On December 31st 2018 I fell asleep on the couch next to my roommate, Chelsi. “There's ten seconds left, Bren.” she said, nudging me. We counted down as the crowd gathered in Times Square on TV. “Happy New Year.” I said groggily and fell back to sleep. The following day, I entertained the idea of New Years Resolutions and thought, this year I should try dating. I hadn't really dated since my last relationship.
I was nervous and before meeting anybody, I'd drink – a lot. I met this guy from Instagram with a fake tan who showed up to our house party one night with a complexion more orange than an Oompah Loompah. I was too intoxicated to perform later on and he spoon fed me pasta before I passed out moments later. The following morning Amber, my other roommate brought me coffee and left it outside my bedroom door. Hours later I chugged the entire thing like it were water, while the Instagram guy watched.
“You need to go.” I told him.
“I’m looking for my Uber.” he said, swiping through tinder.
Then there was another guy who, in a rush to leave before daybreak, forgot his belt - now my belt. The guy from the gym that didn’t wear shoes, then messaged me on Grindr to ask if I had been checking out his ass. I hooked up with him purely to say “I hooked up with this guy from the gym.” It's a gay rite of passage. An American boy who smuggled me Menthols. A handsome professional who made a lux coffee date feel like a job interview. A charming, fit guy who made out with me on a playground like it were eighth grade. Then Shawn.
By then I was ready to meet somebody without being heavily intoxicated. I sought warmth on a cold February night, inside of a busy pub on St. Paul street.
“Brendan! Good to meet you.” he said. “Sit down! I hope you like beer.”
He explained that he had come to Canada from Scotland to finish his Masters degree, researching wooly mammoths and other extinct organisms. It was his passion and his general confidence that ignited something in me. I had a suspicion I might enjoy spending time with him, without even knowing what he looked like naked.
Over the next few months, we prepared meals together and sampled different beers. We watched films and discussed them afterward, realizing we shared more in common than we initially thought. Beer, films, and cuddles. There is no better reason to fall for someone, really. So I did. I fell for him.
In April, my roommates left for Thailand for two months. I was alone and Shawn became my entire focus. It wasn't long before I confessed my feelings to him, which were met with rejection. He didn't plan on staying in Canada, and therefore wasn't looking for anything serious. I wasn't sure whether my feelings for Shawn were a result of how alone I felt, or if I felt alone because my feelings were unreciprocated. Naturally, to make sense of this, I booked a therapy appointment.
Anxious and on the verge of tears, I sat in the waiting room across from a nervous man who couldn't sit still in his chair. Another client was still in session while three bleach blond children, who couldn't have been older than eight, scattered toys all around the floor. None of them seemed to notice me or the other guy there. How peculiar, I thought. One boy said to his brother “I hate being home-schooled. I miss my friends.”
“Mom did it to protect us.” said the other boy.
A tall slender woman with a blond bob, adorned in excessive jewellery, gathered her kids and exited the office – toys left scattered about, like a Fisher-Price armageddon. The therapist, who carried the aura of a caring mother, slim and no older than 40 appeared perplexed when she noticed us.
“Brendan. We're not scheduled until tomorrow.”
I was sure she was incorrect.
“Let me just double check.” she said, huffing and disappearing into another room. The man in front of me buried his head in his hands.
When she returned, she apologized for giving me the wrong date and accepted the nervous man into her office. “Not good.” She said, shaming herself as their footsteps lowered to silence. I exited the house with a weight still heavy in my chest.
The following day, I returned and told her about Shawn. With enough precision and haste I made the entire session about him. I thought that maybe there was something I wasn't seeing that she could. Was I broken? The answer to that would cost me $120.
“Would you like to book another session?” she asked.
I ended things with Shawn on my birthday. By then the girls were home from Thailand. I cried a lot that day and smoked too many cigarettes. The girls wouldn’t let me stay sad though. Tears were interrupted with shots of tequila, and worry was paused by a cupcake with a candle in it. No matter how broken I felt, I didn't feel alone anymore.
In time, I made my peace with Shawn. I'm grateful for my experience with him. I learned that I value intimacy where there's a deeper connection established, rather than quick and mostly meaningless encounters. That fear of a deeper connection which once tortured me is now something I chase and thrive on. When I count down from ten on December 31st this year, it won't be fear that fills my heart, it will be a lust for life and all it has to offer.
theartofmadeline
stormborns
dededos
kianamaiart
prguitarman