Sunday 12:30 a.m. 20**
We stood around, occasionally lifting our glasses to cheer our adventurous and amazing lives. We knew nearly all of the people in the place – and the ones we didn't, in all likelihood, didn't matter. It's different on this side of the velvet rope. “Him” from that band shook my hand and struck up a conversation. I approached “her” from that magazine and gave my congratulations. From across the room, “them” from that play raised their glasses at us and nodded their heads. We all made our rounds, exclusively acknowledging each other's existence as if we all belonged to some secret society that outsiders were oblivious to.
A decade ago, this isn't where I imagined myself. I grew up in the suburbs. I went to a Catholic school. I wore a uniform. My house didn't have picket fences, but it was close enough. I was raised just like most people. Go to school. Get good grades. Get into a good university. Get a good job. Find a good girl. Get married. Have kids. Buy a house. Live a good life. But somewhere between here and there, the concept of good was lost to me. Living in the city changes a person. It changed me. The city wakes you up from the slumber of the suburbs.
A decade ago, this isn't where I imagined myself. I grew up in the suburbs. I went to a Catholic school. I wore a uniform. My house didn't have picket fences, but it was close enough. I was raised just like most people. Go to school. Get good grades. Get into a good university. Get a good job. Find a good girl. Get married. Have kids. Buy a house. Live a good life. But somewhere between here and there, the concept of good was lost to me. Living in the city changes a person. It changed me. The city wakes you up from the slumber of the suburbs.
“Hey Lorenzo, see that girl that just came in with the hot wannabe model? Isn't that the girl from the other week? The one who just broke up with Keith? Don't you sorta know her?” said my friend, suggestively elbowing me in the back.
I knew exactly what he was thinking. It ain't no fun if the homies can't have none. Target acquired. We made our introductions. With these types of women, you don't have to be interesting or even witty. They could care less about getting to know you. They don't want to discuss politics or hear your thoughts on life or religion. No one here is genuinely out to connect on any level deeper than hellos and goodbyes. They more so want to be impressed by you. You must be armed with subtle and occasional name drops. This battle is won by convincing them that spending time with you will increase their importance in this modern day night timing empire. Let them know why you are who you are. Own your status in life. Everyone, in one way or another, is just chasing the cool.
As we got further into our vain conversation, she motioned to her friend and made some snide remark about someone standing by the bar.
“Poor girl. She'll never get a drink looking like that.”
I turned my head to join them in their ridicule at the expense of this clueless outsider in hopes of sealing our awkward morning agreement. But when I did, I was caught off guard. To my surprise I recognized their verbal assault victim. She was wearing a blue t-shirt that didn't match her faded torn blue jeans. She had flip flops on, as always. I looked at her and caught her eye. She smiled at me and waved.
“You know that girl?” the fake-breasted quasi model asked me. My friend gave me a look I recognized. It was the “just-say-no-and-please-don't-fuck-this-up” look. But all the feelings from that night came rushing back. Her friendly blue eyes were still locked on mine from the bar where she stood, unserved. She began to walk towards me. I weighed the decision in my head and in my heart. Continue my conversation with this conventionally beautiful but obviously shallow person and win the admiration of my friends, or leave it all behind and talk to the girl with the flip flops. She, a couple of weeks back, had stolen my heart for the night. Although I woke up disappointed to a post-it note goodbye, I knew eventually our paths would cross again. I couldn't really blame her for her abrupt and seemingly careless departure. I'm sure it was a confusing and somewhat difficult situation for her, given my metal heart reputation. I'm sure in her head, she thought that's what I was accustomed to and what I wanted. Typically, she would have been right, but there was nothing typical about the fate-less night we shared. Connecting like that with another human being is rare in this city. Talking about anything other than what you do and who you know is rare in this city. Real conversations are rare in this city. Truth be told, anything real is rare in this city.
As she came closer to me, the night we shared began to come back to me vividly. I remembered how I fell asleep beside her and didn’t feel alone. How we talked about everything and anything. How she actually cared about my thoughts and aspirations, but failed to expect anything more. I remembered how warm her body felt next to mine. But all of that was weeks ago, and this moment was now. She didn't belong here with these people. She didn't know “her.” “Him” didn't shake her hand. “Them” didn't nod at her. And realistically, we made no sense together. Not in this city. Not in this life.
“Hi. How are you?” said the girl in the flip flops, innocently.
“I'm good,” I responded, rudely and to the point.
“Listen, I had an amazing time the other week. I'm sorry I just left like that. I just didn't know if you felt the same and I didn't want it to be weird if you didn't. Do you have a second to talk?”
I hesitated for a moment as my future conquest looked at me semi-disgusted for even knowing someone that didn't “belong.” I did feel the same way. Ordinarily, one night stands have a way of making someone feel lonelier than ever, but it was different with her. I felt something. I knew deep down, I had come across something tangible. Something with texture. Something real. But for one reason or another, these words came out of my mouth: “The other week? I don't know what you mean. I'm sorry, I'm really busy. I really don't have time to talk.”
I turned my back to her and went back to business as usual. In my periphery, I saw her walk away with her head down; not with embarrassment so much as a half-expected disappointment. Life isn't filled with first chances, yet alone second ones. I'm a glutton for this self-inflicted, superficial, substance lacking existence. I chose a life of wannabe models, lonely evenings and rap video dreams.
I got the look of approval from all parties. I've always hated people that lived with no significant meaning. I always thought that a life like that would be the death of me. But there I was, in this hip Toronto bar, with these hip Toronto people; yearning to impress and dying one premium vodka sip at a time. The city might have woken me up from my suburban sleep, but I'm still only half awake – shaking hands, nodding heads, completely devoid of substance in this fake empire. I gave up something real to impress people that could care less about me. I've been so busy toasting this life away with “him,” “her” and “them” that I failed to realize that chasing the cool never kept anybody warm.
