Love on the Greyhind
I was in Albany for the only reason anyone could ever be in Albany (or in Kingston, Ontario): pitstop on a long-ass bus ride. I was pretty nervous, smoking my ‘Port outside with my mom’s friend. It wasn’t a negative nervous, but a kind of I’m-about-to-do-this nervous, you see me? A kind of excitement. The bad nervous comes from not knowing what you’re gonna do, but I had decided back in NY that I was gonna talk to this girl. I had seen her at the bus terminal, and she looked like she could have wings like mine, and her face when she looked back at me was like Lady Heroin in human form. I knew it was our destiny to meet, and if I had to force it, I would.
I very rarely try to get to know strange women by appealing to them in public. What I’m trying to say is I almost never approach women I don’t know – although I hate to speak in terms of ‘approach’, like I was Steve Irwin approaching a fucking Komodo dragon, or a plane on final approach. I don’t do it for several reasons; for one, I’m quite shy; also, most females I run into day to day, I don’t find attractive. I’d feel bad about myself if I woke up next to them, or had to hold their hand on the street. And the ones that I am attracted to, some give off this icy vibe that turns me right off.
So you can see how I usually don’t force aquaintances. Which makes it so much more beautiful when I do. Like a paradise bird spreading its wings. Or so I like to think. So here I was, at the central bus thing in Albany, which looked kind of like a town from a Western, minus the bandits, guns, horses, Indians, saloons, and everything else cool. In sum, a dustheap. As I said earlier, I was nervous, looking for a good opportunity to catch her alone. I found it pretty soon, as my fam went to sit down somewhere, and she got in line for the Greyhound (or as they call it in the South, the Greyhind). My heart beating real fast, I went over to her and asked:
“Hey, are you from New York?” (I was hoping she’d say yes, so I could eventually show her around Montreal)
“I’m from Montreal actually.” (Damn!)
“Cool, did you enjoy your stay/How long did you stay nananana” (I don’t remember everything I said here)
“Yeah, well I go pretty often nananana”
Then we said some more stuff, I told her I was more of a down South kinda guy, and I told her I was Alex and she said she was Maria, and we started talking about football eventually (gentle reminder for my friends from the Americas: football is the proper word for “soccer”). The timing of our trip was making us miss the final of the World Cup between Netherlands and Spain (we were both hoping the Dutch was gonna take it). We got back to the bus some time later, to our respective seats. The Netherlands lost and we never saw each other again.
See, I never thought to ask her to stay in touch or anything. I just wanted to meet her and try to show her a bit of who I was without babbling too, too much, and to find out a bit of who she was. Yeah, I wanted to see her again, but I didn’t want her to think I just wanted a number or a Facebook out of her. That wouldn’t have been me – another one of my quirks is I rarely ask for anything. From anyone. Except cigarettes.
Maria, I don’t know if you’re reading this, but if you are, and you’d like to see me again, give me a sign. If you’re not or you wouldn’t, that’s cool too.
This ain’t nothing but a summer jam, brown skin and cinnamon tans wo-o-o.