When I think back on my encounters with Kyle from Newfoundland, he hardly seems real, though that could be owing in part to my refusal to refer to him as just Kyle. Monikers aside, he seemed more like someone who had stepped out of a movie than someone I had encountered in real life. We met at The Horseshoe Tavern one night in June. What struck me the most about him was his accent and appearance. He sounded almost Irish, and he really didn’t look like he was old enough to be in a bar. As it turns out, he had moved to Toronto a few weeks earlier from St. John’s, Newfoundland. We talked about a number of things, and at the end of the night he gave me his number. About a week after we met, I had some time to kill before a NXNE show started, so I asked him if he wanted to meet up. As the hour came for us to meet, I became a bit anxious, because the meet up had the potential of looking like a date. I wasn’t interested in him, and did not want to go on a date. I simply wanted someone to walk around with. We met outside of the subway, and I was again struck by how young he looked. “Oh no,” I though, “I’m going on an accidental date with a sixteen year old!” (Don’t worry, I inquired, and he is the same age as I.) Kyle made us stop at McDonald’s so he could get coffee, and then we talked through Chinatown. Perhaps it is because he was lonely, being new to Toronto and all, that he talked for nearly two hours straight. He failed to notice things like cross signals and other pedestrians, and was instead astounded by what he claimed were giant squirrels. He actually stopped at the edge of a park so he could watch the squirrels. It started to rain as we took our walk towards the lake. I had an umbrella in my purse, a little red one, but I decided not to use it because I would have had to share it, and that would have made our walk look like a date. Needless to say, I was soaked by the time our walk ended, but I had successfully avoided a date with a guy who looked like he was still in high school.
Over the course of our walk, I learned that Kyle from what he calls the rough part of St John’s. He dropped out of high school at fifteen, but recently got his GED. His preferred language is Irish Gaelic, though he had never been to Ireland. He admits that neither his English nor his Gaelic is particularly strong. He came to Toronto to go to college to become a plumber, and was working at Tim Hortons in the meantime. He looked like the boys I saw at Warped Tour when I went in 2008, in skinny jeans and skateboard shoes, looking perpetually young.
He continued to text me after we met up, which surprised me a bit. Our friendship made little sense to me, but evidently he thought nothing of our differences. He asked me one day if I wanted to go to a bar called The Newfoundlander for some Screech. As I was unfamiliar with the bar’s name and location, I looked it up. It turns out he was inviting me to go to Scarborough with him. I was reluctant to go. I asked the advice of my coworker who goes to U of T Scarborough. He said, “Don’t go to Scarborough.” I came up with an excuse, and tweeted later on, “It was nothing personal. I just didn’t want to go to Scarborough.” I had dodged a bullet on that one!
A few days later he texted me again, this time to ask what I though of the food at 7/Eleven. I don’t eat at McDonald’s, let alone 7-Eleven. I again asked the advice of my coworker, who frequents McDonald’s. He said, “Don’t eat at 7-Eleven.” I replied to Kyle cautiously, telling him I had not yet experienced the convenience store’s culinary delights. Okay, that was what I thought as I responded. I simply replied, “No I haven’t.” It was to my great horror that he told me he ate there often and thought the food was delicious. I told him politely that I would remember that if I was near one, and made a mental note to never take his restaurant recommendations.
In spite of our obvious differences in taste, we met up again a few weeks later, when I had nothing to do on a Friday after work. After a detour to the post office so he could pick up his mail, we went to an Irish pub for some Guinness. Kyle was asked for ID upon entry. I was not asked for ID at any point. We made conversation as we sat at the copper bar, my language contrasting his. We left the pub, and walked along Queen West until we passed a Pizza Pizza and Kyle suggested we eat there. As I had already decided I questioned his taste, I ate at Wanda’s Pie in the Sky beforehand. We sat on the second floor while Kyle ate chicken fingers. He said, “It doesn’t feel like we’re at a Pizza Pizza right now!” The gigantic pictures of pizza and orange interior made me feel exactly like we were at a Pizza Pizza, but I resisted the urge to say so. Instead I said after a few moments of silence, “It must seem very strange that we are here together.” He asked me to explain. I said, “I don’t always understand what you say, and you don’t always understand what I say.” He smiled, and replied that he usually understood me, when I didn’t use big words.
We spent some time at The Horseshoe, before I took the train back home. Kyle was a nice guy, but I was worried that he enjoyed my company a bit too much. I was determined to find a logical way to make us a little less close. Well, you know what they say: opportunity knocks.
I was having a bad day, and Kyle was using language I found problematic. I had noticed that he used such language the last time we were together, but being in a crowded bar, I was able to overlook it. Maybe another time I would have continued to overlook his language, or would have ignored texts all together, but that day I decided to address it. What followed were the most eloquent text paragraphs I have ever written, in which I drew upon my knowledge of history, ethics, politics and etymology. Anyone who has ever received a text like that from me knows that I am either sharing parts of an essay on a subject I am passionate about, or I am quite angry. Anyone who has received such texts also knows that I expect a level of quality in the response I receive. Kyle sent me a GIF of a man in a spandex suit falling over in response. For the sake of my own wellbeing, I ended the conversation.
And thus my friendship with Kyle from Newfoundland came to the logical conclusion I sought. I still hear from him from time to time, but usually I don’t respond. Our friendship was a one time thing. From it, Kyle got some lessons in language and a couple of beers. And what did I get? I got something to write about.
Song of the Day: Dancing With Myself by Generation X
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