Valermo Drive

Nearest main intersection would be Horner and 30th, past Treeview though. The house is a bungalow, painted green, not dark but more like that seafoam green, all the rage this past summer for gowns and bridal attire. How is it that I can even remember this street? This house? I hated it there so much.

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He is 26 years old and has a few girls dangling. One is older, a tiny little thing originally from Newfoundland, short, dark haired, almost 40. She waitresses at the local bar and she's got a mouth on her, crude unlike any woman I've encountered up to this point. But she can sing like a beautiful bird, and sings with a band sometimes at the bar. This one has baggage, an on-again/off-again thing with an ex-husband or boyfriend, kids, physical abuse issues, etc. She wants to be saved from her wretched life. Thinks this young man is just the ticket. He likes her quite a bit too, but she's complicated, and he doesn't do complicated very well. Plus he's too damn logical, knows nobody can save somebody else they've got to do it for themselves. Just do it is his motto long before it catches on.

The other girl is around his age and they have a history, have dated off and on for a few years. Once seriously for a year and a half. This one has an exotic look about her, Greek maybe? Italian? Green eyes. Tall and curvy, thick, solid, wouldn't want to take a punch off her. Factory worker I think. Attitude up the wazoo! She proudly refers to herself as the "bitch", very outspoken, opinionated, downright snarky. And moody as hell. She lives up to the Scorpio image in spades. He likes her too. I don't understand why he's drawn to these rude and nasty women. But I suppose rude and nasty girls need someone to like them too.

There are others, but they don't rank. He's only seriously dating three girls.

I'm the third, the new player in this game and quite different from the other two. This one's only 18, a shy university student just in from down east, doe-eyed with innocence. I worship him. He is a god, the greatest thing to ever walk with two legs and I will do anything for him, anything to spend time with him, anything to make him smile. And he likes being the idol, likes the easy going way we get along with no sassy lip. Yet I'm just sarcastic enough to not be completely boring and I'm an apt pupil picking up on his sarc ways as fast as he can demonstrate.

I have no expectations, no aspirations, don't believe I figure into his equation or that I ever will, so I'm always present in the moment, enjoying his attention if I have it, off having fun with others if I don't. I hang out with him and his other girlfriends, sit in the back seat with friends while we drive them home, while he walks them to the door and kisses them good night. I don't get jealous, do not completely lose my mind, because I expect nothing from him and I'm happy to just be in his presence.

The girlfriends accept me as part of the group because they think I am his cousin, a convenient lie, easier than telling people the longer weirder story of how I came to live with a family of strangers.

For months, I am the only girl in the mix who knows about all the others (even the flings). Afterall, I live in his house. I'm the one in the dirt with the boys at the motocross track in Thornton on Sunday afternoon. I'm the one in the tattered peejays watching late great movies on City with him on weeknights. We're friends . . . who occasionally fool around, and that's okay. I don't care if we never fool around, I just want him to talk to me, teach me things, show me things, tell me I can do anything and make it true. I see other guys. Other guys come to the house and bang on my bedroom door in the middle of the night, scaring me. Other guys call and ask me to go dancing. Some other guys are cute and some I even like a little.

I know about his other girls . . . but they don't know about me. And even that isn't an intended secret, if anyone asks I'll tell them anything they want to know, but nobody asks and I'm not the type to offer details on my own. I'm good at holding onto things and keeping them for myself.

We hang out more and more until there isn't much time for anyone else. The older woman goes back with her abusive ex, quits the job at the local bar and moves out of the neighborhood. She just disappears.

The bitch sticks around and pursues. She calls and invites him to parties, to supper with her parents, to movies and concerts and many other things that he refuses. So then she calls just to talk. And then she eases on the pursuing and offers to be friends. Everyone hangs out again. More parties on Valermo Drive. The moment of total realisation comes during a party at this house. Everyone is trashed and he's passing out sitting upright on the couch. The girl and others are still going strong, the party is far from over, but he's been up for over two days working in the snow and is dead on his feet.

She tells him he can go sleep in her bed if he wants, since he is so worn out. I'm surprised when he says he can't drive home and yes, thanks, he'd love to sleep in her bed. She is a little surprised too . . . and a little smug. I'm surprised because we've been really close for weeks. He's practically moved into my bedroom. And though we haven't discussed anything, haven't had "the talk", I thought maybe . . . I'm a little disappointed. But not angry. Not hurt even. We've been winging it, no rules, and I still have no expectations. But I don't like being at this house on Valermo Drive. She isn't very nice to me, she thinks I'm some hick kid from the woods. She makes fun of the way I talk, especially when he's not in the room. And all this even though I know about her but she doesn't know about me. She's just not very nice, plain and simple, a bitch like she proclaims to all who will listen.

The idea of staying here all night, without him to unknowingly shield me from her hurtfulness just by his presence, with him sleeping in her bed is not appealing. I consider my options, start thinking about walking, about calling a cab, about a million other things.

And then he lumbers to his feet, thanks her again, says good night to all, grabs my hand and leads me off to her bedroom.

This is so not what she had in mind.

Long after he is snoring I lay awake listening to everyone discuss this scandal. A few times she says she's coming in to confront us but others talk her out of it. Others explain how I'm not the cousin, not related.

I'm the girlfriend, we all realise at once. She should've been nicer.

Mood: yawning
Drinking: water
Listening To: The Kinks, Everybody's Gonna Be Happy
Hair: drying natural