Your Song Read online

  “And what part of you was that?” she asks. I see Leslie’s pen twirling around the page, drawing large circles and loops. Is she doodling?

  “Can I ask you what you’re drawing?” I ask instead of answering her question. Leslie looks up surprised.

  “Sure you can. Nothing in particular. It’s just something I do while I’m listening. Let’s get back to this story. This stranger that you were watching . . . do you think she noticed you were staring?”

  “Staring at her? Try stalking her! I followed her around the airport like a puppy dog. I watched her so closely I practically memorized every pore on her face. I even . . . .” My voice trails off. Can I admit it? Should I? Leslie doesn’t press me to finish my sentence.

  “I even took a picture of her with my iPad when she wasn’t looking,” I say shamefully.

  “You did?” Leslie is howling with laughter. Loudly. Her laugh is contagious and I too start to laugh. I can’t remember the last time I had a good laugh. But why is she finding this funny?

  “Eric, you have balls! This reminds me of Marius and Cosette in “Les Miserables.” Marius stares at and ‘stalks,’ as you put it, Cosette from afar.” Leslie scribbles down some notes. I think about her comparing me to Marius.

  “Didn’t Hugo believe that the moment two people fall in love is at the first glance?” I ask, looking to Leslie for confirmation.

  “Do you think you fell in love with this woman from that first look?” Leslie’s pen is propped to her lip. Her eyes are on me.

  “I think it’s crazy to even admit it,” I pause. “But it’s possible, I guess.”

  “So, did you lose sight of her after the flight?” Leslie asks.

  “Yeah, I lost her all right,” I admit as if I’m in defeat. Silence fills the room. Leslie is jotting down something on her yellow pad. Of course it’s yellow.

  “Have you ever lost anyone else in your life?” Holy Shit. Here we go.

  “My best friend Danny, three years ago,” I say. I look over my right shoulder and out the window. The bright sun beams down. I look across at the concrete of the building that’s blocking the city line view. Hard and grey. Like me.

  “I’m curious . . . is the experience of losing Mystery Woman at the airport in any way similar to how you felt when you in lost Danny?” Her eyebrows are turned inward, as if she is in deep thought.

  “Yes,” I say without a moment’s hesitation. Leslie looks straight into my eyes.

  “When I lost them . . . I lost . . . hope,” I said it. The words have fallen right off my lips. That’s exactly where I’ve been: in a hopeless state of wander.

  Leslie nods her head compassionately. Silence.

  “When Danny died, I lost a hope for the future, a sense of a future . . . of a life without him . . . I guess is what I’m trying to say.”

  “And with Mystery Woman?” She asks.

  “I . . . I . . . lost hope of a future . . . of living a life with someone special.”

  “And that brings us back to the loneliness.” Leslie reaches over to the coffee table in front of us and picks up the iPod remote.

  “Before you play another song,” I interrupt, “I have to tell you there is a lot more to my being here than my loneliness. I have a truckload of issues.”

  “Grief has a way of seeping into the many crevices of our lives. If you will allow me to help you explore your grieving, Eric, the honor would be all mine. But what I hope you can walk away with from here tonight is a sense of hope. There’s always hope. We will work through your truckload of issues together. You’re not alone.” Leslie presses a few buttons on the remote.

  “Add this song on your playlist this week. Listen to it often. Let’s talk about it next time we’re together. And . . . yes . . . it’s from the 70s.” She winks. The familiar sounds of Fleetwood Mac fill the air.

  “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow,” Leslie says with a wink and a pat on my back as I make my way out of her office. And, in that small gesture she made me feel that maybe, just maybe, I’m going to be okay.

  __________________

  It’s PostSecret.com time on Sunday night. I reach for the iPad and like I always do, before anything else, I scroll through the pictures of Caroline. Secrets. I stare at her gorgeous face in the photo and wonder about what secrets of her own she might be carrying. The more I think about it, the more I believe that no matter how many people we surround ourselves with or how many distractions we busy ourselves with, that deep down inside we’re all alone. And it is in this private space where we store our secrets. Secret desires, regrets, dreams, lives, beliefs . . . secrets that are all our own. We all have them.

  I tap on the Postsecret icon and glide my hand across the screen reading this week’s posted secrets. One of the appeals of this website for me is that I love to relate to total strangers and know that I’m not alone. I think about the revealing postcard I sent, in anonymity, to my Postsecret community. The postcard allowed me to both share something with others, and still keep it a secret. Leslie’s words come to me: You are not alone. And that’s how Postsecret makes me feel. Not alone. Even though I believe that ultimately, we are all alone.

  It’s almost midnight and tomorrow will be a busy day. Amy’s defense. I pull the covers over me and close my eyes. I drift off to sleep listening to the words Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s. . . . Don’t stop thinking about. . . .

  9 “With A Little Help From My Friends”

  It’s very early on a Monday morning and I already have two texts waiting for me to read.

  Hey eric—looking forward to seeing you at my defense today. 4:30 P.M.—don’t be late.

  Amy and her reminders. I haven’t forgotten about the defense this afternoon. In fact, I’m actually looking forward to it. I spent an hour or so yesterday afternoon doing some further reading on Victor Hugo and Les Miserables. I even jotted down some questions into my iPhone in case I have the opportunity to ask questions later today. Wouldn’t that catch Amy off guard . . . me actually prepared with questions?

  Hi Eric—Call me when u get a chance. I have a strange story to share with u. Lara

  Oh shit. I completely forgot to call Lara back while I was in Ottawa. I quickly tap in a reply.

  Sorry about not calling u back last week. Another busy week ahead. Flying out to Vancouver tomorrow for 3 days. Will call u on the weekend. How’s Rob?

  I glance at my computer on my desk. It’s 9:04 A.M. and I’m already at my desk answering emails. My morning jog, shower and short commute in took a lot less time than usual today. I have lots to do before I leave for Vancouver tomorrow. Good thing I got a decent night’s sleep for a change and have lots of energy for the day ahead.

  “Good morning. I brought you an espresso.” I look up from my computer as Cate hands me a small Styrofoam cup.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to but I can certainly use it. I have a full schedule today.” Slowly, I take the lid off the cup and bring it up to my lips. Perfect . . . she didn’t add sugar, just the way I like it.

  “How are you doing? I know last week wasn’t the greatest for you.” The image of the black roses on top of my desk blotter comes back to haunt me. I take a deep breath and look out the window as I take another sip of coffee.

  “No, it wasn’t,” I reply “but better days ahead,” I add optimistically. Is that Fleetwood Mac song really sinking in?

  “If there is anything you need, just ask,” Cate says as she makes her way out of my office. Suddenly, I remember something that she could actually help me with.

  “Actually, there is . . . if you don’t mind?” Cate stops in her tracks. I stand up and pull Leslie’s pink business card out of my wallet and hand it to her.

  “Would you mind booking an appointment for me with this woman for early next week? Monday or Tuesday would be great. Even if she has an opening during the workday, I’ll take it. When the appointment is confirmed, could you text me? Don’t email me please on this one.” I notice Cate’s eyes light up as she re
ads the business card.

  “A friend of mine went to this woman. I recognize her name. She did wonders for Jess after her divorce.” Cate smiles and leaves my office. Good to hear. There’s hope for me yet.

  For the next half hour I work on clearing my inbox from the dozens of emails I left sitting there last week when I was feeling too disturbed to do anything productive. There is an email from Claudia telling me that she and Ryan booked a cottage in Muskoka for a couple of weeks in July and invited me to go up with them for a few days. I’ve booked ten days off at the end of July for vacation with no plans in mind so maybe I’ll join them. I quickly reply and thank her for the invite.

  A few more emails left to answer when I hear the familiar ping from my inbox. It’s an email from Raj. I thought he was still on vacation.

  From: Rajiv Mistry

  Subject: Your email

  Date: Monday, June 11, 2012 9:39 A.M.

  To: Eric Martin

  Hi Eric:

  I lied. I am checking my emails from vacation. As great as Los Cabos has been this week, I am ready to come home. I read your email and will call you when I get back. Anything for you.

  Raj

  My international man of Mistry is almost home. Do I ever have some work cut out for him when he gets back! Shit. I’ll be in Vancouver until the end of the week which means I won’t get to meet up with him until the weekend or early next week at best. I guess this too will have to wait. For the first time in a long time, I really don’t feel like travelling tomorrow. Shit. Cate pops her head in the door.

  “Eric, I just called Leslie for you and booked your appointment for next Monday at noon. She told me to tell you that if you need to talk while you’re away in Vancouver, to give her a call.” Cate smiles a sympathetic smile and turns to leave.

  “Did she really offer to do that?” I ask her. I’m touched. Cate walks in closer and stops in front of my desk.

  “Yes, she did. And she even asked me how you’re doing,” Cate adds.

  “Well, that was unexpected. Very kind of her to offer,” I say.

  “She sounds special. I am glad you’re seeing her. You haven’t been yourself in a long time. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “I know. I’ve had a lot going on with me lately. Thanks for booking the appointment.” I really am grateful and I want her to know. Cate takes a few steps towards the door and walks out. Quickly, she pops her head back in.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Leslie told me to tell you the latest Captain Marvel arrived today. She’s saving it for you.” I smile at the thoughtful reminder. As Cate turns to leave, she bumps into Ro, standing in the doorway.

  “Well, look at who we have here. I thought you disappeared off the face of the earth, man.” Ro comes in and takes a seat across from me. He’s right; we haven’t seen each other in ages.

  “Good to see you, too. What have you been up to?” I ask. Looking at Ro sitting across from me, it dawns on me how little I’ve socialized with my friends lately.

  “Not too much. Hey, have you seen Amy lately?” he asks. Ro has been friends with Amy since high school. He was in a relationship with one of her best friends for years.

  “Actually, I am going to be seeing her later today. She invited me to her thesis defense.” I reply.

  “Oh yeah, I heard about that . . .” Ro’s voice trails off.

  “Did Amy tell you she invited me?” I am curious.

  “Um . . . no, Ruby told me, actually,” Ro says sheepishly. I’m getting the feeling Ro is keeping something from me. Ruby is his ex-girlfriend and one of Amy’s friends.

  “You’re back in touch with Ruby?” I ask him.

  “We . . . yeah, we . . . got back together,” Ro looks relieved and happy.

  “Really? Good for you guys. Things are going well then?” I ask. I remember how bad things left off when they broke up.

  “Much better, thanks. What’s new with you? Travelling anywhere soon?” He asks. There goes that question again.

  “Off to Vancouver tomorrow,” I say wishing I really didn’t have to go.

  “Okay, then. I’m taking you to lunch today,” Ro announces as he rises from the chair, making his way out of my office.

  “I’ll come by your office at 1:00 P.M. to get you. No excuses,” Ro says and leaves. He closes the door behind him.

  With everything I have to do today including leaving early to go to Amy’s defense, I really don’t have time to go to lunch with Ro. It’s 10:00 A.M. already and I’m not even halfway through my to- do list. I glance at my iPhone sitting on my desk and recall the texts I got from Amy and Lara. I stare at my inbox on my computer screen and remember Claudia and Raj’s emails. I look at my office door and am reminded of Cate bringing me an espresso today. I gaze at the phone on my desk and think of Leslie’s offer to call her from Vancouver if I need to talk. I take a glimpse of the empty chair across from my desk and recall Ro’s brief visit checking in on me. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so alone. I have friends who care about me.

  All of a sudden that old Beatles song pops in my head. I think it’s called “With a Little Help from My Friends.” For the rest of the morning, I hum the song to myself. Screw the to-do list, I decide, I’m going out for lunch with Ro after all.

  “I hear they are talking of a buyout. A huge one,” Ro announces, as we are about to bite into our chicken shwarmas. We are at a small Lebanese restaurant downtown Toronto. Looks like there are a few business lunches in the works here today.

  “Really? Already?” I ask. Wells and Fraser are looking to sell the software branch of the company.

  “Word on the street has it that they are looking at upwards of 500 million for the sale alone . . .” Ro’s voice trails off as he leans in and takes another bite. Holy Shit. Did I just hear him right? If this is true and they sell then that means, I’m . . . set! I’m fucking set. As per my contract with Wells and Fraser, I’m owed fifteen per cent of the sale of the company. That’s . . . seventy-five million dollars! This can’t be true. Rumors fly around all the time.

  “How are you so sure?” I ask him. Ro has been a software technician for the company for about a year or so now but with his ear to the ground, he has been a valuable resource for information in the short time we’ve had him. If Ro says it, he usually isn’t far off.

  Ro begins rattling off the details of the sale as he has heard them. As I’m listening to him as fully as I can, thoughts of my potential windfall distract me. With the money I make, I think of the freedom that will open up to me. A fresh new start could be awaiting me after all.

  “So are you looking forward to seeing Amy today?” Ro asks cutting short my thoughts of a new life ahead of me. I’ve no idea why he is even asking me about Amy.

  “I don’t know . . . I guess I’m flattered that she asked me to take part in here defense, but to be honest with you, I have no clue why me.”

  “If you’re asking me my opinion . . . I’ll tell you what I think. Amy wants you back,” Ro says as he sips the last of his beer eyeing me carefully for my reaction.

  “What? Are you kidding? She’s heading to France for the summer to play out her fantasies of sipping French men with her French wine. Amy has a lot of growing up to do still. She doesn’t want me back, I can assure you,” I say quite emphatically as I too down the last of my beer. I glance at my watch. It’s almost 2:00 P.M. and I have to be at the University of Toronto by 4:30 P.M. Time to get back to the office.

  “But if she did want you back, would you be interested?” Ro asks me on our short walk back. Automatically, I shake my head. Visions of Caroline’s beautiful face appear in front of me.

  “No, not at all,” I say with as much conviction as I have. That door closed a while ago. I hear Leslie’s voice . . . don’t stop thinking about tomorrow. The song, now a bona fide earworm stuck in my head, replays and repeats in my head for the rest of the afternoon.

  Back at the office, I am caught in a whirlwind of crazy busy chaos for the r
est of the afternoon. Phone calls, non-stop emails, two important interruptions from my boss, Cate spinning in and out of my office with travel details and last minute required signatures and all, I am thoroughly stressed and strained to the max. Time flies by so quickly that when I look at my watch and it says 4:25 P.M. already, I yelp. Shit. I am going to be late. I stop what I’m doing, grab my jacket off the back of my chair and run out of my office.

  “Cate,” I call as I am running out, “I’ll be back later to finish up what I was doing. I have a meeting at U of T right now. Lock my office door before you leave. I’ll see you next week when I get back from Vancouver.”

  I’m at the elevator now frantically pushing the down button with one hand and checking that my iPhone is in my breast pocket with my other hand. The elevator doors open and I jump in. There are at least eight other people already on the elevator. I glance at the panel and notice every single floor button is lit up. Shit. Now the elevator is going to stop at every fucking floor. More delays. I decide to hail a cab when I get downstairs. There’s no way I am going to make it on time at this point. If I take my car, it’ll only make me more late. Finding parking downtown is the bane of my existence.

  Outside, I hail the first cab I see and get in. I tell the driver the address and take a deep breath. Traffic. Of course. We inch our way along Yonge Street at a snail’s pace. There’s nothing that bothers me more than being late and here I am, late. Fuck. With nothing left to do, I look at my phone and notice a text from Amy from earlier this afternoon.

  Can’t wait to see you. Two more hours. Craving dessert.

  What the hell . . . can’t wait to see me? Since when? Craving dessert. Shit. I forgot that I promised to take her out after the defense. I have so much to do before I leave tomorrow. I wonder if she’ll take a rain check? But didn’t she tell me that she’d be leaving for France in a day or two? Crap. I glance at my watch again. 4:35 P.M. Damn. The cabbie is inching his way closer to St. Joseph Street, off Bay Street and Wellesley Avenue. I briefly recall the last time I was in a cab and remember Caroline sitting beside me, rattling off in her perfect French. Bliss.