Here Comes The Sun

twenty-four

t h e . o c t o b e r . s p e e c h

october 1st
ottawa

    THE STREETS WERE CROWDED BY ALL KINDS OF PEOPLE, and I didn't know where to look. Behind each and every one of them there was a reason to their presence in Ottawa. Canada's cold evening air embraced me, therefore I wrapped the scarf I was wearing even tighter around my neck. I left a trace of warm breath in the air as I pushed myself to the very front of the stage, repeatedly excusing myself and cursing to myself for not having control over myself — I couldn't understand why I traveled to Ottawa and why I insisted on standing first row during the speech.

    It's been almost three months, Nova. Almost three months of not having contact with him, and you still want to see him. You still want to see him.

    "Just . . . want to see him," I said to myself, not really realizing that I said it out loud. People who I was pushing away looked at me as if I was crazy, and you know what, I was. I was absolutely out of my mind, off one's nuts, lunatic, foolish.

    I breathed out deeply as I had finally succeeded in being an annoying piece of shit pushing all those people out of my way, and leaned against the gates that separated me from the stage. Even the security guards frowned their brows at me. A pro of being at the front was standing so close to one another that their body warmth flowed straight to my coat and kept me a little warmer. Weathermen had been predicting snow ever since mid September, and I couldn't wait. The children from the oncology department absolutely adored playing in the snow — I already imagined the large amount of snowmen in the yard, benches covered in the white goodness, enhancing the red and white roses that climbed their way up the stone walls. The sphere in and out the hospital during winter was truly majestic, heartwarming at its finest.

    While I was drowning in thoughts, people around me had started cheering like crazy. My mind was having a hard time keeping up with what was happening around me, especially when Here Comes the Sun was being played through the speakers. Instantly, my whole body warmed up. A few seconds later, Hart Feingold, in the flesh, casually walked up the stage, waving and smiling broadly, where after he stood still behind the microphone. I was dumbfounded, struck by an electrical lightning bold of pain. Seeing him in that moment, his hair ever-so beautiful and shiny, his face so flawless, lips so lucious, everything so incredibly perfect, gave me consent of missing him. It was almost as if he tried to tell me that it was alright to be heartbroken, because he was worth the heartbreak.

    Then, he started talking.

    "Man," he always said 'man', "what a crowd! You guys know that Justin Bieber isn't going to come up here, right?"

    The crowd laughed, and even the corners of my mouth raised a bit.

    "But we did manage to get Ryan Reynolds here, get up here man!" he waited for our reactions before chuckling adorably and shaking his head, under lip pouted, "I wish."

    Everyone laughed again. He was so good at this.

    "Let's skip to the serious part; first of all I want to thank all of you for gathering on this cold, first day of October. My team and I took this grandiose opportunity to explain to you what our party, Liberal Party of Canada, is up to, because we like to be completely transparent to our folks. Right after, I'll be walking the planned route to have a small talk with you, the most exciting part of today."

    I knew the planned route like I knew my way to college. I had studied it in the bus to Ottawa, and luckily, I had a photographic memory. After he was done explaining the future plans, he, as promised, walked down the stairs of the stage, and I started pushing myself towards the end of the route. It needed to look like a complete coincidence, as if it wasn't planned at all. He'd be almost done talking to folks, and then, all of the sudden, I'd be there.

    No, too dramatic. I pushed myself a bit further. I needed to be at the spot where he was going to exit. And then make it look like I was just casually walking by. He sort of knows you live in Toronto, so how 'casual' is it to walk by. Worst thing of all was that they were playing Come Together by The Beatles.

    "Nova?"

    I turned around, feeling my heart beat in my throat. "Hart's mom?"

    "Angela, sweetheart, my name is Angela. What are you doing here?"

    "I . . . I came to listen to the speech?"

    "Are you alone?"

    "Yes?"

    "Why didn't you travel with Barbara?"

    "Barbara?"

    "Yes, your colleague!"

    "How do you know Barbara?"

    "I'm a journalist, I know everything."

    "I didn't know Barbara was here."

    "Sweetheart, Barbara is everywhere where Hart is. They are inseparable," Angela leaned in to whisper something, "they're not public yet."

    "Barbara and Hart are dating?"

    She shrugged, where after she held her camera in front of my face and took a picture. "I'll talk to you later, sweetheart."

    And just like that, she disappeared into the crowd just like my heart disappeared into a gaping black hole. Emptiness swallowed all of me. Why her and not me was a stupid question, because Barbara was everything I wasn't, and I knew this. I knew this all along. They had clicked instantly back in the days, too instantly.

    "Aw, it's so nice to meet you." I heard a voice behind me, and then I realized everyone was trying to push me away. Hart was half a meter away from me, holding the hands of a baby in her mother's arms. He was so close, I could smell his cologne, so close I could touch him, so close I could scream in his face what a fucking douchebag he was. I'm sorry, I'm in love with Barbara now, that's all I had wanted to hear! Three months of dreaming and thinking about him all day, three months of going absolutely nuts, all of that for nothing. For his mother telling me that he was with someone else. My own fucking colleague.

    His eyes found mine. Like a statue, he freezed, and I liked the comparison because his heart was made of stone as well. "Nova . . . You know you're in the wrong que right?"

    "W-what?"

    "The pressroom is inside." The pressroom? "David, could you escort Nova to the pressroom, please?"

    "I thought there was no pressroom for today, sir?"

    "I changed that. A very limited amount of journalists get the chance to talk to me for a little," Hart easily lifted the fence and grabbed my hand, leading me into his route. He leaned into me, still holding my hand, and whispered in my ear, "just do as I say. I almost forgot how gorgeous you are."