Perdu

Digital art collage by Stella Kalaw

I wasn’t looking for love when he walked into my life. I was fine, really.

It was a balmy spring day and I was on the bike path near my place on the Lachine Canal. He was standing on the side and when I saw him, he gave me a long meaningful look, then turned and walked away. I followed him. I couldn’t help it; he was going in my direction.

I tried to ignore him but every once in awhile he would turn around and look right at me, almost as if he expected me to be behind him. It was annoying, this sense of self-assurance. A little grain of resentment snuck into my shoe and dug in deep as we walked along.

I decided to slow down, ignore him. I was not playing his game. I was not looking for love. So, I continued to saunter along the canal and over the Charlevoix Bridge. I walked along my usual route and at my usual pace. I looked out over the canal at the throngs who had come out to celebrate the cloudless day with a picnic or a bike ride along the canal.

As I approached my front door, I suddenly realized that he had disappeared. I felt a pang of regret but then, I wasn’t looking for love, so I smiled a little smile to acknowledge the end of the game we had shared for a moment. Still, without wanting to, I turned to look behind me to see if I could catch a final glimpse. But no, he was gone.

I turned back to the front door, fishing my keys out of my jean pocket— and there he was, with what looked like a little smile of his own that implied he knew something I didn’t. He made no move but stood waiting for me to do something. So I opened the door and he followed me in.

The relationship was rocky at first. He had some bad habits I could not tolerate. Many nights, I would end up throwing him out of the bedroom but he would slam his body against the door in protest until I let him back in. Then he’d go all sweet on me, cuddling up until we both fell asleep.

Eventually, he settled down and we fell into a routine. He was a homebody and that worked well for us since I worked from home. We spent lots of time together. He seemed to like that. He had one pal that he was close to but that was all, just me and his pal. Then his pal died, and there was just me. We stayed close through all the years. Now he took to going out on his own but always came home by dark. We liked to watch TV together, but I began to sense a strain of loneliness developing the way moss slowly blooms on a stone.

One night, he went out and did not come back.

My ears grew hands, grabbing at every passing sound that might indicate he was near, on the stairs, at the door. But he was gone, without a reason. He left me with a hole in my heart. As I posted the CHAT PERDU signs around the neighbourhood, I wondered whether love was worth the pain that comes with loss.