Impressions Part 2 of 3 ...the only difference between her and a dream is I haven't woken up with her
I've finally come to my senses. I realize my fantasy of being with Nathalie will never come true. I've simply wasted my time obsessing over her.
It's time for me to stop indulging my vain imaginings.
I gather up my papers, dump the lot into my briefcase, put on my winter coat and head out into the parking lot.
I pass by Nathalie’s darkened door and realize she’s also done the same.
Out in the parking lot, the wind is so strong it catches me by surprise, blinding me and flinging icy grit into my eyes. I barely make it to my car and manage to crack open the door when I hear the familiar clicking of a starting motor as Nathalie’s motor fails to start.
I put the key in the ignition of my SUV and get the same result. Great, just great!
After a few minutes, Nathalie exits her snowbound car and spots me sitting in my SUV with my usual half-open entry—so ironic— I'm figuratively and literally cranking a dead battery.
The story of my love life.
She flounders through the drifts and actually has to shout over the wind, “Is your SUV dead too?”
That's not all that's dead, I'm thinking.
I grind my teeth. I’m in no mood for this bathos—this failed pity-patter of people caught in hopeless circumstances. I simply nod, get out and slam the door with disgust.
Her eyes grow huge, but I’m past pleasantries, infuriated at myself for transforming an ordinary woman into a goddess. I want to take out my foul mood on her, but I’m really furious at myself for blindly wasting a semester pursuing a ridiculous dream.
“I can’t get a signal on my cell phone,” she shouts above the wind, “what about you?”
“I didn’t try,” I shout. “We’d better get inside.”
Once inside, she opens her office door and says, “Why don’t you come in and try phoning from here? Maybe you’ll be able to get a signal.”
Now, she opens a door for me—and only because she needs something
I’m resentful now, and actually turn my back on her while I punch in the dealership’s number. My phone is dead too.
I throw it against the wall and watch it splinter into plastic parts and a printed circuit. I don’t care about anything now, least of all the impression I’m making on her.
I feel frustrated, claustrophobic, and just want to go home.
“Was that a new i-phone?” she asks.
“Yeah—it has a great touch screen,” I growl, “You should try it.”
I figure she doesn’t touch much—this princess.
I won't mention the awesome selfie feature. It's her magic mirror that tells her how beautiful she is.
She shrugs and flicks on the light switch but her room stays dark. “Oh no—the electricity is out.”
“It’s probably out all over the area—hence no cell tower signals,” I mutter, and resist the urge to add, Duh!
I could hate this girl, and may just end up doing that.
I’m expecting to see a haughty look or an angry flush creeping up her neck, but her eyes are soft and vulnerable.
“I guess we’re really stuck, huh?”
Her voice wavers and she looks frightened.
I notice the temperature has dropped in the hallway and figure there’s no heat as well.
That figures, I muse.
“I have some candles in my office,” she whispers, “at least we’ll have some light.”
Who the hell has candles in their office? I answer my own question by realizing she’s into yoga and probably uses them for meditating.
“Well, we might as well light those candles and settle in for a long winter’s night,” I sigh.
“It’s kind of an adventure,” she says half-hopefully.
“If we don’t freeze to death,” I grumble, staring out the window at the gathering darkness outside.
“At least we won’t starve to death,” she laughs. “I went shopping this morning at the market and have several shopping bags of food in the trunk of my car.”
“Really?”
“Ivy and Aline were going to come over tonight for wine and cheese at my apartment—but it looks like we’re going to have the party here.”
“A moveable feast,” I say sarcastically.
I take her keys and head out into the storm and bring all the bags inside—including several bottles of Yellow Tail Cabernet—my favourite.
But Nathalie’s dreaming in technicolor if she 's expecting a party, because if she’s talking, I’m not listening. I’m on strike—I’ve had it with aloof women.
“They say one taper candle alone can give enough heat to keep you alive—I have six pillar candles.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t want to go through this forced socializing—I just want to go home.
“Just light two or three—in case they don’t last the night. That should provide enough warmth and heat.”
She holds up her empty coffee cup. “Oh dear, I don’t have glasses—just this.”
“No problem,” I sigh. I have one discoloured slightly crumpled paper cup just like hers back in my office. I retrieve it from my office wastebasket.
She lights the candles while I use a corkscrew tool from my Swiss army knife to open a bottle of Yellow Tail.
“Aren’t we resourceful?” she says, eyes dancing.
“Well, no big deal on my part,” I say frostily. “I would have just pushed in the cork—but I guess it’s more civilized without fragments of cork in your cup.”
“Much more civilized,” she smiles encouragingly.
More romantic too, I muse—candlelight and wine—a jug of wine a loaf of bread and thou.
Damn! I’m getting bitter. I’ve got to let go of my resentment.
But who could blame me? I finally end up alone with the girl of my dreams but it only happens when the dream is over.
Lucky me.
https://goo.gl/images/IkNdag, https://goo.gl/images/ws5dc2,
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