Canadian Down Under

Monday, January 02, 2006

Wading

def'n: Dreaming about Wade.

I've been doing it a lot lately, dreaming about Wade. I don't know exactly what's brought it on, but being home has made me think of him a lot.

What to tell first? The story of Wade or the Wading?

Maybe I'll start with the story of Wade, which will explain why I've actually named him (something I so rarely do....)

The (hi)story of Wade
I met him ten years ago at business school. He was in my Section. My housemates and I threw a party the first weekend and he was there. He had a party the next night and I wasn't there (too hungover from my party...) At school the next week he sought me out and asked why.

And I guess that was the beginning. The beginning of our friendship. he was always upbeat, always happy to see me and very good to me. Sometimes he even bought me tea for class when he knew I was running late (me+class-caffeine=very ugly). But through it all he was a guy. A guy's guy. Never sappy, never clingy, just there. Always there. Just a friend.

In second year he went away on exchange for a semester and came back different. Gone was the happy-go lucky guy. He'd been replaced by a more serious version of Wade: a study-hard, job-seeker. He was noticeably less social - almost reclusive but we stayed friends. More effort on my part - a balancing of effort/initiative really - and it worked for us. We stayed friends throughout his hermit stage.

After school ended we became housemates and shared with one other from school. Wade had a girlfriend, I had a boyfriend, but still we hung out.

One of my favourite "Wade" memories from that time was actually not one of my finer moments I had recently been dumped and was not taking it so well. (Talk about being the Queen of Understatement!) Wade came home from work one day to find me moping about misty-eyed. I cornered him just as he came in saying I had a question that needed an answer from a guy's perspective. Why he didn't run screaming from the room, I'll never know. Instead he sighed slightly then patiently sat down and listened. I don't remember what the exact question was now - but it was some kind of self-serving poor-me kind of question - to which he patiently answered along the lines of "No Laura, there's nothing wrong with you."

Despite answering the question correctly, I still started to cry and went to my room. I went to my room because by that point even I realised I was being ridiculous and I started to clean and tidy up to occupy myself. It didn't stop the tears though, which Wade discovered when he came to my room to say goodbye before going to his girlfriend's.

The tears stopped him dead in his tracks. He walked away after saying goodbye but then he came back and offered to stay with me instead of going out. (Imagine how much the girlfriend would have like that? Her boyfriend not coming over because he's consoling his newly single FEMALE housemate?) I said no but I was deeply grateful. It made me feel better because it was in that moment I realised I really had a friend.

Time passed. Wade broke up with his girlfriend, got a new job and could afford to live elsewhere. He was moving out. The weekend before we left we went out to celebrate. Far too many tequila shots and Corona chasers later (we danced like ANIMALS, I tell you, ANIMALS!) Somehow we only found his room when we got home.... A few awkward days later we had a chat (in the dark - we just couldn't seem to face each other in broad daylight) and he expressed how he only wanted to be friends. So that's how we continued. He moved out, but we still hung out. He continued to be my back-up date for work functions (which led to a second slip) but we stayed friends. Through moves, job changes, new love interests. In fact, I was really good friends with his next long-term girlfriend. We went together to support him at the Lake Placid Ironman and the three of us had a ball (a platonic ball).

Life continued and Wade was single again. He bought a house. I planned a move to Australia. Still friends He even helped me get rid of my stuff and move. We were okay until that. Until that comment.

It was a week before I left. I was at his place watching the SuperBowl.
I said something.
To this day I don't know what I did or said but he got mad at me. For the first time ever, even-keeled Wade was mad at me. So mad he wouldn't speak to me. Wouldn't even say goodbye when I left. Not when I left his apartment that night, not when I had a goodbye drink at the Maddy, and not when I phoned him from the airport.

All those years and suddenly he was no longer my friend. Something I said, something I tried to apologise for but couldn't take back because I didn't know what it was.

It's funny, I thought I always knew how much I appreciated him, but it wasn't until he was really gone that I realised just how much he meant to me. What a constant he was in my life. I missed him. I still do.


Many theories abound as to what caused the fracture. Most of my girlfriends think it wasn't something I said, but that he was actually mad at me for leaving, but I've never thought that that was it. But with all the recent Wading going on, I'm beginning to wonder....

The Wading (aka the Dreams)
I'm too embarrassed to go into specifics, but let's just say they all involve declarations of love (on his part) and hot, hot, HOT sex.

Seriously.

And this from a woman who usually doesn't remember a moment of dreams.

Wading. Don't know what started it, but in no rush to make it stop.

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