Turning left on to Boulevard Saint-Laurent, Finn braced for impact: a blast of icy wind, straight from the Saint Laurence River. February in Montreal, minus 15. The freezing air left him breathless and unable to stand fully erect.
At these temperatures, there is a notable lack of smell,the wind carries away anything but the most insistent sirens, and with his head wrapped in scarves and fisherman’s hat, Finn’s vision was also limited. He picked his way down the street, boots crunching on the dirty snow, careful to avoid the frozen dog shit.
Finn was unusually calm. Fresh from a bath, fed, and dressed in clean clothes, he felt steadier than he had in weeks. At last, he had a plan, though of course, he didn’t share it with his roommate. Like Finn, Charlie was also taught to deal with life’s messy problems on his own—to ‘man up.’ He had turned a blind eye to Finn’s recent distress.
Heading south, Finn passed familiar landmarks. The pornographic Cinema L’Amour with a spread-eagled woman forming the L. The cheap grocery store that didn’t bother with a sign and smelled of pickles, unidentifiable spices and poor ventilation. The bar with the hot Quebecois waitresses who sold cocktails he could not afford.
Shoulders protectively hunched against the wind, Finn moved down the main street on the Plateau, a neighborhood at the foot of Mount Royal that was home to many of the city’s students, including him. Saint-Laurent was always a mass of contradictions: hip and seedy, old and new, dirt cheap and ridiculously expensive. Before its inevitable gentrification, it had been a landing spot for many immigrants, Jews, Portuguese, Ukrainians. Just like its inhabitants, Saint-Laurent was constantly changing, evolving.
Finn briefly looked up at the eight-story high mural of Montreal’s most famous son, singer and poet Leonard Cohen, a brooding but benevolent god. After his breakup with Samantha earlier in the month, he listened to “Songs of Love and Hate” on repeat. Samantha, his best friend, his lover, his betrayer. He couldn’t help imagining her in Leo’s arms.
Finn pushed away those thoughts and soldiered on past Schwartz’s Deli, with its perpetual queue for smoked-meat sandwiches. Well padded customers stamped their feet and rubbed their hands to keep warm.
He looked across the street at The Main, a greasy diner that used to be open 24 hours a day but had shut down just days before, and fought to suppress the memory of their first night together. Playing pool after his shift at The Barfly, just up the boulevard. Laughing, flirting, leaning over her to ‘help’ with a tricky shot. Later, at The Main, they’d shared a plate of potato pancakes while tipsily discussing German philosophers. And then the inevitable tumble in bed.
Waking up the next morning, Finn could not believe that a girl like Sam, perfect in every way, would want to be with him.
With tousled sandy hair and green, soulful eyes, Finn looked younger than his twenty-oneyears. He had a slight British accent from spending five years in London, where his academic father taught physics at Imperial College. His enduring love of football—he supported Arsenal—was another legacy. At age 15, Finn had returned to Ottawa after his mother’s sudden death of a heart attack, a grief that neither father nor son ever fully processed. They lived together for two years until Finn left for university, but mostly in their own worlds. Other than football, Finn’s only emotional release was playing drums, which was what had attracted Samantha in the first place. She had seen him at The Barfly one evening when the scheduled drummer failed to show up.
Growing up in New York City with her divorced, socialite French mother, Samantha was always stylish and polished. A real FFF (French From France,) as Montrealers say, with jet black hair and deep brown eyes. Before university, Sam attended the Lycée Français in New York, spending part of her summers in Tokyo with her American banker father. She was not particularly close to either parent, who were both preoccupied with their own busy lives.
Finn and Samantha initially bonded over their melancholic childhoods, their experience of living in global cities and even their status as only children. But there was always a slight imbalance in the relationship. At least at the beginning, Samantha seemed to relish the constant attention from her obviously smitten boyfriend. Indeed, Finn had loved Samantha every second of the day since their first meeting. Sam was his everything.
Until two weeks ago.
Unbeknownst to Sam, a derailment meant Finn’s train to Ottawa had been cancelled; he was supposed to attend a relative’s funeral with his father. Instead of getting in touch, Finn decided to surprise his girlfriend with her favorite lunch: an expensive Pad Thai with Prawns. As always, he remembered: no egg, extra prawns. Using the key Sam had given him the previous Valentine’s Day, Finn let himself into her studio. That’s when his world collapsed. Opening the door, he found the love of his life writhing naked on top of their teaching assistant, a 28-year-old Austrian who specialized in Heidegger. Irrationally, Finn’s first thought was how he and Sam had joked about Leo’s weird fondness for the Nazi-sympathising philosopher.
In a state of shock, Finn walked back out the door without saying a word. It was the last time he saw or spoke to Sam.
For the next two weeks, Finn lived in a pain bubble: hardly eating, talking as little as possible, walking for hours on Mount Royal. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to. His connection with Charlie was purely transactional—someone to share household expenses. Finn had lost touch with most of his friends from the first year; his relationship with Sam had been so passionate, so all-consuming, that it left little space for close connections with others.
In a fit of rage, Finn destroyed every image he had of Sam, every present she had given him, every physical memory of their relationship. Cigarette after cigarette, beer after beer, Finn tried to anesthetize his entire being. On the mountain, he lost control, punching a tree until his hand was a bloody mess.
Somehow, Finn managed to attend most of his courses—skipping philosophy class—and took his shifts at The Barfly. He had little choice; Finn needed the scholarship money and his job. But he was a zombie, mechanically going through the motions of life with little thought or emotion. He kept asking himself the same questions: ‘How could she do this to me? What did I do wrong? How can I live without her?’
He didn’t know the answers.
Of course, the clues that Sam was falling out of love were plain enough; Finn just chose not to see them. Over the previous few months, Sam was often moody and withdrawn, saying she was tired or claiming she had too much work to be with him. Samantha no longer seemed curious about Finn’s life and asked him few questions; she would cut him off if he started discussing anything related to him. Finn noticed that Sam had stopped talking about the future and was vague about any plans she might have. She would become defensive about her whereabouts. Sam gave little warning when begging off an outing, and got annoyed when he complained.
But she wasn’t consistently callous, still turning on her megawatt charm when it suited her. If he had any suspicions, they would evaporate the second she showed him affection, keeping him off kilter with her sudden flirting and playfulness. Sam provided Finn with just enough love and attention to keep him hanging on—to keep him hoping. Finn started doubting himself and felt almost disloyal when taking offense at her moodiness. After a particularly cold episode, Sam suddenly adopted a loving tone, behaving as if her previous chilliness had never happened. The morning of the betrayal, Sam had kissed Finn passionately, whispering in his ear what they would do in bed on his return.
It was hard to believe that was just two weeks ago.
Sleet stung Finn’s eyes as he spied his objective: the Jean Couu Pharmacy at the crossing with Pine Avenue. A whoosh of the automatic door and he was in, the rush of muggy air warming him instantly. The pharmacy was enormous, a giant expanse of brightly-lit stuff. Finn had little idea where to go but didn’t ask for directions. He was never very good at asking for help on anything. His strict upbringing and his father’s silence, following his mother’s death, had taught him to focus on self reliance. To swallow his anger and hurt.
Walking past rows of makeup and hair care products, condoms and strange looking medical equipment, Finn finally found what he was looking for: the pain relief aisle. After a cursory glance at the various brands, he chose a large, generic bottle and started walking towards the till.
‘Hey Finn!’ yelled a girl still bundled up against the cold. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while,’ she said while freeing her head from numerous scarves. Finn realised it was Kristy, a girl he knew from residence. The pair had flirted outrageously on many occasions as first-year students, but they never got together. At the time, Kristy was with a guy from back home and was only teasing Finn. She had made it clear she was in a serious relationship.
And then Finn met Samantha.
‘Hey,’ said Finn awkwardly, with just the barest hint of a smile. ’How’s it going,’ he managed to ask with as much normality in his voice as he could muster
‘It’s been the shittiest year of my life. Truly,’ she declared dramatically, laughing at herself. The last time they had seen each other was at the university’s ‘Running of the Gingers’ race the previous St Patrick’s Day, nearly a year before. She participated dressed as a leprechaun and was among the last to finish. Still, Kristy had been a ray of sunshine, Finn remembered. Her rosy cheeks and auburn hair radiated warmth, as always.
‘I feel like I’m just emerging from a giant, stinking hole,’ she said earnestly. ‘I finally broke up with Seth, which took a while. Like a long while. We are all such idiots, aren’t we, fumbling around, pretending like we know what we are doing,’ she said with a sigh. Kristy had a way of building genuine connections with people almost instantly. She knew how to make everyone feel special.
‘You still with that girl from New York? Samantha?’
‘Ah, no,’ Finn answered, managing to hold it together. ‘We just broke up a couple of weeks ago. It was pretty bad.’ This was the first time Finn had said these words out loud to anyone.
‘Oh I’m so sorry. I totally know how you feel. But you know what, I’m not that sorry. She was kind of a bitch. Mean to everyone on my floor,’ Kristy said with a frown.
Finn had seen but overlooked that side of Samantha, particularly the cutting remarks she made about people she considered socially beneath her. Finn ignored a lot of things about Sam, focusing on what he considered her physical and intellectual perfection. Sam’s ungenerous remarks were simply recast in his mind as a sign of discernment and sophistication. Part of her style.
‘I’ll probably regret insulting her if you guys get back together,’ Kristy joked. Finn noticed her dimples as she smiled.
‘That’s not going to happen. She’s with someone else,’ said Finn, surprising himself with his candor.
‘Well, I think we should celebrate our new-found freedom. Let’s go to that new place down the street,’ Kristy announced. ‘You can’t say no, because then you’ll also break my heart and that’s not fair. I’ll meet you at the till in five. Gotta grab some hair conditioner.’
‘Ah, ok,’ answered Finn, startled, unable to think. He had no idea how to decline this invitation even if he wanted to.
Going back to the pain-relief aisle, Finn replaced the 500-pill bottle and grabbed some fresh-mint toothpaste instead.
‘You all set?’ asked Kristy, stuffing the purchase in her backpack. ‘Yeah. I’m ok,’ answered Finn, actually believing it. As he crossed the road with Kristy, who instinctively hooked her arm through his, he noticed the wind had died down on the boulevard; it was still bitterly cold, but he could stand up straight again and see clearly.
Agnese Smith
Agnese is an MA Creative Writing student at Birkbeck and a freelance journalist covering Canadian legal issues.