by John Cariani
“If you’re lost on a mountain in Maine, he’s the guy you want lookin’ for ya.” Jimmy was working way too hard to disguise his jealousy as he praised the guy that was going to be Sandrine’s husband.
“Yeah…” Sandrine wondered if Jimmy was okay, because he was looking maniacal again—because he was smiling so hard—because he didn’t want Sandrine to be able to tell how badly he was hurting.
Because he wanted to be the one who was about to be Sandrine’s husband.
He got even more animated as he extolled Martin’s virtues. “I mean, if you’re lost out there in this big bad northern world, Martin LaFerriere’s the guy you want to have go out there and find you.”
“Yeah,” said Sandrine uneasily.
“And he found … you.” And Jimmy wasn’t covering up his sadness anymore.
And Sandrine felt terrible. “Yeah,” she said, looking down at the floor.
And then neither of them said anything.
A country version of an old song about life in a northern town was playing on the jukebox. Jimmy started thinking about how he had lived his whole life in a northern non-town. And then he thought about how he’d probably die there, too. And wondered if he was going to die there alone. He suddenly got so scared of being alone that he didn’t hear Sandrine say that she was sorry that she had never told him about her and Martin.
“Jimmy?”
“Huh?”
“I said I’m sorry I never told you. About me and Martin.”
Jimmy wanted to say it was okay and not to worry about it, but he couldn’t, because it wasn’t okay, and he wanted her to worry about it. So he didn’t say anything. Which put the burden on her to figure out what to say next.
“I actually thought you would have known, I thought you woulda heard. About Martin and me.”
“How would I have heard?” asked Jimmy.
“Well, you know, people talk.”
“Not about things they know you don’t wanna hear, they don’t. And that’s not somethin’ I woulda wanted to hear.”
Sandrine couldn’t deny that.
And Jimmy and Sandrine didn’t say anything for a while.
And then Jimmy realized that he had lost Sandrine. To Martin. And decided to be gracious in defeat. And took a deep breath. And held it for a moment. And finally said, “Well … congratulations.”
“Thanks, Jimmy.” The thanks were sincere, because the congratulations were sincere.
And then Jimmy and Sandrine didn’t say anything for a while.
And then Sandrine decided that it was time for her to say goodbye and go back to her bachelorette party. And she was about to do so when Jimmy inhaled sharply—as if he had just been startled awake—and asked, “So when’s the big event?” He genuinely seemed to want to celebrate his ex-girlfriend’s good fortune.
“Um … tomorrow!” replied Sandrine, wincing apologetically.
The word tomorrow hit Jimmy like another punch—to the gut. And he couldn’t breathe for a second. And when he could breathe again, he half stated and half asked, “Really.”
“Yup.” Sandrine smiled sheepishly.
“Wow.”
“Yup.” Sandrine shrugged.
“Wow,” said Jimmy again, because he couldn’t come up with anything else to say.
And he stared at his beer bottle for a moment.
And Sandrine watched Jimmy stare at his bottle. And felt bad for him. And realized how wrong she had done him.
And then Jimmy gathered up all his gumption and said, “Well, then…” And he downed his beer, and then stood up and hollered to the waitress, who had said she would be somewhere up front. “HEY!”
He raised his right arm and waved to get her attention. Which was going to be difficult, because the dance floor was filling up. Someone had just put on a rap song about big butts.
“Jimmy! Shh!” Sandrine tried to make herself disappear, because she didn’t want anyone to see her with him. “What are you doing?” she whispered intensely, and she got up and stood in front of him to block him from view of the girls who were at her bachelorette party.
“Gettin’ our waitress. She said holler if you need anything, so I’m hollerin’,” explained Jimmy matter-of-factly, unaware—or maybe not caring—that he was making Sandrine uncomfortable.
“HEY!” he yelled again, and then asked Sandrine, “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know—Jimmy, what are you doing?”
“We gotta celebrate! You got found! By Martin La-friggin’-Ferriere! He’s … quite a guy.” Jimmy paused and looked Sandrine dead in the eye and said in all earnestness, “And so are you. I mean—you’re quite a girl. Or—person. Just—you’re awesome is all I’m tryin’ to say.”
Sandrine looked down and was about to say that she wasn’t awesome, because an awesome person doesn’t leave a guy the way she had left Jimmy, but, before she could, Jimmy was calling to the waitress again. “HEY!” he hollered, raising his right arm and waving to the waitress.
As he did so, his unbuttoned shirtsleeve slid down his arm enough to reveal some kind of marking on the inside of his forearm.
Sandrine was trying to shush Jimmy and had looked toward the front to make sure no one in her bachelorette party was seeing her with her ex.
When she turned back to tell Jimmy that she didn’t want to celebrate with him, she noticed the marking on his arm. It looked like a tattoo.
“Hey, Jimmy—whoa! What’s that?” Sandrine was pointing to—and almost touching—the marking on his arm.
“What?” Jimmy looked to where she was pointing and realized that the tattoo he had gotten after Sandrine disappeared on him had been revealed.
“That!”
“Oh…” Jimmy quickly dropped his arm, pulled the sleeve of his blue work shirt down to cover up what he didn’t want Sandrine to see, and tried to button the cuff. “Nothin’. Just—a tattoo.”
“What?!?” she cried, totally intrigued.
“A tattoo.” Jimmy tried to get back on task and hollered to the waitress, waving with his other hand. “HEY!”
“No way!” said Sandrine. Jimmy wasn’t the kind of guy who she ever imagined would get a tattoo. “When did you get that?!?”
“Um … after you left,” said Jimmy, and he hollered to the waitress again to try to deflect attention from the skin art on the inside of his forearm. “HEY!” he hollered. But the Moose Paddy was busy and the song about the guy who likes big butts was playing, so the waitress probably couldn’t hear him—and was nowhere to be found.
“Well—what’s it of, what’s it say?” asked Sandrine, trying to grab Jimmy’s tattooed forearm.
“Nothin’, nothin’…” Jimmy really didn’t want to talk about his tattoo or let Sandrine see it, so he pressed his right arm close against his body, holding tight to the cuff of his sleeve, and he waved to the waitress with his left hand again. “HEY!” he hollered, but, as he did so, Sandrine grabbed hold of Jimmy’s right arm and tried to pry it away from his body. Jimmy resisted. “No, don’t—”
“Jimmy! Come on! I wanna see your tattoo!”
Jimmy realized there was no way out, so he gave in and let Sandrine take his arm, and Sandrine pushed his sleeve up and positioned it—and herself—so she could see what the tattoo was. And she saw that it was an assemblage of letters. In Old English-style font:
“Villian,” read Sandrine.
“Villain,” Jimmy quickly corrected. But Sandrine didn’t really hear him. Because she was staring at the tattoo and reading it again to herself.
“Who’s Villian?” asked Sandrine earnestly.
Jimmy shook his arm free of Sandrine’s grasp and pulled his sleeve down, covering the tattoo, and testily corrected her: “Villain.” And realized that he was going to have to explain his tattoo. And that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
“Huh?” asked Sandrine, looking for clarification.
“Villain. It’s supposed to say ‘Villain.’”
“Well,
it doesn’t say ‘Villain.’ It says ‘Villian.’”
“I know. I spelled it wrong—”
“What?”
“They spelled it wrong.”
This wasn’t quite true. Jimmy had gone to Inkredible Tattoos in Caribou not long after Sandrine had disappeared on him. And he had brought Liv, one of the tattoo artists there, a printed image of what he wanted his tattoo to be.
And the image was supposed to be the word “Villain” in an Old English font. But—the printed image Jimmy had presented to Liv was spelled wrong. Because Jimmy had spelled it wrong when he had typed it up. And instead of “Villain,” it read, “Villian.”
But Jimmy’s eye corrected the mistake every time he read it, so he only ever saw “Villain.”
But Liv saw “Villian.” And figured it was the name of someone who was very special to Jimmy. And she showed the image on the printout to him to make sure it was what he wanted his tattoo to be.
And Jimmy confirmed that it was.
Because his eyes only ever saw “Villain,” and not “Villian.”
So Liv proceeded to emblazon “Villian” on the inside of his right forearm.
And, a couple of hours later, she was bandaging Jimmy up. And after giving him instructions on post-tattoo care, she asked, “So, who’s Villian?”
Jimmy looked confused. “Huh?” he asked.
“Who’s Villian?” Liv repeated, pointing to her handiwork—which was covered by the bandage.
“Huh?” Jimmy repeated.
“Villian—your tattoo—who is she?” Liv asked again, handing him the printout he had given her.
Jimmy took the printout. And finally saw what was actually on it:
“Villian.”
And he turned the color people turn when they’re about to puke.
“You okay, pal?” asked Liv.
“Yeah…” Jimmy broke into a cold sweat.
“So, who is she?” asked Liv, all smiles.
Jimmy managed to lie to cover for his mistake. “She’s … she’s my girl.”
“I figured.” Liv smiled. “That’s sweet. I like her name.”
Jimmy smiled and nodded and got all hot and embarrassed.
“You must really love her—to get a tattoo of her name!”
“Yeah.” Jimmy was drowning in embarrassment.
“You’re all embarrassed. So cute!”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Jimmy was embarrassed. Not because he loved a girl so much that he had gotten a tattoo of her name on his arm, but because he had spelled the word he wanted to get tattooed on his arm—wrong.
And now he was embarrassed all over again, because Sandrine had spotted his misspelled tattoo and was asking, “Who spelled it wrong?!”
“The girl who did my tattoo,” lied Jimmy.
“Well,” Sandrine scoffed, “you shoulda made her fix it!”
“Yeah.”
Sandrine could not believe what Jimmy had done to himself. And had to ask, “Jimmy, why did you want a tattoo that says ‘Villain’?”
Jimmy didn’t really want to answer, because the song about the guy who liked big butts had ended and there was no music playing, so the bar seemed quiet, and he worried that people might hear their conversation—even though the place was still jumping and no one would have heard them over all the chatter of the Moose Paddy patrons. So he just shrugged and said evasively, “’Cause.”
Jimmy’s evasion made Sandrine hungrier for an answer. “’Cause why?”
“Just ’cause,” said Jimmy, turning away from Sandrine.
“Just ’cause why?”
“Just ’cause…” Jimmy looked like he was gonna cry again, but he didn’t, and finally confessed. “’Cause when a guy’s got a girl like you … well, I just think that losin’ a girl like you, drivin’ a girl like you away—”
“Jimmy, you didn’t drive me away.”
“Well, I musta done somethin’! ’Cause you just disappeared on me.” Jimmy wasn’t crying, but it seemed like he was. “And whatever I did to drive you away—that’s a crime. And it should be punished. So I punished myself. I marked myself a villain so girls would stay away. So I’d never have to go through what I went through with you. Again.”
Sandrine was still. And silent.
She knew she had done Jimmy wrong.
But she didn’t realize what that wrong had done to him.
Suddenly, Jimmy desperately asked, “Can I kiss you?”
Sandrine winced and said, “No.” And then looked at the floor.
And Jimmy looked at the floor, too.
And there Jimmy and Sandrine stood, looking at the floor.
And they didn’t say anything for a while. And felt like they were standing in silence even though people were chattering and laughing and billiard balls were clattering and glasses were clinking.
And then Sandrine looked around her to see who might see what she was about to do. And when she felt like no one was watching, she leaned in and tenderly kissed Jimmy on the cheek.
She didn’t quite know why she had felt the need to do so. Maybe it was the only way she knew how to apologize. Or maybe it was her way of thanking him for letting her go—with his blessing.
Whatever it was—she immediately wished she hadn’t done it. Because Jimmy tried to turn Sandrine’s kiss on the cheek into a kiss on the mouth, and Sandrine pulled away and said, “Hey!” to let him know he was out of line.
“Sorry.” And Jimmy just stood there in the mess he’d made.
And then an old pop song about girls wanting to have fun started playing on the jukebox. And a bunch of girls from the bachelorette party whooped it up on the dance floor, hopping and bopping and singing along.
And then Sandrine realized she needed to get back to them, and she stroked Jimmy’s tattooed forearm and said, “You can get that undone, you know.”
“Yeah…” But the closest tattoo-removal places were one hundred sixty-four miles southeast in Fredericton, New Brunswick. Or in Bangor—which was one hundred sixty-nine miles south. And Jimmy would have a hard time finding the time to go to either place, because work was too busy.
“Oh,” said Sandrine. And she felt terrible that she had made Jimmy want to mark himself a villain—because of her. She had no idea that she had hurt him as much as she had when she disappeared on him. Maybe because she didn’t think much of herself when she was dating Jimmy. And people who don’t think much of themselves are surprised by the damage they can do to people who think the world of them.
But on the Friday night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen, Sandrine realized the damage she had done. And she apologized to him for disappearing on him.
Finally.
“Jimmy, what I did—the way I left—was just … it was wrong. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just never knew how to tell you that I wanted out. And—it wasn’t you. It wasn’t anything you did. I just didn’t love you like I think you loved me. And that’s just … not fair. So I just left. And I figured I’d explain why someday. And I never did. And I know that that’s an awful thing I did. But I did it. And I’m really sorry. And … I know that saying I’m sorry isn’t gonna make it right. But it’s all I can do, so … I’m sorry.” And Sandrine shrugged her shoulders. Because that was all she could say.
Jimmy didn’t say anything.
And Sandrine didn’t know if the apology had been accepted.
And it hadn’t been. At first. Because what Sandrine had done was cruel. Leaving someone with no explanation is easy for the leaver. And torture for the one who’s been left. Because all the one who’s been left can do is wonder what happened. And so the one who’s been left throws himself into his work. And goes a little mad. And gets really sad.
Sandrine didn’t know what to do. Jimmy looked so sad. And kind of mad. And figured that it didn’t matter if her apology was accepted or not. She didn’t really deserve for it to be accepted. And so she decided the best thing she could do was leave. And she was about to say g
oodbye to Jimmy when he suddenly hugged her.
And Sandrine felt him accepting her apology with that hug.
And she felt him thanking her for finally explaining why she had disappeared on him with that hug. Even though he thought the explanation was a lousy one.
And she felt him saying goodbye with that hug.
And she returned the hug so she could say goodbye, too.
And Jimmy received the hug.
And they finally got to say goodbye.
And break up.
Officially.
Jimmy slowly pulled away and held Sandrine by the shoulders and said, “Thanks.” The thanks were for the apology. And for the explanation. As belated as they were, they were exactly what Jimmy needed.
Because now he was free from wondering about what had gone wrong with Sandrine.
And he could move on.
And he let go of Sandrine. And let his hands fall to his sides. And Sandrine said, “You’re welcome.” And she waited to see if he had anything else to say. And he didn’t. So she said, “Bye, Jimmy.”
And Jimmy said, “Bye.”
And they felt like it would probably be a good long while before they talked again. If they ever talked again. And Jimmy ached. And Sandrine felt relief. And she turned and started to go. She had taken only a couple of steps when Jimmy called to her. “Hey!”
Sandrine stopped and turned back to Jimmy.
And he said, “I’m glad you got found.”
It took Sandrine a second to understand what Jimmy was saying.
And when she did, she said, “Thanks, Jimmy.” And laughed at the weird congratulations or blessing or whatever it was. “I am, too,” she said. And then she almost turned to go but stopped and said, “I hope you get found, too.” And then she shrugged and realized how corny that sounded. And she tried to make it less corny by qualifying it with, “If that’s something you want.”
Jimmy didn’t know if he wanted to get found.
But he did know that he still wanted her.
But he wasn’t ever going to have her, so he needed to get over that.
He just didn’t know how he was going to do that.