While You Were Gone: A Thought I Knew You Novella Read Online Free PDF Page B

phone like everyone else. But I can’t tell you—I was thrown. Then I get stuck on the plane next to a guy coming from backpacking Eastern Europe who spends the whole two hours detailing how toxic our lifestyle is, particularly deodorant and toothpaste. Then I get here, and I’m told I need to teach all new material, only later to discover it’s all executives. So I’m studying the class content after Day One, only to come around the corner and be railroaded by a woman who is clearly not paying attention, and half the class information, including the roster, goes flying off, halfway across Toronto. So today, I have to teach this class, no roster, no notes.”
    I’m laughing. I can’t help it. “Wait, so those papers were all you had? It’s 2011. You must have it electronically.”
    “No, no, no, Greg here is old school.” Mike is back, his hand clamped on Greg’s shoulder. “He does everything on paper like it’s 1985. Even his khakis have pleats.”
    “I think I can beat this. I really do.” I clear my throat. “I had to pick my mother up from a bar, drunk at three a.m. I auditioned for concertmistress of the TSO and didn’t get it, against my best friend, who did. Now we’re not really on speaking terms, which may or may not be my fault. My boyfriend surprised me at midnight just to break up with me, and my brother has pretty much left my mom for me to handle because he has a ‘life of his own.’” I use air quotes with my fingers. “My career is shitty. I’m not sure I’m a good violinist anymore. My relationship is over, and I’m just truly lukewarm about the whole thing. And my mother acts like she’s in college, even going so far as to pick up guys my age. Mike, are you paying attention? Do you like cougars?”
    “Who doesn’t?” He tosses the remark over his shoulder as a big play on the TV above our heads sets the crowd roaring.
    “Mike is an equal-opportunity offender.”
    “Offender!” Mike protests, turning his attention back to me. “Were you offended?”
    I shake my head. “No, I’m just… tired. Ready for bed.” The line of bar taps swims in my vision. And drunk. The TV pulls Mike’s attention again, leaving Greg and me to sit in silence.
    “You know,” Greg starts and pauses. “My mother was an alcoholic. She died years ago, and she had other problems. Mental health mostly, a touch of schizophrenia. But she always had a bottle of vodka open and going. Mixed with anything, really. OJ, AJ, Coke. I didn’t realize it until I was older, but she was.”
    He goes back to sorting his peanuts, and I can’t figure out his system from where I’m sitting. I don’t know how to respond to his admission. Should we trade alcoholic mother stories now?
    He talks before I can. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you that. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud to anyone, ever. But, there you go. The truth comes out in weird ways.”
    “No, I’m glad you told me.” I touch his arm, and he stares at my hand. I pull it away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your day, and your papers and… your mom.”
    “Well, I think you win, anyway.” He rubs his hand back and forth across his chin. “Your day was pretty awful.”
    “Do you ever…” I feel the words slosh around in my mouth, my head. “Do you ever want to be someone else?”
    He stares at me for so long that I wonder if I’ve said them out loud. It’s possible I just thought about saying it. I stand up, the din of the bar gaining volume, and I can’t hear myself. I like the happy-hour crowd. I’m not up for the nighttime and the men like Mikey with their pick-up lines and wedding-ring tan lines.
    Finally, Greg speaks. “Only every day.”
    “Maybe not someone else.” I’m swaying now, my purse over my shoulder. My tongue feels thick and heavy. “But someone who actually is first-chair violinist. With the perfect boyfriend. And a circle of friends. A brother who cares. A mother who… is a