Gaetan lit the cigarillo and handed it to me outside the restaurant where our party had gone for sushi for my 25th birthday. I wanted to mark this milestone – half a century – with something special and a cigar seemed appropriate, especially with Gaetan, since he is the one who introduced me to smoking last year.
The six of us chatted, two of us with our cigars and four not inhaling, at least not anything other than the spring air on this rare June 19th evening in Regina when it’s not raining.
I was really conscious of making sure to knock the ashes from my cigar daintily, while Gaetan seemed not to notice or care about the ashes building up on the end of his. Gaetan seems to be unaware about a lot of things – and I was envious about how suave he looked blowing smoke into the night sky.
There are always too many things I want to tell him at any given moment; then there are those seconds where our eyes meet and I know he’s figured me out. I smile and feel like an idiot as he raises an eyebrow knowingly. Shit!
No matter how gracious he is to ignore my crush, it’s still embarrassing.
Why do we hope? Human beings, I mean. Is this what I’m unsure about?
Without hope, we would fall into despair, life would become unbearable; we’d lose all motivation to move forward. And yet, to hope sometimes feels too ridiculous.
And still, I can’t help but believe in hope, like I believe in moments of eye contact… and true love.
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