Title: Canada Girl

Author: Crazywriter

Rating: PG

Warnings: Lesbian relations.

Disclaimer: Lyrics at front and bottom copyright Dar Williams.

Author's note: A very personal vignette.

Feedback: Review, flame, whatever floats your boat, so long as you do review.

If I did not dream, who would you be?
And if you did not dream, who would I be?
Yes, there is gold in this mountain
This they cannot mine
Tell me who they need it for
I'll tell you now, they need me more

O Canada girls

She didn't make me laugh too much, but she always made me smile. Always, always. And she had this… this effect over me, but in a good way. I mean, I was totally different around her, Christ Almighty, I think I even used a double negative once.

And she was beautiful. So beautiful, even if she didn't think so. And she was sweet, and she was trusting, and once… she was even mine.

And I could talk to her about anything, well not anything, I could never talk about the way I felt but… I could talk about Nietzche, and communism, and Darwinism and the fall of the empire of Babylon, and she'd understand. She had all these opinions on the world and yet… none at all. It endeared her to me. How she could be so sure off everything, and still not know where each foot was, how she could want everything and nothing at the same time.

But she wasn't real. I mean, she existed, but there was something about her, this air of mystery that shrouded her away from me…

Sometimes it was really almost like she didn't exist.

If I had made a girl up, made up a girlfriend, and put her together, I think that dream woman would have ended up being her. At that time in my life, I mean. Now, I don't think she'd even come close.

Which makes me wonder what she'd think of me now, with just a few months gone in between where we haven't talked except for a very angry email here or there. I suppose if I had more courage, I'd look her up and drop a line, and say, hey remember me? We used to go together, so long ago it seems like a lifetime, when it's only a few months.

But we all know I won't look her up, because part of me's scared, and because well… I'm not good at that stuff. Girls can call me sweet and sensitive all they want, but when it gets down to the basics, well… I'm no good at it.

But I wonder sometimes, what would she think of me? I think about the person that I was when she knew me, and then I think of the person that she thought I was. I think of the scared, stupid kid on their last leg of high school, dreaming big plans of being a theater technician and traveling the world. Thinking big plans of the girls I'd meet, and the places we'd go together.

I think of the kid who still believed in love at first sight and destiny and phenylethylamine, you know, the neurotransmitter your brain secretes when you're in love, and it makes you feel good and happy all the time. The kid who believed it was fate I found her, or more, she found me.

But I'm not that kid anymore. Maybe it was a bit of the shock of college, or maybe it was spending long hours with myself trying to figure out who I was… either way, I grew the hell up.

No more theater for me, just a vigorous triple major of political science, pre-law, and governmental affairs, minors in German and French. And I may dream of traveling the world still, but it's not the same. And when I think of that dream woman… she's so maternal, she's stable, and so am I. She's not dangerous, she's not an enigma, she's just… safety.

She fixes my collar when it's uneven.

That's what my dream woman does now.

I guess you could say I grew up. But that doesn't mean I got any wiser.

My dreams are so different now, I want a family, with kids, and I want to be a good provider for them, and a good parent, and a good spouse. I like it now, when I bitch about having to do my own laundry how my mother laughs and says she's just preparing me so that my future wife doesn't have to train me too much. I like that. Really, I do.

I wonder now if she'd still fit into my life. If we could still date, I mean, if I wasn't seeing someone else, if we'd still fit that way.

And I never come up with an answer, never, I never do.

And then I wonder why the hell I broke up with her. And I mean, I know why, but I still wonder. I know why I broke up with her, even though there's no single clear-cut reason. You could point to the night before when she pushed me into a state of mind I never wanted to go again when she kept pushing when I told her to stop. You could even point to the long, long walk in the cemetery I took the next day, wondering why she could do it to me when so few people could. You could point to…

Actually there is a clear-cut reason.

I broke up with her because she was in love with me, and I thought I was in love with her… but I wasn't, not really.

I broke up with her because, then maybe she wouldn't fall for me completely, and she wouldn't be hurt so bad, and neither would I.

Ironic thing was, we both got hurt all the same.

Looking back, a big part of me wants to say she took advantage of me, and my innocence, and my ruddy idealism. Say that because she was older, and as she liked to remind me, more experience. Chalk it up to being a kid dating a college freshman and being in over my head with my own ego, and not knowing what I was feeling.

Or I could chalk it up for there that spark I talk about so much.

I'm not sure about much anymore, to tell you the truth. I miss her now, for the first time in ages.

As far as she goes, I know she loved me, I know I might have loved that Canada girl…

But more importantly, I know I thought I did.

Well if you think of this girl and the dreams that made her
Write your secrets on hornet nest paper
And blow it high across the border
'Cause if you did not dream, who would I be?
And if I did not dream, who would you be?