The Friends You Haven't Met

Paul couldn’t believe he was waiting for a girl named Ocean. It was a stupid name. The vestige of hippie parents, he was sure. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. When she had slid into the booth, predictably late, he’d thought there was something stuck in her hair, a fallen leaf or errant feather perhaps, but when she flung the wild tangled mass back he caught a glimpse of black leather lacing wrapped around a braid and realized that the colourful object was intentional. He was glad he had stifled the impulse to lean forward and gently tug it from the nest of her hair. The rest of her seemed similarly out of place amongst the ripped jeans, wife beaters, plaid shirts and trucker hats most of the other patrons at the bar wore. She was wrapped in some floaty loose fabric that rippled with each of her movements. He was almost embarrassed for her but she seemed oblivious to her conspicuousness in the midst of the blue collar crowd, immediately launching into some elaborate ramble, not even pausing to say hi, the moment she slid into the vinyl booth. He wasn’t paying very close attention to the story, the sports highlights were playing on the TV just above her head and they kept pulling his focus, but the gist seemed to be something about an amazing bakery she’s discovered and something about gluten free products. Thank God she still drank beer despite her apparent wheat aversion. He didn’t think he could handle her chatter without a thin membrane of alcohol between them.
She drank as fast as him, continuing the story about the bakery between hearty gulps that left a foam mustache on her upper lip. Occasionally she would lick at it, a furtive catlike gesture. She had small lips but they were not thin. A little bit like a rounded heart or a ripe plum. He wondered what it would be like to kiss them. He didn’t really think he wanted to. It was just idle curiosity, like when you wondered what it would be like if the power went out or if the car in the lane next to you suddenly veered into your lane. He was sure kissing her would be more pleasurable than the car scenario. The more time he watched her talk, the more he became convinced she was beautiful. If only she would stop talking about gluten free pastry. She raised her arms to emphasize a point and he caught sight of small bush under her arm. Ok and maybe shaved.
They’d met at a jam session in a vacant warehouse. Mark had convinced him to go, telling him he need to let off some pressure, to return to a time when music was fun. He was skeptical. A jam session sounded like a synonym for hippie fest, not his scene. He was right about the first part but it had been more fun than he’s expected and then Ocean had approached him all gentle and sweet, complimenting him on his guitar skills and his beard and though he’d known it was all ridiculous bullshit it had felt good. So, he had complimented her on her drumming though he hadn’t actually heard it at all and suspected it was probably just spastic pounding. They’d hung out in the parking lot with Mark for a while after, smoking a thin joint that kept going out, giggling as they re-lit the thing for the tenth time. She wasn’t his type but with the shitty way things were going with Lindsay lately it had felt good to have his ego stroked a bit. When Mark finally called it a night, he’d asked for her number, not really intending to ever use it but just wanting to know he could get it. He wasn’t sure what had made him call her today. Maybe, again, just wanting to know he could.
Ocean paused. The pause grew into a full stop. She was finished her story and apparently expected a response. He wasn’t sure how much he had missed and didn’t have the energy to fake it.
-I’m going for a smoke. Can you watch my beer?
-Filthy habit but it’ll give me a chance to slip roofies in your drink.
Her sarcasm caught him off guard. Weren’t hippies supposed to be all peace and love? He grinned, enjoying the surprise and the suggestive nature of the comment.
- Knock yourself out.
The air outside was cool and grey, a nice change from the packed heat of the bar. He searched in his jeans pocket and found his lighter amidst the crumpled bills and receipts. He tapped his smoke on the window ledge, leaned back one foot resting on the bricks, and lit the smoke. He inhaled deeply enjoying the rush of nicotine as it cut through the fogginess. Shit, he should really call Lindsay.
She answered on the first ring.
-How’s your whore?
He exhaled, harder than he had intended, and almost started coughing.
-I don’t get it? I thought you hated dirty hippies and now you’re hanging out with this skank.
-Fuck. I don’t know why I bother telling you anything. She’s just a friend. I could have snuck around behind your back but I was trying to do the right thing. And I call you. To be nice like. And this is what you say to me?
- Forgive me for not falling all over myself in gratitude. The right thing, right.
-Fine, fuck, forget it. Have a great night Lindsay.
-When should I expect you home?
-I’m not sure you should.
-Paul!
He hung up. Why the hell had he thought calling her was a good idea? He butted out his smoke on the bottom of his shoe and flicked it into the street. Shit, why hadn’t he bought gum on the way? Maybe the bar had mints.
Back inside, Ocean was deep in conversation with the waitress. He paused to watch them as he dug through the glass bowl of mints at the hostess’ station. They were both hunched over the table as if they were sharing intimate secrets. He walked back towards them. The waitress looked up, smiled at Ocean and left with a small wave. As he passed her, the waitress raised her eyebrows in his direction. “Lucky man. She’s a really firecracker that one.” Ocean overheard and laughed, shaking her head in a show of embarrassment and modesty. “Friend?” he asked.
-Maybe, if you buy the whole thing about strangers being friends you haven’t met yet.
A strand of hair was stuck to her lip. He resisted the urge to reach over and brush it off. Instead, he scratched his chin, fumbled with the wrapper on the little mint and popped it in to his mouth. “So… how late are you thinking of staying out?” he asked, holding the mint in his cheek.
-Depends how the night goes. What did you have in mind?
This was probably a good moment to call it a night.
-There’s a nice park on 12th. Kind of overlooks the city. We could grab a few beers and…
He stopped himself from finishing the sentence with watch the sunset. It was too cheesy. It was a bad suggestion really. He and Lindsay went to that park often to drink pilsner and eat cheap takeout. The evening would taste of betrayal no matter how it finished.
-Your girlfriend won’t mind?
Was he that obvious or had Mark said something? Or maybe he had mentioned Lindsay and forgotten. He paused too long, scrambling for an answer that was cryptic enough to avoid lying outright. She read his silence.
-Ah, so you do have a girlfriend.
-Uhhh. Sort of, I guess.
Ocean half laughed.
-Sort of?
He fumbled for something clever but she stopped him before he could grab at the thread of a sentence.
-Don’t worry. It’s cool.
-No. It’s not. I’m an ass. I know. But… we’re in a rough spot and
-And you thought I might be able to stroke your ego a bit before you patched things up with her.
-No. Ocean, look, I think you’re really cool. Really cool. Usually… I know this sounds bad, but usually I avoid your type, but you’re different. You’re awesome and…
-Hey Paul, it’s cool. Usually I avoid your type too. Let’s just call this a failed experiment. No hard feelings.
-Failed?
She grabbed her leather satchel and shoved a twenty dollar bill towards him. More than she owed. She smiled.
-Bye Paul. Be good to her.
He watched her leave, aware that he wasn’t the only one following the swish of her skirts. She waved at the waitress who waved back energetically and then she stepped out the door without turning to look at the booth. He was pretty sure now that he did want to kiss her. He was pretty sure that it would have been terrific, maybe even song-worthy. Maybe he should run after her, tell her she was beautiful. Girls liked drama and sweeping romantic gestures.
He picked up the phone and dialed home. Hopefully Lindsay was still expecting him.