Friday, September 3, 2010


On our school trip in grade 9 my best friend started crying when she saw a hickey on my neck. The hickey was from the first boy I've ever been in love with, who was also my boyfriend at the time. We were having a pretty "adult" relationship by grade 9 standards. I couldn't understand why it made her so upset and spent the entire day cheering her up, buying her ice cream, talking to her... until I realized that she was crying because he was her boyfriend too.

We had it out in the classroom during break time. I told her to back the fuck off, she agreed, and we ended up remaining friends. Their relationship continued in secret, though I was always aware. We spent six months in this absolutely fucked up triangle of tears and resentment and I guess desire. I broke up with both of them shortly after through a letter. It was one of the most honest letters I've ever written in my life, angry but not mean, sincere but not sappy, just plain truth.

Months later I saw them on the street together and felt nothing. She had gained a significant amount of weight to which my catty highschool inner self responded joyfully and he remained the same boring, impulsive jocky guy he's always been. I walked by without stopping or saying hello. Wasn't worth it.


I think there's a lesson somewhere in there.

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I'm thinking of taking the bus back to Toronto tonight after Lisha's reading at Drawn and Quarterly. Oh by the way there's a book launch/reading at D&Q tonight by Elisabeth Belliveau and Alisha Piercy and you should really go. Alisha and I began our intense bonding ritual three years ago while staying up working too late in the sculpture studio in the VA. That summer we lent each other books and I read hers as soon as I got home and loved it. It's about being young and lost and sex and abandoned ships and islands and teenage love. 7pm, 211 Bernard Ouest.

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