by Ilia Bera
“Brittany Brucheveskyj…” Andrew muttered to himself as he clicked onto her page.
He sighed as he scrolled through the few photos that she had. All of her photos were selfies. She held the camera out and pointed it towards herself, often featuring her pushed up cleavage. She was smiling in each photo, but her eyes appeared to have a sadness behind them.
Andrew could see right through her flirtatious demeanour, her carefully applied makeup and her pretty-girl persona. He could see that, underneath, she was an interesting, funny and friendly girl. He could tell that, beneath everything, she was a real person.
As Andrew stared at his computer monitor, he started to zone out. He felt a strange connection to his pretty, dark-skinned classmate—a connection he couldn’t quite describe in words. He wasn’t floored by her beauty, or charmed by her wit. He was simply and inexplicably infatuated with her. He felt like he understood her.
Ring! Ring!
Andrew’s cellphone startled him out of his fantasizing daydream. He picked it up and checked the caller ID briefly before answering it.
“Hello?” he said into his phone.
“Andrew?” an unfamiliar older female voice said.
“Hi—Who is this?”
“It’s your Auntie Elizabeth!”
“Oh… Hi Aunt Liz,” Andrew said with forced enthusiasm. “What’s up?”
“I haven’t seen you in years! Not since you and your family went on that big trip!”
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
“What are you up to these days?” She had a high-pitched nasally voice, and she yelled into the phone, as if it didn’t work otherwise.
“Oh, you know—Just going to school.”
“Are you going to SBU now? What are you majoring in?”
“I’m actually just finishing my high school courses.”
“Oh,” Andrew’s aunt said. “They let you do that?”
“Yep…” Andrew replied. “They sure do.”
“How are your parents doing?”
“They’re still in India.”
“India? What? Did you mean Indiana?”
“No—Puri, India. On the Indian Ocean, about three hundred miles from Mumbai. They decided to stay there during their trip. They bought a place and everything.”
“What? Do you have their number? Is that long distance?”
“Yes, Aunt Liz—India is long distance.”
“Wow! I can’t believe they’re in India!”
“I have their number in my phone. I can text it to you, if you’d like.”
“Text—how do I sign up for that?”
“Hold on—I’ll just read it to you.”
“Okay, let me grab a pen.”
Andrew pulled up his parents’ number and read it to his old aunt.
“You’re so sweet, you know that?” Aunt Liz told Andrew.
“Thanks.”
“So tell me, how’s life—when are you going to be down in the big city again?”
“Life is good—I don’t know when I’ll be down there again. No time soon, probably.”
“Is there a lady in your life? Should we be booking time off for a wedding?”
Andrew laughed. “No, Aunt Liz.”
“Oh, hooey! I’m sure you’ve got a lovely girlfriend and you’re just too shy to tell me.”
Andrew’s smile sunk. “Sadly not,” he said.
“Did you hear that your cousin Joey is getting married?”
“Joey? Isn’t he like eighteen years old?”
“He’s nineteen.”
“Isn’t that kind of young to get married?” Andrew asked.
“Your uncle and I were eighteen when we got married, and look at us!”
Andrew forced an awkward laugh. “I guess so,” he said.
“And your parents were only twenty when they got married. Your sister—How old was she when she married that guy?”
“She was eighteen, but they’re divorced now.”
“They are? Oh, what a shame. I liked him. What was his name?”
“Eric.”
“Eric—I liked Eric.”
“I’ll let him know the next time I see him.”
“How old are you now?”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“Oh—That’s a good age… Can I talk to your sister?” Andrew’s aunt asked.
“She moved to Sweden for University.”
“Sweden! My God, your family has always been so interesting and ambitious. Well—I’ll let you go. It was nice talking to you, Andrew.”
“You too.”
“Oh—Have you heard about this online dating thing?”
“I think I might have heard about it, yes,” Andrew said.
“I hear that it works for a lot of people. You should give it a try.”
“Thanks, Aunt Liz. Maybe I will,” Andrew said, forcing enthusiasm into his voice.
“Bye,” Andrew said, hanging up the phone.
He looked around his pathetic bachelor pad. There was no sign of female life within the whole space. He kept it clean and tidy, and he had nice, expensive things—a large television, a nice computer, pleasantly framed posters, and high-end appliances. But it was missing that female touch—even just a female glance would have been nice.
Andrew wasn’t the kind of person to get discouraged or jealous by other people. He didn’t care when his friends all took off for university, and he was left behind to finish school. When one of his friends bought his own house, Andrew was proud—not jealous.
And he honestly didn’t even care that all of the people around him were getting married. He didn’t care that his parents were already married by his age, or that his aunt met the love of her life when she was in high school. Andrew was wise enough to know that every individual life was different, and that it was unfair to expect to have everything.
He had always considered himself blessed. He had rich parents and a big free house to himself. His dad’s had a big enough pension to pay for any education he could possibly want. With such a fortunate life, what kind of person would he be if he went around pouting about how he was twenty-one and still didn’t have a girlfriend?
What really bugged him was that everyone seemed to think that it was so taboo to be behind all of his peers. People seemed to pity him when they heard that he wasn’t in university yet, or that he was still single, and not dating. He’d always considered himself an independent spirit—happy to be alone. After his parents stopped in India, he continued to travel alone, and he loved it.
He was happy living alone, and he’d always just thought that the right girl would come along and change his mind one day—but it hadn’t happened yet—and it didn’t seem like it was happening any time soon.
With every passing year, the watchful eyes of the judging drew closer. Each time Andrew went out to the movies by himself, the ticket vendor looked at him with a little bit more pity. If he went out to a restaurant, people would look at him as if he was terminally ill with some nasty disease as they watched him eat alone.
Andrew zoned back into reality, noticing the photo of Brittany on his screen.
Maybe a small part of him, deep down inside, was unhappy being alone. Maybe he used the “independent spirit” line a little bit freely, sometimes as an excuse to make himself feel better.
Brittany wasn’t the first girl that he’d had a bit of a crush on—there were girls before her. Nothing ever came of them though—Andrew never made any moves. He’d never asked a girl on a date. Sure, he was comfortable talking to girls—he was funny and outgoing, but he never actually took the plunge. Maybe it was because he valued his “independent spirit”, or just maybe it was because he feared the embarrassment of rejection.
Andrew shut off his computer and brought himself to his feet. He grabbed his coat and laced up his boots. He was only driving himself insane stooping in his boredom.
Making his way outside, Andrew began to wander the streets of Snowbrooke—something he had been doing a lo
t since he returned from his travels. Years of adventuring, exploring strange towns and cities, and immersing himself in different cultures left Andrew with a lingering wanderlust. He couldn’t sustain his focus or interest on any one activity for longer than a day, and he found himself getting bored incredibly easily. It didn’t help that he was stuck in Snowbrooke—the most boring town he could possibly fathom—which was saying something, as he’d been to many, many towns.
In a way, he was facing a mid-life crisis. He couldn’t help but feel like his glory days were behind him—that the stories that he told over drinks in bars would be the same stories he would be telling in twenty—thirty—forty years.
Sure, they captivated people now—but when he was a fifty-year-old man, telling the same stories he’d been telling for thirty years, would anyone care? Would anyone even listen?
Unlikely.
Andrew dug his hands into his pockets, hiding them from the cool breeze in the dark evening air.
He turned into a little local café and stopped in line to buy a coffee. He stared up at the menu of different winter themed drinks. Then, he looked around the café at all of the ignorant people—drinking their coffees as they talked and laughed with one another.
They were the same people he’d seen there day after day—people with “routines”—people who looked forward to their daily speciality coffee—people who loved things like “half-off movie night” and “casual Friday” at work. They seemed to get ridiculously excited over mundane activities—letting life slip by under their feet while they sat, lobotomized by society’s dreary little distractions.
Their conversations were always the same—“Did you see the latest episode of that HBO program?”, “I can’t believe the weather we’ve been having!”, and “The music they’re putting out these days is just so foul!”
The content of their conversations may have changed slightly, but the message was always the same: “our lives are boring and we’re too blind to realize it.”
THIRTY-ONE
COURAGE
Andrew tried watching one of those “exciting” HBO programs once. He couldn’t even finish a single episode.
Andrew stared at the menu, not actually reading the options. He was completely zoned out, remembering his glory days abroad—his days adventuring the vast oceans.
The image of Brittany kept popping into his head. He couldn’t shake the thought of how happy he would be with her. Andrew became depressed thinking about a life without her—a life without travelling—the life of boredom that he had to look forward to.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” the barista asked Andrew, pulling him out of his tired daydream.
“Um, yeah—Sorry,” he said as he stepped forward. He looked quickly through his options, and then ended up ordering a plain, black coffee.
The barista handed him his drink. He turned around, and sat down at a small table by a window.
It was as if whatever prime mover was in the sky had a sense of humour—teasing Andrew with the most incredible life he could ever experience, and then tossing him back into reality. He could almost hear God’s voice, laughing at him every time he watched a late night infomercial, explaining “how much you will love your brand new hole puncher!” or “how to make your mornings exciting with soy coffee creamer!”.
It was as if Andrew had gone his whole life eating cheap canned lobster and then one day someone gave him a taste of a two hundred dollar, fresh Newfoundland lobster. But before he could finish the lobster, they switched it back out with the old canned crap. The canned stuff was fine, until he’d gotten a taste for the real deal. Suddenly, that canned stuff tasted like bargain isle cat food.
All Andrew wanted was that excitement—that sense of adventure he once had.
And right then and there, both of Andrew’s conundrums seemed to merge together. Across the street, sitting at the window of the local library was Brittany, sipping a warm drink and reading her class
assigned book. The moment Andrew’s eyes fell upon her, his heart skipped a beat—the same way it did that moment the blue whale emerged next to his boat during the storm off of the Fiji coast.
He watched her sitting peacefully in the library—the first time he’d ever seen her in her element. She wasn’t adjusting her breasts in her push-up bra, or checking her makeup with the little mirror in her purse. She was simply relaxed, sitting and enjoying a warm drink and a book.
Andrew could still hear his aunt’s voice in the back of his head. “Have you heard of this online dating thing?” her nasally voice reverberated through his brain.
Maybe it was time to try something new—an adventure unlike any he’d ever experienced. Maybe it was time to take the plunge, and ask Brittany out on a date. The very idea sent his heart rate soaring. His mind raced as it cycled rapidly through all the possible outcomes.
What if she said no? What if she laughed at him? What if she said yes because she felt bad for him? If she did say yes—how could Andrew possibly know that it wasn’t out of pity? What if she said yes and was excited about it? Then there would be the expectation of an amazing first date. What did people even do on first dates?
His heart was somehow beating even faster than it had when he encountered that gigantic whale in The South Pacific Ocean. It was beating faster than when he left Puri, India to travel the world by himself.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then took a deep breath, pushing away the cloud of thoughts and concerns. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to the library. He jogged across the street, and then made his way towards the door. The closer her got, the more nervous he became. The moment was quickly becoming a blur.
“Am I actually going through with this?” he asked himself as he stopped at the library door to consider his actions. He held the door open for a little old lady while he waited for his brain to let him in on what was the next sensible move. As he continued to think, he held the door open for yet another little old lady.
Then, he bit his tongue and went inside. He could see Brittany from across the library. With a temporary burst of confidence, he started to walk towards her.
His mind repeated the phrase, “You’ve got this, Andrew. You’ve got this, Andrew. You’ve got this, Andrew,” over and over again.
He could see the back of Brittany’s beautiful brown hair as she flipped the page of her novel. As he drew closer, the sweet smell of her elegant perfume wafted up his nose.
And then, when he was within five feet of the beauty, he turned down one of the library isles and started to walk away.
He’d failed. He’d chickened out.
He was upset with himself, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked himself.
Andrew paced up and down the library isles, trying to build up the confidence for a second try. He muttered encouraging things to himself, picking up the speed of his pacing. He closed his eyes, trying to channel a sense of confidence. Eyes closed, he punched the air, like a boxer preparing for a fight. He thought that, maybe he just needed to get his blood flowing.
“Excuse me sir, is everything okay?” the librarian quietly asked.
Andrew opened his eyes and looked over at the librarian. She was standing at the end of the isle, keeping her distance from the possible insane young man.
“Yeah—Why?” Andrew asked.
“You’re scaring our customers away from French Fiction.”
“Oh—Sorry. I was just—trying to decide between two books.”
The librarian stared at Andrew for a moment in silence. “If you could sit and decide quietly, that would be appreciated.”
“Okay—Thank you,” Andrew said.
The librarian slowly walked away, keeping her eye on Andrew.
THIRTY-TWO
MISSED THE BOAT
Kane, with his school stuff, made his way back to the library where he’d dropped Brittany off. He pulled the Mustang up to the curb and looked to
wards the library window. His eyes immediately found her, sitting in a cosy corner next to the window, with her cup of hot chocolate from the café across the street. She had a sort of luring glow about her.
Kane got out of the car and went into the library. Brittany turned and smiled at him as he approached her little table. She carefully adjusted her hair and straightened her back.
“You came,” Brittany said.
“Are you aloud to have drinks in here?” Kane asked.
“No—But I figured I’ve done worse things today, so to hell with it.” Brittany smiled.
Kane sat down. On the table, Brittany had her binder out, with half of an assignment written. Next to it, she had her copy of the assigned Dickens book, as well as another book that she’d been reading for her own enjoyment—Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov.
“This class is such a mess,” Brittany said.
“What do you mean?”
“Everything is just so rushed—like he’s cramming too much into each day.”
“Yeah—it’s pretty dense.”
“I mean, with all of this homework, you’d think this was a masters program.”
Kane laughed.
“Anyway—Do you want me to run you through the chapters?”
“That’s okay—I’ll just skim them quickly.”
“It’s not really the kind of book you can just skim,” Brittany said. “You’ll miss the theme that Fenner is looking for.”
“Resurrection?”
Brittany looked at Kane curiously for a moment. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“Dr. Manette is released from prison—He’s resurrected from prison—a living death,” Kane said. “Mr. Lorry says ‘he was called back to life’.”
Brittany looked silently at Kane for another moment. “I thought you said you forgot to read the chapters.”
“I did.”
“But you can quote the book?”
“Well, I read it years ago. I could use a refresher though.”
Brittany stared at Kane for a moment, perplexed. “You didn’t strike me as the Dickens type.”
Kane smiled. “I guess there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know about me.”