For the Cause
by Melodie
Corrigall
It had gone
well. No doubt about it. Five minutes into their
conversation, they had been laughing and
comparing notes about their loves and lives as if
they had been together for years.
She
hadn’t been looking for romance and
hadn’t expected the class would be the
mother lode. Not a sport type, her goal had been
to escape the house when her roommate
Maria’s very hot boyfriend came by regularly
Thursday night.
It was the
last yoga class of the session and drop-ins were
welcome so What the hell, she’d said to
herself, Give it a try. Then the instructor
walked in. What a dude. Good looking didn’t
begin to describe him: boyishly disheveled, teddy
bear snuggly, swatches of black hair and a smile
like cracking open a bottle of bubbly.
As soon as she
began the session, between puffs and huffs, she
vowed to sign up for the next session and the
next. When the class ended, she struggled to
think of way to strike up a conversation.
When she
realized she had forgotten to hand in her drop-in
receipt, she headed up for the kill. “Great
class,” she said, head on side with a
winsome smile. He mumbled a “thanks”
and explained he wouldn’t be teaching the
next term. “I’m off to Italy for six
weeks,” he said. “Lucky you,” she
said, “My favourite country.” She
hadn’t actually been there but she loved
pasta.
He swooped
down to pick up a flyer on the sidewalk.
“The Bong
Go concert,” he noted, “Are you going?”
“Yeah,
tomorrow night.”
“You
managed to get tickets?” he said.
“You’re a sharp one.”
Her friend had
gotten them but how was he to know.
She considered
suggesting they have a coffee, but the only place
to get coffee was from the machine and that
hardly sounded like the start of a great romance.
They joked about music …then, suddenly he
turned and headed towards his car. “Nice
meeting you,” he called back.
She had moved
off towards the bus when he shouted
“Hey” at her. She twirled around
quickly, brandishing a smile. Here is where
he’d ask for her e-mail or phone number.
“You’re
shirt,” he called.
“It’s
from the Gap?” she said, pleased she’d
paid extra bucks for a cool look.
“It’s
inside out. The label’s outside.”
She grabbed
her throat and felt the offending tag, flapping
in the wind. “For the cause,” she
laughed. What cause she couldn’t say.
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