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Montreal, 12 December 1988
Meg is twenty-one minutes early to meet Alain for Olivia's choir's holiday concert.
This is not remarkable. Meg is early for most things, because she really dislikes being late. It makes her feel rushed and off-kilter.
She tends, therefore, to have to wait for whomever she's meeting. Alain tends to be on time for things -- exactly. He arrives as clocks chime or doors open. Meg has no idea how he manages it.
She finds an empty bench outside the recital hall, closes her eyes, and leans her head back against the wall. This is the other reason Meg arrives early; she likes having a moment to stop, and catch her breath, and mentally transition from whatever she was doing to whatever she will be doing soon.
"Meg? I didn't know you'd be here," someone says, and Meg opens her eyes to see Roe-bear.
She doesn't even know how to respond to his "greeting." It makes more sense for her to be at her roommate's concert than it does for him to be at his ex-girlfriend's.
"How've you been?" he asks, sitting down next to her, two inches too far into her personal space.
"Fine," she says, distractedly, because she's busy telling herself that there's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation that has nothing at all to do with her. Maybe he knows one of the other singers. Maybe he just wanted to hear some holiday music.
Because it just feels insanely self-absorbed and melodramatic to think that, what, Roe-bear is stalking her or something?
"Should be a good show, right?" he asks her.
"Yes," she says. "Should be."
"So are you here by yourself? We should sit together. Concerts are always better with company, and you're the kind of person whose really going to get the deeper messages in the music, you know the things beyond the lyrics and the notes to core of what the musicians and the composers are really trying to get the audience to connect with, and--"
"Actually, I'm meeting my boyfriend."
"Oh, right," Roe-bear says. "Your 'boyfriend.'"
Meg is pretty sure she's just been accused of fabricating Alain.
"He should be here any minute," Meg says, and in its way, it's a warning.
"Well, we can talk till he gets here."
No, Meg thinks, we really can't. She stands up. "I'm sorry, I need to . . ." find people I know, get away from you, be somewhere else. "Excuse me."
She starts to walk away from the bench, and he stands up and follows her. Meg stops and turns to face him, her arms crossed tight across her chest. "Look, I'm going to say this as clearly as I know how. I want you to leave me alone."
"What?"
"Leave me alone. Don't call me, don't turn up places and join me, don't try to talk to me if you run into me somewhere. Just leave me alone."
"Did you just accuse me of . . . what, following you around? Why would I do that? You've got an awfully high opinion of yourself, don't you?" Roe-bear sounds almost like he thinks he's humoring her.
And Meg's first thought is that she should apologize, because put like that she sounds crazy and conceited.
"Well?" Roe-bear says.
"I --" Meg begins, and that's when the clock behind them quietly chimes the quarter hour.
And when a familiar arm comes to rest across her shoulders in greeting. "Ma belle, I'm sorry I made you wait." It's what he always says, in one language or another (English, for now, because they're on her campus, not his).
"I was early," she says, her arm going around his waist.
"But you still had to wait." And that near-ritual completed, Alain looks over at Roe-bear, eyebrows raised slightly in inquiry.
"Alain, this is Robert McCrory; he used to go out with Olivia. Robert, this is Alain Gagné. My boyfriend."
My very real, un-made-up, and completely-capable-of-beating-you-to-a-pulp-if-necessary boyfriend.
"Nice to meet you, Robert," Alain says, and if Carrie's pronunciation is Roe-bear, Alain's would have to be rendered ROBerT. "Meg has mentioned you."
After Halloween, and the phone call about the albums. Not after he turned up in the cafe and weirded her out, or Roe-bear and Alain would probably have met before now, and it probably would have been a lot less cordial.
"You, too," Roe-bear says.
"Well, if you'll excuse us, we should find our seats," Meg says.
"Oh, yeah. Of course," Roe-bear says. "Enjoy the concert." And -- wonder of wonders -- he actually leaves.
Alain watches him go. "Has he been bothering you?"
"He's just annoying and a little strange," Meg says, and it's easier now, with Alain here and Roe-bear gone, to think that maybe she's right about that.
Alain looks down at her for a moment, and then nods. "Well, if he starts bothering you . . ."
"Oui, je sais."
"Bien."
She could tell him. She possibly even should tell him. But maybe, just maybe, Roe-bear has finally gotten the hint, and maybe it was all just an increasingly improbably chain of coincidences, and maybe the whole crazy Roe-bear interlude is over.
This is not remarkable. Meg is early for most things, because she really dislikes being late. It makes her feel rushed and off-kilter.
She tends, therefore, to have to wait for whomever she's meeting. Alain tends to be on time for things -- exactly. He arrives as clocks chime or doors open. Meg has no idea how he manages it.
She finds an empty bench outside the recital hall, closes her eyes, and leans her head back against the wall. This is the other reason Meg arrives early; she likes having a moment to stop, and catch her breath, and mentally transition from whatever she was doing to whatever she will be doing soon.
"Meg? I didn't know you'd be here," someone says, and Meg opens her eyes to see Roe-bear.
She doesn't even know how to respond to his "greeting." It makes more sense for her to be at her roommate's concert than it does for him to be at his ex-girlfriend's.
"How've you been?" he asks, sitting down next to her, two inches too far into her personal space.
"Fine," she says, distractedly, because she's busy telling herself that there's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation that has nothing at all to do with her. Maybe he knows one of the other singers. Maybe he just wanted to hear some holiday music.
Because it just feels insanely self-absorbed and melodramatic to think that, what, Roe-bear is stalking her or something?
"Should be a good show, right?" he asks her.
"Yes," she says. "Should be."
"So are you here by yourself? We should sit together. Concerts are always better with company, and you're the kind of person whose really going to get the deeper messages in the music, you know the things beyond the lyrics and the notes to core of what the musicians and the composers are really trying to get the audience to connect with, and--"
"Actually, I'm meeting my boyfriend."
"Oh, right," Roe-bear says. "Your 'boyfriend.'"
Meg is pretty sure she's just been accused of fabricating Alain.
"He should be here any minute," Meg says, and in its way, it's a warning.
"Well, we can talk till he gets here."
No, Meg thinks, we really can't. She stands up. "I'm sorry, I need to . . ." find people I know, get away from you, be somewhere else. "Excuse me."
She starts to walk away from the bench, and he stands up and follows her. Meg stops and turns to face him, her arms crossed tight across her chest. "Look, I'm going to say this as clearly as I know how. I want you to leave me alone."
"What?"
"Leave me alone. Don't call me, don't turn up places and join me, don't try to talk to me if you run into me somewhere. Just leave me alone."
"Did you just accuse me of . . . what, following you around? Why would I do that? You've got an awfully high opinion of yourself, don't you?" Roe-bear sounds almost like he thinks he's humoring her.
And Meg's first thought is that she should apologize, because put like that she sounds crazy and conceited.
"Well?" Roe-bear says.
"I --" Meg begins, and that's when the clock behind them quietly chimes the quarter hour.
And when a familiar arm comes to rest across her shoulders in greeting. "Ma belle, I'm sorry I made you wait." It's what he always says, in one language or another (English, for now, because they're on her campus, not his).
"I was early," she says, her arm going around his waist.
"But you still had to wait." And that near-ritual completed, Alain looks over at Roe-bear, eyebrows raised slightly in inquiry.
"Alain, this is Robert McCrory; he used to go out with Olivia. Robert, this is Alain Gagné. My boyfriend."
My very real, un-made-up, and completely-capable-of-beating-you-to-a-pulp-if-necessary boyfriend.
"Nice to meet you, Robert," Alain says, and if Carrie's pronunciation is Roe-bear, Alain's would have to be rendered ROBerT. "Meg has mentioned you."
After Halloween, and the phone call about the albums. Not after he turned up in the cafe and weirded her out, or Roe-bear and Alain would probably have met before now, and it probably would have been a lot less cordial.
"You, too," Roe-bear says.
"Well, if you'll excuse us, we should find our seats," Meg says.
"Oh, yeah. Of course," Roe-bear says. "Enjoy the concert." And -- wonder of wonders -- he actually leaves.
Alain watches him go. "Has he been bothering you?"
"He's just annoying and a little strange," Meg says, and it's easier now, with Alain here and Roe-bear gone, to think that maybe she's right about that.
Alain looks down at her for a moment, and then nods. "Well, if he starts bothering you . . ."
"Oui, je sais."
"Bien."
She could tell him. She possibly even should tell him. But maybe, just maybe, Roe-bear has finally gotten the hint, and maybe it was all just an increasingly improbably chain of coincidences, and maybe the whole crazy Roe-bear interlude is over.