A Pathetic Realist and a Stable Dreamer

The Pathetic Realist and the Somewhat Stable Dreamer

         “I just don’t want you waiting for me here, all alone, while I’m in Montreal. It just isn’t fair to either of us and I don’t know if I would even want to,” she said.
         “Want to…”
         “Want to wait! Damn it, James!”
         “You wouldn’t wait for me…” He knew what the outcome of the situation would be but he still held on to false hope.
         “If I said to you in complete honesty that I wouldn’t wait, would that make this whole thing a lot easier?” The words seemed familiar to both of them. She had said almost the exact same thing only a couple months earlier.
         “I don’t know, Isabel. Would it be easier?”
         “It would.” For a moment, she paused and considered what she was about to say. She didn’t even know whether or not she truly meant it. Similarly to the last time they had been in this same position, she really didn’t know. Still, Isabel was the sort who always felt that she knew best. And, this time, like so many others, she felt that she was right. “I wouldn’t want to wait for you because these past few days have been a vacation, okay? Vacations don’t last, and this was nothing more than that,” she said it quickly, in one breath, before she would have any regrets.
         James stared at her blankly, unable to comprehend the seemingly sudden change. The simple fact being that he didn’t want to comprehend the change. He could have begged, explained, convinced her that he would wait. But if he was to be left without her, he could at least be left with his dignity semi-intact. Anything, even semi-intact would be better than letting her know how broken he felt inside.
         He opened his mouth, thinking he had something more to say, but he instead he merely shook his head and turned around. He waited until he heard the door to his room shut. It was only then he allowed the first tear to run down his cheek.

*          *          *

         She stared at the door that she had just quietly shut. She almost wished the door had been slammed in her face. At least then, she could have pretended to have a reason to be angry, instead, she felt nothing but sadness and guilt at what she had done. She leaned against the wall, buried her face in her hands and thought back to the morning that she had finally had contact with James after so long. That morning, although just a couple of days earlier, felt years away.

*          *          *

         She woke up, alone in her bed, unable to remember where she was. The walls of the room were unfamiliar and definitely not the walls of her dorm at McGill University. Those walls were extremely colourful and were a testament to her eclectic taste.
She rubbed her eyes and let her thoughts clear courtesy of the piercing sunlight. With a groan, she remembered she was back at home for the first time since August.
         The phone rang. She grabbed blindly for the receiver.
         “Hello?”
         “Hey, can I speak to Isabel?” The voice asked for her shakily.
         “Uh, it’s me.” She recognized the voice immediately and she could feel her heart beat faster. She took deep breaths, a poor attempt at trying to conceal her unnatural reactions.
         “So, I heard you were staying in town for the weekend… I saw you at commencement yesterday, but you know, we didn’t get to talk much… So, uh, how are you?”
         “I’m good, you?” She remembered seeing him at commencement, badly wanting to ask how he was doing, to have any reason to talk to him. But she was unable to walk over to him. Much of it was that she was scared that how she remembered him would be different than how he really was and that she would end up disappointed.
         “Other than that, I’m good too,” he finished.
         They paused for a moment, each not knowing what to say to the other. He not knowing because he was nervous to be speaking to her again. She not knowing because she wasn’t sure where their conversation had ended up while she had been lost in her thoughts.
         “So,” they both said at the same time. They laughed nervously and their realizations each other’s own nervousness broke the tension.
         “It’s really nice to hear from you, James.”
         “Well, I just thought that it was about time we caught up and all. So, how’s McGill?”
         “McGill’s great. Montreal is a great city. I have no complaints about university, although it’s nothing like high school.”
         “I know. I was thinking the same thing. Do you remember how each and every one of our teachers used to tell us that it would be completely different and that we wouldn’t be prepared?”
         “Yeah, I remember all too well.”
         “Do you remember who was the worst for getting us all scared about post-secondary life?”
         “Ms. Robinson!” They both said it at the same time, wistfully remembering the simplicity of high school.
         “I wish all that wasn’t true, though,” Isabel said.
         “What do you mean? High school and university being different?”
         “Yeah. There are just so many things I want to do, but I never seem to have enough time.”
         “Oh, I know, but you’re my favourite super-organized agenda-toting girl. I’m sure it’s not that bad.” And, the awkwardness returned. He didn’t know why that had slipped out, and he regretted it. “Do you write for the newspaper at McGill?” He was clearly asking her in order to move their conversation away from the precarious direction it was heading.
         “That’s the one thing other than school that I make sure I have time for. Let me guess, you tried out for the swim team?”
         “Yeah.”
         “Did you make it?”
         “Yeah.”
         “I knew you would… Always so determined.” And she knew that she missed him. She missed having someone that she knew so well. He didn’t have to ask her about her writing. He knew that she would have started writing for a university newspaper the first chance she got. And, she knew that he would be swimming. He was only trying to keep her from feeling uncomfortable.
As the conversation began to wind down, it had seemed as though James felt comfortable enough with Isabel once again although there was a question plaguing him throughout their entire conversation though and he finally was able to ask.
         “So, do you want to… to go for dinner tonight with me? Just to catch up.”
“I’d love to.” Her reply was quick, and their weekend together began.
         On the train coming home, she had wondered if she would be happy that she was home or if she would miss the university life that had permeated her very being. At first, she had felt that everything was different. The fact that James, her former source of stability, had called her to get together added some semblance of normalcy to her life.
         She was excited that she was getting to see him again. They had become friends on the first day of Grade Eleven. They finally worked up the courage to go on a date at the end of Grade Eleven and they spent a perfect summer together.
         Once school started and they realized that university was approaching, Isabel sabotaged the relationship every chance she got. Sometimes, she would purposely try and upset him.
         “Wouldn’t it be great if we were at university together?” He would eventually end up upset because she would refuse to comment on their future together, no matter how often she thought of it herself.
         She tried to get him to break up with her every chance she got, not because she didn’t love him, but because she loved him too much. Their feelings for each other were too strong and she was only seventeen.
         Her parents had said that she was stupid to just be with one person because she young and she couldn’t possibly know what she wanted. That was the first time she argued with her parents because in a way, she believed that they really did care about each other. But after a while, her parents’ words began to stick in her mind.
         When she knew that she was going to end up at McGill University, they tried to enjoy the time they had left, but they knew something was eventually going to have to happen. They just waited for it and while they were preparing themselves for the impending break-up, everything just went downhill from there.

*          *          *

         He picked her that evening up in the same car he had in high school. They had spent hours in high school in that car. Her mind was flooded with memories of speeding through the back streets of their neighbourhood and parking on those same side streets when they wanted a few moments alone but both their parents were home.
         He knocked on the door and she looked through the peephole. She could see him fidgeting, straightening his shirt, running his hands through his hair.
         She remembered all the times they had spent at the library, she writing up homework assignments, essays and stories, he dealing with the more realistic work, the numbers, the science.
         Maybe that’s why he was always the dreamer when it had come to them and their relationship. Maybe that’s why she had clung to realism in life, as she could not get it through her work. His work was almost too realistic and he needed that that chance to lose the tight grip on his imagination during those hours of math and science classes.

*          *          *

         As James drove to the restaurant, she got the chance to study him intently. The straight brown hair that she used to run her hands through, the blonde spot on the side of his head that was lighter than the rest of his hair. His father had one just like it except his was dark on his white hair. They used to joke that she’d get to see his hair like that if they stayed together long enough and back then she had only wished that it would happen, she had never truly believed.
         He seemed to be concentrating on the road. But he was thinking of her, like he always was.

*          *          *

         They sat at the restaurant staring at each other from across the table. It was odd. Normally he would sit next to her. Something about the constant contact they each needed.
Nothing was as simple. But she knew that she couldn’t go back to Montreal without knowing where things stood, without knowing that they weren’t meant for each other at all. She was not a pathetic dreamer willing to accept the ideas she had pushed upon him. All that she knew was that he had been in her mind all through September, through freshman week, through her first classes, constantly on her mind, reminding her. Had the realist made a dreadful mistake in leaving him?

*          *          *

         After dinner, they went to his dorm room and stayed up late, talking, kissing, and reminiscing, reliving past moments of bliss.
         In the morning, she woke up and basked in the familiarity of his arms around her. She remembered the first time they had slept together and gotten to wake up next to each other. It had taken much planning on her part, as her conservative parents would have been upset to know about their daughter’s late-night activities.
         He woke up and they shared a smile, the same as when they were two young lovers not knowing the proper etiquette of sleeping and waking up with someone else.
         After breakfast, she told him she had some reading to finish up and he took her to Robarts Library where they still sat across from each other, like at dinner the night before. They did not let their desire for constant contact be on display for the world, although their feet were intertwined under the table.
         They both did their work although she could sometimes feel his eyes wander over her hair, her face, and every body part visible above the table. She did the same although she desperately hoped he wasn’t as perceptive as she.
         And when their eyes finally caught each other’s, she knew.
         As she watched him hunched over his textbook, taking copious notes, she knew. She had been afraid of commitment and she didn’t need any article in Cosmopolitan to tell her that. And yet, with her new knowledge, she was still petrified.

*          *          *

         Still standing outside his door, she knew she had once again made a mess of things. She had allowed her fear of being hurt, of not being in control, of making a mistake; cause her to make her biggest mistake yet. She had lied. She would wait, even if it meant driving six hours back and forth in the winter. She would wait, even if it meant only a day here and there. A day here and there was better than constant misery. Her realistic mind would have said it was madness. She chose not to listen.
         She took out her compact mirror and wiped off the smudged mascara from under her eyes, trying to regain her composure.
         Before she could allow herself to lose her nerve, she timidly knocked at the door.
         “Hey.”
         “Hey.” He was surprised and on guard, but secretly hopeful and optimistic. But she just stood there. She didn’t know what to say. So he decided to take matters into his own hands.
         “I just wanted to tell you that these past couple of days were great. I know you said that…”
         “You know what, James? Forget what I said. Just… Forget it.” They smiled at each other, not needing a copious amount of words to understand each other. They were ready. Even if being ready meant waiting for and anticipating their next weekend together.
         They went inside and shut the door.