxi drove pretty fast for a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon. I got to the airport just an hour before his flight. I ran up to the first class check-in and asked the woman with the funny eastern european accent if M. had already passed through customs and immigration. Of course, I figured he had. I explained the situation and she shook her head. For security reasons, I could not (of course!) expect them to pass anything over to him. I asked if I could pass a message to the boarding gate. She looked at me and then picked up the phone and asked for M. to be paged.
M. was surprised that I was at the airport. He had just realized a few minutes before that he had forgotten his cell and keys. Since he wasn't able to come back out, we agreed to have things shipped. I was so close, yet so far. I wished him a good flight and then hung up. The airline worker kindly said that the flight was full, and M. might not be able to board on standby. I should wait for an hour to see if he might be coming back out.
30 minutes later or so, he called, I missed his call, we left messages and then he came back out. (He had another work cellphone on him, which could've come in handy if I had known.) I wanted to run up and hug him, but instead walked over relieved. Before we forget again, I handed him his cell and keys. We then made our way to Terminal 1 where he got another flight out with Air Canada. After a coffee and a doughnut, and another hug and goodbye, I sent him on his way through customs and immigration. It's always hard to see someone leave at the airport, there's something so finite and permanent about watching people go off to giant airplanes.
I took the bus home and pondered what a crazy day it was. I fell asleep wondering if M. was ever going to come visit again after this silliness.
In the evening, M. called. “You're home!” I said happily.
“You won't believe this, but I'm still in Toronto,” M. said almost laughing, but also annoyed.
“No way!”
“Yeah, we were up in the air for about an hour and then the pilot came on and said that some of us passengers might have noticed we took a big turn around back to Toronto. Some mechanical problem.”
“Get of here! You're pulling my leg!” I said incredulously.
“Nope, you can't get rid of me.”
I laughed, sort of, and out of frustration said, “Well, I guess I didn't have to rush to the airport to find you. You're still here!!”
They put him up in a pretty terrible hotel, and eventually M. got home the following day in the afternoon. It was one of the oddest weekends ever.
Despite the unexpected adventures, it was fun and funny. It was good to see someone I had fallen in love with so many years ago, to see how things have changed and if I felt a little of what I had felt before. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I was surprised instead to see how rational I felt about him. I could easily fall crazily in love with him again, let that iciness drop for a moment, but instead, I felt this complex bond with him, like something that is a little close to being crazily in love again, but not at all irrational nor blindingly impossible. I love him for what he was then 11 years ago, and I love him now for what he could be. The last memory I have of him from so many years ago, is me, sitting in the plane, looking out the window and seeing the tarmac, suddenly sensing his scent, feeling as if he was sitting next to me on the plane. I had fallen in love with his scent, and for a brief few seconds, didn't want to let him go. It's strange what you remember of someone, what you take away, what he might have left behind.
There is only one other person for whom I had felt his scent, while being somewhere else. He's someone I met recently, almost out of the blue. He, too, is so close literally, yet so far in every other way. I don't know if I can reach out to him, to touch his heart. Perhaps I'm not the one who can do that. Perhaps it's just me, emotional, irrational, feeling all the things that makes me what to be icy, so that I won't hurt, be hurt. I'm in love with his scent, and I hope I won't have to wait 11 years before seeing him again.
A few weeks ago, M. surprised me and emailed to say that he could visit. After a few emails later, I found myself excited to see him, memories flooding back into my mind. But quite coincidentally, I had also thought of him too, though not particularly about him, just my mind touching a memory that I had thought I'd lost over the years. beingboring had mentioned Ann Arbor (I forget why), and I was reminded of M. mentioning that he had wanted to go there.
I haven't seen M. in just over 11 years. The last time I saw him was in March of 1996, when I had went to visit Sammi's mom (my cousin) and dad in San Francisco. It was before I met Y, before I became this icy joe. We hung out a couple of times and I saw a side of SF that forever made me fond of the city. We kept in touch, sometimes actively, most times sporadically, but I tried never to let him go out of my life.
M. would be flying standby, so there wasn't a guarantee that I would be seeing him that weekend. Even so, Y and I cleaned house quickly in preparations for his visit. On Friday night, he called to say he was heading onto the plane and I had begun to feel a little nervous, wondering if we'd change enough that we'd forget who we were 11 years ago. There was still some more tidying to do, and so about an hour before he'd be downtown at our doorstep, I was in the bathroom swiffering. I accidentally tapped the doorknob with my elbow, gently hitting the door, which closed with an odd click, like a button snapped into place. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn't open, and so suddenly I found myself locked in the bathroom. I cried for help and Y came bounding over.
“It won't open!” I yelled.“Try turning it some more. Try moving it from side to side.” Y advised.
“It's not doing anything.” Y began trying to force the door open. “Stop! All you're doing is pushing the door frame!”
“Is there anything in there you can use? Something to take apart the doorknob?”
I looked around and found some tiny screwdrivers, nail clippers, a small pair of safety scissors and tweezers. I tried to unscrew the doorknob apart. “Don't you have any screws on your side?”
“Nope. You'll have to do it on your side.”
“Fuck.” The phone rang.
“The phone is ringing!” Y yelled. "The phone is ringing!"
“Answer it!”
“Hi! It's Y. Joe locked himself in the bathroom.”
M. was going to be over in 30 minutes. I was beginning to sweat and feel claustrophobic. Nothing was working. I even tried the phone card Y slipped under the door, like they do in the movies. (I guess my life isn't like the movies.) Y even managed to pass a screw bit under the door with the right shape. It was useless, because I couldn't use a 1.5 cm screw bit to unscrew the doorknob. It's impossible.
Minutes ticked away, the bathroom still unswept, and then bang! Y smashed the doorknob with his geology hammer. I escaped! (and we're left with a nice hole in the door.) and then M. was here, at another door. He looked a little older, a little wiser, but practically the same as I remembered him... except I forgot how tall he was.After the initial misadventure, the rest of his stay was wonderful. It was really weird to see someone you haven't seen in such a long time, and it was really comforting to find how easy it was to spend time with him, almost like it was 11 years ago again, except maybe I had more of his attention. We had breakfast at Le Petit Dejeunner, went to see the Emily Carr exhibit at the AGO, coffee at Moonbeam in Kensington Market and dinner at Café la Gaffe. It was sweet to hold his hand again.
By the next morning we awoke, thinking he had a little time for breakfast before trying to catch the 2 PM standby flight out of Toronto. And then it hit me that daylight saving time began, and I had forgotten to turn the clocks forward. We packed, we cleaned up and we got him out to a taxi to the airport. Relieved that he made it out on time, I went back inside and relaxed a little, waiting for Y and K-chan to get ready for coffee with brucebruce and the gang. An hour later, we were all at the door, and ready to go. I looked over to the kitchen counter and saw M.'s cellphone and car and house keys. Shit.
After trying to find a live person on his airline's automated client service system, and then being put on hold for 10 minutes, I realized that it wasn't likely that I could get some phone centre drone to either transfer my call to the airport or get the telephone number of the lounge where M. was possibly waiting for his flight home. I ran out the door and flagged down a taxi. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do at the airport, but I thought there might be a chance to get his cell and keys to him.
The taxi drove pretty fast for a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon. I got to the airport just an hour before his flight. I ran up to the first class check-in and asked the woman with the funny eastern european accent if M. had already passed through customs and immigration. Of course, I figured he had. I explained the situation and she shook her head. For security reasons, I could not (of course!) expect them to pass anything over to him. I asked if I could pass a message to the boarding gate. She looked at me and then picked up the phone and asked for M. to be paged.
M. was surprised that I was at the airport. He had just realized a few minutes before that he had forgotten his cell and keys. Since he wasn't able to come back out, we agreed to have things shipped. I was so close, yet so far. I wished him a good flight and then hung up. The airline worker kindly said that the flight was full, and M. might not be able to board on standby. I should wait for an hour to see if he might be coming back out.
30 minutes later or so, he called, I missed his call, we left messages and then he came back out. (He had another work cellphone on him, which could've come in handy if I had known.) I wanted to run up and hug him, but instead walked over relieved. Before we forget again, I handed him his cell and keys. We then made our way to Terminal 1 where he got another flight out with Air Canada. After a coffee and a doughnut, and another hug and goodbye, I sent him on his way through customs and immigration. It's always hard to see someone leave at the airport, there's something so finite and permanent about watching people go off to giant airplanes.
I took the bus home and pondered what a crazy day it was. I fell asleep wondering if M. was ever going to come visit again after this silliness.
joe wonders how red the lips, while M. smiles on.
In the evening, M. called. “You're home!” I said happily.
“You won't believe this, but I'm still in Toronto,” M. said almost laughing, but also annoyed.
“No way!”
“Yeah, we were up in the air for about an hour and then the pilot came on and said that some of us passengers might have noticed we took a big turn around back to Toronto. Some mechanical problem.”
“Get of here! You're pulling my leg!” I said incredulously.
“Nope, you can't get rid of me.”
I laughed, sort of, and out of frustration said, “Well, I guess I didn't have to rush to the airport to find you. You're still here!!”
They put him up in a pretty terrible hotel, and eventually M. got home the following day in the afternoon. It was one of the oddest weekends ever.
Despite the unexpected adventures, it was fun and funny. It was good to see someone I had fallen in love with so many years ago, to see how things have changed and if I felt a little of what I had felt before. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I was surprised instead to see how rational I felt about him. I could easily fall crazily in love with him again, let that iciness drop for a moment, but instead, I felt this complex bond with him, like something that is a little close to being crazily in love again, but not at all irrational nor blindingly impossible. I love him for what he was then 11 years ago, and I love him now for what he could be. The last memory I have of him from so many years ago, is me, sitting in the plane, looking out the window and seeing the tarmac, suddenly sensing his scent, feeling as if he was sitting next to me on the plane. I had fallen in love with his scent, and for a brief few seconds, didn't want to let him go. It's strange what you remember of someone, what you take away, what he might have left behind.
There is only one other person for whom I had felt his scent, while being somewhere else. He's someone I met recently, almost out of the blue. He, too, is so close literally, yet so far in every other way. I don't know if I can reach out to him, to touch his heart. Perhaps I'm not the one who can do that. Perhaps it's just me, emotional, irrational, feeling all the things that makes me what to be icy, so that I won't hurt, be hurt. I'm in love with his scent, and I hope I won't have to wait 11 years before seeing him again.
posted by joe at 10:50 PM
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