A love quad-rangle

Just to look at her, you know she takes her coffee with sugar. And probably with 35% cream. Because it tastes good and that is enough.

She has a knapsack slung over her shoulder and the straps are worn. She’s a Vancouver Film School student but you know she doesn’t carry the bag so that people know. She carries it because it’s comfortable and that is enough.

Her hair is a tawny shade of bottled red, her jeans are frayed. Her leather jacket is a size too small because it wasn’t bought for her. But it’s warm and it’s worn and that is enough.

Her boyfriend hands her back her thermos of coffee, a small hand poking out of a sleeve too long. He stares at her. She laughs.

“I’ll be back by ten,” she says. She promises.

She places a Dock Martined-foot on the first step of the bus, turns her broad, smiling face towards his. “Have a good day, babe,” she drawls. He stares. She laughs.

A barely audible sigh escapes from this small man, this boy, with a thrift shop plaid jacket and a walkman in the pocket of his Levi’s. He’s still wearing the Ramones t-shirt he wore to bed because it smells like her. He turns to walk away, to start his day, to start to fill the hours between now and 10 tonight, when his world will feel right again.

A couple gets on the bus. A powerful couple. His hair is full of K-Pax, his shoes are shined. He’s tired, he was up at 5 and in the gym; he doesn’t drink coffee. He doesn’t believe in coffee. He is conscious of the eyes that turn, he awaits their recognition. He welcomes and shuns them. He glances over at the film school girl and straightens the collar of his Banana Republic trench coat.

A woman sits down beside him. Her electric blue rain coat looks strangely obscene on such a grey day. She is thin in a nervous way, her face is pretty, but drawn. She will not be attractive when she’s 45 and she knows this. She drinks coffee in the bathroom and munches anxiously on soy beans during her lunch hour. An engagement ring fits loosely on her finger – no wedding band yet snuggles up against it. But it will come. Oh but of course it will come!

She opens up an oversized leather purse, pulls out a cellphone with a poodle charm hanging from it. She flips rapidly through the screen, and curls up next to her fiancé. ‘Look at that one, babe, isn’t it just soo cute of us?’ Arms crossed, he allows his head to tip slightly. A forced smile mercifully curls out from a strong, pronounced jaw – he remains silent. She is encouraged and tries again. “How about this one – adorable!” This time, he verbally agrees with the digital representation of their lives, of his life. He is in pain.

They get off the bus and she immediately tucks a bright blue arm in his. It is teeming rain – she shields her salon-styled hair with her purse. She stumbles in her heels – he doesn’t change his pace. He forges ahead, and they fall out of step. The distance between them grows.

And as film school girl bops off the bus, her face, her hair, her smile gratefully meeting the rain, I couldn’t help but think, how right would it be, how peaceful would it be, what an awakening would it be, were film school girl to spend a night in a smoky bar with Banana boy, for nervous soy muncher to spend a night laughing, really and truly laughing over a bowl of greasy popcorn and beer, with a man who actually saw her. Sometimes, all is just not right with our worlds, and it's such a shame that sometimes, only strangers on buses on rainy Vancouver days, can see this.