September 13, 2004

Jen noticed the huge grin on my face. “You look happy,” she said. “I just got back from Toronto,” I answered, and she nodded. Jen is wonderfully perceptive.

I didn’t have to tell her that I awoke at 6am on Sunday with a hard-on and an insatiable need to hold my Martha. “Fuck everything, I’m out of here,” I said, and biked like a madman towards the bus terminal to catch the earliest Greyhound out of town. Kitchener was asleep aside from the two boys walking through a field at dawn. The grass was wet with dew and the sky orange.

One of the boys said something. I couldn’t stop my bike so I just turned my head to look, and in an instant my wheels slipped on the wet grass, sending my body flying through the air. I remember my head impacting against the ground, and then getting up all wet, shaking grass from my hair.

“Oh Martha, I’ve fallen for you,” I told her three hours later, my right leg bleeding into my sock. She held me, covering my body with caresses. Hours later we went out into the streets looking for a bite to eat, and after dinner and a movie, we returned to her purple room and collapsed once more in each other’s arms.

Monday morning we awoke with our limbs ravished by an excess of tenderness, and I rushed out the door to catch a bus back home. I never felt sleepier or happier, and Jen seemed to know that too.