13 – RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY
Tall, athletic, a blue in his eyes and a well-trimmed light beard. He was wearing jeans, a navy blue sweatshirt, and a cap that made him look younger. When he hugged me, his perfume just snatched me. I can’t even describe his smile. It looked like a Valentine’s Day commercial, clear with dimples under the beard.
I don’t know if it was my level of English that was low or if I was truly mesmerized because I can’t remember the first few sentences he said to me. I kept looking at his bright face staring at me.
“Good thing I came,” I thought. That Sunday morning, exactly one week after our first Tinder message exchange, he invited me for coffee, but I was looking for a thousand reasons to cancel the 1 pm appointment at a Starbucks near Suelen’s house.
I was overwhelmed with tremendous anxiety. If I had not liked the Peruvian, who had beautiful photos and a much more interesting exchange of messages, I would certainly not like that Canadian, who did not flirt through WhatsApp and didn’t look good in the photos.
After asking to delay the date by an hour, I no longer had the nerve to cancel and there I was, completely delighted.
We ordered a black coffee and sat outside. It was sunny and spring had already begun to raise temperatures in the Northern Hemisphere.
Although the school’s English test stated that I was almost advanced, I had a hard time understanding what he was saying. Even so, we spent more than 3 hours talking in that cafe.
We were the same age and he had also got divorced in January, although he said very little about his past relationship. Witty, he asked many questions about the reasons that led to the end of my marriage.
- He’s gay? Oh dear, I’m so sorry about that, but it’s not your fault. Believe me, you are a beautiful woman.
He tried hard to understand everything I said, certainly because I couldn’t speak English so well. I liked the attention he gave me when I was expressing myself. He would look into my eyes and mouth and speak slowly so I could follow his reasoning. At one point I was surprised when he took my left hand and joined it with his right hand. “You have long fingers,” I said, smiling and returning my hand to the table. I got nervous and even lost my train of thought. He chuckled discreetly.
At the end of the date, we walked to Suelen’s building and the farewell was a bit comical. I was hugged in a childlike way, with my body rocking sideways. I got a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the back. I felt a little ridiculous when I walked into the apartment, yet I wanted to rewind the afternoon and spend all those hours with him again.
We exchanged some messages later that night and we agreed it was a great date. On Monday, he asked me if he could see me again on Friday and Saturday.
- Looks like someone already misses me a lot, – I said, content.
- Yes. That’s why I’m asking for Friday and Saturday, – he admitted.
The week went quietly and I walked around the city listening to the Beatles, ridiculously happy. I struggled to put myself in the present, feel the temperature, watch the streets, the people on the subway, and the yellow tulips that graced the entrances of the mirrored buildings. I was proud to have made that happen and to be studying English in Canada. I want to go back in time when I remember that feeling of success. It was truly amazing to live, for the first time in years, what my heart was asking for.
14 – MY BLUE PICTURE
Finally, it was Friday and our date began with a half-hour delay. We both arrived on time, but we were waiting in different places. He said he would be late, but he arrived early and stayed inside the bar. I thought I was early and stayed outside.
After the disappointment and the attempt to explain what had happened, we had two beers and got to know each other a little better. Although winter was officially over, it was very cold that night.
He told me he was tired and asked for the bill. In the meantime, I was trying to understand how Canadian dates worked. I didn’t know what the next step would be, and I wondered if it was just that: two beers and a parting. How could all this seem so natural to him and so unpredictable to me?
As we walked down the bar stairs, he pulled my arm and stole a kiss from me. We were surprised when the kitchen door opened above us, pressing us against the wall. We heard the noise of an aluminum tray falling and we left laughing at the poor waiter who could not imagine what was blocking the door.
We walked a block and he stopped me at the corner, where the street was emptier, for a longer kiss. The light from the light post illuminated a very fine drizzle that hardly wet us.
Very kindly, Jordan chose the locations of our dates always near where I was staying.
We walked to Suelen’s building and chatted a little longer in the lobby of the building, near the fireplace, where other kisses warmed up that chilly night a little more. With his arms inside my huge black jacket, he said he would like to take me to his house. I still didn’t understand that date, because a few minutes earlier, at the bar table, I had the impression that he was rushing things off to get rid of me.
- Honey, you said you were tired. So I suppose you should go to your house alone and rest. We’ll see each other tomorrow,” I said, anticipating the farewell.
The next day, punctually at 10 am, the two-seater car parked in front of the concierge. With his cap back and sunglasses, Jordan smiled excitedly introducing me to our “carrinho”,[9] as he said in Portuguese in a heavy accent.
It was a beautiful sunny day and he scheduled a tour of Toronto’s traditional neighborhoods. We walked the streets of Kensington Market, observing the street sellers and dozens of stylish cafés. Then he took some pictures of me on the graffiti walls of Graffiti Alley, where he also picked a white flower for me and invited me to his house.
In a very quiet street, we entered a small green house with a small garden in the front yard. There were no colorful flowers like the neighbors’, but neither was it overgrown.
The floor creaked as I stopped to take off my shoes, and I smelled the wooden door made of rubble he designed himself and that divided the living room from the kitchen. Jordan was an architect. The coffee table, also made by him, caught my eye: a bicycle wheel on a tripod held the round glass top.
We drank a glass of wine and exchanged several musical references sitting on the living room sofa. He introduced me to videos of his favorite Canadian bands and I showed him some Brazilian music. Of course, the samba and funk classics were in my multicultural repertoire.
When he asked me to teach him how to dance forró, I realized that this was just an excuse for feeling my body closer to his. Even so, it was funny to see him all awkward trying to keep up with my steps.
Awkward as in the goodbye hug we shared after breakfast, he took off my coat, laid me on the couch, and stared at me as if waiting for permission before taking the next step. He looked like a teenager.
I felt insecure and asked myself if I wanted to be there. The answer came immediately. I then held his face in both hands and kissed him as intensely as I could and he asked me to his bedroom. Jordan loved me as sweet as no one had ever had.
The next morning he drove me to Scarborough Bluffs and I was speechless before the sloping cliffs over the unutterable blue of Lake Ontario. We held each other for a long time, watching that vastness of water. I focused all my attention on where our bodies touched. A cold wind was blowing, and I felt that embrace was the only place in the world I’d rather be. In my imagination, that moment turned into a blue picture.
When the car was a block from home, he put his hand on my leg and asked me not to leave. At that time, I thought he didn’t want to take me home, but then I wondered if the request was for me not to leave Toronto. We had just met and everything had been amazing. I’ll never know.