Taken by Karice Bolton

for the memories that were told to me, always made me feel so alone, no siblings, no parents – only newspaper clippings. That is what I always blamed my lackluster expression on.  Not feeling life became my comfort.  When too much interaction began, that was my cue to exit the situation or leave the people behind, that’s how I came to Whistler.
    I heard laughing behind me and turned to see two bubbly ski bunnies bundled in cashmere coming through the door, obviously enjoying the evening.  I tried not roll my eyes and just flashed them a smile.  I grabbed the paper towel dangling for me, did one last wipe of my cheeks and left the restroom.
    The pub was really hustling now.  I could hear the clanking of beer mugs and the chatter an octave higher.  Buckets of beer, the nightly special, were parading from one table to the next like a revolving door.  The lighting went down a shade, and the stone fireplace began roaring in the far corner right on time.  I saw the newest group sitting in my section and quickly went over to take their drink order.  As I heard the drink orders rattled off, I cautiously glanced at the couple I had left so feverishly and noticed Jen, another server on for the night, had graciously removed the tray and placed the third drink on a coaster in front of the empty chair.  There was still no one sitting there.  I was secretly relieved.  I didn’t need another perfect human adding to the complexity of the emotions running through me.  I somehow knew I wasn’t coming down with the flu.  There was something about these people that lured me in.
    “Miss,” I heard pointedly, “can we add a starter of poutine to our order?”
    “Of course! I’ll put that right in.”  My smile returning to my face, I took a deep breath and continued on with my busy night.  I was happy I had a full section tonight.  I was certainly a creature of habit.  
    I was entering the poutine into the computer, when a wave of ice-cold, electrifying air penetrated me right through to my core.  It was as if my bones would shatter with the slightest movement.  I looked over at the front entrance expecting it to be open, but it wasn’t.  I quickly looked around to gauge anyone else’s reaction, knowing I couldn’t trust my own with my sleep deprivation.  Then, right before me, I saw the third person sitting at my favorite table.  He had arrived.  It was from him that I was feeling the electricity.  They were looking at me again, all except the newcomer.  It was as if they were evaluating me, my reaction.  Silly as it seemed, that’s what they had to be doing.  But for what reason?
    From behind, I could tell that he was really well-dressed.  He was very firm, very upright, very oddly upright.  He sat so still, almost like a statue.  It struck me kind of funny, but in a good way.  He, too, had golden brown hair.  His looked a little less perfect, a little more disheveled, than his friends or relatives or whoever was with him at the table.  I liked it.  There was a bedraggled, rugged look about him - perfectly so.  If he looked half as good as he did from the back, I couldn’t wait to see him from the front.   If only I could compose myself.  Not that I had a shot, but at least, I could admire.
    Promising myself that I wouldn’t again lose my cool, I let the excitement ripple through me at the thought of getting to meet him.  I knew what I was feeling was in my head.  There was no way other people could make you feel this way.
    I spun around and quickly marched to the bar.  As I waited for the next order to come up, I excitedly embraced this new feeling of energy and exhilaration that was finally beginning to creep up on me.
    “Hey, Ana,” the bartender spoke, interrupting my thoughts, “Order’s up.”
    “Thanks, Ben.” I quickly grabbed the gravy and cheese covered fries, otherwise known as poutine, and trudged over to the table to drop it off so I could get over to the