The covers move on top of me. I roll on my side, groaning, and open one eye to scan the room for the culprit. Immediate regret. A dull grey light is spilling through the fourth story window, the kind that’s not-quite-sunny but still bright enough to kickstart today’s hangover. A camera falls from the bed-side table and the source reveals itself: Anna’s cat, a tabby, nameless and found mysteriously missing a tail near Saint Denis street four years ago. More groaning, but being more awake than not, I kick the covers off me and look at my phone. December 30th. Scared to check my texts, I’m suddenly flooded with the memory of drunkenly messaging friends I hadn’t spoken to in years, hoping they hadn’t succeeded in overcoming their weekend MDMA habit. Most of the replies went as expected: “Who’s this?”
“No one” I text back, throwing a pillow at my friend, finding an injustice in the fact that I was woken up by her nameless, tail-less cat.
“I know you’re awake.”  
She looks up, smiles sheepishly. When she gets up, the light catches the right side of her face and I can still see patches of glitter. I smile. Say, “I can’t believe this is the last time I’m going to see you.”
“I can’t believe I’m still wearing the same make up I had on three nights ago,” she shoots back.
“Always the sentimentalist,” I tease.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re coming to visit me anyway.” Right.

I smile nervously. Somehow it felt like I was breaking up with someone after a six year relationship. Not the kind where you’re necessarily in love with the person, but the kind you stay in out of comfort and because you don’t know where else to go.

11:51 AM
That morning we walked to a local cafe on Rue Ontario, the one we’ve passed by almost every Friday night for the past two years, sometimes dressed to go to the dep and argue over what mixes best with peach *****, other times wearing Red lipstick, laughing in the 3 am August breeze, cars honking and men gesturing for us to come closer (laughing, you explained to me once, if you’re from around here then you know about Rue Ontario.)

Joi de Vivre. Joy of ******* for cheap. Missed opportunities. Never realizing my full potential. My wife, she doesn’t love me no more.

Laughing.

I know what kind of girl you are.

Laughing.

*****, where are you going?

Laughing.

Frigid ****. Don’t go asking for it.

Dead pan.  “I’m fifteen, *******”

His turn. Laughing.

If you’re fifteen then I’m going to jail tonight!

11:52 AM

We order four polish donuts and coffee, sprinkled with cinnamon. “For the special occasion,” she tells the man behind the counter. Paul. I’m hit with the notion that I probably wont see Paul again either. My feet feel light, I forget my name. Forget to thank the barista as she hands me my coffee. We find a table next to an arrangement of biscuits with all the ingredients labeled in Polish, exchange stories about the first time we realized our vaginas could lubricate themselves. We exchange stories about the day we were born.

“Use protection!” I yell as she walks off. “Never,” she winks.

I forget my name.

That night she's on a flight to Portugal to be with a boy who’s just too busy to see her.

February 2, 2018
12:32 AM
But we’re so in love.
12:41
He’s just been really busy.

2:52 AM
I was so, so, busy.
Read √√

I’m sorry,
√√
I’m so so sorry.
√√


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Search: Anna

Location: 3,263 miles away.

February 11, 2018

I wear Red lipstick, wake up with glitter on my face. Laughing, laughing.