Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which way you look at it, Sociology was the only class that I shared with Chris, and he had math right after it, while I had a half-hour break, and then Psychology. I don't know what he did for lunch, but I would frequently sit in the cafeteria and look around for him, but I could never find him.
So, we just stuck to having our little two minute conversations at the beginning of Sociology class, and I got the most out of them that I possibly could. Chris was seventeen years old, and in general Social Science. He had no plans for the future that he could think of, and was only going to CEGEP, because his parents were forcing him to. I didn't come right out and ask him, but I'm pretty sure that he didn't have a girlfriend. I mean, how could someone as reclusive as that have the ability for love? Besides, you'd think girls would just be turned off by his degree of social prowess.
Well, I don't know about girls, but the more I spoke to Chris, the more I realized that I was falling in love with him. Despite being shy, he was extremely intelligent, very articulate in his words, and he seemed to have a romantic soul.
How did I know all this? Well, it seemed to me that there was more to this boy than he was showing, so I decided, one day, to follow him during Universal Break, which takes place on Wednesday, between 12 and 1 pm, where the entire school has no classes. During that time, I saw him enter the learning room for a club meeting, and I decided to sit in on it. It turned out to be a meeting for `Writer's Ink,' the Vanier writing club. Now, I had never anticipated that Chris was even capable of expressing his feelings, period, but when I heard him read one of his poems aloud to the club, I was enthralled by its resplendence and its eclectic quintessence, which incited me to query him about it after the tryst.
Basically, it was a pretty cool sounding piece of writing, and I asked him about it, when the meeting of the club was over.
First of all, he was embarrassed that I had been there to listen to it, making up excuses that it was just something he did in his spare time, and it came from things in his head that, he was aware, made no sense whatsoever. His whole attitude changed, however, when I told him how beautiful his poetry was.
"Really?" He replied, "I never thought much of them myself."
I told him that I knew now what a smart and well-spoken person he truly was, if he wanted to be, and if he could read me another one of his poems.
He was so pleased by my comments, I guess, that he gladly took me back into the learning room and showed me a binder full of his random musings and poetry. I read through them in awe, and actually felt pretty jealous. This guy had opinions that were way out there, it was true, but everything was justified and I found myself nodding my head a lot and agreeing with everything he said. His poetry was incredible in the emotions they evoked. It was clear now that I was dealing with somebody who did not need the type of friendship that I was planning on offering him.
"This stuff is really good." I said, but added, searching for a quick escape, "I have to go now. I'll see you around, I guess."
I had hoped for a dignified exit, but Chris simply refused to offer it to me.
"You going home?" He asked.
"Yeah." I said, turning around to leave.
"Want me to give you a ride?" He asked.
My body was suddenly overwhelmed with an ache that I hadn't felt since Aaron and I went swimming for the first time, and I noticed how beautiful his long hair looked wet. I had taken, and failed, the driving exam on three occasions, the second time only failing by 2 fucking percent. While everybody 3-4 years younger than me had their license, I still only had my learners and that fact destroyed me inside. Uttely killing me. So, this now meant, if I were actually counting, and I actually was, that Chris was smarter than me, more articulate than me, more self-confident than me, had long hair that I couldn't have, and had, not only a drivers license, but a car. Oh, and he was better looking than me.
Feeling very immature and frustrated with the amount of jealousy that I was feeling for this innocent kid, I turned and tried my best to smile as I said, "No thanks, Chris. I'll walk."
"Okay." He said, "See you tommorow, I guess."
From that day on, I didn't look at Chris the same way. That's not to say that I didn't like him, kind of, and I didn't lust for him just a bit, but I no longer loved him, I felt. I was incapable of loving someone who was so much better than me. In a slightly more derogatory way, I could say that, from that point on, I was no longer buying this goddamn shit that he was some shy kid who lacked confidence and, so, wasn't able to vocalize properly and function in a group. At this point, I saw him as, not shy, but arrogant for his lack of social skills. He was capable of speaking better than I was, but he chose not to, because he didn't feel the need to demonstrate his gross intellect on a group of pathetic losers of average intelligence. I saw Chris as a genius who was too good to hang out with other people.
I saw Chris as one of, if not the, biggest asshole that I had ever met.
Now, that probably sounds really immature, and I know that it is, but I'm a really immature person. Coming from a family of people who thought they were better than everybody else, I hated people who were arrogant. It's one thing to brag about what you know...I mean, those people are bastards too, but what I really hate, are the silent people. Those guys who think they're so goddamn smart that they're too good to even tell us how smart they think they are. That is the type of person that I saw Chris as. Plus, he smoked. That, in itself, deserves a whole new category for the hatred that I felt for Chris.
Now, if you had read the first few sentences at all, you would have noticed that I said that the more I learned about Chris, the more I realized that I was falling in love with him. That's still true, because all of this stuff that I felt about him only served as a confusion factor for me, as to why I felt the love that I did for Chris. The only explanation that I could come up with, as distasteful as it sounded to me, was that Chris was my cigarette.
For those of you that smoke, you're all a bunch of dumbasses. But, also, you might know what I'm talking about now. What if I went up to you right now and told you the straight facts about cigarettes? What if I told you about how smoking is evil, smoking is bad, smoking causes cancer, smoking destroys your lungs, etc... What would your answer to me be?
If you're like the smart smokers, an oxymoron but anyway, your answer would be that you are aware of all that. Painfully aware, literally. However, you can't stop.
Well, that's bullshit, first of all! Anybody can stop doing anything, if they really felt like it! I drank from age eighteen until age twenty. Aaron criticized me for it, my friends criticized me for it. There was not a day that went by that I wasn't, at least, mildly plastered. Before Vanier started, though, I decided to sober up and I haven't taken a drink since. Don't think that's addictive enough. How about this? I used to eat myself into obesity, pretty much. Depression, anxiety, sadness, happiness...Everything revolved around eating. One day, I looked at myself and decided that enough was enough. I was going to stop overeating. It was very hard, because I was, literally, addicted to food. But, I managed to stop, and I lost a good amount of weight. Quit smoking! Please!
And that, I swear, will be the last time that I mention that in this story.
Anyway, back to my point.
My point, was that I was addicted to Chris. I felt justified in feeling how much of an asshole he was, but he could have been supreme ruler of the assholes, but I was in love with him, anyway.
And, eventually, this led to the next stage of my study of Chris, and it really was a study. The stage, where I stopped the storytelling, ended the lies, and took a leap of faith with Chris. It had been three weeks since I had first met him, and I was now sitting in the cafeteria. Chris had just gone out for a cigarette, and, while he was gone, I decided on how much or how little I was going to tell him. Do I wade a bit into the water of my soul, or do I try and toss his 5'9" body into the deepest, darkest waters of my psyche right away. I felt at the crossroads of my relatonship with Chris, and I knew that I hated him. Not just a bit, either. Based on what I knew, I hated Chris more than I hated my mother, and I really hated my mother. I no longer hated Chris, because I thought he was better than me, because I had decided to move on to a new hypothesis. I now hated Chris, because of the feelings he made me feel, when I was near him, looking into his beautiful eyes, or talking to him.
So, I take you back to the end of February, 2001. My speech is all planned, my destiny is on the line, and I'm going to shoot at Chris with all my guns. If I lose him right here, it'll be the best thing that ever happened to me, but if he stays by me after this, then my life will have hit a new level. Friendship on the line...No holds barred...Dressed in white and black and weighing in at about 189 pounds, is David "Psycho boy" Levine...Dressed in black, with lungs that are probably the same colour, and weighing in at...I'm not quite sure, is Chris "I don't know his full name".
That would be a good thing to ask in the process of my tirade right here. His full name. Have to remember that. Okay....
"Chris, can I tell you something?"
"I guess. What?"
"Okay, but you have to promise not to leave until I finish."
"Ummm...Oh...Okay, I guess. Go ahead..."
"Okay..."
And I was off....