The Erica Situation

(pictures were removed because they don't add anything to the story)

While I sort of alluded to her here before in The Jenn Fiasco, Erica was a beast all her own.

If you would ask her about the idiom that claims all men to be ''dicks'', not only would she agree, but she would seriously wonder what is wrong with that and would claim ''the more the merrier''. But first things first...

The Hollywood-esque Hook-Up:

Riding the subway on the way home after school in September 1994, I spot this really cute, tiny, red-haired, thick-lipped strawberry-nosed girl who looks younger than me - and she's eyeing me too. For two stations we look into another's eyes, smile, then people come in and out, she's so small I lose track of her.

At Vendôme, where I get out, I check to see if I can spot her - in vain. No sign of her whatsoever.

I get on the bus, a bit sad but knowing that - as always - I'll have forgotten it in a few hours' time. I'm sitting down, first seat next to the back door, listening to my Discman, reading the lyrics to the Beastie Boys' Check Your Head while they bang in my earphones, when I look up and see her standing right in front of me. Despite our clear flirtation earlier, having her so close in front of me when I thought I'd lost her made me nervous, and I looked away, always trying to steal a glance here and there until it's my turn to get off, hoping she doesn't do it first.

The street I lived on, Melrose, is between two stops (Wilson and Draper, respectively), and seeing as she's not getting off at the first, I wait until the latter to exit. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I stare right back into the bus at her, see she's looking at me, and wave at her to follow me out. She makes this puzzled look but I repeat the gesture, and as the bus trails away, start making a run to the following stop - Madison. She exits at Madison and walks towards me until we're face-to-face, silent, shy, awkward but also excited, nervous, feeling a weird adrenaline rush that only hard drugs such as pure lust can provoke.

I suggest we sit on a park bench and talk - and we sit there for over an hour. at one point she asks me what I'm doing that night, and I reply with a confident ''NOTHING!, You?'' and she tells me about this after-school economics seminar she's got to go to - at which point I remember I'm going to the same one: ''Me too! I totally forgot! At Marymount Academy on Côte-St-Luc!''

Oddly enough, we were in the same grade at different schools, she was 3 years older than I was but had been held back because the education she had received in her native Portugal wasn't found to be equivalent to our system's, and we were both enrolled in the same after-school economics/entrepreneurship program. It was going to be great: I could continue hitting on her there - all night.

It turns out we were in separate groups, but at break time we'd always get together. Within the end of the month we were dating, meeting each other's friends, maybe even parents. I saw hers a lot despite having never seen another room in her house than the living room. Her mom loved me, her dad always gave me a look that said ''when I kill you, I will shit in your mouth then feed you to starving pitbulls''. Oddly enough, back in the day, those were typical parental reactions to my presence...

By Christmas, we had already each purchased tickets to one another's Graduations. In January she got pregnant, got aborted on Valentine's Day and by March I learned that she had, on average, cheated on me more than once a day. Close to 3, actually. Usually with her ex, Enrik, a fellow Midget-AAA hockey player also drafted by the Laval Titans - but also with guys who gave her rides home from school in exchange for blowjobs, cab drivers who would take her anywhere at any time for the same deal, as well as one fucktard she kind of actually started dating at the same time. They met after fucking in the bathroom at the old Madhatter's, when it was on Peel street. He had a stupid-ass last-name-as-first-name thing going on, something like Anderson, but maybe not; straight hair to his chin, wore wife-beaters... a real fucking douchebag. If he's still alive today, I'm sure his skin's fucking orange, he lives in Jersey and drives a red sports car.

Worse of the matter is she'd give me signs, too, almost all the time, but she was telling those stories as if they were happening to her best friend, who I'd met and had introduced herself as ''yeah, I'm Claudine, the slut from all her stories''. Needless to say, though, that when I learned the truth, I wanted nothing to do with her anymore. And I never spoke to her ever again, but she did write me from most major destinations when she went on a European vacation during the summer, a Tour Of Cocks, if you will, where she would either send me pictures of her with other guys, or just postcards with messages like ''I just got acquainted with a boatload of sailors here in Vienna, and I'm particularly fond of Austrian sausages now''.

I remember when I found out about her infidelities, and we had a long conversation about the ethics of a relationship and how humans, after all, are still fucking animals. She said: ''so what if on my way to school or work, I see someone I want to fuck and we stop and do it and continue on our merry way?'', and it was the very first time I'd heard a woman talk like the most macho man.

Plus, for some reason, I imagine with those guys it was a lot less clinical than with me, where most times we'd be spooning on a couch watching TV and she'd just lift her leg up, grab my dick in my pants and shove it inside her dry cunt, irritating the both of us until she would manage to produce juices. All of this in the quietest of silences. I was nothing more than the 10-inch dildo waiting at home for the nightly fill.

The Jenn Fiasco

Ah, the summer of '94. That was a busy one.

15 years old, almost 16, between grades 10 and 11. The summer that may have made me the man I am today. 125 days in which I lived enough to go through 4 years...

But most of it started in the winter before it, making friends with hockey teammates Nick and Todd. Most of our weekends were spent together, and my friends and theirs meshed and became a big whole bunch. Of their friends, another goalie, Eugene, that I sort of ran out of town the next year by taking his place as the neighbourhood's star and starter in nets, and a couple I liked, Chris and Jenn.

Chris was a short and aggressive fellow, often out looking for a fight, usually one in which he'd end up victorious - or less beaten up than his opponent. And when it went sour, Eugene and I, as resident giants, were there to get him out of any additional trouble. The only thing shorter than his temper was his hair - shaved bald.

Jenn was more reserved, seemingly always glued to Chris' left arm, or standing right behind him when trouble came calling. A pretty brunette with shoulder-length straight-ish hair, she seemed to have character, her eyes exuded it, but her demeanor was laid back.

It was a fine winter and spring, filled with plenty of action and commotion, underage drinking, arcades and late night movies. Summer was gearing up to be magical.

There was one night where a bunch of guys gathered at Todd's place to watch a Pay-Per-View special (UFC 2, March 11th) and most crashed there. There was little sleep, plenty of beer, and enough guys' talk to not have to scratch our balls for a week afterwards. Innocently enough, I mentioned to Chris at some point that I found his girlfriend attractive, but nothing was made of it - there was nothing to make of it, it was in innocent enough comment.

In June, however, it was brought to my attention that they no longer were an item, although I really paid no mind to it. It was Finals at school and in hockey, my time was well taken care of, and I was looking elsewhere for lady-fun-times - every so often with some measure of success.

There was one instance where most of our gang went out for drinks on Crescent street - Todd, Dan, Nick, Rachel, Chris, Eugene, Jenn and a few others whose names elude me fifteen years later - and Jenn asked me what ''my comment'' was about. It took me a while to understand what specific comment she was referring to, but once it was clearly established, we moved onto bigger and better subjects.

Over time, we saw less and less of some people (Nick, Chris, Eugene) and our immediate circle got tighter. Our activities were more entertaining and mature, too - less time playing pool in arcades and crashing at people's houses, more time going to midnight movie showings and hanging out in parks - where we met fun, quirky and at times disturbing characters.

One such character was a chick called Morgan that I really got into, another was an Indian girl her brother nicknamed ''Me Too'' because as a kid she would follow his every footstep. There was also Sylvie, an ex-girlfriend's best friend, and Jill, who is a whole other chapter - maybe even her own book. Heck, maybe even a Trilogy.

I was hanging out with Jenn at least every other day and she quickly started having feelings for me, but the more I was with her, the more I realized we weren't on the same wavelength at all. Everybody had already warned me, but I guess I had to see it for myself, and I surely did: she was just fucking crazy.

She was into Grand Gestures to show her appreciation of me, but every single one brought me closer to one of the other ladies - and to regretting having ever known Jenn. But it was livable, for most of the summer, because humans can adapt to most situations - and I hadn't really been dating any of these girls.

Then came Shannon. We met Shannon while hanging out in a park in Montreal West. She was 18, tall, platinum blonde - she looked just like Kim Basinger (albeit with much bigger boobs), and every single one of my male friends wanted to get in her pants. But she only had eyes for me.

She was at the other end of that park in the wee hours of the morning on that warm July night with her (even hotter, redhead, looking like an early Alanis with even bigger boobs) friend Veronica when she realized a guy we were hanging out with, Nathaniel, was a mutual friend. Introductions were made and I spent practically the rest of the night with her, side by side on a swing set, getting to know each other. Jenn was fuming!

It only took a couple of days before Shannon and I decided to start ''dating''. Even though I'm not the biggest fan of blondes (apart from Samantha Fox, of course, I'm her #1 fan), her thick set of lips were full of promise. Well, that and the massive chest. But unfortunately for us, no one wanted this relationship to work out: her parents hated me (maybe because I was 4 years younger than she was, maybe not, but anytime we were at her place, we could never be alone for even a minute), my male friends would all just try to hit on her behind my back, hers were inventing rumours about me so she would dump me and try them on for size (some included Jenn) - and Jenn wouldn't leave us the fuck alone, like a fly on sugar-covered shit, either imposing her presence with our approval or showing up impromptu.

Needless to say, when all was factored in, we didn't last all that long. After a month of trying to get it on and never getting to it, at our age, we went our separate ways. A year later, I met Veronica while walking downtown and asked for news... turns out Shannon had had a kid, and was already pregnant with her second. So the break-up wasn't all bad...

On a side note, one thing I regret was not asking Veronica out right then and there. She was the one I really got along with at that time, smart, funny, sarcastic, longer and darker hair, tall, bigger boobs, three years older than me as well...

But back to the main story. August was coming to an end now, and Jenn had managed to split the friends we had in common into two factions: 1. pro-Jenn/Seb used me and he's an asshole and a liar, and 2. Seb's friends, who didn't care about what did or didn't happen but would rather be friends with a sane person and trusted his judgement. Seems stupid and juvenile, I know, but I guess the mid-90s were a magnet for that sort of behaviour.

Until school was well back under way, I'd get bizarre offerings from Jenn in my mailbox, ranging from angry or sad letters to empty morning-after pill receptacles. It was odd, but strangely humourous, on my end anyway. Until late September, early October, at least...

Then came The Erica Situation. Erica, for totally different reasons from Jill, also probably deserves her own book. She'll likely get her own entry here in the future, so I won't go into the whole details of it, but she was the girl I dated for most of Grade 11. She attended a different high school than mine and, again, was a couple of years older than I was.

But she wasn't an Amazon like Veronica and Shannon were, she was barely five feet tall (if that, come to think of it). So, when Jenn totally blew her gasket on her case and started stalking her and following her around, not just during leisure time but also during school hours, it turned psychopathic. That's where a whole bunch of people had to tell her to back off, some even resorting to threats; even The Law got involved, and eventually it waned, then disappeared.

And here's where it gets really bizarre: a former friend of mine/ours/our summertime gang, Dan, must have found something cute in her dedication and passion, and she must have turned her obsessive-compulsiveness onto him as well, because I heard they dated for a while that year, maybe even for longer than a year, I'm not sure anymore, and I'm sort of glad I don't recall.

It was a weird few months but every day brought on new adventures and new people to meet, each more fucked up than the next. Adult-sized babies, circus freaks, hermaphrodites, teenage sex, third nipples, underage alcoholism, amusement parks, going sleepless then taking prescription drugs to compensate, violence, hiding from cops then running from them, walking on railroad tracks in near-total darkness and surviving... and always good company to be around, regardless of who went nark that day.

125 days. A summer I'll never forget, with memories I'd rather not remember. Good times.

You burden me with your problems
By telling me more than mine
I'm always so concerned
With the way you say
You've always go to stop
To think of us being one
Is more than I ever know
But this time, I realize
I'm going to shoot through
And leave you
- EMF, Unbelievable (1990)