"Salut, comment vas tu, Mr. Sylvain Joubert?" Joanna Villeneuve says with a smile, that adorable Montreal accent of hers adding to her charm. And I smile for the first time that day, pleased that someone is inquiring about my well-being. I'm going through a hard time right now. Alright, so I'm not the first guy in this universe to experience heartbreak but dammit, if you're careful, it can eat away at you, alright? I'm just saying...
I'm actually cheered up by Joanna's presence. The lady has a sunny disposition, you know? I've known Joanna ever since I first started my courses at Canada's Capital University four and a half years ago. The five-foot-nine, dark-haired, curvy, forty-something, perpetually jovial French-Canadian lunch lady is one of my favorite people in this racially diverse yet politically complex, at times hostile campus...
Je vais tres bien, Joanna, how are you doing today?" I replied, and Joanna smiles and shrugs. I watch as she rings my purchase, a Shawarma sandwich and a bottle of apple juice. I smile and thank her, and Joanna winks at me. I wink back, and then make my way to the cafeteria's seating area. I sit by the window, far from everyone else, and eat my meal in peace.
As I eat, I look out the window. Winter is in full bloom in the Canadian capital. I don't mind because the weather outside reflects my foul mood. A group of students, one black guy, five white chicks, two Indian dudes and one Chinese guy, sit nearby. I ignore their lively conversations and witty banter. I'm alone. And I want to be alone. Just another day in the City of Ottawa. Nothing to see here...
It's been six weeks since the demise of my relationship with a young Indian woman named Anija Sahil, and to be perfectly fair and honest, I'm still a bit sore about it. We were quite the couple, Anija and I. People stared at us everywhere we went, because apparently, we were considered quite unusual. Go figure...
You don't see a lot of Indian girls with black men, because let's face it a lot of Indians have a strong bias against folks of African descent, but my Anija wasn't like that. We met in the campus library and really hit it off. Just two nerds who met at school and fell in love. Even now, I remember her sweet smile, her wry sense of humor, and how I felt like I could tell her anything...
"My father doesn't approve of our relationship," Anija said to me a little over a month ago, as we sat inside the Place D'Orleans food court. This was one of our favorite hangouts. There we sat, eating some Chinese food, and that's when Anija dropped this bomb on me. We'd been seeing each other for a year, and I'd met her older sister and one of her cousins, but never her parents. I thought we were cool since I'd technically met her family, but I was wrong...
"How can you say that, Anija? He hasn't even met me," I replied, and Anija looked at me silently and shook her head. I could see a well of sadness in her beautiful brown eyes. Anija sighed and looked away. All of a sudden, there was a definite chill in the air that had absolutely nothing to do with the frost of the Ontario winter. What the fuck is going on here?
"I'm sorry, Sylvain, I can't see you anymore, please don't make this more difficult than it has to be," Anija said in a cold, businesslike tone. I reached for Anija's hand and she looked at me, shook her head sadly, and then got up. As I stared, open-mouthed, the young woman I previously thought of as the love of my life got up and walked away...
"Someone looks like they've got the blues," came a voice, and I looked up, snatched out of my reverie. Joanna stood a meter from me, a bottle of coke in hand, wearing her trademark smile. I smile at her and like the prim and proper Haitian gentleman that I was raised to be, I get up and pull the chair for her. My grandfather Alphonse would have been proud. Joanna nods, smiles and then sits down.
"I'm having one of those days," I reply, and Joanna sips her coke, and then asks me for the name of the woman occupying space in my mind. I gasp in surprise, and Joanna winks. Alright, at this point it occurs to me that Joanna is either psychic or I'm the type of dude who wears this emotions on his sleeve. Most likely the latter, I'm afraid. Another shrug, and Joanna smiles some more...
"Sweetie, whatever young woman has brought you down like this probably isn't worth it," Joanna says, sipping her coke. She leans back in her chair and I take a good look at her. And I do mean a good look at her. Joanna is a beautiful woman, with her long dark hair, pretty and jovial face, and that curvy body of hers. When her hand brushes against mine, for some reason my heart skips a beat...
"Her name is Anija, she's from India, and she broke my heart," I finally confess, and Joanna sighs. Over the next half an hour, she really cheers me up. While we're talking, I start to relax. We even talk about the books we're currently reading. Joanna is reading 50 Shades of Grey by E.L. James, which is apparently still all the rage with women nowadays. I'm reading the controversial erotic novel Female Domination by Elise Sutton.
